Chapter Three: The Curse and Blessing of the Bog
Year 203 of the 82nd Era, The Era of the Dying Lands; e82-203
Mid Spring
Savannah of Yellow Flowers; Mudsing's Bog, east side of the Yellow Petal River
Midday light seeped past the fronds of sickly trees growing in an unusually swampy nesting ground. It was a nesting ground claimed by a large herd-tribe of singer smallcrest rainseekers and Whittler crystalborn. The Thicket of Crawling Vines, as it had formally been called, had been their nesting ground for generations, but it had earned a new title in the past decades — Mudsing's Bog, named after the current matron. Over the past decade, the land had grown wetter and wetter. The survival of the large singers' eggs decreased as disease crept into the ever-moist soil. But, for so many of the herd-tribe, the Thicket of Crawling Vines was all they knew, and many, especially the older and younger generations, were unwilling to part with it as the nesting ground had been in their family for decades. While the land continued to change, the herd felt that Mudsing's Bog was still the safest place to lay their eggs and hatch their young.
One such father, who sported dark-taupe scales, a dim-sepia underside, a burnt-tawny spine stripe, and a pyrite crest, was feasting on water reeds. The buck sat back on his haunches and gazed over his shoulder at another dark-taupe rainseeker. It was a doe, his clutchsister. She lay in front of a bowl-shaped nest dug out of clay and sand and layered with dried reeds and moss. Within it lay three eggs, which she gazed at with so much love in her burnt-caramel eyes.
Through a mouthful of dripping wet greens, the buck managed a garbled, "How are they doing, Clayhum?"
The expecting mother didn't look up from her eggs. She just smiled at her clutchbrother's question. "They're doing wonderful, Earthtrumpet. Just wonderful." As she nuzzled one egg, her head jerked back, concern flashing in her eyes. "I think… I think they're already hatching."
"Are they?" Earthtrumpet swallowed the last of his meal and approached Clayhum's nest. Beak still damp, he touched an egg. The soft squeaks of a hatchling within reverberated through his beak, the noises just reaching his ears if he listened closely. It was nesting season, and there was much commotion around the two siblings.
Earthtrumpet nudged the egg, revealing a rather large hole in the shell. "They'll be out of their shells any moment."
"Really!" Terror filled Clayhum's voice as she looked at the egg, spying the washed-gold belly of the hatchling as they continued to force their way out of their containment. "They shouldn't be hatching this early. Oh, I hope they'll be okay. How did I not notice?" She settled in front of her three eggs, gently clicked her beak, and softly grunted at them as she had seen and heard other rainseeker mothers of the herd-tribe, including her brother's mate, do.
Just as Clayhum settled into bonding with the fawns within the eggs, her head snapped up, horror lighting her dark brown eyes. "Reedleap! He went looking for food. He won't see them hatch."
The doe sat up, looking around wildly, but her clutchbrother pressed his beak reassuringly into her shoulder. "Don't worry, Clayhum. I'll get Lycheetwirl to look for him. It's about time I watch my children." The dark-taupe buck strode to his nest, not too far from Clayhum. An orchid-pink scaled doe looked up from where she was curled around a clay and sand bowl containing two infants and an older youngling. The mated pair exchanged a few words and a look over the shoulder. Lycheetwirl nodded, climbed to her feet, and gave Clayhum a warm smile before walking away from the nesting ground in search of Reedleap.
Clayhum breathed a sigh of relief and settled back in front of her nest. She listened to her children squeak and click their beaks within their shells. She periodically responded with clacks of her beak and soft grunts. It was instinct to make those noises for encouragement and bonding with her soon-to-be hatched offspring.
Nerves fraying with each squeak of her children, Clayhum looked around at the rest of the herd-tribe, hoping to take away some of the worries about her flax-scaled mate not being with her during the important time. If Reedleap had known better, he would have been by her side, eagerly waiting for their children. However, neither of them knew the eggs would hatch this soon. So, here she was, without Reedleap, anxiously waiting for her fawns to break from their shells.
As she gazed at the wide crack in the egg closest to her, she desperately wanted to pull away bits of the shell. However, there was an unspoken rule among all egg-bearing creatures — don't help a hatchling hatch. It won't help them survive in such a dangerous world if they can't even break out of their egg. Some didn't follow the unspoken rule, but Clayhum would.
For now.
Another glance at the surrounding herd made Clayhum's heart ache more. Only a few other taupe bodies of rainseekers lay among the nesting ground. No other doe possessed the dark-ecru crest, nor did any of the bucks display the beautiful pyrite crest her brother proudly showed off now and then. A few other, more colorful bodies were dappled throughout, most of them mates to those of a taupe color. Either way, fewer residents were in the nesting ground than years before. It was because the rest of the herd, comprising of Clayhum and Earthtrumpet's immediate and extended family, including their parents, siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins, and many other relatives, had yet to arrive. The massive herd was still migrating from their winter resting place, led by Clayhum and Earthtrumpet's mother, Mudsing.
They were late, far later than they should be.
Clayhum hoped her parents and other siblings would have been with her when she laid her eggs and welcomed her fawns into the world. Her heart panged for the other gravid does within the massive traveling herd. Did they have to postpone having children this breeding season because they couldn't reach the nesting ground? Did the herd have to stop somewhere else because some does had to lay their eggs?
Maybe, she hoped, the herd found a better place, and a messenger would come to deliver the news any day. The Thicket of Crawling Vines had been traveled to for generations, but it was getting wetter and wetter. It was nowhere to have hatchlings, but Clayhum didn't know where else to build her nest. This year, she and her brother hadn't traveled with the massive herd because they felt it was safer to stay near the nesting ground this season. The land was changing, and even though the bog yielded fewer offspring every season, at least there was food to eat and some safety from predators.
This season, it just hadn't felt right to migrate.
Clayhum gazed at her eggs again, carefully listening to them. She nosed them, shifting them around when she noticed something under the twigs and dried reeds. She leaned in, rearranging the insulation to see the strange cyan glow. Her heart pounded frantically inside her chest, knowing what it might be.
Carefully, she nudged her eggs aside and dug at the clay and sand that shaped her nest. The smooth surface of a glowing cyan crystal stared back at her. She sniffed it. The only thing it smelled remotely close to was the crystalborn that walked among her herd for as long as the herd-tribe had claimed the nesting ground. And that smell only meant one thing.
Magic.
"Oh no…" Clayhum shakily breathed, eyes locked on the brilliant cyan glow. "Ge-Gentle Breeze! Please, come here! Quick!" Her voice cracked as she called for one of the crystalborn.
A woman quickly approached. Like the rest of the crystalborn of the herd-tribe, she sported long, delicately pointed ears that peaked out of her faded-flax blonde hair. Her grey eyes were like storm clouds, and her skin was a soft brown like the clay each rainseeker used to shape their nest. "Is something wrong, Clayhum?" She stopped, her features lighting in delight. "Oh! Your eggs are hatching! Wonderful!"
But as Gentle Breeze smiled, she caught the rainseeker's worried expression. "What's wrong? Is everything going all right?"
"What is that?" The doe shakily gestured to the glowing cyan crystal in her nest.
"Oh…" Gentle Breeze dropped to her knees, closer to the nest. She dug her fingers into the soft clay around the crystal and pulled it from the moist earth. Pulling clumps of clay from its smooth edges and smearing the smaller bits off, she looked at it in the sunlight. Gentle Breeze's bright smile fell as she took in the soft glow and cyan color. "Well… this is a Shard of Souls." She looked at the half-hatched eggs with a slight frown. "Nothing we can do about it now."
"Wait. What do you mean? Are my babies going to be okay?" Clayhum stared at her eggs in horror.
"I don't know." Gentle Breeze cradled the glowing crystal in her hands. "You know some about Shards, don't you, Clayhum? They are strange magical crystals found worldwide. They grant wonderful blessings, but sometimes at a terrible cost. Depending on the color foretells the blessing. Do you know what Soul Shards do?"
The Rainseeker shook her head, not trusting her voice.
"Soul Shards affect the unborn. If the young are near a Soul Shard as they develop, they will be born with a wonderful gift. One that lets them wield wonderful elements, like liquid lightning or burning wind." She rubbed the crystal, her grey gaze rising to meet Clayhum's dark-caramel eyes. "But everything comes with a cost."
"My babies…" Clayhum whispered, turning to her hatching children. "What'll happen to my babies?"
"They may be fine, or… they may have a small deformity. There's also a strong chance that they never hatch." Gentle Breeze smiled sadly at the doe. "There's nothing we can do now other than wait. If there's this much movement in the eggs, that's a good sign." The woman placed a tender hand on Clayhum's shoulder before she stood up and walked away, leaving the new mother to her fearful thoughts.
The sun rose higher in the sky, and the air grew more humid. Clayhum waited and waited, watching each tiny movement within her three eggs. Her mate still hadn't arrived, and her nerves were nearly frayed. As she clicked her beak and grunted at her children, she looked at her brother. The dark-taupe body of the other rainseeker lay fast asleep, curled around his nest, his two youngest children nestled against his belly while his three-year-old son lay across his back. Clayhum desperately wanted to wake him, to tell him the terrifying news. For all Earthtrumpet knew, his sister's children would be perfectly fine.
But before she could even rise to her feet, a loud squeak sounded from her nest.
Clayhum returned to her eggs and nearly fell back in surprise. A flax-yellow-green head had escaped the confines of its eggshell. Her first hatched child had so quickly broken out of their egg. The worry about telling her brother the news of the Shard vanished as Clayhum leaned down to greet her first fawn.
Tiny, hooved forefeet pushed away the rest of the egg, and the exhausted fawn flopped out of its shell. Another loud squeak sounded from the newly emerged hatchling as they looked up at their mother. Blue eyes, flax scales, washed-gold underside, and a dark-citrine dorsum — the infant looked like a perfect copy of her father.
"Hell-hello, little one." Clayhum nervously leaned forward, pressing her beak to the still-damp body of her first hatched. "I'm your mama."
The fawn stared up at her, giving another squeak. It wasn't long before she got her bearings, the exhaustion from hatching seeming to vanish as she gazed at the world around her. The small fawn climbed onto the edge of the clay bowl nest, her large blue eyes taking in the herd, the foliage, the voices, the gentle wind, and the sticky humidity. Her little beak chattered, and she crouched to leap out of her nest, ready to explore the world around her.
Clayhum moved to push her back into the clay bowl, but the fawn ducked out of the way. Her mother stared back, a small smile pulling at one corner of her beak. She moved again, pushing her back into the nest amongst her unhatched siblings and soft, dry bedding.
The new mother sat back momentarily and watched her first fawn sniff around the nest as the many names she and Reedleap had picked swirled in her head. She and her mate had talked about several names they liked, and even though it didn't feel right naming the fawn without her mate beside her, it didn't feel right leaving the hatchling unnamed.
"Rainchime. I will name you Rainchime." She leaned forward to nuzzle the rambunctious and curious fawn. Little Rainchime returned the nuzzle, clicking her beak in delight.
Footsteps approached.
"One made their way out of their shell?" Gentle Breeze commented as she crouched before Clayhum's nest, a bundle of dried herbs in her arms. She reached for the flax-scaled fawn but did not touch her as she turned to Clayhum. "May I?"
Clayhum stiffly nodded.
Gentle Breeze moved to pick up the hatchling, but she ducked out of the way. She chattered her beak at the crystalborn, unsure of the strange-looking creature. When Gentle Breeze made another move to grab her, she ducked behind her siblings' eggs.
"Rainchime…" Clayhum leaned forward and pushed the infant into the crystalborn's hands.
Gentle Breeze placed Rainchime in her lap and scrutinized the newly hatched fawn. Each breath passing through her lungs made Clayhum more nervous. When Gentle Breeze looked up from her inspection, she smiled, and Clayhum breathed a sigh of relief.
"This little girl hatched very healthy. And is very wiggly." She laughed as she held Rainchime in her hands, the small fawn turning circles in her palms. "She's a Shard Born, for sure. Look."
Gentle Breeze lightly ran her fingers along the fawn's right flank. A glowing, cornflower-blue line started on her right shoulder, slowly turning pink as it traveled down the length of her flank, stopping at her hip. Swirls branched off the line, covering Rainchime's entire flank. "This is Rainchime's Shard Mark. As she grows, she may wish to learn how to use her magical ability, but she does not have to if she does not want to."
"Magic…" Clayhum slowly shook her head. "My daughter is magical?"
Gentle Breeze smiled. "She has been blessed by a Shard, Clayhum. Any unborn child who develops long enough in the presence of a Soul Shard, be it earthborn, skyborn, waterborn, or crystalborn, will develop a strange ability. Your other children will be Shard Born too. We just have to wait a little longer."
The woman placed Rainchime back into the nest among her still-unhatched siblings. Clayhum smiled at Gentle Breeze, grateful for her healthy child. She nuzzled Rainchime before gazing out at the other members of her herd.
Maybe everything would be okay.
Rainchime watched her mother stare at the herd as the crystalborn woman left. She cooed, her stomach grumbling. After a long and tiresome hatching, she was starving. She sniffed at the dry bedding, but none of it seemed edible. She looked up at her mother again and gave another coo, but she was too caught up in her thoughts to notice her. With no attention on her, Rainchime climbed onto the edge of the nest and peered out at the world beyond. Through still blurry eyes, the flax fawn could make out a leafy fern.
Something fluttered across her vision—a pink and yellow-winged butterfly.
Rainchime's head bobbed from side to side as she watched the butterfly flutter above her head. It was too much, and she launched herself out of the nest. Rainchime tumbled, rolling in the loose sandy soil that covered the outside of the clay bowl. Barely pausing, she shook the dirt from her scales and ran for the butterfly. She leaped for it, but it fluttered just above her head. The fawn gave chase, disappearing among the ferns.
All without her mother noticing.
Rainchime leaped again, trying to grab the butterfly mid-air with her hoofed forefeet, but it was too far to reach. A giggle bubbled from her chest as she chased it through a half-rotten log. She didn't pause and took a daring leap from the log onto the soft sand. She looked up at the pink-and-yellow butterfly, but it had flown too far out of reach. However, something else caught her eye.
It was a fuzzy brown thing with a wiggling wet nose, and it was at least the same size as her, if not bigger.
With a wiggle of her behind, Rainchime leaped atop the rodent. The creature squealed in terror, running circles through the damp soil as Rainchime chased it. The creature only managed to escape the yellow-green terror when Rainchime bumped into a dark green foot.
Something lowered to her level and opened up, revealing a cavern of great interest. The hatchling placed her forefeet into the mouth of the snapping turtle and peered in. Just as sudden as everything had started, she was pulled back by her tail as the powerful jaws of the turtle snapped shut.
Rainchime just stared at the turtle, more confused than anything. The scent of her mother surrounded her. Rainchime chirruped in confusion as her mother carried her away from the creature. She was having fun. Why'd she take her away from it? She got no answers as she was dropped back into the nest. Her mother stared at her, a faraway look in her dark brown eyes. Rainchime chirruped again, cocking her head to one side as she stared at her mother.
Clayhum ignored her daughter, shakily staring at her and the other, darker flax body among the nest that Rainchime had yet to notice. All the doe could think was that she had almost lost her first hatched child. How could she have let that happen? One moment she was staring at her herd, thinking about her new family. The next moment, she was gone. If she hadn't grabbed Rainchime the moment she did, the fawn would be dead. Clayhum should have been keeping a better eye on her children, but her other child had been hatching…
Her other child… Her other daughter….
Clayhum stared at the other flax fawn whom she had named Creekfoot. Creekfoot wasn't the same shade of flax as her sister, but a dusky-flax, almost green in color. She also had a washed-gold underside. The newly hatched fawn sported dark-caramel eyes, the same as her mother. The fawn also possessed a lovely glowing mark, just like her clutchsister. Creekfoot's Shard Mark was brown and blue. It wrapped around her tail, starting at the base of her back and down the entire length of her tail.
But… there was something wrong with Clayhum's dearest little Creekfoot.
Clayhum's second hatched had been too affected by the Shard's magic, unlike her first hatched. Sadly, the hatchling had struggled to stand the moment she was outside her egg. Her right foreleg was deformed, lacking its' hoof or any other form of a forefoot. At the very least, the fawn seemed to cope with her oddity, and her sister didn't care. Rainchime had noticed her sister and sniffed her all over before initiating play with a wiggle of her behind. Her mother wasn't stopping her from playing with this much safer option.
Clayhum leaned down, nuzzling her two fawns, clicking her beak, and softly grunting to them. They responded with their own squeals and tiny clicks of their beaks. She smiled at them, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. She nervously eyed her third egg, which she had noticed had not started hatching. All she could hope was that it was a late bloomer.
"Clayhum! Why didn't you wake me? I wanted to see them hatch."
The dark-taupe rainseeker looked up from her fawns as her brother approached. Earthtrumpet's two youngest were still fast asleep in their nest, but his older dark-taupe fawn followed his footsteps.
"Sorry. I didn't want to bother you," Clayhum mumbled, hoping her voice didn't shake too much. "These are Rainchime and Creekfoot."
"Aww, look at those cuties. Two does added to the family." Earthtrumpet leaned down to nuzzle the two. Creekfoot gladly accepted the affection, but Rainchime ducked out of the way, a giggle passing from her beak.
"Oh, a cheeky one, huh? Come here and let your uncle nuzzle you." Earthtrumpet moved in to nuzzle Rainchime, but the fawn skirted across the nest. From the other side, she lowered herself closer to the ground, daring her uncle to try again.
"I pulled her from a snapping, shelled shadowborn just moments ago," Clayhum muttered, staring blankly at her hatchlings.
"Huh?" Earthtrumpet looked up. "Well, she ducked from death's jaws, all right. She's a lucky one."
"Ducky!" Squealed Earthtrumpet's youngling. "Ducky! Ducky!"
Clayhum smiled again, but it was full of bitterness. "Ducky…I like that name. Fits her well." She leaned in, this time, Rainchime letting her mother nuzzle her. "You're my little Ducky who ducks out of trouble just in time."
"You say that like it means something more." Earthtrumpet gently drew his son back before he could squish the smaller fawns with his larger girth.
"Look at Creekfoot's forepaw. The right one."
It wasn't more than a glance that was needed.
"I found a glowing blue crystal in my nest. It must have been there when I dug it out, and I never noticed it. The dirt must have been moved every time I shifted the eggs. I asked Gentle Breeze about it, and… she said it was called a Soul Shard. It's magical. She said that it can bring great things, but with great blessings come great curses." Her eyes fell onto Creekfoot, who stared up at her, not understanding her mother's words.
"Oh… Clayhum. Don't blame yourself. Any other rainseeker could have made the same mistake."
"Then why'd it have to happen to me? Why'd my children hatch while my mate was out looking for food, and the rest of our family hadn't arrived at the nesting ground? I love them, but…." She up churned some earth with a hoof. "Nothing is going right today, and I feel like the worst is yet to come." Her voice cracked as she stared at the egg that had yet to hatch.
Earthtrumpet pressed his head into his sister's shoulder. "I hope not."
"Clayhum!" footsteps followed the masculine voice. A flax rainseeker stopped before the dark-taupe siblings, sides heaving. His eyes, the same blue as Rainchime's, looked at his mate before turning to his nest. "They hatched! They hatched, they hatched!" He laughed and nuzzled Clayhum but withdrew when she didn't return the nuzzle. "Clayhum?"
"It's all my fault, Reedleap."
"Wh-what do you mean? They look healthy. The other egg will hatch soon."
"No, it won't. I should have dug the nest somewhere else, and it would have never happened. Just look at Creekfoot's right forefoot. This would have never happened if I had built the nest elsewhere."
"What are you…?" Reedleap leaned in, inspecting his daughter's forefoot. He drew back with a grunt, confusion filling his blue gaze. "This has nothing to do with you, Clayhum. This stuff happens every once in a while. It just… happened to us… It'll be okay. We'll teach her how to deal with a bum foot."
"No, it won't!" Clayhum snapped, shoving away from Reedleap, tears glittering in her eyes. "It's my fault that our daughter was born that way. It's my fault that our third egg won't hatch! And don't deny it, Reedleap, you know it won't hatch! Just look at it! Touch it! Smell it! There's no life in it. Not anymore."
The tears were rolling down her cheeks now. "I should have known that cursed crystal was there."
"Crystal?"
A soft hand laid upon Reedleap's back. Gentle Breeze smiled sadly at the grieving family. "Earlier, Clayhum noticed a Soul Shard under her nest. The magic of the Soul Shard affects the unborn. Some are born healthy, blessed with extraordinary power." She gestured to Rainchime, who was cowering beside her sister, blue eyes wide and fearful at the sounds of her shouting parents.
"Others are still blessed but must give something in return." Gentle Breeze shifted her hand to the dusky-flax body of Creekfoot, nodding to her deformed forefoot.
"And others… cannot survive the magic." Her hand fell from Reedleap's back, and she crouched over the nest, scooping the last egg from the clay bowl.
"What's happening?" The breathless voice of the orchid doe, Lycheetwirl, stumbled up to the group. She looked from her mate, then his sister, then to Reedleap. "What happened?" She looked down at the two hatchlings in the nest and then at the egg in the crystalborn's hands. "Oh…"
Still struggling for breath, she quietly ushered her dark-taupe son away from the happenings and back to her and Earthtrumpet's nest. "Come on, Mudcall. This is for adults only."
The fawn protested, but it fell on deaf ears.
"Would you like me to take care of it? Out of your sight?" Gentle Breeze asked, carefully cradling the egg close to her body.
Opposing answers came from the new parents' mouths. They exchanged glances, then Reedleap nodded but looked away to focus on his living children. Clayhum stepped forward, tears still wetting her cheeks.
Gentle Breeze took a small knife from the belt around her waist. Oh so carefully, she cracked the shell and chipped away pieces until the fully developed body of a rainseeker was visible. It would have been a dark-taupe buck with a washed-gold underside. Colorful swirls of blue and orange colored his chest and wrapped around his shoulders, foretelling the magic he would have been blessed with and the magic that had taken away his life.
"Algaetrill," Reedleap said. "His name will be Algaetrill."
He pressed his head to Clayhum's side, tears rolling down his cheeks while his mate sobbed. Their newly hatched children squeaked in confusion, not understanding what was happening. The rest of the small family joined in the mourning. When there was a moment, Gentle Breeze took the fawn's body, and they agreed to allow her to bury it.
As the family grieved for their lost child, the terrible news wasn't over yet.
A sharp caw filled the air, followed by powerful wing beats. A large grey skyborn landed on a nearby tree. She was tailless and toothless. Her dull wheat-yellow crest started where her beak ended, reaching beyond her head where it rounded off.
Faces still wet with tears, the three rainseekers crouched over the two fawns. Skyborn as big as this female, were known for eating hatchlings. Clayhum let out a loud, wordless bellow, but the skyborn didn't budge. She shook her head and reached for a tiny fruit above her.
"I eat not flesh, singer." Her voice whistled through her toothless beak as she spoke the grunting language of Leaftongue. "I am here only to bear bad news. You—" She gestured her crested head at Clayhum and Earthtrumpet. "Are members of the Greying Rain Herd-Tribe, yes? Led by Mudsing?"
"Yes! What news do you have about our family?"
The skyborn looked between the dark-taupe siblings. "You and whoever among the bog is all that is left. The Herd-Tribe of the Greying Rain has perished in the Dying Lands, where mountains breathe smoke and vomit liquid fire. They could not survive the blistering heat or the acrid air." She stretched her wings wide, ready to take flight.
"But… but… how?"
"I have already told you, Rainseeker. I bring news after the dying leader requested her last children know their family's fate." With that, the Skyborn took to the air while the family stared in numb horror.
"Why did this all have to happen to us?" Clayhum lay in front of her nest, tears spilling from her eyes. "First my children, then my entire herd. What next?" She looked up at Reedleap, the tears rolling down her cheeks.
"No. Clayhum, I will not leave you, and I will not die on you. I promise." Reedleap pressed his forehead to her shoulder. "I promise."
And as the sun behind them set, the two parents cradled their daughters as they grieved for the loved ones they had lost. Storm clouds drew near, a threatening rumble of thunder echoing across the land.