EPILOGUE
Waves crashed over the shore, tumbling polished stones and pushing them further onto the sand, leaving an outline of the massive beast imprinted on the beach as it heaved its dying breaths—laborious sounds that whistled from between its pointed teeth.
It wept lavender blood from the many gouges and gashes covering its scaled form.
Bite marks.
Just beyond the beast, something floated in the water.
Her ears twitched as she observed.
It looked to be a person, bobbing in the waves, but it did not move, so she dismissed it.
A dead body was not interesting.
Siv’aviin lurked in the trees, poised over a branch, a witness to the great leviathan’s journey back to Behiba.
It was she who had spotted the spiked dorsal fin cutting through the waves, desperate to escape the clutches of the larger beast that had attacked it.
And so the great circle continued.
The meat would feed her people for many nights, and if they could gather it before much longer, it may even last a full moon cycle.
Her people would craft great weapons from the teeth to defend against the wilds of the forest.
But the real prize here was the scales.
Leviathan scales were the greatest gifts from Behiba, second only to the Song.
The scales Siv’aviin could not sell would be crushed into dust to make their change potion.
This was a timely discovery.
Bri’karin’s songblessing had taken a turn that was hindering his health.
If she could get him to drink the potion, then the changes would cease and he could start fresh with the next rain.
With a final huff of hot breath that smelled of rotted fish, the beast died.
It was time.
Siv’aviin climbed down the tree on nimble feet, the bangles in her hair tapping together as she moved.
The sand and rocks crunched beneath her as she prowled down the shore, whispering a gratitude prayer to the gods.
When she reached the perished beast, making her way around to the soft underbelly, she bent to her knees to cut into the scales and begin her harvest.
Then she paused.
Strange wounds marred the long neck, still dribbling lavender blood.
Reaching out, she pressed a curious hand to the slashes.
It almost looked like something had cut its way out.
A flash of gold and crimson on the horizon drew her gaze to the dark-winged creatures circling above.
She tipped her head curiously, her eyes narrowing on the gold-tipped feathers.
A portent.
A message from the gods.
Interesting.
Siv’aviin studied the view a moment longer, committing it to memory so she might relay this moment to the high priestess.
Movement near the shore pulled her gaze.
Her eyes latched onto the strange figure floating in the water just down the beach.
As it came into focus, she realized that it was a man and not dead.
He was trying to float.
Her people called it the dead man’s float—a way to preserve your strength and still draw breath while in the water’s embrace. His technique was poor, however. His chest puffed high above the water, too far, which in turn made his head fall too far back. Salty waves rolled over his face every so often. The waves carried him, barely staying afloat, closer to shore.
She stood up to her full height and sheathed her knife before padding down the beach to where the man finally washed to shore and lay still.
He stared up at the sky.
While she picked her way toward him, he pushed himself upward, rolling onto his knees with his head hanging forward, red blood dripping and pooling beneath him.
Siv’aviin stepped even closer, bending to the side, peering into his face to inspect him as he tried to gain his feet.
She caught a glimpse of his eyes, the vibrant green of the leaves on the trees beyond the beach.
A squeak of alarm ratcheted up her throat as his arm shot out and clamped around her neck in a vice.
The voice that rasped from the man was rough and jagged. A growl.
“Where’s my wife?”