CUILLEAN'S STORY

Silver light slanted blue through the bars, releasing starlight and moon to his view from the dark of his cell. Two moons slanted from the southwest, rising over the Crandal, pockmarks on their white faces, and shadow crescent over one. The night was still, what he could not see, though he could hear voices and Drell moving somewhere below his window. Stars glimmered and shined to comfort him, alone and uncertain in his destiny. It was cool in the cell, cooler than the air outside. Burning fires could be scented with the air and incense, filtering through the window. His confinement was four walls, a door to the left of him, heavy wood and metal, dark against the white. He saw a shooting rock of white light pass beyond his bars, and made no sigh of exhilaration as he would have back home atop the cottus overlooking the river Tina with his sister and father seated beside him. He thought of her alone, standing atop the cottus, probably robed in her hood and that yellow cloak she wore to keep herself warm. She would have lit the fires to keep the wuliton entranced and calm, away from the dilean in the pen out back…And for them to have safe passage home…But they would not be going home…At least, not he. The blood had dried on his shirt, a dark stain in the moons' light falling across him. He felt the stiffness of his fibers from that blood every time he expanded his chest to breathe. His arms and hands had been unbound. His right hand's fingers picked at a frond, dry, sharp leaves thin and bladelike. He didn't know where his father was, or what would happen to Kalare, the wood, the broken cart. The tan bag of coins in her hands, holding tight against the greedy grip of a thief and would-be murderer if he hadn't intervened. Her determination and tenacity to hold onto that purse against a much stronger, bigger adversary was to be commended. He had saved the drellahna, tried to save the thief. Everyone was staring at him, and he had looked down to see the blood on his clothes. He hadn't taken the life. He didn't know how. His father had always taught him to be in control of his strength. He bowed his head, rubbing a heavy hand over his crest as he remembered seeing his father, pronate on his hands and knees, his brow scales touching the ground beneath the gold drellahna's shadow, begging for Cuillean's mercy. It trembled out of him, hit his throat, and squeezed through his lips. A cry…

EARLIER THE SAME DAY, OTANUS FORA, SEPTI ORAFADINA MOR'ESANA DEE (what would be considered October 4th, of the year 20800)…

The oil black hands of scale moved slow, first a circle above the ashy grey palm, then the conjoined fingers of his right hand, black as darts, pointed to his chest and opened in a graceful dive to her. Dahna smiled and cupped the air towards her, then drew her white fingers down from beneath her chin. The two sat side by side on a wooden pen level reaching the top of the fence facing the river, and one by one, two identical pairs of dilean, young and not as full of girth as their mother, Kalare, strode over with gentle bobs of their heads to stand on either side of Dahna. One slipped its head and long neck of red, yellow, and white feathers and downy soft fur between Dahna and her companion, whose face was so dark and black one could barely discern his features, aside from the red eyes. She stroked the top of the head of the one between them, her other arm linking over the twin on her right, whose neck was long and straight, white head with red circles between a yellow strip from the end of its beak to its crown.

His profile was sleeker than other Drell, more contoured, as though their gods had defined him in one stroke of ink, and his teness was silver grey among his tebris, which when he turned, could reveal a secret of ruby shimmer. He did not wear clothing, but for a short dress around his waist that fell below his knees, and fanned across them as the heels of his black feet perched on the next rung down. He was Morthwyl, a species of Drell that used the inner tongue. His gaze turned to her and she passed two fingers over her lips' left corner and smiled, earning his in return. He cupped his right hand over his left shoulder, and leaned towards her, over the female dilean, then leaned to upright again. This silent dialogue continued as the sun warmed the soil through the gaps in the canopies, and the river flowed, claying the banks, winding around rocks, cutting deeper into the skin of Thorolf as a lover who knew her way through the country's crust.

They took the kids for their walk, stepping side by side through the forest along the river, a dilean either side of them. Dahna held a tether, and her companion held one for the other. The wind carried through in gentle pushes, playing the fur and feathers of the dileans. Small insects fluttered by, low to the ground, skittering in their flight of white wings and black veins. When they found a spot on the river bank, overlooking a small island with trees sprouting out of it, bare in the sun, rocks shoring its edges, both Drell and drellahna stood together on the bank, the dilean twins free of their handlers, trailing leads in the sparse, tall bunches of grass over an orange turf. The dark one turned to Dahna and waved his finger over his lips, made a circle with his hand over his palm, pointed to his chest, dipped to hers, and made a gentle fist that he pressed against his other fist beneath. Dahna tilted her head to the right and smiled. Her gaze went back down the river, over the blue and silver current shining with water and sun, to the curving banks with overgrown florae reaching down towards the water as if they were fingers trying to trail in the coolness.

They returned to the cottus, where Dahna secured the kids in the paddock, and went inside her home. The interior of the Kiross homestead was decorated in dried flowers, reed, and herbs. Cuillean and her father's tools were lain or walled against the eastern side on the lower level, familiar with the scent of her family members on these, looking lonely, but ready for use. A small sketch of her mother hung from a nail on the wall, a serene face in black and white charcoal gently smiling out. The eyes were full of kindness and knowing, as if she could look at you and understand all that you were and forgive you for it in one stare. She had congruous curves along her crests, muted but somewhat flared, and her tebris was partially unfolded, open and relaxed. Dahna kept herself busy, tending the fire, tending her father and brother's woodworking tools. She pulled out books to read for rest, sat for a little, drew for a time, and practiced her characters on parchment.

Out in the wood at the head of the cottus, a figure in cloth, dull, mustard and brown, stood on the path, an interruption to the trail and taller trees without roots and orange soil.

The day crept on, the suns going higher, arcing over the forest from behind the cottus towards the land beyond the trees. A call was heard through the wood, a large creature of prey, and the dilean kids looked up inquisitive, but resumed their forage about the paddock. The shadows of the trees and canopy slanted across the cottus and its clearing, no clouds going by for the day.

One by one, the suns set, the sky above the trees and through these glowing salmon, red, purple, blue and dark filling the land. The trees were black bars, canopies blacking out the twilight. Between them, the deep navy sky could still be seen and the diagonal cast of light from two moons rising. The river was silent, calm this night as Dahna stood by a fire above the cottus ringed with sconces. She watched the wood before the cottus, expectant, waiting. There was a clearing of twenty yards before the trees, sconces nailed into the trunks of the perimeter. All were aglow, shimmering bright and orange yellow. The path to their home, rough and coarse, led through the wood, and it was here her eyes went after scanning what navy horizon she could see beyond the trunks. The smell of dry leaf in the air, wood and ash burning, dried flowers from the windows. Dahna felt a cold creep through her body, face, neck, and arms, despite her being by the fire and well clothed. She didn't shiver, merely blinked in acknowledgement.

A shade of darkness moved behind her, to wait at her right shoulder.

:(Something has happened.)

She listened to his silent language, felt the flux of vibrations in her inner ear like a tapped out code, fast and filled with complex nuances, rising and falling in frequency.

"I will douse the flames."

:(Wait in the paddock, and pay attention to our friends. They will sense danger first.)

She didn't see him go, but knew when his presence was no longer atop the cottus. Dahna's gaze lingered on the horizon through the trees, hoping for a sign of her brother and father, then turned and took the ladder down to the second level, passed through it and reached the first. She went to a cupboard on the wall, rich and oaken, to pull out a brown leather pack rolled over and over on itself. Removing her shawl, she wrapped and tied the hatach around her narrow waist, then counted the blades, tools, and vials poking out.

She took to the the rear doorway, glancing once at the wall of carpentry tools over which hung the charcoal portrait of her mother.

Stepping out into the night, Dahna crossed the yard to the dileans in their pen, and unhinged the heavy wooden gate, pushing the cool wood bars wide. Both dileans rose from their beddings of fur, feather, and soil, went to her to seek treats and comfort as well as to fulfill their curiosity over her presence. Dahna guided them to either side of her body, her belly turned towards Tille, the female of the twins at right. The fire on top of the cottus went out, attracting each of their gazes.

Out at the edge of the clearing, the lights began to douse, one by one, slowly, then faster, stopping at one side of the cottus, and not a minute later beginning to douse on the opposite side, joining the dark chain behind them. Simultaneously, both twins' heads lifted to their necks' full height, bodies still. They were facing the south. Dahna clicked her tongue at them and climbed onto Tille's back. The kids, both nervous, trundled out of the pen and moved right along the cottus walls, moonlight and river reflection to the right of them through the trees. They padded through the familiar grass and dirt of the yard, making to the better lit half of the wood, eastway and north.

Emerging from the shadows of the cottus came he, silent and black, his eyes hidden by a translucent layer of black eyelids.

Dahna felt and scented him while she rode Tille, bobbing along with the female's shoulder rolls as the dilean set her claws down and traveled into Thorolf wood, Tihalt keeping tail behind them. Together, the four disappeared into darkness and twilight, Dahna carried between the shoulders of a dilean no more than two summers, a brother in tow, a loyal shadow at Dahna's side.

Moon came through the window, greeting the visitor who opened the north door, letting in a pale ghostly light between the legs and boots. The head was discernible only by the shape of the cowl covering it, but the shoulders were huge, and one arm held the door apart. The figure moved into the cottus, not touching anything, only turning right and easily moving through the shadow. Along the counter, it followed, gazing eye level from the north wall, west, turning to peer up at the ladder and pausing, as though to scent the air and listen. It continued on, following the cupboards, the knives left out over herbs, a piece of uneaten bread drying alone on a plate. A bun with meat, cold, but sweet smelling. The figure paused by the food, raised a hand to hold over this, then moved on. It began to walk forward, but a table at the left with moonlight spilling across the papers and charcoal upon its pale surface caught the figure's attention. The figure stared at the paper, holding the top parchment from falling, and with a flick, scattered this topmost paper to gaze upon the charcoal sketch without distraction.

Axes, saws, whittle tools, strange blades meant for angles and specific cuts lined the bottom of the stone wall, propped on their heads, some on their handles, the biggest the size of a grown Drell's leg. But there was one spot on the wall where something had gone amiss. It was a simple, bare space on the stone with a nail all that was left. It was too small to be a tool to take up such central focus on the wall. Its silhouette of a shape was too symmetrically even to be anything other than a frame. The figure smiled. She had taken the picture for a reason. Maybe something sentimental, something close. Or something that would identify her existence.

The figure swept towards the ladder to the second level, but did not climb. Instead, it leapt straight up and hauled its long body from a hold on the ledge of the wood floor above.

In one room, more evidence of she was found. The figure stopped and considered. Another scent of the air throughout the upper floor revealed only the brother, the father, and she. No other male.

The gate to the dilean's pen was wide open. A pair of dilean tracks led eastward. Gloved fingers ran through the disturbed soil, scratched and troughed by claws. The gloves raised to the openness of the hooded cowl, and held still for a long second. The smell of dileans could be tracked for miles. And the smell of her…He looked forward to meeting in flesh.

EARLIER EVEN…

He bowed his head before the courtroom, "…Eufemiusz Kiross…has returned," the smile was in the voice, the deep voice of memory.

"Sered Kratos," Eufemiusz said quietly, and the audhilde carried his voice to the heights for all to hear in that place, "…it is an honor to see you again."

"The last time we were together, you were swearing never to be caught killing again…but you bring a weapon with you, a child no less," the voice was loud and soft, embellishing and persuasive, "…You have been training your next in line?"

"No, he is strong for his age."

"He is described to be a man, and he is only fifteen?"

"Yes, Sered."

"And he came to the Crandal today to sell your stock of wood," a shadow fell over him as large sandaled blue and black feet neared his vision, head down as he knelt in that chamber, "…and Borachio was slain by him instead?"

"There was an incident—"

"Facts, please," the seeton said, "…only facts, Sered Kiross."

Eufemiusz sighed, "…Borachio died in the hands of my son, Cuillean Kiross."

A murmur rippled through the audience.

"Thanes will be dispatched to collect what assets you hold at your cottus…in Thorolf…"

"Please, Sered, let my son go…"

"He is a prisoner and will be tried as a murderer…It is justice that demands this!"

"If he could bring you what is of value, it would relieve the thanes of such a small task…Thanes are not errand runners…"

"They are killers, aren't they," the voice said patiently, "…They are trained to perform wicked things for wicked minds…We cannot trust a thane who swears he will never kill again, nor teach others to kill…All thanes belong to the Kerhasi and will be submitted to the school on Mercede…You have broken your word by creating this weapon…Where will we find your wife…She is as much to blame, Talaith is…"

Eufemiusz raised his eyes, "…Talaith Lela is dead…She did not survive when the Kris cursed us."

Another murmur of thousands in the echoing chamber, "…I am sorry for your loss, Sered Kiross."

"As am I."

Eufemiusz listened as the orders and diatribe went onward…His heart was beating slower, his mind resolved to his decision…He must bear what is being said, and hope Bor will keep his word to let Cuillean live.

"…This drell has offered his life for that which was lost, and his tierra for his son's life…What say you, here we are to cast judgement on the loss of an innocent…Do we barter with this killer, this menace, the ancient Dragomir—"

"Kiross should not be punished like this," another voice countered the one ringing in his ears, "…Kiross laid the way for the Kerhasi to form…"

"By murder!" Bor shouted back, "…This drell is a savage mind! A threat if he is not bound! A Tyrannus thane should never exist! As an example to those who would think to dare defy us in power, he must be made an example! Hang him from the flagstaff above the western entrance to the Craig! Let all see what becomes of those who think they can walk away from death and destruction and spurn their laws…"

"I have always obeyed our laws," Eufemiusz said, raising his eyes and head now, "…My choice to be here is because of those laws…"

Bor lowered his blue and black face to Eufemiusz, and the broad, effeminate patak smiled, "…Even now, a thane speaks back to his former master…You were never a Tyrannus, you act like an infidel, a smear to all we as Kerhasi stand for…I denounce you, Eufemiusz Dragomir…I will gladly accept your offer, to hang in place of your son's life, and to collect on the debt you owe me for killing Borachio…"

"Your son was a thief and a crook," Eufemiusz said, gazing on at his decrier, "…My son is worth the value of the druce," murmurings and motion, "…I have given my offer, hang me as you will, take my tierra and my family's and any future generation to come…There will be none, of course, thanes can never take a wife…I guess that makes me different…"

"We kill one of our own if we hang him…"

"Not if everyone remembers who he is…"

"Put him in the robes of a thane then—"

"Silence," the seeton called for order, "…It does not matter the symbolic level of importance, do not humiliate yourselves, you can follow the law without embellishment…Govannon, Sered Kiross pledges the service of his son to you, and gives his life to answer for your…son's…Do you accept? If yes, we will cut his throat and the son will be sent to Mercede…Let it be simple, I beg."

"I accept," the feet and sandals moved away, the shadow leaving Eufemiusz.

"Eufemiusz Kiross, your bargain has been accepted…Stand now and receive your punishment."

Eufemiusz stood to his full height.

A thane was waiting next to the seeton.

"Kiross," the thane whispered, coming to stand before him and raising a thin blade the length of his arm, "…It is an honor."

"Narcissus…You will teach him well, I'm sure…"

"I'll do my best," his eyes watched the others as he pulled the knife across his neck.

The body of Eufemiusz continued to stand, life essence leaving the wound. His eyes locked upwards, standing for as long as he could…The thane stepped back to let the blood pool without touching his boots.

The seeton checked behind him, two burrells responding to his glance, "…Support him," he said quietly.

Eufemiusz continued to stand.

"Let all stand," there was a tumult of movement as seated were rocked, "…All to the Tierra," the words were echoed by every voice in there save for Eufemiusz's own, which could not be shared.

Finally, Eufemiusz knelt down, blood loss weakening him, and he bent forward.

"Die already," he heard someone whisper.

"He's done," he heard Narcissus, "…Take him."

He closed his eyes from the blood beneath him, strong hands lifting him by his arms and legs to carry him out of the chamber.

Cuillean, Dahna, Talaith, everything passed before his eyes.

Take me away, his last thoughts, …Bring me home to my family.