"YOU WILL DREAM OF TEETH AND NOTHING ELSE" - Voidfang Vestments
"Eat."
The dead hare landed with a plop at Meren's feet. The creature's neck was twisted at an unnatural angle, head lolling to the side. Motionless, its glassy eyes stared up at her, its mouth hanging slack in a final expression of terror.
She wrinkled her nose at it, then glanced up.
Chiisori was watching her expectantly.
"This one is fat, the life-blood still warm," he assured her. "It will sate your hunger."
A moment passed.
"No hunger," Meren lied.
In truth, she was ravenous. They'd been traveling for almost ten hours, and she'd not had a thing to eat or drink since she'd left the City. But she couldn't possibly eat the raw carcass Chiisori offered. Just the sight of it made her queasy.
Chiisori didn't seem convinced. He made a guttural sound in the back of his throat, the equivalent of an exasperated sigh, and bent down. Taking the hare's legs in his secondary pair of hands, he pulled it open helpfully, spilling its entrails out onto the concrete floor.
Meren blanched.
"Your strength fades, Merrin Haale, the Professor," Chiisori insisted, shoving the carcass back in her direction. "You become slow, easily winded. Eat. Regain your vigor."
The rank smell of viscera hit her nose, and it was all Meren could do to hold back a gag.
Thankfully, Chiisori didn't notice. He rose, brushing his secondary hands together.
"We resume at sundown," he said, then stalked away to join the others, who were busy kindling a fire on the far side of the room.
Too drained to argue, Meren just watched him go. When he was out of earshot, she sighed and turned her attention back to the hare.
With its guts strewn about and blood congealing on the floor, it had become even less appetizing than before. What was worse, its vacant eyes still managed to be fixed on her, boring straight into her soul, silently accusing her of its senseless murder.
It didn't make her feel guilty, exactly, but the longer it stared back, the more uncomfortable she became.
With a grimace, she nudged the hare with her boot, rolling it over so it was face-down in its own innards. It was hardly an ideal solution, but at least she didn't have to see it staring at her anymore.
Tucking her knees into her chest and resting her chin on her folded arms, Meren turned her attention back to the Eliksni. Yriik was hard at work arranging a pile of wood for the fire, his single arm and opposing stump working with a determined intensity. Kosis hovered nearby, keeping a close eye on the proceedings and an even closer eye on the Scorch Cannon clutched in her claws. The others were scattered a safe distance away around the periphery, some leaning against the wall, others crouched, their eyes closed and chins tucked to their chests.
None of them paid her any mind.
It had been that way since they'd left the church. From the moment they filed out of the building, the Eliksni had been strangely wary of her, careful to keep their distance and more cautious still to not meet her gaze for more than a split second. It was as if she was some kind of pariah. The very sight of which pained their eyes.
Chiisori had been the only exception, and even he'd seemed reluctant. His interactions with her had been formal and few. Even as he'd bundled her aboard his Pike, tearing a strip of fabric from his waist cloth and cinching it over her eyes, he'd uttered little more than a curt apology, followed by a promise that her blindness was temporary and would be remedied once they reached their destination.
Wherever that was.
The six-hour Pike ride that followed had been harrowing. Meren had spent the majority of it in a blind panic, gripping the sides of the machine's hull with white knuckles and fighting back the urge to vomit. Her terror had been only slightly assuaged by the fact that Chiisori was behind her, his primary hands on the controls, his secondary ones bracketing her torso and offering her some small measure of stability. The caliber of his piloting, however, had left much to be desired.
After being jostled about, thrown sideways, and nearly flung from the Pike's seat a half-dozen times, the convoy had finally come to a grinding halt. Her vision had been restored shortly after, though the sight that greeted her had done little to give her any bearings.
They'd stopped at the edge of a craggy ravine, a sheer drop of some ten or fifteen meters. At the bottom had lain the skeleton of an old road, the asphalt fractured and crumbling. There had been nothing remarkable about the location other than a thick copse of trees a short way off. It was in their shadows that the crew had stashed their Pikes, covering them with a scent few scattercloth cloaks and brush until they were all but invisible.
From there, Chiisori had beckoned the crew to follow, leading the way along the ravine's edge for an hour before veering off, following the slope down toward the bottom. The terrain had been rough, and Meren had needed to make the descent in fits and starts, clambering across the rocks and picking her way along uneven ground in the dark, careful to keep her footing. The Eliksni had found the trip far more manageable, skittering along with effortless ease, alternating between two and six limbs, depending on the gradient. Even one-armed Yriik had succeeded in navigating the slope in a quarter of the time it had taken her.
Eventually, they'd reached the base of the ravine. A kilometer further, they'd come upon an ancient concrete tunnel. The back half had collapsed, leaving only one end open, its mouth partially obstructed by a large chunk of fallen rubble. Just as the first light of dawn had begun to streak across the sky, the twelve Kings and single, lone human had ducked inside.
There, the Eliksni had taken up residence, making camp in the relative safety of the tunnel's interior.
And that was where Meren sat, watching them warily from her esteemed place against the wall.
Her eyes drifted to the tunnel's opening. Outside, the world had grown bright and warm. The occasional morning breeze wafted in, carrying with it the damp scent of petrichor. Tired as she was, for a moment, Meren wanted nothing more than to wander outside and bask in the sunlight after their long, arduous trek through the night.
But Chiisori had instructed her to stay put, and it wasn't like she had much choice.
At the mouth of the tunnel, Nyvis stood guard, Wire Rifle cradled in their upper set of arms. Apart from Chiisori, they were the only Eliksni in the group who had dared look at her since they'd arrived. Every so often, Nyvis would slink forward, scanning the area outside before scuttling back to their post, two eyes remaining trained on Meren the entire time as if she were somehow the threat and not the other way around.
Meren pulled her eyes from Nyvis and turned her attention to a small, cylindrical device resting on the floor near the entrance. Chiisori had planted it there shortly after arriving, saying nothing when she'd first inquired about it. Once the object had started crackling and emitting a series of sharp, staccato clicks, the Captain had given her a firm warning not to go anywhere near it, but not before vaguely explaining it was a silence-maker, a type of acoustic disruption device meant to mask their presence from anyone that might pass by outside. A clever bit of tech, and one that hadn't featured in the data files Variks had given her. She desperately wanted a closer look at it.
Meren was still contemplating how to manage a better inspection when an abrupt whirring drew her attention. The noise rose in pitch until it was a shrill ringing, then cut out just as quickly as it had come, replaced by a thunderous boom that echoed throughout the tunnel.
Meren's head jerked in the direction of the sound. Across the tunnel, Kosis was holding her Scorch Cannon aloft, the smoking end pointed skyward. Meanwhile, Yriik's pyre had burst into flames, sending a flurry of sparks dancing upward into the air. The Dreg himself had fallen back, patting out a smoldering patch of his cloak, while Kosis looked on with an almost smug satisfaction.
The whole group erupted into a flurry of chirps and chuffs, which were punctuated by a single, loud snort from Chiisori.
With that, the Eliksni began settling in, arranging themselves around the fire, their voices mingling in a muted, unintelligible thrum.
Humans would have done the same thing had they been in a similar situation. Only, there would have been laughter instead of chirrups and trills. A Scorch Cannon was less likely to feature, too. But other than that, the Eliksni's behavior was strikingly similar. They were just people sitting down, relaxing, and sharing in the camaraderie of the fire after a long day's travel.
As a researcher, Meren found the behavior fascinating. As a person, she found it comforting.
It would have been nice to join them.
Leaning back, she tipped her head, letting her eyelids slide shut. She hadn't had a wink of sleep in almost twenty-four hours, and exhaustion was finally setting in. Despite her best efforts to remain alert, the soft crackling of the fire mixed with the drone of the silence-maker lulled her towards the fuzzy edge of consciousness, her body beginning to sag against the wall behind her.
Meren wasn't sure if she actually drifted off. One moment, she'd been slipping away, her head lolling. In what felt like the next, she was being jolted back into awareness by a sudden burst of chattering.
Blinking the grogginess from her eyes, she focused her attention back on the fire. Several of the Eliksni were in the throes of some sort of debate, their voices rising and falling, their hands punctuating the air with animated gestures. A few others couched further back, spectating whilst busying themselves with ripping strips of flesh from their respective raw dinners.
The only Eliksni who wasn't taking part was Chiisori. He sat a ways off from the group, honing his blades. Every so often, his eyes would flick to the conversation, his expression inscrutable.
Yriik's voice broke out above the din. The Dreg's lone hand was gesticulating wildly, a half-eaten hare's carcass still clutched in his claws.
"Must we ride Pikes?" he whined. "The Kell-den is far. It is faster to go by Skiff."
Kosis, who was seated opposite him, made a guttural noise in the back of her throat.
"You would bring the Professor aboard our Skiff? Have you no sense?" she scolded.
"It is faster," Yriik insisted, ignoring the jab. "Four rotations by Pike. One by Skiff."
"Your incompetence would have all dead before we reach the Kell-den." Kosis snorted, taking a savage bite from her meal. "The journey must be made on Pike. This way, some may hope to escape alive. You know this, Yriik."
A few of the other Eliksni murmured their assent, bobbing their heads. Yriik didn't seem to hear, or maybe he didn't care. He merely tore a leg off his dinner and sunk his teeth into it, ripping a chunk of flesh free.
"Less time on Pike is better," he mumbled.
Meren's backside was inclined to agree. The thought of spending another six hours perched atop a Pike with Chiisori at the controls didn't sound appealing in the least.
She was still considering it when Kosis spoke up again, her eyes fixed on the Dreg across the fire. Kosis didn't seem pleased.
"Have you not heard the tales?" she growled. "Or are your ears full of iirask wool?"
Yriik cocked his head to the side.
Kosis leaned forward. "They say the Professor's mind-power is great," she hissed. "That it can sever Skiffs in two and send them tumbling from the sky."
Meren knitted her brow. She had no idea what Kosis was talking about, but she knew one thing for certain. If she had the power to take a Skiff down, she wouldn't be stuck in a tunnel at the bottom of a ravine hundreds of kilometers from home.
A few of the others were beginning to murmur. Kosis raised a single claw, silencing them.
"They say when angered, the Professor can kill with a touch," she continued, "like that of a thousand suns, burning from the inside out. That it can kill even from a distance, without aid of a weapon. That it can call lightning from the sky. That it feasts upon Eliksni life-force. Hatchling Ether-blood above all."
Her words sent a ripple of discomfort through the group. Across the fire, a few of them exchanged uneasy glances. Even Yriik seemed a bit unsettled, though not enough to stop him from taking another bite from his dinner.
Still, one spoke up - a small Dreg seated on the outskirts of the group.
"It has done these things? In truth?" he asked.
Kosis fixed her gaze on him. "This and more."
A beat.
"Your words are folly. These are but Hatchling-tales," said another Dreg - Danaan, Meren recalled. She'd learned her name during their trek down the slope.
"You believe so?" Kosis replied. "Go then, test your courage. Touch it while it sleeps. See what becomes of you."
For a second, Danaan looked like she was actually about to get up and take Kosis up on the dare. But then Yriik spoke.
"Why not tie her up? Then we go by Skiff. Yes?" he suggested.
Kosis' eyes turned to the ceiling, and for a moment, Meren thought she was going to launch herself across the fire.
"Have you not been listening, Yriik?" she chittered. "If the Professor's mind-power can dismantle a Skiff, do you think rope will bind it?"
Yriik seemed to consider this. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but another cut him off. The small Dreg - the one who'd questioned Kosis a moment earlier.
"'The Profesiir,'" he mused. "This is a human word. Yes?"
"It is," Kosis confirmed.
"What is the meaning?"
Kosis hesitated as if unsure whether or not to proceed. She glanced around at the others, most of whom were now staring at her intently.
Then, from the fringe of the group, came a voice.
"The meaning?"
All heads turned. Chiisori had risen, his eyes fixed on his crew. He stepped forward, his newly-sharpened blades glinting in the firelight.
"Yes, my Captain," the small Dreg squeaked. "The meaning."
Chiisori's eyes roved over them, taking in the group one by one. His gaze settled last on the small Dreg, who was staring straight back.
"Wolf-Slayer."
