Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
The Den of Spirits had long been a sacred place to the vrix of Takarahl. It was said that the spirits of their ancestors resided within the glowing blue crystals that dominated the cavern, instilling it with the wisdom and strength of untold generations. Supposedly, the power and influence of the gods could be felt most purely here.
Rekosh felt none of that as he crossed the massive chamber.
Sunlight streamed down through a gap in the ceiling high overhead and struck the crystals below, reflecting countless times to fill the space with brilliant, scintillating light. Where there were no crystals on the walls, intricate carvings from ages past covered the stone, depicting stories of Takarahl’s history back to the time of the city’s founder, Queen Takari.
Rekosh had always found beauty here, though it had never moved him to pray or offer sincere thanks to the gods.
But it did feel different now. It was cleaner, brighter. Calmer.
It helped that the immense statue Zurvashi had been building to immortalize herself in stone had been torn down. That material was being used to create new sculptures honoring the true heroes of Takarahl.
It was another way in which the former queen’s shadow had been lifted off the city.
Several vrix were present. Some were studying the carvings, others were paying reverence to the Eight, and a few were basking in the sunlight.
Rekosh set his attention on the tiered stone dais at the center of the cavern. His friends awaited him there.
Urkot reclined on the edge of the lowest tier, all three hands braced on the stone surface. The reflected light from the crystals heightened the contrast between his blue markings and his black hide, and made the big scar on his left side, where his lower arm had been completely torn off, stand out more than usual.
Telok stood nearby, leaning his shoulder against a carved pillar with his arms folded across his chest save one, in which he held his barbed spear. During Zurvashi’s reign, weapons of any sort had been forbidden within the Den of Spirits save those carried by her Fangs and Claws. The edict had stemmed from the fear Zurvashi had carried in her hearts—a fear that the vrix she ruled would rise against her.
Ahnset had lifted that rule, encouraging trust rather than fear.
Unsurprisingly, Telok, ever the alert hunter, had found one of the few places in the cavern where the shadows were unbroken, leaving his green eyes and markings to glow faintly in the relative darkness.
A supply-laden bag was slung over his shoulder, and a pair of similar bags, each with a spear, lay beside Urkot on the dais. One set was his, the other Rekosh’s.
Telok’s mandibles twitched with clear agitation when his eyes fell upon Rekosh .
Bringing his forearms flat together, side-by-side, in apology, Rekosh hurried across the last few segments to reach his friends. “I lost my way navigating the tunnels.”
Telok scoffed.
Urkot thumped a leg on the floor. “I feared you had pricked your finger sewing and scurried off to the spiritspeakers for aid.”
“You should have run a thread to mark your path,” Telok said in his rough, raspy voice.
“Amusing as always, my friends.” Rekosh extended his forelegs, brushing one against Telok’s leg, the other against Urkot’s. The fine hairs on his legs picked up his friends’ familiar scents—one tinged with jungle, the other with stone. “Yet I cannot help but wonder if I should have delayed longer.”
“Why?” Urkot asked with a grunt. “Eager to have Telok thrash you and drag you out of Takarahl by your hair?”
Rekosh chittered and grasped his bag, dragging it to the edge of the dais. “No. Because it would have granted you both more time to come up with insults that had some bite.”
“I will gladly show you some bite, Rekosh, if you take any longer,” replied Telok with a snap of his mandible fangs.
Opening his bag, Rekosh reached inside and shifted its contents to make room. “For so skilled a hunter, you certainly lack patience.”
Telok huffed. “I have patience aplenty. I simply refuse to spare any more of it for you.”
“Then I fear our journey may feel eightfold longer to you.” Rekosh carefully tucked the bundled dress into his bag.
Urkot dipped his chin toward it. “Did you show him?”
“That is why I went to his den, Urkot.”
“That does not answer my question, Rekosh.”
With a chitter, Telok tapped the end of his spear on the floor. “You are caught there, weaver. ”
“You will need far tighter a net to capture me, my friends.” Rekosh closed the bag and secured the tie. Though he didn’t intend to say anything more, the words came out anyway. “But no. He… The opportunity did not arise.”
Urkot sighed and bumped a hind leg against Rekosh’s hindquarters. “Hid away working on it for days, and you could not even show it to your sire?”
Mandibles twitching, Rekosh snatched up his bag and slung it over his head and shoulder. “You are wrong, stoneskull.”
“In what way, needlelegs?”
“It is not for him, and I was not hidden away while I worked on it.”
“I entered your den eight times in the last few days, and Telok”—Urkot tilted his head toward their friend—“said he did so six more, yet not once did you notice our presence.”
“Indeed,” Telok said flatly.
“I knew of your presence,” Rekosh replied. “I simply chose to keep my focus upon my work.”
Based on the way the others looked at him, they didn’t believe his claim any more than he did. They knew he’d been utterly lost in the task...and so did he.
“Have you even had a meal since you began?” Urkot asked.
Rekosh let out a heavy breath, turning a palm upward. “I have eaten enough. Such was my focus that I did not feel the need to eat more.”
Urkot pushed himself upright and slid down from the dais. “So, you starved yourself and hid in your den. You could well have done that back in Kaldarak.”
“I do not have all my tools in Kaldarak.”
Telok restlessly scraped the tip of a leg on the floor. “You have every tool you could possibly need there.”
With a low growl, Rekosh gestured to his bag. “This is the finest piece of weaving ever to come from Takarahl. It has no equal. Not here, not there. It could not be crafted with any tools but my own. And once I give it to Ahmya, all shall know that both her beauty and her mate are unrivaled.”
Urkot chittered. “You are not her mate.”
“Yet,” Rekosh corrected.
“And you are not unrivaled,” added Telok.
Rekosh drew himself taller, squaring his shoulders. “Name my better at the loom.”
Mandibles rising in what the humans called a smile, Urkot said, “Ketahn is your equal, at least.”
“Ketahn is years out of practice, not that practice would make a difference. It is an insult that any of you even give thought to the possibility that he is my equal.”
Telok clicked his fangs. “I do not believe he would agree.”
Rekosh huffed. “Because his pride outweighs his honesty.”
“He is also your equal in his unwavering focus on this rivalry you two have rekindled,” Urkot said.
“Focus is not the word you mean, Urkot,” said Telok. “It is obsession.”
Bracing his hands on his sides, Rekosh glared at Telok. “No, it is passion . Perhaps you will find some of your own one day.”
“I am still willing to bite, Rekosh.”
“Ah, but you will not.” Rekosh lifted his mandibles. “A wound would only delay us further.”
“I will refrain not because it would delay us, but because your agonized whining along the way would plunge me into madness.”
Urkot crossed his forearms in a sign of the eight—an incomplete gesture, given his missing arm. “Eight shield us from that. We would not survive the journey.”
“Yet if we rely upon Telok to speak with us, we would instead die of boredom,” said Rekosh.
With a dismissive wave of a hand, the hunter said, “It would be less painful.”
“When have any of us been deterred by pain, Telok? ”
“Apart from right now?”
“You truly intend to offer the dress to Ahmya when we return?” asked Urkot, the seriousness in his tone breaking through Rekosh’s amusement.
“I do.”
Again, Urkot chittered, a mirthful light dancing in his blue eyes.
“What is that for, stoneskull? What amuses you?” Rekosh demanded.
“The thought of little Ahmya clad in your silk, so fine and fancy, but with those large black foot coverings all the humans wear.”
“ Boots ,” Rekosh hissed in English. “They are called boots.”
“Yes, those. Doots . Always covered in mud. Your silk will look radiant compared to them.”
Rekosh’s mandibles fell. The jest was clear in Urkot’s voice, but he was not wrong. Boots were sturdy foot coverings that had protected the humans’ soft feet from countless hazards on the journey through the harsh wilderness between Takarahl and Kaldarak. They were useful.
But they were not elegant, graceful, or flattering. They would stand in complete contrast to the dress Rekosh had made.
And in Ahmya’s case, they were overlarge. How many times during their travels had a boot slipped right off one of her dainty feet? If he was going to give her the dress, she needed appropriate footwear to accompany it—appropriate both in function and appearance.
“You have shattered his spirit, Urkot,” said Telok. “He had not considered her feet.”
With narrowed eyes, Rekosh let out a huff and snapped his fangs. “If you are through throwing barbs, let us depart. My hearts are glad for this journey. We will reunite with our tribe, and I will claim my mate and put to rest any questions of who is the better weaver. Even Ketahn will not be able to deny that my skill is greater.”
“That depends upon what skill you speak of, Rekosh,” said a female in a deep, warm voice from behind him.
He chittered, mandibles lifting a little higher, and turned to face the newcomer. “Skills, my queen. There are several in which I am your brother’s better.”
Ahnset, queen of Takarahl, drew to a halt not two segments away from Rekosh and the others. She, along with her broodbrothers, Ketahn and Ishkal—the latter of whom had fallen during Zurvashi’s war—were Rekosh, Urkot, and Telok’s oldest friends.
Though it had been moon cycles since last she’d donned the gold, leather, and beads the Queen’s Fang used to wear, it was still strange to see her without such adornments.
She wore a loose, white silk garment that covered her chest and hung down past her waist, secured with a blue sash around her middle. The humans had referred to it as a tunic . It seemed the perfect blend of simplicity, humility, and elegance for one such as Ahnset.
Prime Fang Korahla, consort to the Queen, stood beside Ahnset. Bowing her head, she tapped her knuckle to her headcrest in respect and greeting to Rekosh, Urkot, and Telok. She too had divested herself of the trappings that had once been associated with her position in favor of a tunic similar to Ahnset’s. She still carried a war spear, its haft tucked in the crook of a lower arm with its head directed down.
The only gold either female wore was in the form of matching gold bands—one around Ahnset’s right mandible, the other around Korahla’s left.
“Shall I guess at some?” Ahnset asked with a chitter, her purple eyes narrowing in amusement.
“I would not dare impose by asking you to do so.” Rekosh bowed his head and touched a knuckle to his headcrest .
Ahnset slid a foreleg forward, touching it gently to Rekosh’s. “You know I do not wish for such formalities between us.”
“He cannot help himself,” said Urkot, bowing slightly before extending his foreleg to brush against the queen’s. “The fluffed silk in his head takes up all the space, so the words simply tumble from his mouth.”
Telok pushed himself away from the pillar against which he’d been leaning, offering a similar greeting to the queen. “She knows, Urkot.”
“Yes. Ahnset is keenly aware,” said Korahla.
“This is a greater honor than we deserve,” said Rekosh, taking a step back. “The queen of Takarahl herself here to see us off.”
“So you are leaving, then.” Ahnset’s mandibles sagged. “Foolish as it was, I hoped you might change your minds. There remains so much to be done here.”
“We are needed in Kaldarak,” said Telok. “Diego said Ivy will birth her broodling soon.”
Urkot hummed thoughtfully. “We mean to be there to do all we can to aid them.”
“Would that I could be there myself,” she replied, voice low and raw.
“We understand, Ahnset,” Rekosh said. “I know Ketahn would have you there were it possible, but your responsibility is to Takarahl. And between yourself and Korahla, this city is well cared for. The two of you are more than capable of doing what must be done.”
Ahnset turned her head, glancing toward the statues deeper within the cavern. The tallest were the eight stone pillars standing in a circle, each inlaid with eight gemstones—representations of the gods of the vrix, the Eight. At their center was the founding queen, Takari. The new statues were being carved around the base of that monument.
Rekosh knew which of those statues Ahnset was staring at, knew it by the wistful light in her eyes. He followed her gaze with his own.
A couple of the newest statues were unlike any others in Takarahl, and they stood side-by-side. Two arms, two legs, two eyes. No mandibles, hindquarters, or headcrests. Humans. When Rekosh and his companions had arrived in the city two eightdays ago, the faces of those statues had been featureless, but now they truly resembled the beings they were meant to depict.
The first was the female who’d been dubbed the Once-Queen, whose rein had been the shortest but most impactful in Takarahl’s history. Ivy Foster. She who had slain Zurvashi, she who had freed the vrix of this city. She stood with a spear in hand, legs apart, her stance powerful despite her odd shape.
Beside her was the sweet, sickly human who’d been slaughtered by Zurvashi in this very chamber. Ella. She stood tall now, free from the ravages of her illness. Free from the horrors she’d faced here. Hers was the statue Ahnset stared at now.
While Rekosh had worked at the loom, Urkot had spent his time here, shaping those stone faces, correcting the stone bodies, instilling life into the statues. Ahnset had requested his aid in the task not because the stoneshapers of Takarahl lacked the necessary skill, but because none of them had ever seen a human.
Even after that tragic night, the number of vrix in Takarahl who had seen a human could be counted on four hands.
And that was not likely to change any time soon. There’d been talk of bringing some humans to Takarahl during this visit, but though Zurvashi’s remaining supporters were few, there was no way to guess how the other vrix would react to seeing the strange little beings.
The first and only human to enter Takarahl had been Ella, and the end she’d met here…
A pang struck Rekosh’s chest. Even now, with Zurvashi gone, no one had fully escaped the effects of her cruelty. Her spirit still haunted the darkest corridors of Takarahl. It would be a long while before she was truly banished, but Ahnset was working hard to accomplish it, and she had already stridden far along that path.
“Would that I could agree, Rekosh,” Ahnset said softly.
Korahla shifted closer to her, pressing a leg against Ahnset’s hindquarters. “Do not speak so, my queen.”
“That you doubt and yet stride onward is exactly why you are Takarahl’s best hope,” said Telok.
Ahnset let out a heavy breath. “I want Ella’s death to have meaning. That is the only way I know to honor her. The only way I know to show how sorry I am, and to claw some good out of Zurvashi’s horrid legacy.”
Rekosh studied the human statues. It was strange to see them depicted this way—so large and solid, so stiff and unmoving. So silent.
“Ella’s spirit is here with you, Ahnset,” Urkot said gently. “She knows.”
“Such is my hope. I will work to ensure Takarahl will become a place where she would have felt welcomed and safe. It will become a place for everyone.”
The hard light in Korahla’s green eyes—the light of a veteran warrior protecting her queen—softened as she watched Ahnset. “And you will succeed, my heartsthread.”
Ahnset’s mandibles rose as she turned toward her mate and leaned close. The females gently touched their headcrests, and their eyes fluttered shut.
The weight of Rekosh’s bag was suddenly greater. He had not yet made such a connection, had not yet secured those ties with Ahmya. He had not yet claimed his mate. Now, the dress in his bag seemed more like the tangled threads of fate his sire had mentioned—every moment of his life caught in a jumble, impossibly heavy, impossible to unravel .
When the females separated, Ahnset faced Rekosh and the others. She looked them each in their eyes, finally settling her attention on Rekosh. “I have asked Telok to serve as Prime Claw and Urkot as the queen’s stoneshaper. They have refused.”
To either side of Rekosh, his friends bowed, gesturing apologetically.
Ahnset waved for them to rise. “I expected nothing different. And though I know you will refuse my request as well, I must ask you, Rekosh.”
“I do not believe myself the best choice for either Prime Claw or queen’s stoneshaper, Ahnset,” Rekosh said.
She chittered and extended her foreleg, playfully bumping Rekosh’s. “I would have you as my advisor, Rekosh. You have ever been aware of what the vrix of this city think and feel, and your web of whispers would be of great aid in righting Zurvashi’s wrongs.”
The weight of fate still dragged down on him. He did not know what those threads would lead him through, but he did know where they would take him in the end—back to Kaldarak.
Back to Ahmya.
“You honor me with such a request,” Rekosh said softly, touching a knuckle to his headcrest, “but you are correct, Ahnset. I must refuse. My place is no longer in Takarahl.”
“I know, Rekosh. These tunnels will be too quiet without you.”
“While Kaldarak will be far too noisy,” said Telok.
“I will miss the noise.” Ahnset spread her arms, beckoning Rekosh, Urkot, and Telok closer with her hands. When they drew together, she wrapped all four of her big arms around the males in what the humans called a hug. “You are as much my brothers as Ketahn, though we do not share blood.”
She tipped her forehead forward, and all three males touched their headcrests to hers.
“And you, our sister,” Telok rasped .
“Keep yourselves safe,” Ahnset said, her voice rumbling into Rekosh. “Keep our tribe safe. I command it as your queen.”
“And we will obey as your brothers,” replied Rekosh. “I weave my words into a bond, Ahnset.”
“As do I,” echoed Urkot and Telok.
“Good.” Ahnset relaxed her embrace and straightened, releasing a soft trill as she looked down at the males. “Now go, before I decide to command you to remain.”
“May their eightfold eyes watch over you, Ahnset,” Urkot said, making his incomplete sign of the Eight.
Ahnset crossed her arms in the same gesture. “And you, my friends. My brothers.”
As Urkot and Telok withdrew, the former collecting his bag and the spears from the dais, Rekosh leaned closer to Ahnset, lowering his voice. “A final whisper before we depart.”
At Ahnset’s gesture, Korahla also moved close, eyes intent upon Rekosh.
“There are fresh rumors of Zurvashi’s followers hiding in the burial chambers,” he said.
“We have searched the burial chambers thoroughly, and Archspeaker Valkai and her spiritspeakers remain vigilant,” said Korahla, “but we will look again.”
“There are also whispers of her followers in the Tangle,” he continued, “as we have long suspected. These are said to come from Urshar, the broodsister of a former Fang called Ulkari. She claims Ulkari is in the Tangle with other followers of Zurvashi.”
Korahla hummed, the sound low and troubled. “I know of her. We will determine if Urshar speaks from knowledge or speculation.”
“Thank you, Rekosh,” said Ahnset. After a final brush of forelegs and a lingering meeting of their eyes, she pulled away.
Rekosh accepted his spear from Urkot, and the three males set out .
The first time Rekosh had left Takarahl for more than a few days had been to fight in Zurvashi’s war against Kaldarak. He’d been young, eager to experience adventure and glory with his friends. Eager to see the depths of the Tangle with his own eyes after hearing stories of its beauty and perils for years.
The second time had been when he’d joined Ketahn at the pit. When he’d given up his ties to this city to help his oldest, closest friend. He’d been more cautious then, but he’d not been able to deny his excitement despite the vast unknown stretching out before him—and the fury of the former queen blazing at his back.
This time was different. He was leaving not with a vague sense of his destination, but full knowledge of it. He knew exactly where he was going and exactly what he would do when he arrived there. This was no adventure into the unknown…at least not in the way his prior journeys had been.
He glanced around the Den of Spirits again, absorbing the serenity it had gained by being purged of Zurvashi’s taint, admiring the brilliance of the crystals. Perhaps his ancestors did dwell here in spirit, but Rekosh’s future was beyond Takarahl.
It awaited him in Kaldarak.
“Tell Ketahn I will visit soon,” Ahnset called, her powerful voice echoing through the cavern.
“We shall,” Rekosh replied over his shoulder.
“Ahnset,” Korahla intoned.
“Soon, Korahla. Takarahl endured without a queen before. Surely it can survive an eightday or two without its queen again, especially if you are here to oversee it.”
Korahla growled, and the end of her spear clacked on the floor. “I will not be here to oversee it, Ahnset. The city will survive an eightday without its queen, but I cannot survive without you again.”
Rekosh’s chest tightened, and his hearts stuttered.
He was not going to waste another moment. He’d waited long enough, had delayed long enough. When he returned to Kaldarak, he would make the foot coverings to finish his mating gift, and the instant the final stitch was in place, he would present the garments to Ahmya.
He would claim his mate before all, and he would not spend another day apart from her.