Chapter 41
Szhe’ka
I feel an odd tickling sensation behind me and whirl around. My wing stump hits the purple creature I have come to learn is Rannek, who has an odd look on his furred face.
“What do?” I sing, then remember to use the harsh language of the orange beast and repeat myself.
“You had an insect on you,” Rannek says before scurrying off, large shoulders rounded forward like I am about to attack him.
I shake off the odd exchange and head to find higher ground so I can continue my watch.
Azoeul has not returned.
The sun is lowering toward the lake, staining the water in gold and bruised purple, and still there is no sign of him. No flicker of white and brown through the trees. No soft disturbance in the brush that would mark his speed.
He should have been back by now.
I sit on the outermost branch of one of the lake trees, talons digging into bark, watching the tree line where he disappeared this morning. My plume—what remains of it—stirs in the wind. The burned feathers itch as they grow back, a phantom sensation layered over the more pressing ache of my fear.
He is fast. He is capable.
But the forest is vast, and the hunters are relentless.
Below me, laughter drifts up from the shoreline.
Ani.
I look down.
She is sitting cross-legged on a flat stone near the water, her new wings half-furled behind her. The blue-green catches the light when she shifts, the red flashing when she gestures. She is animated, speaking quickly, hands moving as she tries to explain something to Ree.
Ree listens, head tilted, expression focused but softer than it once was.
They are… comfortable.
Thivoll stands a short distance away, pretending not to listen while very obviously listening. His tail flicks when Ani laughs.
She is happy.
It is a simple observation. One that should soothe me. Instead, something tightens in my chest.
She is safe. She has found others of her kind. She is useful here. Needed. Not hunted. Not caged.
She does not need me anymore.
The thought creeps in without permission.
I have done what I set out to do. I brought her to safety. To Ree. To others like her.
My promise is fulfilled.
“I could leave,” I say, words startling me.
I do not mean to say the words aloud.
Wroahk surfaces without spectacle. Just a massive shift in volume and presence. Flat, predatory expression fixed on me.
“You are looking for a way out,” he says, the sound rolling through the shallows and into my bones, surprising me after how focused he was before on ignoring any attempt at communication.
It is not a question.
“I am assessing variables,” I reply in his language, shaping the resonance carefully.
“You are thinking of leaving,” he repeats.
I do not deny it.
Wroahk drifts closer, the current curling around my legs in a subtle restraint.
“Communities are loud,” he rumbles. “Annoying. Just asking to be abandoned to fall to their own weakness.”
“No,” I argue. “The community is strong. I am the one who is weak.”
His eyes narrow slightly. “You are loud now as well.”
I go still, unsure of his meaning, but knowing his words will be important if they have inspired him to speak with me instead of lurking in the deep waters of his lake.
“If you leave,” he continues, “you will not reduce danger. You will increase the fracture.”
I frown. “Explain.”
“You are woven,” he says. “Into their pattern. Remove one strand and the net weakens.”
I look back toward the settlement, then farther. I can see more of the community in the distance, small silhouettes against the sand. Kira’s restless movement. Drasuk’s rigid posture. Olivia’s sharp gestures as she speaks.
“They would adapt,” I say quietly.
“They would splinter,” Wroahk corrects.
The word settles heavily.
I stand there for a long moment, the pull of open sky wrestling with the gravity of the shore.
Finally, I exhale.
“I will remain,” I say.
Wroahk’s massive form dips back into the water, satisfaction rippling through the current. Leaving the water calm in his absence.
I remain where I am, listening to both directions. Sky and shore.
For now, the shore wins.
“You are community now,” Wroahk says, whale song rising from the depths. “Community does not scatter when afraid.”
I am not afraid.
I am—
Afraid.
Afraid of needing this too much. Afraid of being left behind when the sky opens for her and not for me. I can’t leave her. Of course I can’t leave her… but as I stay, it cannot be with fear in my chest.
I work through that fear, pulling it out note by note as the sun moves slowly downward, determined to be rid of as much of it as I can before I return to my community… my mostly wingless aerie.
***
I don’t make it back into the settlement for long before the winged one intercepts me, eyes intent and strides purposeful.
“I need your help, Bird-Man,” she tells me, spiked pink plume shaking with her fervor. “Your language, specifically.”
After a hushed conversation, mostly comprised of my skepticism, and a short coaching session, Kira announces she is ready. She strides back into the main camp and I follow her, wishing she had chosen a smaller group to practice.
“Maybe some more practice would—” I get out before she cuts me off.
“I have excellent vocal control,” she declares, as if preparing for battle rather than attempting harmonic speech.
I already regret agreeing to this as she strides in front of the group, wings flared, eyes wild.
The group… or at least the ones of them I have met so far are gathered around the fire.
The wind is minimal. Optimal conditions.
Kira plants her feet in the sand and inhales dramatically.
I brace.
She begins well. The first tone is low and nearly stable. Not precise, but impressively close for someone whose species was not shaped by the air. The harmonic almost aligns.
Then she inhales in the center of the glide. The phrase fractures.
The second half spikes upward in sharp defiance. I close my eyes.
Eli makes a choking sound beside me. Ani freezes for half a breath before her expression collapses into laughter.
Kira beams at me. “That sounded right.”
“You know the translator told you otherwise, Kira,” Ree chortles.
I choose my words carefully. “You have just informed the clouds that you challenge them to ritual combat for dominance of the spawning grounds.”
There is silence.
Then Ani laughs openly. Eli folds over herself. Even Ree’s mouth curves upward.
Kira points at me. “No. That is not what you taught me. Wroahk won’t give a shit about that.”
“You separated the crescendo,” Ani says between laughs. “You split the harmonic structure.”
“I breathed,” Kira protests.
“In the wrong place,” Ani replies.
I nod. “Breath placement determines structural meaning.”
Kira stares at me in betrayal. “That is cruel. Languages should not punish you for having lungs.”
Drasuk makes a low sound that may be amusement.
Kira hears it immediately. “Don’t you start. Your language is like someone sharpening knives inside a cave.”
“It is efficient,” Drasuk answers.
“It is aggressive,” she shoots back.
She attempts her song again. This time she holds the first note longer. Her face begins to flush from the effort, but the harmonic remains intact. I feel a small flicker of approval.
Then she panics.
She gasps for air.
The final tone leaps high and piercing.
A nearby bird abandons its branch.
I make an involuntary sound.
“What?” she demands.
I hesitate.
Ani grins at her. “You just proposed to the ocean.”
Eli collapses into helpless laughter.
“I did not,” Kira says.
“You did,” I confirm gently.
She drops backward into the sand with a dramatic groan. “This language might actually be worse than Drasuk’s.”
Ani wipes at her eyes. “Why?”
“In his you can’t cuss, which is fucking stupid,” Kira says. “But there’s texture. Bite. You can feel the insult. This?” She gestures toward the sea. “It’s all breath and poetry. You can’t even swear properly.”
Ani laughs. “You absolutely can. You just don’t have the proper control yet.”
“I have control,” Kira hisses. “I am always perfectly in control.”
“You have volume,” Ani corrects. “You need breath discipline.”
I hum in agreement. “Proper diaphragm engagement is essential for accurate obscenity.”
Eli nearly falls sideways laughing, tentacles keeping her propped as she wipes at her eyes.
Kira sits up and points at me accusingly. “You are enjoying this.”
“I am,” I admit.
She flops back into the sand again. “Fine. Ani needs to teach me breath control so I can appropriately insult aquatic ecosystems. I am serious as fuck, Szhe’ka. Wroahk needs some schooling and I can see how annoyed your birdie squawks make him.”
Ani leans over her, grinning. “I will help you. I can definitely get behind the idea of fucking with someone that grumpy. But no more declaring dominance over spawning grounds until you can sustain a full crescendo.”
Kira groans. “Worst island ever.”
The lapping of the lake water continues its steady rhythm against the shore, the island unconcerned with Kira’s feelings about it.
Thivoll saunters over and envelops Ree in a purring embrace. Ree wriggles free just enough to poke Thivoll in the ribs, then starts up a purr of her own.
“You two sound like overgrown furballs,” Kira comments, voice still edged from her failure.
Thivoll gives a mock growl that only makes Eli laugh harder.
I feel the tightness in my chest loosen. I am still afraid. Azoeul is still missing. The hunters are still out there.
But I am not alone. And… I do not want to be.