See Author's Notes at the end.

xXx

"Very good!" Hir'cyn smiled at Rathde. The younger Hunter had finished his latest work in record time. This most recent was an illumination of Cetanu and his accompanying passage in ancient recorded myths. Given freedoms by Hir'cyn that would have otherwise been denied him, he had immersed himself in the culture provided by the ancient texts. He chose paper-and-ink calligraphy after mastering words on holofilm, and then moved on to small, iconic illumination in the old style, inspired by books in Hir'cyn's personal library. Hir'cyn was pleased with the slave's progress, although he considered him less a slave and more a companion.

Hir'cyn still had not shared his plan of freedom with the slave whose future he had acquired. Given him as a gift, Rathde had been at first angry and spiteful, but continued perseverance had produced an astounding student, loyal and eager. Hir'cyn felt that he could not have chosen a better subject for manumission, and yet he had a nagging feeling that Rathde would not welcome it. He was training the slave to better himself so that he might move freely through the social circles, advance in rank and make up for the time he had lost as a slave. And yet, though the ultimate goal was freedom, Hir'cyn hoped that Rathde would stay by his side, not as a piece of property, but as a respected friend. It was a friendship that he needed, Hir'cyn justified to himself. Especially now that he was the Matriarch's Consort.

The taking of a Consort was an ancient practice, from times long ago when the yautja were still warring amongst themselves. Only allowed among members of higher castes, Elders and Arbiters were permitted Consorts, as were any females. Typically a Consort was chosen from the same gender as the yautja who chose them, but for a female to choose a male Consort was not unheard of. Most importantly, the request for a Consort was a private matter between the Consort and his or her Benefactor. In his many years spent studying humans and their military, Hir'cyn had learned that humans also dealt with requests from the dying with equal seriousness. Here, he thought, is one place where we are undeniably the same.

"Hir'cyn?" The question from Rathde interrupted his thoughts. The younger yautja stood, his face full of concern. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Hir'cyn waved a hand dismissively. The slave had no idea of Hir'cyn's recent responsibilities as Consort, nor would he understand. Paya was immortal to him, as she seemed to all her subjects. Her hair was still dark, her eyes remained sharp, her brain quick. But Hir'cyn knew now that such effects were largely due to the Goddess' root in the Matriarch. She was well over a thousand years old, and her body was tiring.

That was the unspoken truth about Consorts; they were companions for those nearing the end of their life. The yautja respected and honored Cetanu; they called upon him any number of times in their life, but to meet him that last time alone was simply too much to ask.

xXx

Escthta rose before H'chak-di did, as he had for the past three months, though their presence at Thtarok's lab had not been required the entire time. Yesterday the sumcom had alerted him to a message. Da-kvar'di had called for them yet again, cutting short their leisurely week.

Nearly seven months had passed since the Council had awarded Cthinde his ship, the Zanna. Three months after that, Escthta and Cthinde met, possibly for the last time.

xXx

"The hell is wrong with you?" Cthinde paced the room, throwing his hands around as he spoke. He was angry, as Escthta had expected. "I have been cooling my heels in orbit for weeks waiting for you to get back on my ship so we can start the real Hunt."

Escthta was quiet; Cthinde was his friend, but he was not prepared for the information that full disclosure would bring. He would not want to know about Paya, or the endangerment of the species, nor would he want to think that a female, however powerful, ran his life. His pride might never recover. And yet Cthinde, more than anyone, deserved to know the truth. Embroiled in his own inner battle, Escthta did not reply to Cthinde's accusing tone.

"And then I get down here, finally, and find out you've been living in the Elder's quarters for a month, with this…human and you're holding regular meetings with the Council?" Cthinde's voice got shriller as he got angrier. "What the shit is going ON, Escthta? Why is this human here? Why is she more important than-"

"-than you?"

"Yes, than me." Cthinde's voice was hurt, and the pause he took didn't hide it. "We've always been friends, but now, I'm not so sure." The room was thick with the acrid smell of musk, although H'chak-di would never be able to decode its messages. Escthta sighed, looking at her, and then back at Cthinde. There was no way to make an apology that could fully account for his thoughtlessness. Every occasion there had been to rest, new demands were made of him. It wasn't that he'd forgotten Cthinde or their friendship, but he'd forgotten the passage of time.

Cthinde narrowed his eyes at the human and then at Escthta, a look of growing horror and disgust spreading over his face. "You're not fucking her, are you?"

Escthta growled a warning. "I most certainly am not!"

Cthinde held up his hands. "Just sayin'." His voice was softer, apologetic. "Used to be that the only thing that got you out of focus was the females." Cthinde shrugged, and then shook his head slowly. "I was kind of hoping you were, because then I could really get mad at you. Then I wouldn't have to be 'reasonable' and all the other stuff a Leader's supposed to be."

"What's going on?" Both Hunters looked at H'chak-di, who had opened her mouth timidly, raising her hand as a suckling would to gain attention.

Escthta nodded, but Cthinde rolled his eyes.

A brief explanation followed, and she smiled sadly. "So I'm the problem again."

"It's not like that-"

"Not like what?" Cthinde butted in. "How do you know what she's saying?"

"Not like she's the problem," Escthta clarified.

"But I am, aren't I? Without me, you'd be Hunting somewhere with your friend."

"I am satisfied with what I have," Escthta replied.

"You're satisfied with this?" Cthinde interrupted. Both human and Hunter turned to look at him.

"You're really okay with just sitting here and managing a human? No Hunts, no trophies, nothing. You're okay with that?"

Escthta straightened his shoulders, but didn't reply immediately.

"Paya, you really are." Cthinde blinked, stunned, and then looked at the human. He was quiet, his mandibles clicking against each other occasionally. He studied her for a moment and then stepped across the room, standing in front of her.

"A long time ago, I would have pushed you aside as something not worth Hunting." He paused, struggling with words that seemed out of place in his mouth.

"That was a long time ago." He turned and then walked to the door, his shoulders hunched high and tense. The door slid open and he stepped over the threshold. He speared H'chak-di with a glare.

"When you're finished with him, send him back to reality."

xXx

It had not gone well. Escthta had attempted to explain, but Cthinde didn't listen, his mind hardened against anything Escthta could say. Finally, he'd simply left. Escthta was consumed with guilt, and remained morose for the rest of day, irrespective of H'chak-di's attempts to cheer him. In the months since then, tests had been run on H'chak-di, producing no less than five poisonings that had put her out of commission for at least a week each.

However, the tests had also reached their goal; the perfect combinations of hormones had produced an ovulation in H'chak-di, but Thtarok had not been satisfied, uncertain of the results. After an unexpected ovulation, he had returned to reformulate the hormone cocktail and see if it overrode H'chak-di's now apparent cycle. It did, and Thtarok had withdrawn to attempt to synthesize similar hormones for female yautja, a cocktail that would stimulate the body into producing an egg and making the overtures necessary to fertilize it. Escthta, meanwhile, had become an unfortunate bystander as the continually changing hormone levels in H'chak-di's blood wreaked havoc on her moods. She varied wildly on a daily basis, and Escthta was never quite sure what to expect.

This morning, her moods seemed to have vanished; she ate the morning meal quietly, asking about the weather and generally making polite conversation, but the words were hollow. Escthta felt her focus instead on the laboratories, not the chance of rain. What would they ask of her this time? What else could they need from her? Her questions were desperate queries that he could not answer.

xXx

Rathde followed Hir'cyn into the car, settling into the seat across from him. His thigh still stung from Gthren's injection of localized immunoactivity drugs, though it had been several minutes. It was a concurrent course of treatment that had increased his recovery rate by nearly 33. The skin on the transplanted leg had been totally replaced with his own, right down to the pattern of his spots. His body remembered what it was like to have a functional leg, and it picked up right where it left off. His ankle and calf muscles had already responded, almost too well. His ankle in particular was stronger than it had ever been.

He had been with Hir'cyn for twelve weeks, and ten of those had included strange visits to a female on the northern edge of town. Rathde made a point of not actively listening to their conversations, and he knew there were times that Hir'cyn visited her when he wasn't with him. He could only guess that they did what males and females did together; the mating season hadn't had any effect on him in ages.

Hir'cyn nodded upwards at the building. "We're here."

The Library of Pthor'da, the last repository of ancient knowledge, rose tall above them. It was no match for the spires, but its exterior was deceiving; it was much more than the five-level building in front of them; a network of hallways connecting other vaults to the main building. The Librarians' dormitory was one of these buildings, a small two-level building behind the Library proper. A single Librarian was making his way from his quarters, and Rathde saw the habit, long and brown, much like the clothes he had worn after the surgery to hide his scars.

The scars were barely visible, and his own skin had replaced the donor's. Given free reign to choose his own garments by Hir'cyn, he had chosen a more elegant style than he would have before his enslavement. Over a more modern loincloth, he wore a plain wrap that was long in the back and belted around his waist; the hem hid the more visible inconsistencies on the back of his leg. His tress, rebraided by an exceptional groomer, shone with lacquer and hung just at his shoulders, a respectable length after the neglect of slavery.

Rather than decorate himself with skulls he had not earned, he went without, but for a few green and red-speckled stone beads on a leather thong around his neck. They had a satisfyingly heavy click to them. He was not without pride, and the few weeks he had spent doing physical training had improved his posture and upper body strength tremendously; he exposed both by wearing the old-style chest harness, an affection he had picked up from the younger Hunter Escthta. Finally, he covered old shackle scars with simple leather bands around his wrists, and he often checked them fitfully, to make sure the scars never showed. No matter how safe Hir'cyn believed them to be, Rathde could not quite trust the society which had bound him in chains in the first place.

The interior of the Library was a huge space, lit from above by a skylight on the roof, and centered five floors below it, a large stone sculpture of Pthor'da, no doubt done by one of the artisans in the South Quarter. The balconies were arranged close to the shaft of sunlight that fell at midday, the column of light only fifty feet wide. At this point, where the sun was high, the pale morning light lit the basalt statue, and the dark stone revealed silver and green flecks, crystalline minerals that had formed at temperatures higher than a plasma bolt. The boulder had been hauled from the caldera of the now-extinct volcano which dominated the mountains to the west.

Rathde was numb with awe. Grandeur there had been in the frescoes of the Great Hall, in the tales of mighty warriors, but here, there was only the stone yautja who protected the tales and stories, the histories and accounts. No friezes were needed here to recount battles; Pthor'da held out an open palm to the bound journals in his care, and let them do the speaking.

"It is impressive," Hir'cyn murmured.

His voice bought Rathde back around to his senses. "I see now why you insisted I learn my letters," he said.

"Mmm," grunted Hir'cyn in acknowledgement. "Without literacy, you'd end up right where you were before, once you-" and then he stopped himself short.

"What?" Rathde asked absently, still taking in the Library.

"Nothing. Come with me."

Rathde followed Hir'cyn to the lifts, keeping his eyes straight forward, directed at Hir'cyn's beringed locks. The lift moved quietly to the fourth floor. As the door open, the smell of old paper turned his mouth dry. Hir'cyn nodded to a Librarian as he moved through and then turned into the stacks. Rathde did not nod, and felt his skin prickle when the Librarian shuffled out of the room. Hir'cyn did not seem to pay him any mind, and instead selected a book bound with a red spine; the green stitches that stitched the papers together were surely original, and Hir'cyn treated it as such, using one dull claw-tip to move the pages.

At last, he found what he was looking for, and he held it out to Rathde, his eyes suddenly intense, watchful. Rathde frowned and glanced behind him and through the shelves, looking for the Librarian, but he was nowhere to be found. He lowered his eyes and began to read.

"In the Fiftieth year of Ysrog'ku, the following tribute was paid to Ysrog'ku Yct, by Wi'sgu and the Muan-Dtell, Peoples of the Marsh: 163 nok of cthert, 400 dro of th'lin…" Rathde read on, accounting for the fabrics and spices, animals and ingots that the capitulating tribe had yielded to Ysrog'ku Yct, short for Yu'dci'temuan, conquerer. Ysrog'ku had no doubt been an honorable warrior, but this was a listing of payment, of favors bought with material goods.

He frowned and looked up at Hir'cyn. "Bribes?"

"Tribute. A payment to insure against future… unpleasantries," Hir'cyn said quietly. "This wall is full of accounts such as these, of battles won and lost, the fortunes that moved from Clan to Clan." Hir'cyn leaned in closer and then whispered conspiratorially, "They counted every animal, every dro of marsh salt, every nok of woven fabric, but there is one thing that is not mentioned." Hir'cyn tapped the stiff paper with a nail. "Read it again," he urged, his voice strained. "What is it that you don't see? What is missing?"

Rathde frowned harder, looking over the accounts for anything he might have skipped.

"Slaves."

Hir'cyn and Rathde turned to face the speaker, a tall, grey-headed Elder with rings on his fingers.

"Ren'da." Hir'cyn masked his surprise and moved his arm across his chest, a fist over his heart; he felt it flutter and skip. "My Liege."

Rathde copied him, dipping his head over the book but keeping an eye on him, distrustful of the Councilman.

"You take a considerable interest in history, Elder." There was a calm surety in the Councilman's voice and it made Rathde's skin crawl.

"Too much interest," Ren'da murmured. He stood up from his casual lean against the end of the bookshelves, moving into the aisle with them.

Hir'cyn blinked, and Rathde stood stock still, and they waited for Ren'da to judge them on sight, as any Arbiter had the right to do, striking them down with a pointed finger. There would be no trial in the presence of their peers, no hearings from witnesses. Arbiters were judge, jury…and executioner.

"More appropriately, too loud an interest," he said, his voice lowered to a whisper. "Come with me. We must talk."

xXx

Da-kvar'di watched Thtarok pull the fluid up into the syringe with the plunger. A thump against the barrel, and he handed it to her, his face blank.

"I don't recommend using yourself as a test subject," he said again. His voice was filled with practiced concern.

"I know what I'm doing."

"Do you?"

"Yes. I do."

"I suppose you have summoned the Protector and his charge?" His voice was quiet, almost purposefully disinterested. Da-kvar'di paused.

"I have."

"But we have no success to show for it, no results." Oh, how carefully he calculated those words. They hit home.

"I'll make results." She lined the primed syringe up with a vein in her non-dominant arm. "If that sickly little human can take it, so can I."

Thtarok chuckled darkly. "My dear Lady, you don't give her enough credit."

"On the contrary, I give her too much." She slid the tip into her vein, and pushed the plunger slowly down. "Now, we just wait."

Thtarok was disappointed with Da-kvar'di's readiness to test the solution on herself; the mating musk would cloud his enjoyment of the human. However, if he was able to get clear of her before she produced it in quantity, he could simultaneously avoid the stranglehold of the mating musk, as well as fighting Escthta for the right to breed her, and a delectable fruit might fall into his hands unattended.

The door slid open as if on cue. H'chak-di climbed on to the table steadily, her mind already reinforced against whatever they would be doing. Her resolve awakened Thtarok's lust anew. She would withstand any torture he could put her to, enduring it silently, perhaps with only a small cry when it became too much. He would press her beyond her limits, testing that smooth white flesh with his knives until it gave. What if he dropped the knife and she picked it up? Crazed with fear, tears streaming down her blood-smeared face, she would hold it in her red-slippery hands and threaten him with it. And that would only drive him wilder.

xXx

Escthta caught the scientist's trailing thoughtpath as he entered the room; it fluttered freely, moving through the smaller lab like the scent of a dead thing. A simple glare toward the scientist cut it short. H'chak-di remained oblivious, and she looked up at him as she approached the table. "There's no tray."

"What?"

"No tray. There's no syringe, nothing." She sounded relieved, but a note of alarm had crept into her voice. She was right; the usual materials for administering fluids and taking samples; they were missing. It was not simply a case of a tray not being in place; the entire tray stand was gone, removed completely.

"Thank you for coming so promptly, Escthta." Da-kvar'di chattered pleasantly as she met them.

Escthta nodded slowly and then asked, "Where are the testing materials?"

Da-kvar'di looked at the human and then smirked. "Her usefulness is at an end. We have the hormones we need."

"We?"

"As a species." Da-kvar'di looked at H'chak-di disapprovingly and then clicked softly. "A pity that a human was needed to obtain them, but we have them, and she's no longer necessary."

"Have you tested them at all?" Escthta felt warning signals firing off in his head. Something wasn't right. Her confidence was oppressive, filling his mind until H'chak-di nearly disappeared. It wasn't only confidence, he realized.

Escthta narrowed his eyes. "You're testing it on yourself."

"Very perceptive, Escthta," she said in a dulcet tone. "I injected the solution into my blood just before you arrived." Her voice lowered and she moved closer. "I can't even smell it yet, but I'm sure you can."
Escthta stepped back, his confusion momentarily blotting out her increasingly aggressive mating drive.

"But we… during Council…."

"You're correct," she said shortly. "We mated."

"Then you should be…"

"I was. For a few months." The answer was short, but behind the words, grief and insecurity reared their spectral heads. This was why she was so eager to find a 'cure' for the females. Hers was one of the miscarriages the Matriarch had mentioned. Escthta was blinded with the image of a very small thing in her huge hands, a blackening green lump cradled in her palms. Grief, rage and hatred surged up, threatening to engulf him. Da-kvar'di grieved for her lost child, angry at the universe for robbing her of motherhood. And then the hatred, reserved for H'chak-di, a weaker female who had never borne a child. The combination was toxic, and it knocked the breath out of him.

"Paya," he breathed. "That's why."

Da-kvar'di, unaware of his sudden insight into her mind, chattered smugly. "You have earned the Matriarch's trust, Escthta. You're now doubly worthy," she purred, inching closer. She was producing the mating scent in quantity. Whether it was artificially induced or not, her season was real, and a warm feeling awoke between his legs, roused by an ancient response he could not control.

"Escthta?" It was H'chak-di, her voice small, frightened. Escthta realized, even as the thickening haze of lust began to eclipse his mind, that he had not been able to see her thoughts for several minutes. His teeth were gritted tightly together, and he turned to look at her. The scent of estrus made slaves of males, who were soon unable to think of anything but extinguishing the lust that burned through their bodies. There was no way he would be able to hide his body's response, but he would simply have to explain it to her later.

"Get out, H'chak-di."

"Get out? But where-"

"The lab next door. Go. Now!" he growled. The last thing she needed was to be caught up in the violence of mating. And yet, he couldn't pretend that he was not also ashamed of being unable to break the hold the mating musk had on him. He would make it up to her somehow.

xXx

Anise stumbled into the lab next door, wincing as a violent thud sounded behind the door as it slid closed. One moment, it had been a calm day, and everyone had been level headed. Then all of a sudden, things were heading in a totally different direction and she was being shooed out because they were about to get down to business. Well, she wasn't jealous. Escthta was an adult; he could do whatever or whomever he liked. She sniffed delicately, ignoring the sporadic bangs and thuds as they beat the daylights out of each other. If that's foreplay, they can keep it, she thought, and then moved out into the lab, determined not to think about what was going on the next room over.

She turned to look at the room. It was plain, but about the same size as the one she'd just left. Thtarok, the tall, thin scientist was in here, looking through a stereo-microscope. A few words purled off in a steady stream before he looked up and went quiet.

"Hi," said Anise uneasily, lifting a hand and waving it gingerly.

He chattered at her inquisitively, his voice indistinct. She'd seen surprisingly little of him since the experiment began, though she'd gathered he was the head researcher. He had yellow eyes, unlike the amber-green of Escthta's, and she didn't like the way he looked at her.

"They said they'll only be a minute," she stammered with a jerk of her thumb behind her, before realizing that without Escthta, she had no way of understanding him. His chitters and clicks reminded her of when she had first heard Escthta speak; her guard slowly dropped.

He replied in their language, his words still much more foreign than she had hoped after nearly six months among them. Her command of their language was minimal at best; the hardest part was the requirement of body language and noises that she did not have the physiology to create.

A screech from the next room over and then a mighty crash beyond the door interrupted her thoughts. The scientist, being one of them, must know what was going on, much better than she did. Indeed, the clamor did not escape his notice, and he trilled softly before directing his yellow gaze back to her. As many humans do under the pressure of an intense study, she began to babble.

"I'm actually thinking that today's visit wasn't for me. She was just trying to get him here so she could… you know…." Anise's cheeks flushed; sex had been a non-issue for so long that she became embarrassed at the thought of it. But he, as head researcher, had been privy to all her records and examination data, hadn't he?

"Well, I guess I don't have much to hide from you, though, do I?" She laughed nervously. The tall yautja was still, eerily still, and he parroted her chuckle back at her, though his seemed cold and humorless by comparison.

"I mean, you've seen everything, right, so there's not much mystery here!" His watery eyes were fixed on her, his pupils fine black points in an otherwise pale yellow field. He took a step toward her.

"Although… we haven't really been introduced, have we? I mean, not formally…" She trailed off, stilling as he advanced on her. Unable to communicate and growing more and more wary of the situation, Anise simply decided to try what had worked with Cthinde.

Anise approached Thtarok, not noticing the violent trembling of his clenched fist. She reached up and shoved his shoulder, freezing at the gasp that wheezed forth from his small mouth. His mandibles were twitching, moving independently of each other, and he purred, the same cooing sound that Escthta made when he was pleased.

He did not return her gesture, though, as Cthinde had. Instead, his hands remained tightly clenched, his long black nails drawing blood from his palms. Electric green seeped between his knuckles, dripping on the floor into a small puddle. She looked from the blood to his face, so calm and transfixed, and then took a step back, and he stepped forward, moving into the space she vacated.

"I think…maybe I should see what Escthta is doing," she whispered, her voice failing. She tried to slide around him, get to the door, but he moved with her, putting himself between her and that door. His fist relaxed, and he reached forward with it, cupping her chin.

"Hey, don't-!" Her teeth clenched, and all her words stopped when his fingers tightened, pinching her lower jaw. He purred something in his language, his voice deepened with a tinge of madness. His fingers released her, smearing his blood up the side of her face and into her hair, festooning her with bright green threads of gore.

"What are you doing?" All pretense of normalcy was gone now, and the fear bubbled up in her, spilling over on her cheeks, cutting saline lines through the bloody smear on her cheek. He hummed soothingly at her, but the panic was on her now, fresh and raw, and it held her with a vicious grip.

"Don't come any closer," she whimpered, horror-struck. Her words went ignored, the scientist almost totally cutting off her escape. She had to go, move, now, or she would be trapped completely. A quick movement to the side, and he was there in front of her, his hand reaching out and clamping around her wrist, lifting her into the air.

Anise screamed blue murder, struggling against him. She beat at him with her other arm, punching him as hard as she could. Her feet flailed wildly, but kicks that connected with his knee and leg didn't bring him down. At last, she bit him, hard, ripping at his skin, hoping to tear whatever muscle held her fast. He shrieked, dropping her in a pile of legs and arms on the floor. Survival roared in her ears, pushing her to her feet. Something twisted itself and bent wrong, but she moved through it, ignoring the flash of pain that burst on the backs of her eyes. She just had to make it to the door.

xXx

AUTHOR'S NOTE: An update within two weeks. It's progress. The title of this chapter came from the soundtrack to "Shadow of the Colossus", as did the chapter A Shadow Coming Closer. I heartily recommend both the game and the soundtrack, the former an innovator in gameplay, the second a sweeping orchestral OST that will move you body and soul.

Many thanks to Masurao, who has kept me company on the internets for the past few days as I struggled to move past 1500 words. Thanks and love also to Chocobo Goddess; companionship is sometimes the only thing which gives us enough courage to push on.