Foxlings

From her chair in the tower of the Choir of the Sky Elder Moon could hear the sounds of fosterlings at play outside. She had a momentary urge to get up and go to the window to watch, but the aches in her joints persuaded her otherwise. Without a hint of regret she admitted to herself that she was getting old. Not for her a centuries-spanning existence like the life of Elder Winter. She couldn't bear the absence of Mokuzai so long in any case.

Across the room, dappled by the rainbow light bouncing off the ubiquitous Nevergems, her son Hiro sat, looking serious like men his age often do.

"You'll enjoy being a grandfather, Hiro," she said with a concealed smile.

He seemed startled that she had interrupted the silence. "Yes, of course I will, but..." he frowned.

Moon drank her tea and patiently waited for him to work his emotions out. His youngest daughter, Lyre, was about to give birth to her first litter and something about the event was troubling him. As for Moon, she could hardly wait to meet the new kits.

"Mother, you know I'm happy for her, but she's so far away. Away from the safety of the Chantry or the companionship of her Choir. I just wish..." Hiro left the words hanging, and to her surprise his eyes began to swell with tears. Among the Prill emotions are usually expressed through song in a highly ritualized fashion. She supposed she had no one to blame but herself that her own family was so unconventional.

"Hiro, my son, you mustn't wish something different for Lyre. She chose to stay in the sanctuary cities. She is happy there. Those cities represent our hope for a lasting peace, it is good that so many like my granddaughter have the courage to make a life in common with the Children of Steel..." she was prepared to launch into quite a moving piece of oratory on this subject, but Hiro cut her off.

"You've misunderstood. I don't wish anything different for Lyre - it is for me. I spoke last night with Twilight. He has had a vision. You were right about the Riddle of Peace. You were right about all of that. That's the point. Twilight says our vow to Karia has been fulfilled. The forests are safe - and that this next generation will be the first to receive their vulpine forms back. We will be fox-children again!" He paused for breath, before continuing in a rush, "My grandchildren will live a life none of us has known for generations and I will miss so much of it. I wish Lyre was closer so that I could enjoy this."

Midway through his speech Elder Moon had begun crying her own tears, and by the end she was laughing and crying at the same time as the joy in her soul erupted.

"Oh Hiro! Every grandparent that has ever lived has wished their grandchildren were closer to home. You are not alone..."

She got up then, aching joints be damned, and crossed the room to hug her son. Neither of them said anything for a long time, but they clung to each other and looked out the window at a miraculous sky.

Kijuuki's New Master

Feeling as though the world were strangely distant, Kiko reflected.

In the two months since the Sennin had left the Emerald Isle Kiko had learned more about life and the universe than in all the years preceding. Studying at the feet of the Dusk Sages was an incomparable feeling of exhilaration. They had the gift of literally putting the knowledge directly into her mind with a touch, and so she learned at an unprecedented rate. She supposed the only reason that they worked as they did in stages is to prevent her from going mad, or cracking in half with the strain of a rapidly expanding world view. Even so, each new discovery was such a revolution for her she began to suspect that it must require immense patience on their part to accept her ignorance.

She learned, for example, that Karia was speaking more than ever these days and what she whispered was somehow comforting to the Dusk Sages. Though she never heard the planet speak, she learned to tell instantly when a Dusk Sage was hearing her voice. They became serene, beatific even, and afterward they thrummed with happy energy. It made her wonder if her admiration of the Dusk Sages was similar to their feelings for Karia.

She looked beside her. The dictionary of Cheldrun that Kiyoshi had made for her lay open on the ground. She reached for it, but it was too far away. Still, it was a welcome reminder of all that had transpired. Everything she had seen.

It seemed too immense that one little Prill like her should come to see and know so much, and the more the Dusk Sages taught her the more she realized that it was a tiny fraction of the wonders of the All. It is a shame, she thought, that we all unravel. There is no way to see it all, know it all.

Kiko was relatively certain that she would never know who the man with oily hair and lace cuffs was, nor why he behaved as he did. He was a child of Steel, with eyes like Rei's, but he had arrived on the Emerald Isle without a boat or any other means of transport. The Dusk Sages observed him from a distance without saying anything. They revealed no emotion, but Kiko felt apprehension on their behalf. For a while she told herself that he would want to be a disciple like Kiko, Ramora, and Maruko, but if he had come to study, then he chose the wrong masters. A week after his arrival he was spotted in the company of resisters.

In the mornings Maruko had taken to singing, from memory, all the Prill lore that she could dredge up. Kiko tried to sing along, but Maruko had a better memory and Ramora had a better voice, she felt ashamed. The Dusk Sages genuinely delighted in the company of their creations, though all of their interactions were colored with melancholy. The creations on the island were sick, Kiko knew, and the health of the Prill was a sad reminder for them of the tragedy of their exile. Mostly it was better to sing and learn and observe than the alternative, even if the unraveling is true.

If.

Sadly, Kiko knew that the unraveling was not only true, but inevitable. She looked down at her chest, pierced by two daggers. Another in her thigh was embedded so deep it pinned her to the ground.

The man with the red eyes had come at sunrise to the Flame of Dawning where all the living Dusk Sages were gathered. He greeted them with flowery language (most of which Kiko understood) and argued at length for something so abhorrent that Kiko thought she must have misunderstood. He wanted the Dusk Sages to reclaim their creations, to use them for mana in order to control the Kyo Tee Shee and then to return in power to the continent of their children. He called them 'Initiators' and 'Gods' and said that it was their responsibility to cleanse Karia of the Cheldrun who he called 'Malice'.

The Dusk Sages listened, tolerantly, over a long period as he explained the story of the Cheldrun, and pleaded with them. The Dusk Sages simply shook their heads, with tear filled eyes, but said nothing. He behaved petulantly, like a child who is used to getting his way. He shouted and cursed. He whimpered and cried. He accused them of negligence, of hating their own children, and denying their own responsibility. Kiko could see that his words were wounding them and she tried to intervene, to calm him down.

That is when he exploded. A storm of knives rushed from his coat impaling her and anyone who came close. He rose into the sky, glowing with purple light, and began hurling wave after wave of sharpened blades and incinerating energy upon the gathered Dusk Sages. Kiko shouted for them to flee, to fight back, to do anything, but they just stood there, weeping.

Resisters crawled up the mountainside and began attacking the gathered Sages from the outside, as the man continued to pulse with malevolent power and to rend the ones he had called Gods just moments before. From his hand he unleashed a purple crane, which swelled to enormous size and swooped down on the dying Dusk Sages, greedily dipping its beak in the rainbow fluid which washed in waves over the field. Kijuuki, Mokuzai's Kyo Tee-Shee. As Kiko watched, the crane consumed every Sage there, becoming bloated with mana. The crane gave a piercing shriek which caused the Flame of Dawning to split in half and fall, before returning to its meal.

The resisters were just as voracious, and most horrifying of all, as they ran out of Dusk Sages to consume they fell on one another in their frenzied state. They wrenched masks off of one another's faces, and sucked mana out of one another's eye sockets. The red-eyed man did not cease his slaughter either, but turned his fury on the resisters as well. Rays of purple light from his hands incinerated his targets, and as Kijuuki fed he only grew more powerful, until his blasts were breaking apart trees, then boulders, then mountains, then sundering the island itself.

Kiko couldn't think of anything to do then, but to sing. She looked around, but Maruko and Ramora were lying in heaps, dead. So she let her trembling voice ring out with the Song of Sending, the funeral song of the Prill. It was perhaps the worst rendition of the song ever performed, but The-One-Who-Opens-Doors smiled and nodded at her as he died. The look on his face was one of pride.

From the corpses of the resisters new Kyo Tee-Shee sprang. They joined the feeding frenzy, as the ground trembled and Kiko, who was on the point of passing out but kept singing all the same, wondered if the island were lifting out of the ocean into the sky. She could not hear herself over the roar, but she pressed on approaching the climax. The red-eyed man was completely obscured in a field of purple light now. She no longer cared who he was, it was beyond her.

When her breath was expended, she fell back and looked at that dictionary laying on the ground beside her. Its pages were spattered with rainbow colored blood. The wind took it and blew it out of sight. She imagined the wind was blowing it like a message to the All. We are unraveling as you decreed. Is it what you you hoped?

Elder Moon Goes To War

The dome of the Grand Chantry Council Chambers glistened in the sunlight. Within, the council deliberated Elder Moon's proposal.

"Her plan would constitute a violation of our oath to defend the forests! How can we protect this old growth if we are decimated by a foolish quest?" Elder Suburi of the Choir of the Flora spewed his words with vehemence.

"I assiduously disagree, with Elder Suburi," the voice of Elder Mandrake of the Choir of the Earth came from the opposite side of the chamber. "Defending the forests by his definition means endlessly tending this garden and avoiding any conflict. I say Elder Moon has finally hit upon the right idea here. The Cheldrun are a grave threat to the survival of all Karians. If there is a war to be fought against them, I say we fight!"

Elder Jethro registered his agreement, "My daughter is very likely in the midst of that war, I cannot abide those who would tell me to sit back and do nothing."

Elders Haku and Mora of the Choirs of Fire and Fauna respectively snorted in disgust. "You call the work of our people, the labor of uncovering the lore of the Dusk Sages, the sacred duty of our guardians, our oath to the forests and everything that has mattered to every Prill for the past two centuries nothing?! You have contracted the same madness as Elder Moon here," they gestured to Moon who had remained kneeling in the center of the chamber, head bowed this entire time.

Before she could respond Elder Suburi was upon her chastising her with harsh language that raised her hackles. "It is indeed a madness that has afflicted our sister Moon. Everyone witnessed her decline, and her irrational behavior at the death of Mokuzai. Flaunting our customs, after many weeks since Mokuzai was reunited with the forest, she continues to wear her mourning gown and to ignore her responsibilities as an Elder. Were it not for the respect she is owed for her years of service, the Choir of the Sky would long ago have stripped her of her tails and sent her into retirement. She is past all usefulness as a leader, and now she comes in here with this proposal that would destroy our peace..."

Elder Moon gave Elder Suburi a look that caused him to stop short, sputtering and unable to speak. Slowly she rose to her feet, and in a voice like gravel she said, "There is no peace." Her words echoed around the chamber, and no one dared break the silence that followed.

Elder Moon looked around at her peers, eyes brimming with tears, and began to sing. It was a song all of them knew. A song about young lovers. A song written by a great Prill composer so many centuries ago that he was more myth than history. A song which every Prill agreed defined them, and defined love. A true song.

In the song a pair of fosterlings fall in love. They love each other with such a passion that even when they are subsequently fostered out to separate choirs they cannot think of anything else. They sing for one another across the distance, a sad song of loneliness. The two grow up and though their love for one another never wanes they discover different talents in themselves. They end up committing to separate choirs. The young man is gifted with a talent for Dusk Sage lore and he commits himself to uncovering a secret never imagined by any choir. Unfortunately an envious rival kills him before he ever finds what he was seeking. The young woman, stricken by her loss defies the conventions of her people. She abandons her choir and journeys to the place where the young man lived. While the guardians of tradition try to prevent her she takes up his work. Both choirs, offended by her disregard for custom, trap her in her den without food. Ignoring her hunger she works day and night on the lore her lover left behind and just before she starves to death, she succeeds. She comes out of the den and confronts her opponents. She has composed a new song. As she dies she sings it to them. It is the song of love.

Silence reigned for several minutes after Elder Moon finished singing.

Then, tears streaming down her face, she said, "Mokuzai never solved the Riddle of Peace. I mean to finish his work for him."

Elder Suburi, his face flushed, fell to his knees, "And we will follow you until you have."

Uniting the Clans

"Sons, daughters of Karia, ye knowe me. The name's Grim, of the Fiochmahr clan. Ye know them Cheldrun bastards, too. Goshi, they be called." He stood before the leaders of the clans, proud and tall, his heavily muscled frame yet marked with the signs of the last fortnight's festivities, and Ishikawa Tetsuro stood at his side, looking for all the world as though his tattered clothing were a kimono of the finest silk.

They stood before him, Gogajin all, listening as he spoke, forty five clan heads, male and female alike. The massive camps of all forty six of the clans gathered here stretched out as far as the eye could see around this large, central, rock-strewn meadow. Or at least it had been a meadow twelve days ago, when the games had begun. Now it resembled more closely a war zone. Around the clan heads, a larger crowd had gathered. The clan heads were all stood in a a large stone amphitheatre at the edge of the meadow - a traditional meeting place, and neutral ground - that carried their voices rolling across the crowd.

"Aye, we know them. Get on with it!" Shouted a middle-aged Gogajin from the middle of the group of clan heads.

"I've spoken with ye yche one, and there no nas never any one of us what's not been struck by them at least once since the new year began, and struck a sore blow. Well I say we've had enough! I say it's about time we stopped letting these Goshi types, these Heishi, raid us whenever the fuck they want!"

--------------

Ishikawa Tomoe of the Ruby Hawk clan stared at the ... man... in front of her in disbelief. Had this... this... donkey-man actually just propositioned her? HER? As if being dragged away from school in Matamos and into the wilderness wasn't bad enough, now there were overgrown donkeymen asking if she wanted to do... THAT, with them? It was an outrage! She wouldn't stand for it! She was going to tell her father about this, and then they'd see what happened to this presumptuous...

"If you fucked him, do you think that would count as bestiality for you, for him, or both?" Midnight asked.

The Gogajin burst into belly-laughs, and one of them clapped Midnight on the shoulder good naturedly, and the biomade girl staggered, but managed to recover quickly enough, and shot the Gogajin a cheeky grin.

Tomoe tried not to grind her teeth. "Remind me why you came with us again?" Tomoe asked. "It's not like you were in danger from Katashi Blade's purge. He's one of your kind."

When her father had said that he and his Gogajin ally were going to rally the clans, Tomoe had not expected this... carnival. They'd been at it for three days now, engaging in competitions so savage that she could scarcely believe that none of the participants had died. Certainly she'd never seen anything quite like their game of 'catch,' and the boasts? She knew what that was. That was a bunch of little boys trying to prove their virility. ... and she still didn't know what to make of the women who participated, and just as freely as the men.

The Gogajin... confused her.

Midnight raised an eyebrow and turned to face Tomoe, her long, dark hair catching in the wind as she did so, a look of surprise on her face. "... Are you serious?" she asked.

Tomoe blinked. What does she mean, am I serious? Doe she think I'm... oh. Oh. No, that couldn't possibly be the reason. "... Yes?"

Midnight smiled a pained sort of smile, and Tomoe's surprise grew to ever greater heights as the Biomade gave her reply: "Because you do what you can for your friends, yeah?"

... Friends?

Tomoe stared. In all their years at the Academy in Matamos, she had never, not once, thought of Midnight as her friend. She'd thought of her as a rival, as an enemy, as a classmate, but ... friends? She opened her mouth and tried to speak, but nothing came out.

Friends.

For the first time in her life, Ishikawa Tomoe of the Ruby Hawk clan was at a loss for words.

------------

"An' how do you plan to stop them, Grim? We already tried punchin' em in the face, and throwin' big rocks at 'em, and pushing 'em off cliffs, and punchin' em in the stomach and THEN punchin' em in the face..."

Some of the clan heads surrounding Orla of the Troid clan had the decency to look embarrassed. She'd got where she was by being young, charismatic, strong and tough, but had never been the brightest bulb in the bunch.

"Much as I hate to agree with Orla," said Keena of the Muintir clan, an old Gogajin well known for her wisdom, "She does have a point, if you turn her words inside out, stand them on their head, and look at 'em through a mirror. How exactly do you plan to stop a force that can appear and disappear whenever it wants?"

Grim clapped Ishikawa Tetsuro on the shoulder, and the Allskin staggered beneath the blow. "Old Tetsuro here tells me there's a place where these smoke-puff soldiers can't get to. A place where people are holdin' out against Goshi, mounting some real fightin' against them. He says that Goshi's mounting an army to take the place, and they'll probably do it, too, since they control all the other Cheldrun cities. An' he says that once we're on the move, it'll be harder for them to find us. Cheldrun folk don't do so well in the wilds. That's me plan, though. I say we march on over to this city, this Stardown, and we show those Goshi bastards what for!"

A murmur went through the crowd, then, and then Keena spoke up again. "Why should we march to defend a Cheldrun city, Grim? It's got nothing to do with us. Troubles come and go, but we endure, and the land endures. This is ours, isn't it? All this? Look around you. This is Gogajin land. Why should we up and march off to some Cheldrun place?"

----------------

Inari blinked. "You've got eyes!" He'd been trying to shake this zipsum for days, figuring that it was probably better to avoid the little bastards ever since he'd had to flee from a whole tribe full of eyeless turbo-squirrels.

"Uh, yeah," the Zipsum said, brushing the dust off his clothing as he strolled up to the young Prill. "You run into a lot of Zipsum without eyes?"

"Yes. Well, no. Well, I did once, and you can never be too careful. I think it's very important to have eyes, after all, and I don't think much of the idea of losing mine." He brightened. "But you've got eyes, so it's ok! I'm Inari."

The Zipsum raised an eyebrow at that. "Inari, huh? That sounds familiar..."

"I was named after a legendary Kyo-TeeShee," Inari offered. He thought about it. "Either that or a really big tree. I never asked."

The Zipsum wasn't really sure how to take that. "Uh, right. So Inari, you from around here?"

The woods were sparse here, and a bit further east the land began to rise into the rocky highlands of Gogajin territory.

Inari kept walking, and the Zipsum followed along behind him as they talked. "Me?" Inari asked. "No. No, just passing through. I'm on a quest. Supposed to gather up pieces of the lost music for Elder Winter." He never had managed to make it back to the Grand Chantry. Too many eyeless Zipsum. He'd been traveling ever since, and he'd seen things since then that had made him wonder what exactly was going on in the world.

"Lost music, huh? How's that workin' out for you?" The Zipsum didn't give him time to answer, but immediately went on. "Listen, Inari, I don't mean to sound rude, but have you seen a bunch of Gogajin running around with Cheldrun prisoners?"

Inari looked perplexed. "Gogajin with Cheldrun prisoners? Well... yes. But I don't think they were prisoners. Looked more like refugees, I think. They didn't seem too unhappy about being with the Gogajin, either."

The Zipsum brightened up at that considerably. "You've seen them? Really? You're the man, Inari. You are so the man. The man? That's you."

It occurred to Inari then that the zipsum's pupils were abnormally large, and his eyes bloodshot. What could that mean? Huh. "Uh, thanks?"

"No, thank you. Now, can you show me where you saw them? It's really important, Inari. I need to find them. I'm supposed to keep an eye on them and make sure they don't get into trouble."

"I guess I could show you," Inari said, now fairly certain that something was wrong. The Zipsum seemed too hyper, even for a Zipsum. He hadn't stopped fidgeting since he'd walked up, and his eyes were more intense than they should be, the pupils absolutely, fully dilated. "What did you say your name was?"

The Zipsum grinned good naturedly. "Tricks. Tricks the Wind. Nice to meet you."

-----------------

"Look around, Keena. What's happening is more than just troubles. There's a change in the air, and not one for the better. Ye kenne hit too, I wist. Ye've heard from the Griolsa clan, heard what's happened. Ben Hamor's been visited by the gods! There's eyeless demons takin' over zipsum bodies, and Cheldrun bodies too, and I'm not so blind as to miss that Goshi has sent eyeless monsters just as often as they've sent their smoke-puff men, and a Zipsum messenger from the Grand Chantry what arrived the other day said that there's huge demons fightin' heroes of Karia all over the damn place. This isn't something we can run away from, and I'd be no Gogajin if I tried!"

Grim looked out across the crowd, and he raised his voice. "This is bigger than any of us, but it's not so big that we can't do somethin' about it. There's to be a fight, and it's to be at Stardown, and it's lookin' to be the biggest thing we've seen since the night of bonfire skies. Sons, daughters of Karia, we are Gogajin! And if we don't unite, if we don't take a stand against these Goshi bastards, then we might as well just slink away into the hills and wait to die, because we'll none of us deserve to be called Gogajin ever again, and we will never, ever be free of those bastards. Some of us may die, but at least we'll die free, with our own two feet on the ground, and fightin' for each other, and for Karia! Are you with me!"

A roar erupted from the vast crowd of Gogajin all around them at that, a terrible thunderous roar that utterly drowned out whatever response Keena might have tried to make. For a long moment the forty five clan heads stared at one another, uncertain exactly what to do. Then, after a good five minutes of shouting, the crowd began to die down, until finally those in the center could be heard again.

In the end, they had only one response. In the end, there was really nothing else to say: "You're a crazy bastard, Grim," Keena said, and then grinned widely, "But I'm with ye." And then, one after the other, the other clan heads each pledged themselves to the cause, and cacophony erupted in the crowd once more as Gogajin shouted, cheered, banged drums, banged stones, banged each other's heads, and made ready to march to war.

------------------

"That's a nice gun," Inari said as he led Tricks the Wind up the rocky slope towards Gogajin country. He'd picked up a walking stick somewhere along the way. It was just the right size, too. Very quarterstaffy. Idly, Inari wondered if he had just coined a new word.

Tricks grinned. "Thanks. Haven't met many Prill who know what a gun is. You been around the Cheldrun?"

"Some," Inari replied, watching Tricks warily out of the corner of his eye. He no longer had any intention of leading the Zipsum to the Gogajin, but he knew it would be very, very difficult to lose him. Scratch that. Losing a Zipsum that wanted to follow you was damn near impossible. And by 'near,' Inari meant 'completely.' "I found a fragment of a song in one of their cities. Kaberra was the name, I think."

Tricks nodded, and then looked like he was growing impatient. "Look, Inari, are you sure this is the way the Gogajin..."

Tricks trailed off as the roar of a vast, vast, vast crowd erupted from not too far away, and both he and Inari stared as a huge column of Gogajin crested the top of the hill and began marching down it.

More.

More.

More.

One hundred.
Two hundred.
Five hundred.
A thousand.
More.

Inari lost count.

Wagons were pulled by Gogajin in donkey form, laden down with supplies. Men, women, a small contingent of maybe a hundred Cheldrun, more Gogajin, even more Gogajin.

An army.

He stared in awe as they marched, and Tricks stared, too, his jaw dropped open, though for different reasons.

The Gogajin were on the move.

"... went?" Tricks finished.

That was when Inari lifted his quarterstaffy walking stick, and bashed Tricks over the back of the head as hard as he could. The Zipsum went out like a light.

Inari breathed a sigh of relief. He scooped up the furry little body of Tricks the Wind and headed over to figure out who was in charge. Zipsum were a pain in the ass to keep prisoner. He knew that from experience. Hopefully, the Gogajin would have some rope. Lots and lots of rope.

And as it turns out, they did. More than enough for both the suspicious, drug-addled Zipsum and for the troublesome Prill prankster what had been causing trouble with the local villages over the last few weeks. A few minutes later, Inari found himself bound hand and foot in the back of one of the Gogajin wagons, with the unconscious form of Tricks the Wind bound securely a foot away, and the Gogajin army marching towards the western horizon.

"Well," Inari said, "This sucks."

One Small Answer

Quietly, Moses wakes up Zipporah early. She pops awake immediately with a little gasp and her hand goes out to him. He places it in his.

"Morning."

She blinks the last wisp of bleariness out of her eyes. "You've got that look."

He nods. "Yeah, I've got that look."

She sits ups. Now that she's awake, she's sort of got that look too.

Its so strange to be whole. To be made whole. Again. Broken and put back together by Una's tears. Which...always, she's got more of them. Healing tears. There's something there. But, as she said, he has that look.

"I told you about the Fire. As much as I understood, at least. And now we're here. We came here...I thought we were all dead. But then we're floating in the Bay, with Geneva Minor on the horizon...it has to be. I have to be here because of what the Fire told me. What the...what the Name told me." She nods. "And that means I have to go back to the city. I have to go back...where so many people died, and where everyone is going to want to kill me. I...I abandoned them, and things...got worse for them. I know it. I can try to tell them that it had to happen, that...that so much has happened since, that if I hadn't left, I wouldn't be here now, with the tiniest bit of hope that I can free them...that they'd catch me eventually, that...that I wouldn't have met you." He looks at her, then looks down, trying not to get derailed.

"I can tell them that, but I'll understand if they don't listen. And I have to...somehow...convince them to go...where the stars will fall. I don't even know where that is! I'm just hoping that...that I'll know, somehow, that it'll hit me, or else, we'll just be wandering around. That is, if anyone comes with me. That is, if...if I survive...meeting Katashi Blade.

He pauses. "I've been thinking a lot about him. I don't know hardly anything about him, but he's the head of Goshi. So I think about the Hei Shi, and how they can teleport now, and how - how they've conquered everything, it seems like. How there were Hei Shi on the Wandering Star, so he knows it's there, probably knows more than we do about the whole thing.

"I think about...someone who would be able to do all of that. Someone with that kind of...will. Someone who isn't happy until he has everything. Behind all of the evil that Goshi has done. And now I have to walk into his tower, and tell him, let the Mechified go. Let my people go. He's going to -"

She places a single finger over his lips, and waits until he looks up at her.

"Moses, I've been listening this whole time. I've heard all that you've heard for months now. I've spoken to the Dusk Sages, watched them die, watched you bind them. I've been to the darkness outside Karia, I've seen...horrible things, and wonderful things - the Emerald Isle, the bottom of the ocean!

"Nothing - nothing! - in what I've heard has made me think that this Blade can stop you. Do you know why?" Moses shakes his head. Now she gets to talk about why she's got that look. "Because of the Question. I already know the answer. Don't you? The question is life, and the answer is yes. The answer is yes. It has to be yes. First, because -" she looks away "because if its no, then all we do is for nothing, and everything will come to nothing, and there will be no one to remember it, to even cry over it. No one even to mourn. If the answer is no, then we're free, because the end will come, and then nothing after. And..."

"The...the other reason?"

She looks back to him, is blushing furiously. "Well, um. I." She bites her lip and takes his hand from around hers and places it low on her belly. Then gives him that look.

She counts to three while Moses looks at her, at his hand, then his eyes go wide.

She nods a small nod. "Yes."

The Writing on the...Um...Door.

Slowly, the rain and the wind serve to cool Moses off. But it takes a long while.

Then Zipporah is next to him, leaning into him, singing softly. Rain hasn’t hit him for some time now, simply landing elsewhere in response to her. He leans into her as well – carefully.

“We know she’s going to betray us. Or, even if she doesn’t, Goshi will find her and get the information out of her. They’ll know where we’re going, and they’ll follow us. They’ll find…wherever it is we’re going, and then…it’ll be like here. For whatever Karians live there. It’ll be like here.” He can’t look at her. She watches him, looks out into the night and the quieting storm, looks back now and then.

Around them, at various points on the ship, are the sparking remains of ruined communications gear. Now it's just an embarrassment, and Moses can’t look at it either.

“I understand Rei. She’s messed up, and Aimi is her sister, and she…does stupid things sometimes because her thinking is all wrong. Well, maybe sister isn’t the right word. Test-tube-mate, or something like that. And…well, I know Rei will stick up for her. Whatever. But Kyoshi? He’s…he doesn’t…I thought he was, I dunno, changing.” Moses glances at Zipporah out of the corner of his eye, and she’s not looking but listening with all of her self, trying to seem casual. “I guess some people sort of…don’t. But…dammit. I dunno. He threatens us like…like an asshole, that’s what. Like an asshole.” Moses doesn’t go on to say what else he’s thinking, but he glares into the night and his armored fist clenches.

“I’m glad I took her glove, whatever it is, and smashed it. If you’d met her before, you’d see – she’s a lot less cocky without it. Kyoshi is probably like that. Take that sword, and what’s left? A skinny guy in a kimono with a stick up his ass.” Zipporah lays a cool hand on his shoulder. Without noticing, he relaxes slightly.

“Aimi, she’s just being who she is. Nasty, tempermental, cocky – well, not as much now – selfish. I wish…” he trails off. “I wish a lot of things.”

They stand, swaying with the motion of the ship, for a long while.

“It feels like a long time ago, when this all started. What…well, what ruined my life...at the time. Killed a lot of people. It started lots of places, but one place it started was with me, down in the mines. I told you about those” she nods slightly, now watching him, unreadable, “and a little about what happened. Someone…someone pushed me, pushed us, too far. He – they – treated us like we were tools. Like we didn’t matter. And if we didn’t do what they said, they’d threaten, and then they’d…they’d hurt us. Our families. Telling us what we had to do, what we had to risk so they could get rich. Threatening.” He pauses.

“I’m not going to live like that ever again.” After a while, “But if I talk to him now, and he does it again, I…I don’t know if I’ll be able to just hit the door. And he’s – dammit! – he’s acting like an idiot! Can’t he see? Its so obvious!”

Zipporah smirks despite herself. “What’s obvious? Moses. Listen. He’s not…he’s not thinking very clearly. He’s…Moses, he’s in love.”

A long pause. “I know.” He sighs. “I just don’t get it. She’s…Zip, she’s such a bitch. I mean, she’s like Rei, but without the redeeming qualities.” Zipporah raises an eyebrow. “Exactly. And Kyoshi’s family is pretty rich, and, you know, they didn’t come from vats or anything. Allskins are made…uh…the old-fashioned way” they share a little smile at that, at the new and strange thing – them together, over a month now “and they’re all about tradition and honor. Honor! The thing that Aimi is, like, the opposite of. I mean, compared to her, Rei is honorable. I mean, come on. Rei.”

Zipporah smiles more broadly. “Oh yes, Moses, that’s a very good point. They are quite different, aren’t they?” She brushes his thigh with her tail, then laughs at him and looks away. It’s a bit infectious, and Moses, far from laughing, grins and pulls her closer. “Imagine that – two people so different…falling in love.”

Moses quiets, becomes more still.

In Prill now, “Zipporah, you know –“

“Yes.”

It’s still hard for him to say it out loud.

In the dark, their silhouettes meld for a few moments, then separate again, still standing close.

“Well, I’ve still got some metal. And since I won’t get to bolt Aimi to the deck – and I was really looking forward to that – I’ll put it to another use.”

They are out on the deck for a long while yet, until Zipporah has to go to sleep or she’ll fall over. Moses walks her to their room, sits with her until she’s asleep, then locks it behind him.

***

With a gasp, Kyoshi wakes up to the sound of something being spot-welded to his door. There is a bright, red spot that is slowly growing on the inside surface of the door, and when he rushes to get close, he can already feel heat radiating from it. The handle burns his hand slightly as he pulls it open –

And Moses is outside, his right arm ending in a welding torch. He nods at his handiwork, then walks off down the corridor, silent.

Welded to Kyoshi’s door is a hunk of metal, and burned into the surface of it, beneath the fresh, cooling weld, is (in careful, surprisingly smooth script):

Keeoshi. I get it that you love Aymee. But if you want to be my friend, if you want me to stick up for you and fight next to you and trust you, then you never threaten me again. Or our friends. And you never tell me what’s going to happen. Ever. You respect me, or you fight alone. And I’ll fix the other door.

When we let Aimi off the ship, Moses isn’t there. He makes himself busy repairing the ship, with the help of a few of the Rogues who know more about how it works technically. Zipporah is sitting nearby, and suggests that no one talk to him until Aimi is gone.

Hope on the Horizon

The Wandering Star peeked over the horizon. It was late rising tonight, though it is difficult to call something late which never follows a schedule. Nevertheless, as Luna slipped beneath the sea of leaves that is the canopy of the old growth forests around the Grand Chantry, Elder Moon thought to herself that the star was late. Waiting for it to come up she had lost a great deal of sleep.

Yes, waiting for the Star, that's it Moon, my dear. It has nothing to do with the message you received, or the butterflies you've had ever since it arrived.

Elder Moon gave her inner-critic a stern look. A member of the Elder Council could certainly expect to retain a certain amount of dignity - even in her own mental monologue.

Nevertheless, it was true that she had been giddy this evening, an odd feeling for a fox-daughter of her age. Yet, even the oddness of it gave her pleasure. She felt light and hopeful, which made her all the more nervous and cautious. Now was not the time to go getting one's hopes up. All the signs, all the omens, all the observations and predictions were pointing to catastrophe. Daily news arrived from the mouth of Zipsum messengers describing more and more deforestation by the Children of Steel. Rumors were beginning to fly of demons haunting the jungles. The very behavior of the Wandering Star seemed ominous in the context of the oppressive reality of impending disaster.

Moon had countless reasons to be worried, which is why she found it so worrisome that far from feeling afraid she felt... excited.

One week ago the delegation of the Choir of the Seasons arrived at the Chantry carrying a sedan with the Most-High Soul-Singer Elder Winter inside. The rare visit, of the most honored living Prill, was occasioned, he said, by the near certainty that something prophesied to him long ago was about to take place. So certain, he said, because he was about to leave this sorry world and his aching body behind and so it had better happen any moment now, or else... Moon had to admit that it had taken several days of patiently listening before she honestly believed that he wasn't just a senile old baritone.

Why the Elder Winter had specifically summoned her and demanded her presence by his bedside every day since his arrival, she could not fathom. However, he had ceaselessly shared with her the things he had been told to expect in his youth. He had told her of the coming of spring. He had spoken of the arrival of guests, sojourners, bringing with them the tide of renewal. He had explained the secret meaning of the Wandering Star and even taught her a portion of its private symphony. Whether anything he said was true or not, it was an incomparable honor to be given this time in his presence so close to his final hour, for beyond doubt his health was deteriorating rapidly. He would not again depart the bejewelled halls of the Grand Chantry.

And then... this afternoon, she heard a whisper on the breeze. The gentle caress of a distant loved one carrying a message - just as her own Mokuzai was fond of doing. The message said, "We are coming. Me and some companions. Meet us at Inari's Grandmother."

She nearly swooned. He's alive! He's alive and he's coming back to me! She'd relived the moment a thousand times in her heart since the message came and each time new joy sprung out of the weeks and weeks of worrying. Mokuzai was coming home, and though it was difficult to imagine that anything could be more wonderful than this news, it was also true that he was bringing companions, guests, sojourners. Is it possible that this could be a coincidence? So soon after she had believed Elder Winter's prediction? Is it not more likely that these companions were the very ones Winter spoke of? The ones who would bring renewal?

Despite all of her attempts to chide herself into reserved hope, she could feel the music bursting from her soul, a triumphant melody of resurrection. This, she was certain, is what it has all been pointing toward. The Dusk Sages and their obscure lore, the Anakarix and their mathematical prophecies, the Prill lore-singers and their aural wisdom - were they not all singing about this moment? About these people? About this historic culmination?

The Wandering Star rose late tonight - an omen of doom. Staring straight at the orb of light on the horizon she said, confidently, "You don't scare me. For I have heard the music of salvation."

A Requiem for Riverswift

Inari had always liked the Zipsum. You could mess with them all day long, and the next day, provided you had candy or a particularly tasty nut on hand, they'd forget all about it. Usually. Well, he thought so, anyways. I'm getting a ways away from the point, here. The point is, he'd always liked the Zipsum, and was therefore horrified by what he saw when he came over the deep, verdant rise and saw the Riverswift encampment off in the distance.

The young Prill's heart was close to the forest; he could sense the wrongness coming from the distant tree-village far more than he could make any details out visually, and what he sensed chilled him to the bone.

What he saw was almost worse.

First dozens, then hundreds of the Riverswift Zipsum, swarming out the front gate of their village, dressed for war. But that wasn't what horrified him.

No, what horrified him was the bloody, empty sockets where their eyes had been. Not all of them were eyeless at this point, but enough that he didn't want to get anywhere near them.

'Well,' he thought absently, his mind oddly detached from the horror of the eyeless Karians racing through the valley below, 'I guess that means I won't be able to ask Speaks-Profound-Always for her insight in my Quest...'

A shift in the behavior of the racing Zipsum. A dozen of them changed course and rushed straight towards his position.

Inari's eyes widened. Not knowing what else to do, he immediately began to sing. His was the song of Wood; the song of vitality; the song of all that was green and growing. In his song could be heard the joy of spring, of nature's first golden green, and the precious, precious illusion that there would be no new winter to come. It resounded over the rise, and all around him the voices of the wind through the trees, of the growing grass, of the birds, of all Karia lifted up in denial of the horror below.

The Zipsum were upon him. None of these were eyeless, but those that he had seen had made such an impression on him that he felt no desire to remain here.

Inari ducked underneath the poisoned blades of the first of his attackers, then the second. The others circled warily, waiting for an opening.

He did not intend to give them one.

Another slash, another frantic dodge. His back collided with a great purple-leaved tree, and he knew that he would not be able to dodge again.

"Sorry, friends," he sang, every word matching a new note in the song of Wood. "But this is one dance I'm just going to have to sit out."

With that, he stepped backwards into the supposedly solid tree, and was gone, leaving the angered Zipsum furiously stabbing at the knotted bark with their poisoned blades.

A moment later, a hundred kilometers south of the Riverswift village, a completely exhausted young Prill staggered out of a huge, cragly old tree and fell to his knees. He took a deep breath, and then another, and another. Damn. He'd seen his whole life flash before his eyes! That had taken more out of him than he'd expected, but he was glad to be alive. Whatever was wrong with those Zipsum, it was bad, bad news.

Bad enough that he might just have to make a little side trip to the Grand Chantry and report directly to the Choir of Elders.

He'd never had much respect for authority figures, but at this point, he wasn't sure what else to do. Hopefully, once he'd made his report, he'd be able to head back out and continue with his Quest. No, scratch that 'hopefully.' 'Definitely.' He didn't want to get stuck with those tradition-bound, terrible old Prill for any longer than he absolutely had to.

But what he had sensed, there... he felt bile creeping up in the back of his throat, and immediately he began to sing once more. The sheer growth and vitality of the song of Wood soon formed a kind of a buffer around his mind, a shield made out of life and joy and the promise of renewal.

Soon, he was back to his old, cheerful self.
Still, best to warn the elders. Besides, maybe one of them would be helpful. Give him a little insight into his Quest. Not like Winter.

Tossing his pack over his shoulder, and almost instinctively hiding his trail with every fox-trick he knew, Inari began the trek back towards the Prill lands.

Meanwhile, a hundred kilometers to the north, the Riverswift made for Ben Hamor.

Exodus

I watch as the last light of day fades beyond the treetops. Fireflies become visible, dotting the woods like wisps, begging to be chased. No such horrors were to be found here, however. I close my eyes and draw the air through my withered nostrils. I could all but see the figures of other Prill as they walked about the paths below. One was moving rather hurriedly... I could smell her sweat even from here, my home, a good fifty feet above the twisting paths surrounding the Grand Chantry. There were few others about; now was the time to leave.

I hope no one tries to stop me. A debate is not what I need right now.

I rise to my feet slowly, allowing the Song of Clarity to fade with the night breeze. My senses close back upon me, suddenly leaving the world feeling much, much smaller. I open my eyes and find the room is even darker than the now impenetrable blackness of the night.

You really need to learn to keep your thoughts grounded, old man.

I stumble about my abode, feeling for a candle. There. The dim light plays tricks with the shadows as I make my final preparations. Little trinkets and mementos of my life adorn every inch of the little domicile. There, a carving of a swan that was made for me by my grandson.

He always had a good eye for craftsmanship, even as a pup he- you're sidetracking again, old man.

I don my well-worn robes, appearing yellow in the light of the weak flame. I hang the folds about my frame carefully, making sure to have everything in its proper place. My eye catches the image of the Eye on my right shoulder and the writhing Maelstrom on my left, the flickering illumination giving it the appearance of movement.

We all choose the ways by which we mark ourselves. With my marks, my memories shall ever be a part of me.

I finish tying my sash and reach for my traveling hat, as worn and well-used as the paths of the Chantry itself.

You path isn't so well traveled today, is it old man?

My hand hesitates as I reach for it. My nose picking up the smell... her smell.

I turn and slowly walk over to my bedside table, opening the ornately carved box I keep all my dearest treasures in. The smell fills my senses, amplified by its meaning to me. I withdraw a lock of hair, neatly held together with a bright yellow ribbon and hold it to my nose. Tears begin to well up in my eyes. I remembered clearly the day my then-future mate had given it to me. "Even should you fail your test for Guardianship, remember you still have me."

Your resolve is weakening, old man.

I quickly, but delicately place the favor in the box and snap the lid closed. Too much time. If I linger any longer, I'll lose my will to go. I steel my thoughts with my purpose, and stride out the door.

The walk is easier the further I go. I gaze upon the impeccable architecture of the Chantry as I walk its winding paths.

You go to preserve this. You go to preserve your people, your family. Most of all, you go to preserve Karia.

As I leave the city, I turn and gaze for one long moment at the Chantry itself. At this distance, one could take in its full beauty... and I did not hastily end what could very well be the last time I see my home.

"You're actually going, aren't you?"

I turn to my left with a start. Elder Moon stands before me, her eyes glowing like a pair of celestial bodies in the shrouding night. Her scent nearly buckles my knees as I experience it directly from the source. I let out a long sigh. This is exactly the debate I wanted to avoid.

"Yes." I reply curtly. Hopefully a visage of stubbornness will end this before it starts.

"You seemed very set in your plan, but I wasn't sure even you would be mad enough to pursue it. You are a bit of an embellisher, after all."

She's toying with me. But that's... yes. Admiration in her voice.

"Embellishment is only justified when the basest kernel of the story rings true, is it not?" I say, cocking a playful eyebrow. She knows me too well. I should have known a petty act wouldn't end this. Not with her.

"In that case, I, and several others on the Elder Council, would like to extend their wishes of fortune to you."

My mouth drops. This was the last thing I had expected... Quit kidding yourself, old man. You didn't expect this at all.

Elder moon smiles impishly at my response. "Well, I see I still have a knack for getting you to gape like an amazed child." My mouth snaps shut and I feel my cheeks redden. She cuts me off before I can muster a witty response. "We also wish to give you this." My eyes widen as she produces a staff. The moonlight strikes the fist-sized nevergem embedded in its head, bathing the clearing in a blue light. My eyes travel down its length, noting the impossibly gnarled state of the wood and noting with further amazement how my eyes never seemed to find the same knot twice.

You're gaping again, old man.

Elder Moon, still grinning from my reactions, holds the staff out for me to take. As it passes to my hands, I note how comfortable the staff feels. Hesitantly, reverently, I place the base on the ground, holding it as it was meant to be held. "Felt the need to give an old man a walking stick, did you?"

You and her both know why.

A cloud passes over the moon and the blue light fades. We stand near each other, feeling each other's presence. We embrace, each holding the other as if they were life itself. No questions needed to be asked. No answers needed to be shared. No words at all were needed. The embrace slackens, and as the moon once again sheds light on the clearing, Elder Moon is gone.

She never was good at goodbyes.

I cast one more look towards the Chantry, basking beneath the night sky, and turn down the path.

Shadows and Mist

There are thin places in the world, places where the boundary between the sunlit world of life and energy and whatever lies beyond is little more than a thin cloth draped over the landscape. At least, that is what Inari’s mother had always told him, but here, in the Forest of Shadows, he believed it. It was a forest within the forest: a remnant of the old growth with a much newer wood grown up all around it. The newer wood held no mysteries, but this... this was something special. Geneva Prime was several hundred kilometers further north, but that was not his destination. The Cheldrun logging operations were closer than that, but they was not his concern, either. Not yet.

A perpetual dusk clung to the forest floor. The sunlight was a dim and faded thing; something there was in the shadows here that resisted revelation; something there was in the shadows here that denied illumination. A thin mist clung to the forest floor, drifting slowly through the underbrush, over root and under bough. Shadows lay across his path in every direction; deep, shifting shadows and shaken, shattered sunlight. A gleam here, a gleam there. A sense of Presence. Inari did not know what would happen when the logging efforts of the Cheldrun reached this part of the forest, but he suspected it would be bad.

Very bad.

The young Prill made his way through the mist, piercing it like an arrow. It took nearly a minute for it to close in behind and vanish his trail. Even as mist and shadows gathered menacingly under the roots of a nearby tree, Inari voiced a quiet prayer, hoping for Karia’s protection, hoping not to offend the spirits that haunted this place.

TeeShee. Were there really such things?

There were two Karian settlements close to the Forest of Shadows, a Zipsum village and a Gogajin encampment, but though the Jevuum were known to prowl the lands around the forest’s heart, Karians did not come to this part of the wood. The old tales spoke of ghostly lights in the mist. It was said that to see these lights was to know the hour of your death. It was also said that when the lights came, a wise Karian could make a bargain with the spirits of the dead. Knowledge could be gained, and secrets learned that had not been spoken since the world was new.

Inari was not a very wise Karian, but he hoped that daring would do just as well.

He came out of the forest all at once, stumbling slightly as a single step carried him through a veil of mist and shadows and into a vast clearing at the very heart of the land. Though the young Prill knew that it was several hours yet before sunset, here, it was night. The stars gleamed like jewels in the black, and an unearthly chill hung heavy in the air. Before him was a vast, cold lake, its waters glowing with a faint blue light, refracting off of the trees, and the brush, and the shadows, and the mist with every shift and every ripple of the wind. Mist clung faintly to the surface of the water.

He stared.

A pathway lay before him, great rocks rising up from the depths of the glowing lake, their tops serving as humble stepping stones. He wondered at the justice of it. Such mighty boulders surely deserved more than that, but there they were. In the middle of the lake was a green island. Green moss, green grass, trees with green leaves, a stark contrast to the purple forest all around the lake. A stone altar sat a short way from the island’s shore.

Inari stepped forward. “I have come seeking the wisdom of those who went before,” he announced. He produced a small knife, cut his hand, and spilled three drops of blood into the lake. “I make my offering. One for those who went before. One for those who dwell in the sunlit world. One for those yet unborn.”

The red of his blood seeped through the lake, colouring its water, colouring its light far in excess of what was offered. A red haze sprang up, and a voice whispered from the shadows like the wind through the leaves, “Go back. You are not of the ones we seek.”

Inari nearly dropped his knife. He had not until this moment actually expected that anything would happen. “I have come seeking wisdom. My quest...”

“Is not our concern. You bear not the Mark. The way is shut. Leave us, Fox-child.”

The red light began to fade.

“Wait!” Inari called. To have come so far and get nothing? This was intolerable. He stepped onto the first of the stepping stones, then the second. “Wait, you can’t just send me away! Elder Winter sent me on a sacred quest.”

The red light went out, and for a moment Inari stood in pitch darkness, only the stars visible overhead and yet illuminating nothing of his surroundings. Then the stars too faded, and he knew no more.

When he returned to his senses, he lay facedown at the border of the Forest of Shadows. The sun shone brightly, and the air was clear. His head hurt like it had been beaten on by a horde of sugar-high Zipsum. Groggily, he sat up and rubbed his head.

“Well,” he said. “That could have gone better.”

A change of perspective...

Sweet winds, that light is bright. My eyes struggle vainly to adjust the horrible whiteness. I try to put my hand in front of my face. I’m bound. Why am I bound? Whatever I’m laying on is hard… and cold.

Voices. Women? No, one woman. I feel a light sting in my arm. My head gets cloudy…

*blink*

“Mokuzai, I confer upon you the title of Guardian of the Song of Tempest. May you carry the lore proudly.”

“There are no limits to the honor I feel in being privileged to guard and pass on your lore, Elder Gogyou.”

“I know, Mokuzai. I know.”

*blink*

My body is on fire. I can feel molten lead where my blood should be. What are they doing? Why are they doing this? So many questions. I can feel my blood spattering against the backs of my teeth. I didn’t know I could scream like this. Somewhere in the far reaches of my mind, I jot down the sounds my grinding teeth, hoarse throat and straining limbs make. Somewhere in that garbled mess, there's a song. Of that, I am sure.

My eyes dart wildly about as I search for the source of my torment. Is that? No, it couldn’t be. A fox’s paw? MY paw? Tears stream down my face, leaving droplets on the eyewear of my tormentors as I thrash in pain. Sweet, merciful blackness consumes me again…

*blink*

“You think you can do this? I always knew you as a prideful rogue, Elder Mokuzai, but this? This is madness! The Cheldrun know only hatred and greed. Don’t throw your life away.”

“The compromise is ours to reach, Elder Ash. The Dusk Sages have gone. This is our duty; our task. The Dusk Sages gave us the tools. It is our responsibility to use them. We are no longer children to be coddled. The Zipsum are too fleeting and the Anakarix are too passive. The Gogajin prefer to negotiate with their fists, the Jevuum are too prideful to accept anything but total victory, and the Vorax, sadly, are too few to be heard. This task is ours, and I am making it mine.”

“I hope, for your sake, you aren't destined for martyrdom, Elder Mokuzai.”

“Do not hope, old friend. Trust.”

*blink*

I lay on the floor of my cell, barely breathing. Everything hurts. With great apprehension I slowly look down at my hand, and begin crying in relief to see the five fleshy, chapped, scarred and weathered digits I knew so well. I painfully assume a sitting position, crossing my legs and resting my hands on my knees. I begin to think. What were they saying? Whiterock? White. Rock. Why was it important? Energy. They were experimenting with its energy. They move things with the energy. Changing them into energy and turning them back. They were experimenting with this energy on Karians. They didn’t like how it responded to Zipsum, Gogajin, or me. They said something about more tests- wait. No, the tests with me were stalled. Why?

Someday, this sort of thinking was going to get me in trouble. Pfft. Who am I kidding? It got me into trouble already.

I still my thoughts, close my eyes, and listen. Muffled noises echo down the corridor. My ears begin picking through them: hard-soled shoes on tile floor, the click of Cheldrun weapons… my guards are restless… And a voice, “Inform the executor of today’s test. Tell him we have a Vorax.”

My eyes bolt open in horror. Of all the places for the sad song of the Vorax to be sung, this artificial hell of steel and stone had to be the most profane. A rumbling begins to fill my cell in tune with my angered breathing. Feverish images of a Vorax enduring the tortures they had subjected me to flood my vision. These Cheldrun have betrayed my trust, luring me with promises of diplomacy and then shackling me as a guinea pig for their foul sciences. They forced me to break my most sacred vow, and now this? It is not my nature to judge all by the actions of few, but these Cheldrun, these…. Goshi…

I rise to my feet as the Song of Tempest pulses through me. My limbs begin quivering with building energy. Indoors, it is but a pale whisper of an echo of what it would be, but for a former Guardian, one of the strongest the Song had ever seen, it was still quite potent. The roiling thunder begins shaking loose paint chips off the walls, begging to be unleashed. I hear the guards approach, roused by the sounds of the brewing storm. The safeties on their weapons make a pair of audible clicks as they round the corner. The air fills with the smell of ozone while thin ripples of electricity begin dancing across my body. Panic fills their expressions when their gaze meets the white-hot glow emanating from the eye sockets of my snarling visage. The storm lashes out, and one of them is left twitching against the back wall, dead. The other raises his weapon, fires, and a dart sprouts from my chest. The effect is instant, and I collapse unceremoniously to the floor as the remaining energy arcs wildly through the bars of my cell as it grounds itself in a final thunderous crack.

Terrible way to end a song.

Elder Winter

Elder Winter sat by the bonfire long into the night. The forest grew thickly all around him, great tree trunks seeming to peer down at him and his fire.

The other Elders were long gone now, retired from the vigil. Only he remained.

In his lap he held an elaborately carved wooden mask. Hollow eyeholes peered up at him. Silent. Empty.

Empty.

Still, there was a trace that yet lingered. A faint impression left in the very fiber of the mask that yet carried the distinctive scent of the one who had worn it, long ago.

Elder Winter was the oldest of his tribe, extraordinarily long lived: it was the nature of his Song to long endure the frosts of age, waiting for the renewal of the world that would inevitably come with the spring, when the flowers once again bloomed gloriously beneath the sun.

Winter had been waiting for the spring a very long time.

Still, he could not but continue as he had, waiting for the ones who would bring about that renewal. And though the one who had worn this mask had told him that he would not die before he saw those that would be the instruments of the world’s renewal, the old Prill found those prophetic words harder and harder to believe with every day that went by.

He had been given something important to keep for that day, but he was old. Impossibly old and unutterably weary. His bones ached, and he was nearly blind.

Still he lingered on, day after day, holding to the promise of the Dusk Sage that he had called ‘friend.’

There he sat before the bonfire, watching as the flames died away into embers, the embers into ashes.

When the last ember flickered out, the leaves of the great trees rustled in a sudden breeze, and the stifling, hot air of the old forest was lifted, if only for a moment.

It smelled like spring.

Winds of Change

"Something is changing in Karia Vitalus." The voice was an old man's voice, heavy with the weight of years.

--------------

In the great city of the Cheldrun, two bodies hang by a pair of ropes around their necks some two hundred floors up, lab coats fluttering in the breeze. A man and a woman, both Biomade. Though they were each attractive in life, death had done them no favors. Pale and bloated now, they swung like ghastly piñatas, waiting, oh just waiting for the chance to spill their gruesome cargo onto the streets two hundred stories below.

--------------

Far away, the sun rose over the jungles southwest of Matamos. Just above the canopy grew a single, thick, bare branch; thereupon a strange, sinuous shape rose with the dawn, lifting its cold, reptilian eyes to the heavens in silent contemplation of the wonder it beheld there; for one shining moment, a new star was born above those jungles, rivaling the sun itself in brightness. There and gone.

The Anakarix frowned thoughtfully.

Those who have eyes, let them see.

--------------

"The wind doesn't taste like it used to." The same old man had spoken again. We can see him now: he is a Prill, grizzled and weary, and there is wisdom in his countenance. "The flame that was sparked on the night of the bonfire skies spreads unchecked across the land."

--------------

In the depths of Geneva Prime, a Mechified dreamed of freedom, of revolution. As he looked down upon the body of his Biomade supervisor, the thought rang clear in his mind: ‘We are not your appendages.’

Those who have ears, let them hear.

--------------

A Zipsum raced from tree to tree, trying desperately to evade her would-be-captors. Her cheeks bulged strangely, ill-fitting around the data pad she held gently in her mouth as she ran - what she had risked her life in the Cheldrun city to obtain: the operational planning for the next great logging operation into the jungles of the Anakarix.

Hard metal bullets ravaged the trees around her, turning their trunks to so much splintered pulp, sending splinters flying in all direction: the sound of gunfire was deafening.

Pain. Burning pain. A spear-like shard of wood had lanced into her vulnerable belly. Biting back tears, she raced onwards, and soon she was beyond the reach of the bullet-spitters, and of the angry metal bees that they spat.

The shouts of angry Cheldrun echoed loudly in the woods behind her.

Bleeding from the stomach, agony racing through her mind, she ran on.

--------------

"How did it go?" Rei asked. She already knew, but it was polite to ask anyways. She walked down a corridor of light with another girl about four years her junior. There is both a striking similarity and a striking contrast between the two girls: Rei's hair is off-white and the other girl's is shockingly pink; Rei's appearance is neat and functional, while the other girl's is meant to entice; Rei moves with an unconscious grace, while Aimi's movements are deliberate and calculated, though no less graceful. And for all that, they could be sisters. They are sisters, actually. Two distinct variations on the same DNA recombined in slightly differing ways. It was like that with all six of them: genetic siblings, all of them. Three girls, 00, 01, and 05. Three boys, 02, 03, and 04.

Aimi met Rei’s gaze, doing her best not to giggle at the thought of her meeting with that young man. "You already know," she said. "You're the one who can't turn it off, after all."

Rei nodded faintly and said nothing, allowing Aimi's irritation to pass over her and through her, leaving her self unmoved in its wake. "Yes," she said. It wasn't worth it to argue over this again. She knew that the others thought her defective. "You..." she trailed off.

"If you don't say it now, you'll only mope about how you wished you had said it for the next week," Aimi said, wishing not for the first time that Rei's mental shielding wasn't quite so well fortified. She supposed it was for the best. In Rei's case, it was either intense mental shielding or near-insanity. Even so, it was disconcerting, not having ready access to someone's thoughts. More so in the wake of recent events.

“You like him.”

Aimi blushed. “That’s private,” she said warningly.

“Sorry.” The teasing note was gone from Rei's voice now, vanished like the morning mist beneath the heat of the sun. A pause. “Do you really think of me when you think of madness?”

Aimi caught Rei’s eyes with her own, blood red eyes peering into blood red eyes. “What’s all this about, Rei? You don’t usually take an interest in other people’s missions.”

"Because it is so clear, it takes a long time to realize it,” Rei murmured cryptically.

Aimi smiled bemusedly. “In English?”

Rei shook her head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

For a moment, the shields wavered. For a moment, Aimi caught a glimpse of a Mechified Labor unit, (‘We are not your appendages!’ ) and a desperate sense of... something. It was gone. She frowned. “What was that?”

“Goodbye, Aimi,” Rei said. There was a note of finality in her voice. She walked away down the vast corridor of light, leaving her sister there near the entrance to the briefing room.

Aimi watched her go, confusion writ large in her expression. She wasn’t sure what just happened exactly, but she had the distinct impression that she had just missed something important. “Rei, wait,” she called.

“Go to your briefing, Aimi,” Rei said.

Despite her misgivings, Aimi did as she was told.

She always had.

--------------

“I fear that soon this fire may consume us all.” He shook his weathered head, pausing more from dramatic effect than out of necessity. “The magic of the dusk sages must be recovered if we are to have any hope of weathering the flames.” The old Prill looked at Inari with a serious expression. “This is your task, young one.”

Inari stared at the elder, wide-eyed. His task. His task! Finally, after years and years of demonstrating his cleverness to the whole choir, he had been entrusted not only with a song, but with a Task! A sacred quest! He was not totally successful in keeping the grin off of his face. “I won’t disappoint you, Elder Winter,” he said eagerly. He did not notice the very calculating look in the old Prill’s eye.

They sat in a clearing in the midst of a vast, old growth forest. It was dreary, and the light of the stars scarcely penetrated through the gloom of the place. The ground was treacherous here for any who did not know it well: for miles around the Prill village, sudden rifts and valleys opened unexpectedly in the wood, and sharp rocks were among the least dangerous of the things one might find at the bottom of one of these.

“I know you won’t,” the Elder said. “For the sake of us all, you won’t. Now, have you gathered what we asked for?”

“Water from a well holy to the Jevuum (and plenty of mud besides), a berry from the stores of the Zipsum, an Anakarix’s talon, blood spilled after insulting a Gogajin’s mother, a Vorax’s tail feather.” Inari frowned. “Elder Winter, did we really need all these things?”

Elder Winter’s upper lip twitched, as if he were trying not to laugh. “Indeed,” he said sagely as he collected the proffered items.

Inari looked unconvinced. The two red-furred fox-ears growing up from either side of his head twitched in irritation.

They were needed, mind you. They would make the blessing much easier. It’s just that other, easier to find items would have done the job just as well. Elder Winter put the items into a small leather pouch tied to his belt. “Come, Inari. You have proven yourself worthy of the task set before you. It is time to receive your blessing from the Choir of Elders.”

Inari nodded, his irritation forgotten. “Right.” He thought about it for a moment. They may be doing this to get rid of him, but it was still an honour to be chosen for a Sacred Quest.

Together, the two Prill rose to their feet and walked towards the distant firelight that came from the outer watch post of the village.

The forest allowed their passage only reluctantly, barely standing aside long enough to let them creep through, and closing immediately behind them.

The forest knew much, had seen much. Though it suffered the presence of the Prill, there were few others that walked on two legs that it would allow passage. Wooden creaks and voices like the rustling of leaves raced from tree to tree, and the air grew hot with anger. News had arrived from the distant north: another wood had fallen before the loggers. Murderers. Axe-bearers. Creatures of black smoke and steam.

Even as the song of the Choir of Elders rose into the air, filling all the land around the village with a sense of hope and glory, the trees took angry council together. No, it wasn’t time to act yet. They would watch, and wait, and plan.

For now.

Prill

Singing Sorcerers...

Before the Night of Fiery Skies, the Prill were singers of the mysteries of the universe. Under the tutelage of the Dusk Sages they harmonized and categorized in musical notes the primordial sounds of creation. Their potential was extraordinary. Their music could literally move mountains. One day, they might have been able to compose melodies of planetary impact. That opportunity never arrived, however. What came instead were the Cheldrun.

The arrival of the Cheldrun was a mixed event for the Prill. On the one hand they are not without their curiosity, and it is possible that the children of Steel bring lore of value. However, this small good is far outweighed by the traumatic departure of the Dusk Sages and the industrial onslaught of the Cheldrun against the forest. For years after the departure of the Dusk Sages, the Prill stood in shock doing nothing, but the impending annihilation of the Vorax among other things jogged them back into action.

They assembled the massed choirs and in an historic move vowed, as a people never to use their customary animal form, a fox, until the danger to the forest was averted. Since then the choirs sent emissaries all across the continent to the other Karians seeking solutions to the war with the Cheldrun. Some are using guerrilla tactics. Some advocate total war. Some advocate peace accords, or concessions. All of them are using whatever power they have to attempt to stem the tide of Cheldrun expansion.

These emissaries have had only limited success, not only because the Karian peoples are so disparate, but because the Prill themselves are so distinctive in their mindset. Like the Vorax, the Zipsum and the Anakarix, the Prill consider themselves lore keepers, but of a different type. Whereas a Vorax or a Zipsum could tell you about foreign locations and people, an Anakarix could tell you about the nature of life and the universe – Prill lore revolves around the Dusk Sages. Of all the races the Prill have the most lore about the Dusk Sages, but they haven’t managed to incorporate it deeply into their own culture because it is so different. They study it like studying an ancient civilization or like studying angelology. The wise know they’re missing something, but they don’t know what.

What’s more they record all their knowledge in music. To a Prill songs are sacred, so using them for entertainment is heresy for a Prill. Their culture is complex and they have many superstitions and unspoken taboos which they teach through song – but they take a long time to learn, so newcomers are always offending the Prill and not knowing why, or bringing bad luck on themselves accidentally and being shunned. Those Prill who interact more with other cultures learn tolerance around these areas, slowly. Many of these more tolerant Prill also find a stirring love of instrumental music (which the Prill don’t have in their own culture). It edges toward heresy to enjoy it so, but it isn’t technically singing, so they think it’s okay.

Prill have human length lifespans. Culturally they make no distinction between males and females. Children are raised by the choir of descent. During adolescence a young Prill singer will be fostered out to a variety of different choirs until he/she discovers which choir is a most natural fit. After a series of rituals for entering adulthood the Prill is then inducted into the Choir and begins the process of learning the music. Different levels of mastery (called tails) are attainable within each choir, and tails confer status upon the individual singer. Society is highly regimented. Everyone knows their place in the choir and keeps to it.

That is, unless a particularly talented singer is selected to become Guardian of a Song. Each choir has a repertoire of songs that it keeps. They may be sung by the whole choir, but one singer is particularly responsible for the song – and to see that it is passed to the next generation. There is never more than one Guardian per song, in a choir. It is common for Guardians to take apprentices from among the most talented singers in the hopes of finding a suitable heir for Guardianship.

The Prill are mostly a culture of maintenance and tradition, but there is some innovation in them as well. Those who study the lore of the Dusk Sages occasionally make new breakthroughs, and especially gifted singers occasionally compose new songs, which become part of a choir’s repertoire. This is exceedingly rare, however, and it is not greeted with the excitement you might expect. Prill consider the new to be suspect and accept it only begrudgingly, while extolling the value of the old.

***

Players who wish to play a Prill should ask themselves several questions. It is my expectation that Prill player characters would be guardian of a song. Which one are you guardian of? Be very detailed in describing your song, what it sounds like, how it moves you personally and what you can do with it. Then select a choir that would be appropriate for that song. Obviously there will be some overlap, for example both the Choir of the Oceans and the Choir of the Elements have their own versions of the Song of Water. You should spend time detailing your relationship to the choir, standing within it, friends and family in the choir etc… Prill rank status by “tails” the highest ranked Prill in the world for many generations now have been up to 6 tails. How many tails have you earned (for what)? Represent this with Organizational Ties.

Appearance: Like the Zipsum, the Prill are ravishingly beautiful in their human form. Unlike the Zipsum they are not vain and so their appearance is somewhat less “by design”, though what they lack in cosmetic preparation they make up for with mystery. This is because Prill carry themselves as though always lost in another world adjacent to our own. Though they can tend to be grave there is a faint sense of humor in their expressions. The degree of “fox” in their appearance varies. Some have ears and tails. Some have pointed noses and sharper teeth. Some just send out “foxy” vibes. They dress in a ritualistic fashion to indicate their choral allegiance, standing within the choir, tails achieved, and knowledge of primordial songs. The elaborate gowns are a visual language to other Prill which most outsiders miss completely.

Example Choirs: of the Dead, of the Earth, of the Elements, of the Fauna, of the Flora, of the Forest, of the Mountain, of the Oceans, of the Seasons, of the Sky

Example Names: Aki, Autumn, Faia, Fuzei, Gogyou, Haru, Hazumi, Inari, Kasai, Kinzoku, Koudo, Kyuuka, Mizu, Mokuzai, Spring, Summer, Tei, Tsuchi, Uxinta, Winter

Example Attributes: Aura of Inspiration, Block Power, Companion, Energy Bonus, Features (appearance, perfect pitch), Heightened Awareness, Heightened Senses, Organizational Ties (choir), Power Flux

Example Skills: Acrobatics, Administration, Animal Training, Artisan, Cultural Arts, Domestic Arts, Etiquette, Occult, Performing Arts, Stealth, Visual Arts, Wilderness Survival

Prill attitudes towards….
Cheldrun	Alas, the children of steel are misguided and deaf to the discordant nature of the song they are singing.
Allskins	We share a respect for tradition with these people, but they have no sense of how their tradition is corrupt and doomed to end in catastrophe.
Biomade	These perpetual innovators are like fruit flies – in two or three generations they’ve lost all sense of who they were.
Mechified	We lament the cruel joke that has been played on these monsters. However, the destruction they wreak on the forest cannot be tolerated.
Karians	Weep children of mana! Weep! For we are the guardians of this land and under our watch it is wasting away.
Anakarix	Wisdom is in these tree-dwellers, though not the courage to use it.
Gogajin	Courage, however, the Gogajin have in plenty, but the only song they sing is folly.
Jevumm	The opened mouth of a Jevumm sings only of hunger and self-interest.
Prill	We are the oath-keepers. We will not avail ourselves of our animal-form until the forest is safe. We are never at home. We are never at rest. We have condemned ourselves to estrangement from ourselves until the threat is ended.
Vorax	The saddest song that can be heard in Karia is the cry of the Vorax.
Zipsum	These singers are perpetually captivated by the next song they hear. Their heart is good, but we must deal with them like children or they quickly lose interest.