PLAGUE
by Obsidian Blade

Rage, Rank and Repercussions

They were well into the hottest hours of the afternoon by the time the raakinoi had finished the new ka'aan. The train of shiraari, their patients and their young guards sweltered as they trudged from the shiraan to the kabtaar's cave. Hurrying down toward them, Siira would have been miserable even without the painful cycle her thoughts fumbled through.

Delfiir. That was her title now. She was the only one in the whole tribe to wear it. Just the thought of Tziir's words to her – you are sharp, insightful, wholly deserving – sent a thrill of success through her.

But then his voice changed, weakened, and all she could think of was his clear disbelief as he announced he was still alive. It put her heart in her mouth. Tziir could be injured, she knew now. Tziir could even be killed. She sickened at the thought; this was the element of being a 'real kabutops' she hadn't absorbed before. This was the part she had never thought about.

She had to now. Her own personal legend lay under the sand: Jakinzaa, whom she had visited with casual, arrogant infrequency whenever she felt the need for a story. It only occurred to her now that the tmiirin must have had a tale of her own. When Jakinzaa had been alive, Siira had never thought to ask.

Her mind's dogged circling of the two shouldn't have been a surprise. Along with Zetaahn and a few of the other raakinoi, Tziir and Jakinzaa were major parts of Siira's life. Perhaps they had largely been towering figures of the past rather than friends, but that didn't change the way her thoughts kept dancing back to them, then and now. She couldn't stop them. She just had to get used to it: temper the surges of concern, fear and regret with memories of the two kabutops' strength and good character.

The delfiir set her jaw. She had new responsibilities, anyway. She needed to focus on those, for the good of the tribe.

'Shiraar Rinaari!' she called.

The short female stood to one side of the stumbling column, beside a thinner shiraar with long, narrow scythes. Both healers glanced up at her shout, one cool-eyed but tense, the other openly frustrated.

'Delfiir,' said Rinaari smoothly as Siira reached them. 'Our head shiraar and I were just discussing the kabtaar's proposed arrangements. Shiraar Zehiir is not entirely pleased.'

'Oh,' said Siira, 'Well, I'd be happy to-'

'My concerns need to be addressed by the appropriate authority,' Zehiir interrupted sharply, giving Siira a disapproving glare.

She blinked, taken aback, and groped for the deliberate assertiveness of their kabtaar. Before she could so much as open her mouth, however, Rinaari stepped in, her grey eyes flashing.

'As I have already told you, Delfiir Siira has been appointed as that appropriate authority.'

'Forgive me, but until I have heard it from someone a little older than thirty-'

'The kabtaar is injured!' the little shiraar snapped. 'Shall I go rouse him to deal with your rock-headed refusal to accept his ruling, or do you want to address this to the aashnin? She should be back any time now, and you seemed to get along so well before.'

Zehiir puffed up like an angry quilfish, scowling in pompous disbelief.

'Shiraar Rinaari, I am your superior and-'

'You are also wrong.'

Siira blinked at the edge in Rinaari's voice, taking an inadvertent step back from the quarrelling healers. She went to raise a scythe to intervene, but the intensity of Zehiir's retort curbed the gesture into a pathetic little wave.

'Wrong? When Kabtaar Tziir takes the raakinoi to war the shiraari will be left to look after the wounded alone. That means we will not be able to watch over them all the time without utterly exhausting ourselves!'

'So we exhaust ourselves!' cried Rinaari, her blades crossing and uncrossing fervently. 'The offensive will take two days, maybe three, and then our warriors will be back, the plague will be gone, and everyone we have sustained will be free.'

'Working through the midday heat may well leave us all incapable on the first day, never mind the second. Look around you! See how everyone is struggling right now. If the offensive fails, we won't be able to treat the injured survivors!'

'If the offensive fails, we will all die anyway!'

The raakinoi had been eavesdropping surreptitiously. Now the line came to a halt, all eyes fixed on Rinaari.

'Fantastically executed,' said Zehiir dryly.

Siira swallowed as the raakinoi began to murmur amongst themselves, glancing between Rinaari and the unconscious plague sufferers they carried across their shoulders.

'So,' the delfiir tried loudly, 'there's, there's nothing to worry about, because the offensive is going to do fine! The omastar, they're going to wish they never even thought of the plague! Hah!'

She brandished a scythe skyward and was rewarded with a distinctly uninspired row of stares. On the plus side, she thought doggedly, they were probably too busy inwardly mocking her to focus on Rinaari's doomsaying.

'The kabtaar's spokesperson,' said Zehiir grandly, before his voice turned sour. 'It seems you lack the kabtaar's voice.'

Siira resisted the urge to bury her head in the sand through sheer willpower alone. She shot Zehiir a look that stumbled short of nasty and tripped into sullen.

'That was my mistake,' said Rinaari. She kept her volume low this time, but her conviction remained loud as ever. 'I went too far. But this is a simple matter, Zehiir. Either you obey your kabtaar or you don't.'

The head shiraar gave her a hard look, his chin raised imperiously. Turning sharply on his heel, he strode away toward the front of the line, where he ducked his shoulders under the dragging arm of a struggling patient and helped him up the hill. The two females watched him go.

'Don't worry,' said Rinaari, as Siira frowned. 'He won't do anything to contradict the kabtaar's orders, even if he's trying to pretend he never heard them. Authority scares him.'

The delfiir gave her a sidelong glance. 'But you're not afraid at all, right?'

Rinaari paused, then betrayed the slightest self-satisfied smirk. 'Just because someone wears a title does not mean they necessarily deserve it.'

They studied each other curiously for a few long seconds. It was odd. Rinaari was only a shiraar, but Siira found herself wanting the smaller kabutops' approval. She raised her chin slightly, ready for any judgement, even one as derisively voiced as the attack on Zehiir.

But Rinaari looked away, ducking her head slightly.

'The kabtaar sent me to find you,' she said. 'He needs us in the shiraan before we retire for the afternoon. Something about...'

She trailed off, gaze shifting to the passing kabutops.

'Excuse me.'

Moving swiftly, she descended upon two raakinoi and the larger kabutops they held between him. The injured kabu was tall and broadly built for his generation, with heavy brown armour that carried a distinct reddish tinge. As Siira drew closer, trotting after Rinaari, she saw a stream of blood running down the inside of his right leg and off his dragging claws.

'Stop!' she ordered the raakinoi, who seemed all too happy to postpone their difficult stumble up the beach.

'Set him down,' Rinaari insisted. She knelt in the sand beside the bleeding kabutops as they stretched him out on his front. 'This should have been treated before anyone tried to move him.'

Her blunt scythes softened the tilt of her patient's head, brushing sand from long burns across the sweep of his helm. Siira stooped closer as the shiraar shifted her focus to his back, where an open crack ran across the base of one fin.

'All I can do is pack it shut for now,' Rinaari said irritably, scooping dry sand onto one scythe and wetting it with spit. 'Make sure you tell the shiraari at the top that he needs seeing to, is that clear?'

The two raakinoi nodded obediently in Siira's peripheral vision.

'This is Raakin Kaziir,' she said.

'Good,' said Rinaari. 'Specify that, then. There's a small chance a healer will know him by name.'

Good, good? Siira echoed internally, horrified. This could never, ever be good.

'I thought his wounds were only superficial,' she blurted. 'Why is he still sick?'

Rinaari glanced up from her work, frowning at the delfiir. Kaziir's fin was already sealed off with sand, the flow of blood temporarily abated. She tapped a quick dismissal to the raakinoi, who hauled him up by the arms and continued their caveward traipse.

'His armour shattered into the flesh,' said the shiraar slowly, 'so the wound was worse than it looked. But I don't think I really need to answer your question. Do I?'

Siira blinked at her, her stomach like stone.

'It strikes the injured, Delfiir. The raakin's heroics fighting off that carnivine could not change that.' She glanced down toward the sea, sweeping a scythe through the air. 'Let's move on. The sooner we reach the kabtaar, the sooner he can rest.'

The delfiir's innards twisted as she followed Rinaari. Since the fight with Niva, she hadn't thought of Kaziir once. Though no, that was untrue. When the raakinoi gathered to see Zetaahn off, she had peered through the crowd, hoping to give the tall raakin a self-satisfied glare. She hadn't cared whether he would even see it; gloating to herself was her only aim. She and Zetaahn had won, despite Kaziir's blundering intervention.

Siira swallowed. In hindsight, his actions had been heroic. He hadn't known the fight was a sham; he'd thrown himself into it believing in the danger. She should have been thankful. She should have been concerned.

o o o

Tziir's right scythe had taken to disappearing. Hunched over in the shiraan, he observed the phenomenon with a degree of apathy he knew was down to sheer exhaustion. He swung his head to look into the ka'aan he had just filled, and the blade swam back into being. He tried to look at it directly, and it faded out immediately. His torn lid was limiting enough; with his eyesight blurring in the other eye, he was almost blind.

There was nothing he could do but press on. Awkwardly he nudged a few palm fronds into place over the ka'aan's glassy surface, watching as best he could through his peripheral vision. His head ached like an open wound left out in the sun. What he needed was some time to rest – just a few minutes, or an hour, or an afternoon, or a week...

'Kabtaar Tziir.'

Rinaari's voice. Careful to mask his weakness, Tziir adopted his usual stance and nodded curtly as the shiraar stepped around the standing stones, Delfiir Siira at her heels. He felt the sweat running along the rifts between his armour plates, hoped they couldn't see it.

'Siira. Rinaari,' he said. A formal greeting seemed like an enormous effort, so he skipped it altogether. 'I apologise for keeping you in the sun even longer. But this is important. We need to ascertain whether the shiraan is really under threat. The offensive will add new wounded to the sick already in my cave. That cave won't house them all.'

'But if the offensive cures the plague-' said Rinaari.

'We will prepare for either eventuality.'

'But everyone's already been moved, Kabtaar.'

'Yes. On minimal evidence. I know.'

Tziir rubbed his ruined lid with the knuckle of his scythe. He couldn't even try to make eye contact with the shiraar; his gaze drifted to the ka'aan, and he frowned vaguely at the sun's reflection on the water.

'I would never relegate what transpired today to as dismissive a tag as minimal evidence, Kabtaar,' said Rinaari, 'but I do think that the effort involved-'

'May I cut you short?' he interrupted.

That direct sunlight was sharp; it cut through the haze of his left lid, painful against the retina beneath but reassuring somehow. He could still see. It was just a matter of removing the obstacle.

'Imagine the chaos had those creatures struck the shiraan with every patient here,' he said. 'That image should be enough to halt your doubt.'

The little shiraar neither retorted nor withdrew. For a second she stood in silence, digesting his statement.

'Indeed, Kabtaar,' she said, calm and accepting.

Tziir forced himself to raise his head for her. Showing the flats of his blades in appreciation, he looked at them both, aiming his gaze over their shoulders so as to see their faces. Though Rinaari stood with her head raised, a paragon of confidence, the new delfiir seemed unable to focus. Her scythes crossed awkwardly at her knees and her eyes darted around listlessly. His chest constricted at the thought of extending her day even further, but dispersing to rest wasn't an option. The scouting party could be back at any time now; when they woke in the evening, there was every chance they would be marching to war.

So he gestured to the ka'aan and bit back words of comfort.

'Those creatures were low-slung,' he said. 'Without moving close, they won't be able to tell if a ka'aan set up for midday actually houses a patient. Thus, this is all the bait we should need. We will hide ourselves in the Shiraan Rift and take turns on watch. If we see even one of them on land, the shiraan will be deemed unsafe.'

It was an imprecise system and he could see that Rinaari knew it. She kept her scythes stock-still at her sides in an attempt to hide her scepticism, but the lack of movement was telling enough. Tziir didn't blame her. He wasn't especially convinced himself.

'Kabtaar,' said Siira.

He looked up sharply at the unexpected sound of her voice and immediately regretted it. Pain cut through his head, and the disc of blindness at the centre of his vision flashed blue and black. He couldn't stop himself from wincing, but did his best to disguise the movement as a nod.

'What is the Shiraan Rift?'

'It's where the shiraari rest,' Rinaari replied quickly. 'A horizontal split in the cliff, cut for us by the djirnoi half a century ago, I believe. I'll show you,' she continued, 'but Kabtaar, I believe there may be a minor problem with your plan.'

The problem proved to be the opposite of minor and, embarrassingly, had everything to do with Tziir himself. Where the standing stones met the craggy wall of the cliff, a few wide, flat rocks had been piled to act as a step. A metre above yawned a long, horizontal fissure that, according to Rinaari, extended far enough back into the cliff to house all of the shiraari at once.

The kabtaar had to take her at her word. There was no way he could ever check it for himself. Like all the warriors of his generation, Tziir dwarfed the younger members of the tribe, and his plated body would never fit inside. His helm alone was too broad to pass the rift's low opening. Even Siira had struggled to squeeze her way through, and she barely reached his chest in height.

'Perhaps if you ducked your head back against your shoulders,' she suggested, leaning out of the rift to peer down at him.

From Tziir's perspective, she and Rinaari looked like disembodied heads floating well above him. It would have been amusing if he hadn't felt so desolate. He crossed his scythes in veto.

'Then,' Siira said, 'I could go and fetch another raakin to take your place.'

Again, the kabtaar's scythes slithered across one another and apart. Shoulders sloping, migraine building, he said, 'There's no need. The answer is obvious.'

'I don't like it,' said Rinaari.

He gave a defeated hah. 'Neither do I.'

'Then don't do it, Kabtaar,' said the shiraar, leaning further out of the rift to touch the arch of his helm with the blunt tip of one scythe. 'You haven't the strength. It's too much of a risk.'

Tziir was just too tired. Too tired to improvise, too tired to compromise, too tired to argue. Rinaari's objections glanced against his fins as he sloped over to the ka'aan and squatted at its side, parting the veil of foliage floating on the surface before stepping in. Already lukewarm in the relentless sunlight, the water lapped around his knees.

'Delfiir Siira and I will take the first watch,' he said, looking up at the younger kabutops.

'Kabtaar,' said Rinaari.

Tziir drew a long breath. He met her glare with a wearily resolute look of his own.

'Shiraar,' he said flatly.

Fury brewed in her grey eyes as Rinaari held the wretched remains of his gaze. He saw her helm dip tellingly as she bit back her words. Soundlessly, she turned and disappeared into the darkness at the back of the rift. Siira glanced after her, and in the brief instant when no eyes were on him, Tziir lowered himself deeper into the pool.

He hadn't filled his ka'aan in months. He had been too busy. He hadn't felt the press of still water against his flesh, pleasantly cool, or languid roll of each ripple over his sun-seared fins for so long he'd forgotten how good it all felt. It was a damn good thing and all, he thought as he sat back against the side, because the wait made them that much better, and he needed all the comfort he could get. If it wasn't for the sun beating down on his exposed helm, Tziir could even pretend his headache was waning.

'Tziir?' Siira said quietly.

He tilted his head until he could see her smooth face in the gap between the blurring and the blindness.

'I'm going to be very awake,' said the delfiir. 'I just thought the sun must be hot down there and you must be tired, so if you want to submerge properly, I can keep an eye out.'

She sounded as subdued as he felt, but she watched him for a reply with loyal concern. Part of him instinctively wished to object. He was the kabtaar, and one of the djirnoi class of warriors: the very best. He was– Bladesworn. The idea that he lacked the strength to last one turn on watch was unheard of.

But true. There was no point in denying it. Hollow-chested, he ducked his head slowly in thanks.

'I appreciate it, Siira,' he said. 'I won't stay down for long.'

As soon as his head dipped beneath the surface, Tziir knew it would be hard to keep to his word. The feverish, burning throb of his brain became an audible thrum underwater: still painful, but with the heat dispersing steadily through his eyes and into the liquid. He opened his mouth and drew in the water, enjoying the light tickle as it soothed his ragged gills. As he cooled, the blind patch in his right eye began to fade, showing glimpses of the world through each diminishing flash of colour. Relief kneaded away the knots in his muscles, and Tziir tilted back his head.

He had no intention of falling asleep, but time distorted as though he'd drifted off anyway. The only indication that he'd been down for so long came when he stirred the plants on the surface with the tip of one scythe. Bars of gold slipped across his chestplate, swirling into stars and shattering into diamonds as the fern fronds spun in the idle eddies. As he watched them he became slowly aware of the angle of the light and, disbelieving, raised his gaze to the surface. It was certainly darkening out there.

Reluctantly, Tziir raised his head from the water. The shadows of the standing stones had stretched so long they brushed the edge of his ka'aan, though the sun remained high enough that the kabutops would still be sleeping, were this a normal day.

'Kabtaar?' said Siira from somewhere above.

He drew in a slow breath to flush the water from his throat.

'I'm fine, Delfiir,' he said vaguely, glancing toward the Shiraan Rift.

Through the narrow crack in the cliff face he could just make out the flat of Rinaari's helm, lowered to the ground in clear indication of sleep. Siira, however, sprawled forward on her belly, her head propped up on the knuckles of her scythes. He went to thank her for her attentiveness when her blue eyes met his, furtive.

'I know,' she said. 'I just... I needed to ask something.'

Bemused, he nodded for her to proceed.

'I was wondering. Does the plague really strike all the wounded?' She lowered her head slightly, scratching at the lip of the cave with her scythes, and missed Tziir's inadvertent twitch. 'Perhaps some kabu are only badly hurt, and need more time to rest.'

Her eyes met his again, hopeful, but all he could do was stare. While his brief reprieve had pushed some of the pain out of his head, it only left space for everything else to file back in: Kognook, Shaaca, Jakinzaa, the tribe, his injury. He had so little time, too little time, and most of the damage he wanted to stop was already irrevocably done.

He forced his eyes shut, steadying himself, and held a breath in his lungs until he knew his voice would be firm.

'I'm afraid we've no reason to presume that is the case, Delfiir.'

'Can I talk to you, then?' asked Siira.

On the edge of her admission, she squirmed beside the slumbering shiraar. She didn't know what to make of the kabtaar's pauses, or the hollow tone in his voice. She wasn't sure how to help him, or even if he needed help: he was the kabtaar, he wasn't the one blundering from problem to problem like herself and Zetaahn.

'I'd go to Tmiirin Jakinzaa usually, but...'

She trailed off, watching the kabtar hesitantly. His broad head lolled against the stones encircling the ka'aan, both eyes shut. One scythe skittered over the surface of the water in a jerky permissive gesture. Siira flexed her own blades against the cliff, preparing herself.

'I saw Kaziir when they were moving him,' she said. 'I'd forgotten he was hurt.'

'Too relieved that your own life was saved,' Tziir said distantly.

It was the sort of simple statement Jakinzaa had always given, but the tmiirin's voice always held enough warmth to show she sympathised. Bleached also of his usual vigour, Tziir's words seemed flat and neutral. She swallowed.

'No. I don't have that excuse.'

Tziir made no reply. She rolled onto her back, digging her talons into the ceiling, and closed her eyes.

'It was my fault.'

'No, Delfiir,' said Tziir immediately. 'No-one could have anticipated Niva's sudden turn.'

'I did.'

She heard him shift in the water, and his tone was softer as he said, 'Delfiir-'

'I know because I caused it,' she said quietly, but with such force behind each syllable she barely recognised her own voice.

Slowly, her eyes burning, she rolled back onto her side and stared down at the kabtaar. He turned too, sitting up in the water to regard her silently. She could see the slight tremble in his limbs just as clearly as the concerned wrinkle in the flesh around his eyes.

'Kabtaar, Zetaahn really wanted to go on the scouting trip,' she said, hurrying through her words. 'And I thought, I thought you'd send him if he had a chance to prove himself.'

Any sense of the kabtaar floating off in his own little world was long gone. His gaze was intelligent as always, irrespective of the ruined left lid. He leant forward as he spoke.

'You risked your life to show me he was the best choice?'

Siira's voice was almost gone, squeaking from her throat, but her tongue lashed it on nevertheless. 'No, I- The idea was that Niva would just shake me a bit and Zetaahn would slash at her and she would drop me and run. She wasn't trying to kill me. I'd asked her to help me stage the whole thing; I never expected Kaziir to intervene.'

She didn't dare look at him, even as an ugly silence built between them. She didn't want to risk glimpsing hate and betrayal in his expression, even though a lifetime of kindly parents and benevolent elders had taught her well enough that no-one would really look at her like that outside her imagination.

'No,' said the kabtaar quietly.

Siira half looked up: a sharp, halting movement of her head that left her gaze stranded just outside the ring of stones around the kabtaar's ka'aan. Hesitantly, her eyes made the final trek, peering at him from under the ridge of her shell. Tziir's expression was cold.

'No, you expected your peers to be too incompetent or too apathetic to save you,' he said.

Her stomach began to drop.

'Zetaahn was not to prove himself, you were to trick the tribe. And you expected me to be easily duped.'

'Kabtaar.'

'Now Zetaahn is on his way, Niva is dead and Kaziir set to die.'

'Please don't say that.'

'But the truth doesn't seem to speak loudly enough without my voice behind it,' said Tziir, his good eye flashing. 'I recall you had forgotten it altogether, until Kaziir's state thrust it back into your sphere of interest.'

Siira felt set to wither up and die; she had panicked many times before, but this pounding in her chest was something different altogether.

'You're making me feel terrible,' she whispered.

The kabtaar rose fully from the water, his expression set like granite.

'If my words are touching you at all, Siira, it's because you hadn't truly engaged with the repercussions of your work.' He sighed. 'How can you deal with any of this while sitting ignorant?'

'I thought you would help me!' she cried. 'What do I do about it, Kabtaar? Is there anything I can do?'

Tziir paused. Though his limbs still quaked, he watched her steadily. Siira's stomach rolled, but her breath slowed and she swallowed thickly, calming just enough to keep from jumping down to pace.

'Please tell me, Tziir,' she said.

'Who remains, Siira?' he asked, his voice back to its low, even pitch.

She wasn't sure what he meant. Folding and stretching her scythes nervously, she said, 'Zetaahn.'

The kabtaar crossed his blades. 'Zetaahn is far from here, and the aashnin's charge now. Who remains?'

'Me,' she said, then: 'Kaziir. But I'm not a healer, I can't cure-'

Revelation swept over her. No healer could cure the plague, that was the point. For all her tactlessness earlier, Rinaari had been right: the kabutops' survival depended on the success of their warriors. Defeating the omastar was the only way to beat back the sickness and save Kaziir.

'The offensive,' she said, breathless with relief. 'I save him with the offensive.'

'Delfiir.' Tziir's voice was steely once again. 'You must speak with him.'

She froze, the start of a smile fading away.

'Now?' she asked. 'While he's still sick?'

The kabtaar nodded, and she struggled to find the reason why. Her mind ran over his earlier words, about ignorance and engaging with the reality of her actions.

'You want me to tell him the truth,' she said. 'Then I'll have faced it. I won't have to worry about him dying for a lie. That's brilliant!'

'No.'

Again, Tziir's voice cut through her rising relief, sharp with his conviction. Flat brutality and his brief return to relative calm were long gone. She started at the change.

'You are not the one dying,' he said. 'Your feelings have already doomed him once. His take precedence now.'

'But... he might die without knowing the truth,' she persisted.

'And what makes your truth more important than his?'

When she stared, uncomprehending, he continued.

'Raakin Kaziir gave his life for you,' said the kabtaar. 'Tell me how anything matters more than that.'

'I thought knowing what really happened would.'

Tziir's expression only hardened at her words. He swatted at the air irritably, kneeling back down in the ka'aan.

'Why did you tell me any of this, Siira? Do you want me to forgive you, so your conscience sits clear?'

'I want to,' she started, but no grand purpose leapt to mind, only the fading certainty that every problem became easy to overcome as soon as she'd passed it to someone else. But that sounded so selfish – that couldn't be the only reason. She was better than that. 'I want to...'

'Tell me your decision was incorrect? That I shouldn't expect the scouting party back at all, having sent Zetaahn?' Tziir's eyes were on her again, and she saw something beyond his relentless slant: angry desperation.

'No!' she snarled back nevertheless, rallying for Zetaahn as she couldn't for herself. 'He was the best raakin to send. I know that, at least. I'm sure of it. He's one of the strongest and he has ambition, ambition the others don't. The sort of ambition that makes you succeed.'

'Then what is it, Delfiir?' asked the kabtaar. 'If not your atonement and if not a word of warning, what?'

'I want to...'

She thought of Kaziir hanging unconscious between his bearers, his whole body slack, as though he was already dead.

'I want to help Kaziir,' she said.

'Then you must go to him.'

The image twisted into the memory of the other raakin's blood splattering across the sand as Niva struck him. Kaziir screamed, struggling to escape, and the grass type forced him down. All while Siira was only a few scythes away, hesitating.

'I can't!' she cried, starting up and cracking her head on the ceiling of the rift. She collapsed in surprise, but her tirade continued. 'He's dying because of me. Why would he want to see me at all? He won't! He'll hate me! He'll hate at me.'

'Then you will bear it,' said Tziir. 'Don't you think you owe him that much?'

'If he hadn't screwed up the plan-' she said bitterly.

'Delfiir!'

She ducked away from the edge, back in the rift where he couldn't follow her, and curled up. It had to be Kaziir's fault; if it wasn't, that made it-

A pair of grey eyes regarded her through the gloom. Rinaari was still lying down, but from the intensity of her glare, it was clear she had been awake long enough.

'Rinaari,' said Siira, as the blame finally settled into her bones, 'I didn't mean to hurt him.'

'Clearly, delfiir,' said the shiraar, 'and it seems your utter selflessness continues to this very moment.'

'I'm sorry,' Siira said, curving her body away from Rinaari and, in doing so, pushing her head back to the edge, 'I didn't mean to say that. It wasn't what I meant...'

Slowly, she processed the scene below. The kabtaar's attention was still trained on her. He stood half in and half out of the ka'aan, the talons of his right foot digging into the dry floor of the shiraan, the left hidden beneath the water. The parasites crowded every gap in the standing stones, watching him through their glassy eyes. Their claws opened and shut slowly, silently, more of an idle twitch than an attempt to be threatening. They stood still as rock.

This time, she did not delay. Siira sprang from the rift, landing heavily beside Tziir and swiftly bending into a defensive stance. For a split second the kabtaar moved as though expecting her to attack him, but she heard his vengeful hiss as he spied the creatures, and his stance shifted appropriately.

'By the Bladesworn,' said Rinaari from the rift, 'they're all around you.'

'But making no move to attack,' said Siira. 'I'm not sure how long they were there...'

'No,' said the shiraar, 'too distracted.'

The threat all around them muffled Rinaari's barb somewhat, but Siira glanced up at her for a split-second anyway. The healer wasn't even looking at her; she leapt awkwardly from the rift to the top of a nearby standing stone. Her talons scrabbled at the rock for purchase before she settled herself, birdlike, at the peak.

'They're on the other side as well,' she reported, 'mostly by the sea. The path looks clear.'

'But they could still be in the water,' said Siira.

She looked to the kabtaar for a plan just as the larger kabutops stepped forward toward the parasites. His colossal helm held defensively low, scythes at the ready, he advanced sideways like a krabby, each step slow and cautious.

'Kabtaar-' she started.

'Stay where you are,' he said. 'They haven't hurt you yet.'

His flawed logic wasn't what stopped Siira from following Tziir. It was the sight of their enemies, slowly edging away from the kabtaar as he stepped toward them. This wasn't a retreat; they weren't racing for the safety of the water. It reminded her more of the behaviour of a defensive duellist, maintaining a calculated distance between scythe and foe.

'They're waiting for something,' she said aloud.

Tziir lashed out suddenly with his right blade: not a proper strike, as that would leave him fully extended and vulnerable, but enough to send the closest parasites skittering out of the way. They hurried straight back to their original positions as soon as the kabtaar's scythe returned to his side.

'Ri-riiiiith,' one trilled.

A dozen voices rose in reply, chirping and growling, as tiny claws opened and shut and eyes waved on stalks. Siira moved to Tziir's flank, delivering a warning slash toward the first monster to speak, and the group shifted further away again, all eyes on her. The kabtaar's elbow clipped her shoulder.

'To the path,' he said, 'slowly.'

Together they stepped backward, scythes twitching to ward off their foes, until they were level with Rinaari's stone.

'The water still looks clear,' she said.

'Delfiir,' said Tziir, 'go first. Shiraar, follow on right behind her.'

Leaving the kabtaar to face down even this fraction of the full swarm put an angry hiss in Siira's throat. She aimed it at the creatures, wishing they would run at the sound, but forced herself to turn about when they failed to react. The path back to the bay looked thinner than ever as she looked on it now, barely wide enough to admit a single kabutops. Though the tide wasn't fully in, the water lapped at the stone a mere half-scythe down, and the more powerful flurries sent foam plumes up onto the rock. Who knew how high the parasites could jump.

Blades ready, she risked a step out from between the standing stones. The swarm creaked and clattered behind her, but all was silent ahead. Rinaari landed heavily behind her, shards of rock and dislodged algae glancing off the path and into the water.

'Move,' said the shiraar.

Siira took a deep breath. The raakinoi had been told time and time again to move slowly when advancing on an unknown threat: locate the foe and maintain a strong position, because a kabutops only loses when caught mid-leap, mid-stride, mid-strike. After the fight over the kiteraan, she disregarded it all. Talons digging into the stone, she barrelled forward, heart jumping with every splash of waves against the cliffside.

'Delfiir, move slowly!' called the kabtaar.

Rinaari had been quick to follow, but Tziir had continued his slow retreat. As soon as Siira reached the beach she looked back; the towering kabtaar was stumbling backward awkwardly as he tried to close the gap between them without turning his back and letting down his guard. Rinaari stopped at Siira's side, blunt scythes slicing the air in alarm.

'Just run!' she cried.

'If they reach us, if that swarm hits us again, it won't matter where our scythes are!'

Tziir let out a furious hiss. 'We're kabutops!'

He lunged forward suddenly, smashing one of the parasites against the ground with the flat of his scythe. His progress frozen halfway to the shore, he lashed out at his trilling entourage, batting three more into the water and cutting another clean through. The hiss hadn't stopped. It grew as he hacked at the creatures again and they darted over one another to escape; there was a recklessness to the kabtaar's strikes Siira had never witnessed before, a trembling fury that seemed to have overridden his earlier strategy.

'Go and help him!' Rinaari snarled. 'We can't lose him, not now.'

'I can't,' said Siira. 'There's no space. I can't get at them around him, I-'

There was blood in the water from the few casualties the kabtaar had inflicted, but that sharper, more defined splotch of red hanging just beneath the surface caught the delfiir's eye anyway.

'...They're in the water,' she said distantly, before drawing in breath.

'They're in the water!' both females called together.

Rinaari shot a concentrated plume into the carapace of the first one to break the surface, but it was the impact of the second against Tziir's leg that seemed to draw the kabtaar from his bloodlust. Blue eyes flashing, he wheeled suddenly around and charged toward the beach. Siira and Rinaari barely had time to jump out of the way; as he passed they raced after him, looking back only to ascertain the creatures weren't following. And they weren't. When the kabutops finally stopped, right at the base of the sand dunes, their pursuers were nothing more than a line of watchful blue carapaces in the surf and, one by one, they slowly turned and let the tide carry them back out to sea.

The shiraan was lost.