A Leash of Foxes

[scizorstrike]

Of the three main options, you have one which probably isn't dangerous (Small creatures), one that might be dangerous (Bigger creatures) and one that might be anything from horrifically dangerous to absolutely safe (Dark).

Obviously, the smart move is to check out the wildcard first.

 

[Cutlerine]

The reference to the 'lithe creature' and the Dark-type material makes me think of Sableye. And Sableye are always cool. So I vote go right.

I'd say look to the right; that Dark-type interference may be some kind of structure. If it is a structure, that structure was created with the intention of interfering with psychic power (aka: foxes). May be a good place to hide.

Obviously, the smart move is to check out the wildcard first.

If there's some broken-up Dark interference to the right, it could mean a structure – and with potentially fewer animals around, that seems to leave it the obvious choice. You back up a little, twist the yawstick and bring the cart carefully around the corner.

This ravine is wider, and indeed appears to be widening; after a few dozen yards, it's a struggle to make out the walls. You can hear water though, gurgling somewhere out of sight, and the wheels are starting to make sucking sounds, which must mean mud. Hopefully the cart can take it. Its tyres are huge and deeply ridged for traction on hostile terrain, but it does not seem likely that they were designed with this in mind. Not many trains pass through marshy ground.

You ask qhamri how much further there is to go, and it tells you that you aren't far away.

“It feels like a cave,” it says. “I can sense beyond the interference now, and to either side – so it is confined to one spot. But what is in the walls of this cave that makes it so opaque to me is impossible to tell. And there are no animals there, except―”

It falls silent.

Except, you prompt.

“Query. Except? Answer. It is difficult to be certain, but I think there is something in there. I cannot tell what it might be.”

You hope it's nothing dangerous. Or at least nothing bulletproof.

One hand on the yawstick and the other on your gun, you steer grimly on, turning the lights down as far as you dare once they begin to flicker, until a tricky corner forces you to turn them up as you round it―

There is something very large lying on the path.

You wrench at the brake lever and the lifecart squelches complacently to a halt in the mud. Before you, the thing on the path opens a large, white eye, then squeezes it shut again against the glare. It rises – up and up – and you see that it is attached to a neck, which snakes away into a cave the size of a house in the left-hand wall―

You cry out and leap from the cart, slipping in the mud and barely keeping your balance, rushing out into the lamplight so that the head can see you―

And it pauses up there, with its mouth glowing orange, and suddenly the firelight fades as it sniffs deeply in recognition and delight.

You hold out your arms, and Charlie lowers her head to your hands.

*​

“The High Lover sent kem away,” says qhamri, its chest and Charlie's horns glowing bright in the gloom of the cave. “It would seem ke was leaving you a tool, Subject. Had your dragon remained where ke was, jinneerah hs.ang would have recaptured or killed kem. Perhaps the Lover hoped that ke would return to you, but it seems kehr injuries have so far stopped kem.” It pauses. “Ke is in pain still.”

Charlie makes a low rumbling noise and lifts herself up on her forelegs a little, and by the light of the fire you see the grey clay plastered across her chest. A glance outside reveals deep claw-marks in the mud. So that was why she chose this place. This must be what Charizard do when they are injured – seek ways to seal the wounds – and of course, there are precious few places to find clay in the desert. The Sinklands was closest, and you know from experience that Charlie's serpentine tongue is more than capable of sniffing out almost anything from miles off. She must have come here straight from the battlefield, lured by the distant taste of wet earth. And then you came along, which you must admit is quite unlikely, given the distances involved. But let's be honest: fate has been breathing down your neck since you picked yourself up off that burning plain outside Rust. It was only a matter of time before it showed its hand, and gave you a nudge in the right direction.

“Kehr memories are a little vague,” admits qhamri, the glow fading. “But it seems ke was looking for clay, and a cave, and precious stones. Things to put a dragon at its ease. And so ke crawled down the cliff and found this place.”

Stones. Of course. Where would a dragon go to convalesce? To the place where the gems and gold are. You stand up and look down into the dark between Charlie and the mud-streaked lifecart. The back of the cave, you'd wager, punctures deposits of gold or jewels.

You turn back to Charlie, awake now and watching you unblinkingly. It is hard to judge how happy a reptile is – they don't act like mammals, and yet dragons are not really much like lizards either – but she certainly seemed pleased to see you again when she realised who you were. Perhaps she was as surprised as you. Certainly she hasn't stopped watching you since you parked your lifecart next to her, as if she feels the need to make sure that you really are there.

You pat her on the shoulder, or as close to it as you can reach, and she flares her nostrils, projecting soot onto the floor with a soft whumph. That makes you frown – normally, she blows ash and cinders out with her fire, leaving none to build up inside her – but you put it down to her present state of injury. It wouldn't be the first time the stress of being wounded has impacted an animal's health, and Charlie's wounds are fairly severe. You're amazed she managed to fly here: the bone charms that broke off passed through her wing muscles, you recall, and the strain of moving them in flight must have been excruciating. Dragons are tough, of course, but you weren't aware that they were quite that tough.

Still: for now, you are here, all three of you – and with a lifecart full of supplies, not to mention fire to keep the Sinkland's monsters at bay. Your skin is burnt and blistered, qhamri's wing and tailfeathers are scorched at the tips, and Charlie is still wounded, and yet … the cave is warm and dry from Charlie's presence, and you are hidden from prying eyes in a place of earth and water, where djinn fear to tread. Outside, Dirge and Zavarat are fighting, and Stone's train is rumbling on, and jinneerah hs.ang is marching ever westwards – but right now, for some reason, that does not seem to matter.

As if the desert agrees, a clap of thunder sounds distantly overhead, and you start, amazed. You barely even recognise the sound. Storms blow down out of the north perhaps once in a decade.

Outside, the gurgle of water grows louder, and soon little streams are dropping across the cave mouth, churning the clay path outside into a muddy brook. Charlie hisses and shuffles further back into the cave, but she doesn't sound truly unhappy. She's a creature of the mountains, after all. Her home in the upper valleys of the Argent Peaks is full of cliffs and rainwater.

The little fire you lit from moss and vines shivers in the faint draught from the cave entrance, and at its side you lean back against Charlie's flank, content. Djinn will not fly in this; foxes will not march; crewmen will keep below decks and warm themselves with whisky in the comforting glow of lamplight. Everything takes shelter in the face of a desert storm. While you wait in here, the frontier will wait too.

Overhead, thunder speaks in words as large as continents: DA. You imagine all the people you have met – all of them, Rosalind and Lily, Dirge and Stone, Zavarat and Grant and Sam and John and Mordecai ben Arous and the Captains Westing and Major Frith and Sayre and Morello and the young person with the parasol and all the other people whose names you never knew – you imagine them listening to the thunder as you are, as the storm lumbers on across the wasteland, implacable as glaciers. What does the thunder say to them? It tells you to wait. But the voice of the heavens does not speak in one language alone. Others will hear something different in its roar.

You are hungry.

 

[Sike Saner]

You cry out and leap from the cart, slipping in the mud and barely keeping your balance, rushing out into the lamplight so that the head can see you―

And it pauses up there, with its mouth glowing orange, and suddenly the firelight fades as it sniffs deeply in recognition and delight.

You hold out your arms, and Charlie lowers her head to your hands.

!!!

Okay, did not see that coming. Nice to see her again. Makes me all the gladder that MC broke away from the Requiem, even if there is still a chance that not-so-nice consequences of that action might lie ahead.


One could step out of the little cave to hunt owls or rats, I suppose. The storm would lessen the chances of being spotted by the wrong folks while doing so. Dunno if that'd be worth the ammo, though, or if the knife would suffice to take them out. They do seem to have a lot of little cubbyholes and the like to dart into. Also good luck seeing anything out there worth a frell. And I'm not sure Charlie should be doing any hunting right now, given her condition.

So I guess it's pickled stuff for dinner tonight, but do keep trying to think of something better.

 

[Pink Harzard]

One moment please

Charlieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

*Ahem* Well, let's look at the situation. You are in a pretty save place with a wounded Charizard and a slightly burned Qhamri. O, and you are hungry, like probally the others of the group. So check the cart for some food and share it with you buddies.
After that look for some first aid stuff. If you are lucky, you can find one of those softboiled eggs. Try to treat Charlie, unless she doesn't like it. Then try to fix up Qhamri. Maybe you can check yourself for some wounds too.
After that, make sure the cave is save and then it's time for some well earned rest. You guys will need it.

 

[Cutlerine]

One could step out of the little cave to hunt owls or rats, I suppose. The storm would lessen the chances of being spotted by the wrong folks while doing so. Dunno if that'd be worth the ammo, though, or if the knife would suffice to take them out. They do seem to have a lot of little cubbyholes and the like to dart into. Also good luck seeing anything out there worth a frell. And I'm not sure Charlie should be doing any hunting right now, given her condition.

Briefly, you consider investigating outside, but what would you find? All the animals will have gone to ground in this weather, and the clay path outside looks like a cross between a swamp and a river. You don't think that there's much to be done outside until the storm has passed.


So I guess it's pickled stuff for dinner tonight, but do keep trying to think of something better.

Check the cart for some food and share it with your buddies.

After that look for some first aid stuff. If you are lucky, you can find one of those softboiled eggs. Try to treat Charlie, unless she doesn't like it. Then try to fix up Qhamri. Maybe you can check yourself for some wounds too.

Food would be a good place to start. You brew termagore and fry false-cactus; Charlie flares her nostrils at the smell and turns her head away. She'll take nothing except meat – but does qhamri require anything? You offer, and it declines.

“I am not composed of living matter,” it says. “I do not require sustenance, only maintenance.”

It will certainly need some of that, if it ever gets back home; its travels across the desert have been long and difficult, and they have taken their toll. A few of its long wing-feathers have gone missing, and around the edges many of the others are scorched. That clash with the Murkrow in Scourston – how long ago it seems! – has chipped the tip off one of its claws and snapped another at the first joint. It needs the attention of someone who knows how to cultivate bone, and, if it is a temple attendant, you suspect that propriety might require that that someone be of a certain level of skill. From what qhamri has told you, the foxes take their theology of love seriously.

Or most do, anyway. Hs.ang seems to be something of an exception.

After you've eaten, you ransack the cart for anything that might help Charlie with her wounds. There's a first aid kit – the cart is designed to be taken in the event of disaster, and to accommodate injured individuals – but it seems somewhat inadequate for the scale of the problem at hand. You are on the verge of giving up when your eye falls on a large can wedged in among the medical supplies. Water? Why has that been stored here? You pick it up, and are surprised by how heavy it is. Not water, then. Something denser.

Over by the fire, you are able to read the label, and you raise your eyebrows in surprise. This is excessive, even for Stone. But then again, with a hole in his foot to remind him that Zavarat is still out for his blood, he must feel rather insecure when travelling without Dirge. Presumably he wants to be as well-equipped for survival in the event of disaster as he possibly can.

You take the knife and prise open the lid, then drain the liquid inside to reveal a soft, rubbery mass the size of a pineapple: a whole pickled Blissey egg, peeled and still faintly pulsing with sickly light. Were you to eat all of this, the concentration of regenerative energy in it would probably give you cancer – but you judge it would make an appropriate dose for a dragon weighing upwards of two tons.

Charlie is less enthusiastic. You can understand her reticence: when you tip the egg out beneath her nose, it hits the dirt with a wet and unappetising splat, and lies there looking like the pulp left over after a Drifblim bursts. She sniffs it dubiously for a moment, then gives you a look. You make encouraging noises, and, with obvious trepidation, she nips it between her teeth and swallows. The vinegar makes her sneeze, little flames jetting from her nose, but she settles down soon enough afterwards, setting her head on her claws and licking her teeth. Probably the taste is lingering; you can still smell vinegar yourself, and what the effect might be on Charlie's sensitive tongue you can barely imagine.

It looks like she plans to go to sleep, which makes sense – Blissey eggs are like ether or morphine, in that they dull pain but also, at large enough doses, other senses. As for how quickly sleep has overtaken her, well; you do not know the specifics of Charizard digestion, but you imagine that something so hot must burn through its food much faster than any human.


After that, make sure the cave is safe and then it's time for some well earned rest. You guys will need it.

A thought occurs to you: if it is simply Charlie here, what was the interference qhamri sensed? You ask qhamri, but it is not entirely helpful.

“Query. Where is the interference I detected? Answer. I am not sure.” It shuffles on its perch atop the forward lamp-bracket. “There is something strange about this cave. Perhaps there are qai.houri, Dusk Stone, deposits, or similar minerals. It may be that that was what drew the dragon here. I understand that most of kehr kind are fond of rare stones.”

You frown, and twist the lifecart's rear lamp to face the wall. Turning it on, you watch for the telltale holes in the light that would indicate Dusk Stones – but there is nothing. You don't even see anything black; the walls are streaked with brown and red.

Not there, then. But what about the darkness at the back of the cave? You glance towards it uneasily. It is impossible to see how far this place extends, especially now that Charlie has curled her tail fire under her wing for safekeeping. The only light comes now from your campfire and the light-globe.

You watch for a long second. The darkness, backed with a cacophony of drips and gurgles, watches back.

It is an unpleasant feeling, to be abandoned by the thunder. Not fearful, exactly – you are still not easily made afraid; that much of your fox-led self you have kept – but not pleasant, either. You wish the storm would speak again.

You click the light-globe off, and fetch the cart's oil lamp. It does not shine as brightly, but you can take it with you, and the beam of the electric lamps doesn't quite reach far enough to show the rear wall. A few steps into the dark, and something glitters in the distance: two somethings, in fact, with a hard, white light.

The somethings blink, and disappear without a sound.

Not alone, then. You reach for your gun, and realise without surprise that you have already drawn it.

Further on, and now you can see the far wall – or rather, the heap of stones that seems to be on the verge of swallowing it up. Most of them are undistinguished, but you recognise among them raw rubies like you saw before, and chunks of pitchy ore that swallow up the lamplight like mouths. And then, here and there, larger, stranger stones – rough, uncut, but shimmering slightly, colours mingling and swimming on their surfaces as they once did on the butt of your gun.

“Qai.olhora,” breathes qhamri, fluttering over. “Stones of change, like the qai.alha.qhazim that jinneerah hs.ang has forced upon the High Lover. And qai.houri, too. Both can make me perceive awry. But who has gathered these?”

Did some lost explorer find these stones, intending to return, before the Sinklands claimed them? Or are there creatures down here that hoard these things? You remember those eyes – big eyes, you think uncomfortably – and wonder if, along with the smell of clay and jewels, it was the scent of another dragon that brought Charlie here.

No, that cannot be right. All the Dragon-types that you can think of are fiercely territorial. They usually come together only to mate, and you are fairly certain that in her current state, Charlie would probably greet any amorous advances with a gout of flame.

A movement: you turn. The light catches on two polished gems – cut? But who cut them? – and rows of sharp, rust-stained teeth part beneath them in a grimace.

You blink, and part of the dark resolves itself into a small, angular creature, head twitching spasmodically away from the light. Would you call it simian? No, you think not; it has the right number of arms and legs, and in the right places, but it does not appear to be at all mammalian. Its skin seems to be made of the darkness itself, tinted faintly purple, and clusters of polished jewels flash on its back. Its eyes are enormous, if they really are eyes. They are where eyes ought to be, but they lack any trace of iris or pupil, marbled with light like opals.

The little monster hisses, and you take an involuntary step back. There is something eerie about it – as if it is an extension of the cave itself, its darkness and its gems coalescing into strange new life.

You and the creature regard each other for a long moment. The rain glugs. The thunder rumbles.

“Dark,” says qhamri, chest-light dim. “I cannot locate its mind.”



Sike Saner: Well, I had to compensate for you not having Dirge or Zavarat around somehow! And, you know, Chekhov's Charizard and all that. Never introduce a giant tame dragon if you don't intend to have it, er, go off.

... that doesn't quite work. But you know what I mean.

 

[scizorstrike]

Oh hey look, a Sableye.

Charlie's asleep, so don't be too aggressive towards it -Ghosts can be hard to kill, and anything Dark is useful if you need to fight against other foxes. Also, if you can get it to come with you somehow, Zavarat and Stone will know absolutely nothing about it.

Always useful when dealing with people like them.

Maybe you can even get it to eat Stone's rock collection.

 

[Pink Harzard]

It will be quite dangerous, but you can try to befriend this Sableye. Try to offer it some nearby gems. As long as you don't approach the nearby stash. That could probably his food reserves. And we don't want to provoke a dark ghosty gem-eater right now.

 

[Deadly.Braviary]

A Sableye on our side could be useful ... but be careful. There's definitely more in there ... and you don't want to piss them off.

~Deadly

 

[Cutlerine]

A Sableye on our side could be useful ... but be careful. There's definitely more in there ... and you don't want to piss them off.

It will be quite dangerous, but you can try to befriend this Sableye. Try to offer it some nearby gems. As long as you don't approach the nearby stash. That could probably his food reserves. And we don't want to provoke a dark ghosty gem-eater right now.

Charlie's asleep, so don't be too aggressive towards it – Ghosts can be hard to kill, and anything Dark is useful if you need to fight against other foxes. Also, if you can get it to come with you somehow, Zavarat and Stone will know absolutely nothing about it. Always useful when dealing with people like them. Maybe you can even get it to eat Stone's rock collection.

Dark – yes, that makes sense. Ghost-type too, perhaps? The creature's flesh is like nothing you have ever seen on anything else – as if someone has taken the shadow-stuff of Duskull and somehow forced it to congeal. That makes it dangerous: you have no idea if your knife and bullets will hit it or simply go straight through, and Charlie, in her egg-induced slumber, is hardly likely to come to your assistance. It will be best to move diplomatically.

How to win the favour of a creature like this, though? You watch it a little longer. It has still not backed down, which is impressive given its small stature. Then again, any creature that lingers after a Charizard takes up residence in its cave is hardly likely to be driven off by a human. Perhaps there is a nest of the things here. One little creature alone couldn't gather so many gems – or could it? You have no idea how long this thing has been here. Ghosts are often long-lived, but you've never seen a Ghost quite as corporeal as this one before.

It bares its teeth again, and part of the mystery suddenly resolves itself. Those teeth are stained yellow and orange with rust and other minerals. The heap of stones, you realise, isn't a collection. It's a larder.

Slowly, trying hard to seem peaceable, you holster your gun and reach for the pile of rocks. The creature hisses at this, and you pause – but it makes no move to attack or run. Wondering if perhaps you are still too threatening, you crouch, and take up a piece of yellowish ore from the edge of the mound.

The monster clicks its teeth in agitation, limbs twitching about with little jerks. Its eyes take on a faintly purple light, and the flame of the oil lamp flickers suddenly in a wind that you cannot feel. Perhaps slow and steady wasn't the best choice. Hurriedly, you offer the creature the rock – and immediately its eyes clear. It takes it from your hand without hesitation – indeed, it almost snatches it off you – and nips a corner of it off between its jaws as easily as you might bite through a piece of bread. You watch it chew, and are glad that it didn't attack. Those teeth could bite your gun in half, let alone your hand.

Maybe the creature was only checking to see that you hadn't done anything to its stone, because it appears to lose interest then, tossing the rock back onto the heap as if it has lost interest. It blinks lidlessly at you, its opaline eyes darkening into jet and brightening again, and scrambles away into the dark.

You wait for a long moment, but it does not reappear. You cannot hear it moving, although if it is some sort of Ghost, you wouldn't expect to.

Is it gone? You raise the lamp, and see nothing living. Then again, you know that there must be holes in the walls and behind the mound of stones that you in your inexperience have either not seen or have mistaken for shadows. And the creature might not even need holes to travel through. Some Ghosts are not stopped by walls.

You linger a little longer, until you are certain that you are alone, then turn and head back towards Charlie and the campfire. It's hard to know whether or not you made a good impression, but the cave's other tenant at least doesn't seem to be interested in bothering large creatures. Since on its scale you, qhamri and Charlie all fall into that category, you are reasonably confident that it won't cause any problems tonight.

Back by the cave mouth, the fire has burnt low and has to be coaxed back into life. It won't last the night, not with any potential fuel currently being drenched by the storm, but Charlie should be enough of a deterrent to wild animals tonight. Wrapped in blankets from the lifecart, with the thunder rumbling outside and the radiant warmth of Charlie at your side, you fall asleep more content than you have been in a long time.

The night passes without dreams, as peaceful as the sound of rain. When you wake, a faint light is inching its way in through the mouth of the cave: the storm is past, blown out or marched on further south, and the first rays of the rising sun are slinking into the ravine. By their light, you can see that the path outside has become a swift, bright little stream, and that someone or something has left you a gift by the ashes of the fire.

Curious, you pick it up and turn it over in your hands: a rough gem of some kind, a little larger than your fist and a dull midnight blue, veined with black and turquoise. It would be beautiful when cut and polished, you imagine.

“Qai.olhora,” says qhamri, looking down at you from its perch on the lifecart lamp. “I cannot say what its function is, but it is a force for change. I imagine it is a gift from our host.”

You glance sharply towards the darkness at the back of the cave, and catch, in the second before they disappear, a fleeting glimpse of enormous white eyes. Why has it given you this – surely one of the most valuable stones in its collection? Is it completing the exchange you began by offering it the yellow rock? Or is it simply bribing you to leave? Whatever the reason, you now own something precious – something that Stone, and others who recognise its power, would kill to obtain. A second glance confirms what qhamri has told you. Those veins of black and blue are crawling across its surface like the iridescence on spilled oil; it is a Mega Stone, and, under the right circumstances, it could unleash a force on the wasteland as powerful as the evolved High Lover.

All you will need is the right Pokémon, and the butt of your revolver. The thought almost makes you smile: here you are again, waking up in the middle of nowhere, in search of a stolen gun. Your story, it seems, is one with a little symmetry to it.

Behind you, Charlie snuffles herself awake, and you turn, anxious to see how she is doing. She seems a little drowsy at first, head wobbling as she raises it from her claws, but a few seconds later she is as alert as ever, and indeed more energetic than normal. Crouched awkwardly to avoid hitting the ceiling, she rears onto her hind legs and pushes her shoulders back, cracking the dried clay on her chest. It falls away in dust and fragments, and where it does you see violently red patches of flesh, new and scaleless. Not fully healed, then – the fresh skin looks sore and tender. But the wounds are sealed, and if Charlie can flex her shoulders without tearing them open again, she's well enough to move.

Pleased, she spits a ball of fire out of the cave mouth, clearing her nose and mouth of accumulated soot, and turns to you. Clearly, she's eager to be off – and now that you are back, she is looking to you for direction.



A note: my university has broken up for Christmas now, so hopefully I'll be able to get around to updating this a little more often. Thank you for your patience so far!

 

[scizorstrike]

Aha! Swirled black and blue Mega Stone? There are only two stones that could fit that description, and one of them is Glailite. Which is unlikely, meaning that the probable -ite compound is Charizardite X.

Really, did anyobody think any different?

Now, we need to get the Key Stone back. Or a fresh one, but this isn't Hoenn or Kalos, so the Mega Gun might well be the only Key Stone in the country. Ask qhamri where they would have taken it, then get going. If via train, recharge it slightly outside so as not to disturb the Sableye. If via Charlie, strip everything of use out of the train before you leave.

 

[Cutlerine]

The Mega Stone is Charizardite X.

Charlie pauses, gaze shifting from you to what you hold. She flicks her tongue out, tasting the air, and makes a strange noise that you have never heard from her before – something like a deep, hoarse cough.

You look at the stone, and at her, and into the dark at your invisible host.


Really, did anybody think any different?

Of course. Why else would you be here? This is how things are meant to be. It was already too far-fetched to believe that you and Charlie were reunited through chance; it is no less credible to suggest that fate went the extra mile, and directed you to the only place in the wasteland where you could find what you needed to face hs.ang on equal terms.

“Wise creature,” says qhamri, coming to the same realisation at the same time. “A curator of stones. It knew what you wanted, Subject, before either of us did.”

There is a pause.

“Are you not pleased?”

Softly, you ask if it hurts.

Qhamri tilts its head on one side.

“Query. Does it hurt? Answer. Unclear. Does what hurt?”

Evolving like that.

“Reinterpreted query. Does ei.olhora hurt? Answer. No. Subtextual query. It appeared to hurt the High Lover, so why not the Charizard? Answer. The High Lover changed unwillingly. For an intelligent being to undergo ei.olhora, your Mega Evolution, is to suffer great mental change. Humans and zhiira, the Golden, are both embodied beings, Subject. A new shape is a terrible thing. It is a trial of selfhood.

“But the records state that other creatures have less trouble. Your species and my creators' share a concept of the self, a philosophical understanding of their own nature. This is what troubles them. This is why jinneerah hs.ang does not use this power on kemself.” Qhamri looks at Charlie, waiting expectantly by the cave mouth. “Your dragon is not unintelligent. But ke does not understand what it is to be a self. For kem, ei.olhora is simply another change, as kehr previous evolutions were.”

It won't hurt her?

“Query. So it will not hurt? Answer. No. And you can see, Subject, that ke anticipates it.”

It's true. Charlie has not taken her eyes off the stone since she noticed it. You force your misgivings aside, and hold it out to her in one cupped hand. She licks it, taking off a layer of grime, and makes that strange coughing sound again. Apparently she has none of your doubts.

You cut strips from the canvas flap at the back of the lifecart and with them incorporate the stone into the network of straps that criss-cross her torso. She seems pleased with this, and you decide that she must, after all, know best.


Ask qhamri where they would have taken the Mega Gun, then get going. If via train, recharge it slightly outside so as not to disturb the Sableye. If via Charlie, strip everything of use out of the train before you leave.

Charlie is too large to walk down the ravine, so you assume that she entered vertically – the fastest way in or out of the Sinklands. With the storm past and a draconian Mega Stone in your hands, there's no time to be lost, and you decide to leave on her back. This necessitates a certain delay: the supplies from the lifecart need to be transferred into bags and attached to Charlie's saddle, and if you're to fly for any length of time you'll need to be well hydrated before you begin. The sky here is a hot place, and Charlie's wingbeats make it hotter.

As you make your preparations, you speak with qhamri. You need the gun, and hs.ang. Where does it recommend you look? Does it know anything of hs.ang's planned path?

“Query. Where should we begin looking? Answer. Fly south. You may see kem coming, but if ke and kehr forces are not immediately visible, I will fly ahead, and sense for kehr minds. With so many of kehr minds in such close proximity, ke will probably not sense me.”

You nod. You trust qhamri's judgement in psychic matters; if it is willing to take the risk, you won't stop it.

At last your preparations are done. You unscrew the light-globes from their fittings the cart and roll them into the dark, a last glassy gift for the curator of stones, and climb up onto Charlie's back. She has been shuffling with impatience, and when you pat her neck – go – she starts forward into the muddy stream without any further prompting. Holding her tail high above the water, she reaches out with her wing-claws and latches onto the opposite wall, snaking up and perpendicular to the ground with remarkable ease. Before you quite realise how she has done it, she is climbing six-limbed up the side of the cliff, and you are gently rising with her. Did she do this on the way here – climb headfirst, weak and bleeding, down the rocks to reach the precious clay? You are in awe of her strength. If she had fallen, she would not have been able to catch the air with her wings and soften the impact. She would have landed, all two tons of her, on her head.

Around you, the vines and moss have become luxuriantly green overnight, dripping wet in air that is still cool from the storm. Where they are brushed by Charlie's sides, they smoke and crisp like false-cactus leaves on a fire. You have missed that heat – the glowing warmth that comes from Charlie's core. It settles over you again now, as familiar and comfortable as an old coat.

At the top, the rock shades into earth, loose and moist. You are concerned that Charlie might slip, but you are forgetting her alpine home; her talons curve through the soil and do not bear her weight until they are rooted on stone. One last, sinuous movement, and she draws herself and you up onto the surface.

It is bright again: that hits you first. The sunlight pierces your eyes as Charlie's roar your ears. Even the brief shade of her wings does little to detract from it. But it is not hot. The storm has washed all the violence out of the atmosphere; the ground is still damp, the air still cool. Not for long, you imagine – already the patterns the rain churned in the dirt are starting to crumble back into flatness. Soon, the desert will recover from its shock at the storm's fury, and settle into its daily routine again. You will enjoy it while it lasts.

Shielding your eyes, you see qhamri shoot past overhead, beating its wings hard, flying with air as well as telekinesis. Its mental range is quite far, you know. Hopefully it will find the foxes soon.

Charlie hisses impatiently, and you pat her neck again, pointing south. She looks back at you, flicks her tongue in understanding, and kicks off into the air – and you are away again, back where you somehow feel you should be, flying upwards through intense blue. The two of you trace circles above the ground, Charlie occasionally gusting out hot air beneath herself to help her upwards, and you, despite yourself, smile. You hardly need to think to be bold at a time look this: cool wind, warm seat, and open sky above and around. For a few minutes at least, as Charlie makes ready for the flight south, you feel invincible. Let hs.ang come; let Stone try to reclaim his stone user. You and Charlie – you can stop them all.

From up here you can see where you spent the night in relation to the Sinklands – surprisingly far north, and much deeper in the network than you thought. A glance backwards confirms you were some way southeast of Stone's facility, visible as a grey smudge on the brown. Some uneasy instinct makes you look for the Requiem, too, but you see only the desert. It must have turned around or gone on to its destination once your escape was noted and the djinn-battle was over.

Briefly, you wonder what happened to Dirge and Zavarat. It seems clear that water harms djinn, so they must have taken shelter – presumably Dirge went within the Requiem, but where did Zavarat go? And what of Adam? Did he survive to make it off the train? These questions could occupy you for hours, but something distracts you: to the southwest, a group of hills where no hills ought to be. It takes you a long moment of staring and puzzling to realise what they are, and how they appeared overnight.

They are the debris thrown up by a breaching requiem.

On the west coast, where rain is as commonplace as sun, the beating of raindrops on the soil summons earthworms to the surface. What might the vibrations of a thunderstorm do to the requiems of the desert? Despite Charlie's warmth, you shiver. They must have been half crazed last night – there are four or five mounds that you can see already, and it looks like there may be more further west; it suggests breach after breach, requiem after requiem bursting out of the ground to snap at the threat they thought lay above them. What did they do, when they found their jaws closing on nothing but water?

Well. They are gone now, anyway, and even if they aren't, they cannot detect a flying target. Up here, you send no vibrations through the earth.

After another hour or so, qhamri returns, dropping deftly into Charlie's slipstream from above.

“I have found kem,” it says simply. “Jinneerah hs.ang and kehr forces sheltered from the storm, it seems, in the ruins of one of the old burrows along the Road of Hearts. Ke are now a day's march from Rustwell.”

So close? How can no one have seen them? Rustwell has a heavily fortified eastern border, with a lookout tower boasting views halfway to the frontier on a good day.

“Query. How can hs.ang have come so close without being seen? Answer. Ke have not. The military were being mobilised when I left. I do not think,” qhamri adds, “that ke will be able to stop kem.”

No, you agree. You suppose not.

You have Charlie turn slightly eastwards, coasting high until Rustwell comes distantly into view. You cannot see hs.ang's forces from here – you are too far, and they are too small, for that. But if they are looking, they can almost certainly see a dark spot in the sky where you are, and if you continue to approach, they will see you coming long before you reach them.

In the distance, a smaller shape separates from Rustwell – soldiers, going to meet hs.ang. Enough of them to be visible from here. With such numbers, they will think they can scare the foxes off with threats and a couple of warning shots. However you choose to approach the situation, you can't let them make that mistake.

 

[Deadly.Braviary]

Since no one's given a command ... I guess it's up to me.

Use Charlie to scare the soldiers off. Try not to kill any of them.

~Deadly

 

[Sike Saner]

when you tip the egg out beneath her nose, it hits the dirt with a wet and unappetising splat, and lies there looking like the pulp left over after a Drifblim bursts

Oh now there's a lovely image...

Curious, you pick it up and turn it over in your hands: a rough gem of some kind, a little larger than your fist and a dull midnight blue, veined with black and turquoise. It would be beautiful when cut and polished, you imagine.

“Qai.olhora,” says qhamri, looking down at you from its perch on the lifecart lamp. “I cannot say what its function is, but it is a force for change. I imagine it is a gift from our host.”

Wait. That sounds like a...

~One quick search later...~

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH...

OKAY AWESOME DEVELOPMENT, VERY AWESOME DEVELOPMENT RIGHT THERE.

She licks it, taking off a layer of grime, and makes that strange coughing sound again. Apparently she has none of your doubts.

Maybe I'm projecting here, but I'm going to interpret that noise as the closest a charizard can get to an oh hell yes.


I'm at a loss for commands for the moment, so it's spectator mode for me. Looks like some kind of **** or another might be about to hit the fan. Interested to see where this might go.

 

[Cutlerine]

Use Charlie to scare the soldiers off. Try not to kill any of them.

Only you and Charlie, armed as you now are with the Stone, have a chance of stopping hs.ang. You have to find a way of getting those soldiers out of the way. For a moment, you search your mind for a method of explaining to them the danger – and then, as you draw near enough to be seen, they falter and hesitate in their onward march.

You suppose they would be better off afraid than dead.

A tug on the bone charms around her shoulders, and Charlie dips her wings, bleeding off height. The soldiers are rearranging themselves now, wheeling around and trying to present a defensive front – but of course they have no way to effectively withstand this. They lack armour to deflect fire, and typed bullets to fight back. Now, as you bring Charlie down into a dive, they should realise that they need to retreat. Or, if they are too foolhardy for that, perhaps at least their nerve will break …

Charlie's wings contract, inch by inch; your speed increases; the wind keens; and below, the first few panicked faces pop out into intelligibility against the grey and brown―

They fall back.

You point and shout, and Charlie spits her fire intentionally awry. For an instant, a wall of intense brightness cuts you off from the soldiers – and then it is past, and as Charlie rises for another sweep you see them retreating towards Rustwell's eastern bulwark. Passing over them again, the two of you leave a couple of scorched helmets in your wake, but no more than that. As the last of the soldiers regain the safety of stone and twisturne, a machine-gun begins to clatter at you, and with a flip of her wing Charlie soars up and out of its range.

There. That should keep the military (and it is the military, not the militia; government officials number among the resortgoers of Rustwell, and where they go official Orrene forces must follow) at bay, at least for a while. They probably think that Charlie is a fox weapon, meant to keep them within the walls until the approaching squadron arrives, and then to provide covering fire of an uncomfortably literal sort.

You rise, turning away from Rustwell, towards the east. Hs.ang's forces are visible on the horizon – though not clearly; they are still many hours off by foot, though you could reach them in minutes on Charlie. From before, you have an estimate of their numbers: three hundred, minus the uncertain number that were killed in your last ill-starred attack.

The question is whether or not you can get close enough to hs.ang for the gun to activate Charlie's stone before they evolve the High Lover and have them attack you. How much free will does the Lover have when Mega Evolved? Would they be able to hold off and let you get close? You voice your concerns to qhamri, and it glides closer to reply.

“Query. Can we expect assistance from the High Lover? Answer. Information is scarce. Ei.olhora has not been used for many years, and I am relying on the Temple records. The High Lover can resist, for a while – as you witnessed, Subject, when ke sent you kehr message through me. I assume that once ke is transformed, ke find it hard to assert kehr own will, or ke would have slain hs.ang and kehr faction already – though perhaps ke is able to keep a little of kemself; ke did manage to save your dragon before, after all. But it would be foolish to rely on that. As I mentioned, memory and selfhood are difficult to retain through such a change. Ei.olhora may well leave the High Lover mad.”

But they would be able to resist? To give you time to get close enough for the gun to activate?

“Query. Is the High Lover able and willing to resist long enough to let you come close enough for your dragon to evolve? Answer. I believe so. Ke will not know what you mean to do, but ke must know that the longer ke resist, the greater your chances of success in freeing kem.” The two of you fly onwards a little in silence. “I will fly higher,” says qhamri at last. “At this height, I will soon be within range of psychic influence, and hs.ang's forces may take control of me again.” It hesitates, little curls of light breaking off the surface of the brain in its chest. “Good luck, Subject. You do this for the good of your people and of mine. The love of both is with you. Blessed be the Beloved, and all those loved!”

The last sentence sounds odd, distorted by an accent you have never heard before – one of bark and growl, sniff and whine and screech – and once again you become conscious of the strange and dizzying gulf between you and the foxes, of all the years of history and thought that has built up on either side, each untasted by the other. No human could approximate that accent. Qhamri mentioned a faction; it had hardly even occurred to you that the foxes were anything other than a monolithic entity. But it makes sense. Hs.ang, qhamri has said, is an abuser of their old sacred technologies – of the mechanics of evolution. How can they be anything other than an outcast? You can see it now, how it might have happened – how the old powers, the High Lovers of the fox world, decided to keep to traditional warfare; how hs.ang, furious at the human invasion and (perhaps) influenced by those they fought, pressed for ever more extreme measures; ultimately, perhaps, they left for that secret stronghold beneath the black tower, along with an army of those they had won to their cause.

Are unmen a fox creation, or a hs.ang creation? It strikes you now that they have been used in fewer battles than you would expect of such a deadly weapon. How could a society of lovers sanction their use when their war, as qhamri explained to you so long ago, is fought as much for the benefit of humans as for themselves? Love means defending your kind from tyranny, it said. At the time, you thought it was speaking in a general sense; now, you are not so sure. Perhaps it did not mean that one ought to defend one's people. Perhaps it meant that for the foxes, love means defending your people, humans, from the tyrannies they are inflicting upon themselves and on the land they have settled.

You force yourself not to trace the thought further. There is no confirmation – not yet; you will have to wait until after the coming fight to speak to qhamri, or, if you are successful, to the Lover. But even if you are wrong, the foxes must be more complicated than you think. How can you have been so misguided as to tar a whole nation (a whole species!) with the same brush? You would never do that with humans. Only the blind machinery of propaganda – the same machinery, you realise in alarm, that you in your ignorance and pride scorned as below you long ago at the fair in Scourston – can have done it.

That, and the unspeakable crimes of jinneerah hs.ang.

You look ahead, at the growing band on the horizon. Perhaps you are wrong. You have put all this together with no more proof than a few chance remarks on the part of a psychic automaton. But even if you are not, you have always known that hs.ang is a monster. Have you not been likening them to Stone all this time, without even realising the implications of such a comparison? This is your story – your legend. You cannot afford to close your eyes against its parallels and coincidences: in these details live your destiny.

The foxes are still coming, secure in the knowledge that their Mega Alakazam will defeat any vengeful Charizard. They think you are dead, you recall.

Time to make bolder now than ever, and to show them how very wrong they are.

Be bold, be bold, but not too bold
Lest that your heart's blood should run cold.

Minutes pass; the foxes grow larger in your field of view. You see again that box and the Tauros that pulls it. They have seen Charlie now – and recognised her, too, although they haven't yet seen you, hidden as you are to eyes and minds behind Charlie's back and the shielding Dusk Stone. What do they think she is doing? Returning, in a fit of misplaced loyalty? Taking revenge? From where you sit, you can see them falling back, moving into circles with the box at the fore. Cutlar gleam dully in the sunlight.

One fox comes forward – one not like the rest: they lack a tail and the star tattoo on their forehead. No mere Kadabra, then. This is an Alakazam.

Even from this distance, you can tell that what they are holding in their claw is the gun.

Charlie flares her wings slightly, slowing with sudden uncertainty. With her sharp eyes and sharper tongue, she must be able to pick out every detail of them despite the intervening space. She has met this fox before, and come off the worse for it.

You rub her neck and whisper encouragement, pressing her Mega Stone against her in the hope that its presence might give her comfort, but she does not seem inclined to speed up. She does not stop, though, and the figure below grows ever clearer, until you are close enough to see them and they you―

Hs.ang's eyes widen in surprise, and they raise the gun above their head.

“I warn you,” they begin, in heavily accented Orrene, and the stone begins to glow.

The box twitches – thumps – emits a strangled growl – light bursts from between the planks―

―and suddenly Charlie roars, ear-rending air-cracking fire-spitting red-glowing, and a harsh light envelops you―

Are you falling?

The light fades as abruptly as it came, dissolving on a blast of smoke, and, blinking madly, you see that the scales you are clinging to have turned black.

Fragments of bone whistle past your ears: the charms studding Charlie's body have exploded, the evolutionary energy that created them overwritten by the rush of power from the Mega Stone. She flares newly-scalloped wings, and with a jolt that leaves your stomach wrapped around your molars Charlie drops to the ground, on hind legs that are longer and stronger than ever they were before. You look up at her head, trying to fix your sight on one point to combat your nausea, but you see nothing. Whatever Charlie's face looks like now, it is hidden beneath a mist of white smoke and blue flames.

The foxes fall back before her, scattering like panicked ants, leaving hs.ang standing and staring; the draught Tauros panics and turns, overturning the box and snapping the shafts in its haste to flee. Charlie roars, and for an instant the shroud of fire is blasted aside with the sheer force of it. You see longer horns, a wider gape – and then the cloud reforms, flames welling uncontrollably out of the corners of her mouth.

Blue fire, you think, fighting for coherent thought through your shock. Blue fire – the colour of dragons' breath. Charizard are Fire- and Flying-type, dragons in shape only, but Charlie seems to have crossed the gap. She must be a true Dragon now.

You have only a moment to savour the sight of hs.ang shocked. As the sand scorches around you, the upturned box bursts open and the High Lover floats up into the air, as sedate as a dandy making his morning rounds of the city. Unlike Charlie, they are no bigger or tougher than any other of their kind, but in their forehead burns that red jewel that you once thought an eye, blurring the air around it with half-visible psychic energy.

They raise a hand and cutlar whistle out of their wielders' claws, forming a halo of carved bone around the Lover's head. Their eyes roll white and filmed with madness; you cannot see even the alien intelligence of a fox in them.

Hs.ang roars a word, and the calm breaks. The air in front of the High Lover rushes towards you like the fist of a god, and you brace yourself to be flung back―

―only for Charlie to charge straight into the telekinetic field, the two great forces clashing with an impact that splits the very ground beneath her feet and makes you bite your tongue almost in half. She is pushing against the Lover's mind with sheer brute force – and, astoundingly, holding her own.

How long can it last? Not long, you are sure. She has her shoulder set against the air, and the Lover, fangs bared, arms raised, is snarling in concentration: one will win out soon, and either Charlie will fly forwards and overbalance, or the Lover will force her back. A glance past the Lover reveals hs.ang shouting at their forces, half audibly and half in waves of violet light, coercing them back into order; soon the darts will start flying, and Charlie will have a whole army to deal with on top of a monster.

It's time, you realise, and Charlie's growls seem to grow dim in your ears. All this work, and it is finally time.

In these few moments, while the foxes have yet to regain their senses, you must take back your gun.



Sorry that took so long! It was a long update and I've been busy with festive things like relatives and eating. Come on now! We're so nearly there!

 

[Deadly.Braviary]

First order of things is to arm yourself. Anything that you could use to beat up foxes is fair game.
After that, of course ... get the gun.

~Deadly

 

[Pink Harzard]

What Deadly tells you. Brace yourself and get the gun back. Then make sure it gets far away from the High Lover to revert it's Mega Evolution.

 

[scizorstrike]

As above. These are the foxes that decided to march and kill everyone. They aren't about to hand the Key Stone over just because you asked. Go through them if you need to and be quick about it. I'm guessing mental powers need focus to use, and if you rip through them too fast for them to react, you have an advantage.

 

[Sike Saner]

Oh man. Looks like I was right about **** being about to go down. Mega evo'd Charlie already does not disappoint. I'm amazed at how well she's holding her own thus far, though maybe it shouldn't surprise me at all. I give woefully little thought to charizard, when all's said and done.

Anyway. Watch your head, in every sense. The air's about to get lousy with dangerous stuff, tangible and otherwise.

 

[teamVASIMR]

Hi

Just caught up with this, I've been ridiculously busy...

All I can say, Very nice, almost there, beautiful!

Sorry my brain is tired.

 

[Cutlerine]

First order of things is to arm yourself. Anything that you could use to beat up foxes is fair game. After that, of course ... get the gun.

Brace yourself and get the gun back.

These are the foxes that decided to march and kill everyone. They aren't about to hand the Key Stone over just because you asked. Go through them if you need to and be quick about it. I'm guessing mental powers need focus to use, and if you rip through them too fast for them to react, you have an advantage.

The saddle's ties are complex, and complex means time-consuming. You take a knife to the knots and slip down Charlie's side, drawing your gun as you go. With the Lover's attention elsewhere and the Dusk Stone at your throat, you ought to be able to cover the ground between you and hs―

The ground lurches violently and throws you off your feet, the gun slipping from your grip. Scrambling back up, you see Charlie stagger, and the Lover make a gesture. Rocks tear themselves upwards from the earth – and Charlie sweeps one wing straight through them, shattering stone and new skin alike, turning missiles into dust. Stone and boiling white-gold blood rain down over your head; you dive – roll – hear the patter and spit of hot objects on soil – and here, right here by your hand, is your gun―


Watch your head, in every sense. The air's about to get lousy with dangerous stuff, tangible and otherwise.

A jagged bone dart sprouts from the ground inches from your head.

In a moment, you are on your feet, gun in hand. Between Charlie and the earthquake, there are few enough foxes with their eyes on you – but one has, a brindled one with a missing ear. While hs.ang tries to rally their troops, several more darts float upwards from the thrower's quiver, ready to fire – and almost before you notice, you have shot the Kadabra in the chest. They are on the ground even before their darts have fallen out of the air.

A gunshot is a loud sound, even with Charlie roaring close at hand. Now the foxes are starting to look, to listen to hs.ang; everywhere, you see darts rising above heads and daggers being drawn. The first few hiss upwards and towards Charlie as you watch; she blasts them out of the air with a ball of fire, but her attention has been divided and the damage done. The Lover pushes her back again, and follows it up with another telekinetic barrage of boulders, lacing her chest and arms with hot blood.

No time. No time. Too many more of those boulders, and Charlie will fall: Rock harms Fire like water hurts djinn. And the foxes are turning their attention to you now as well―

The ground trembles again – and the second wave of splinter-darts goes awry as the foxes lose focus. One grazes your cheek, but it is not a deep cut; several others, more seriously, embed themselves in the High Lover's shoulders, and they sway dramatically with the impact, yelping like a kicked dog. The boulders fall before they hit, and Charlie, seizing the opportunity, surges forward on all fours like a charging sandbear.

You take your chance and charge with her.

Are they still recovering from the earthquake? Or is it the sight of Charlie bearing down on them, wreathed in blood and fire? Perhaps it is both. Perhaps it does not matter; there may never be a chance to ask them. But it happens: the foxes, shaken, confused, afraid – do nothing.

The Lover raises their hand just in time: Charlie stops short of punching a hole in it, held mere feet away by an invisible force. Hs.ang and their soldiers aren't much slower. As you approach, they reach out with their minds, ready to swat you away―

―and you smile, tug open the collar of your shirt, and hs.ang has only a moment to see the dark flash of the Dusk Stone at your throat before you have brought the butt of your gun down on the back of their wrist and jerked the seven-chambered revolver out of their claw.


Then make sure it gets far away from the High Lover to revert its Mega Evolution.

Hs.ang cries out.

The Lover moans.

Charlie snarls.

The ground explodes.

One moment, hs.ang is standing in front of you; the next, there is a rushing wall of brown rising a foot from your nose, stones and soil and the roots of hardy plants screaming impossibly up into the sky―

And then,

abruptly,

painfully,

the world goes out like a broken lamp.

*

You wake among hills.

When you sit up, earth and small rocks fall away from your body and leave a series of pains in their place. Broken bones? No; fortunately, you are only bruised. All around you, great mounds of earth have appeared, as large and solid as houses.

The world is utterly, awfully silent.

You close your eyes and think. The storm brought the psammic requiems to the surface. They must still have been near – near enough to feel the vibrations of the battle between Charlie and the Lover, the battle that cracked the earth …

And then one breached, maddened with noise. That was why the ground shook. That was why the desert rushed towards the clouds.

You listen again. You hear no whines or barks – nothing to indicate that the foxes are still here and alive.

Is it over?

Have you – have you won?

You hear shifting stones behind you, and turn, reaching for guns that are no longer there. The earth parts, and a bloodied Alakazam clambers out of the rift, shaking dirt from their fur.

For what feels like minutes, you and hs.ang stare at each other.

“We chose you for your resilience,” they say at last. “Part luck. Part physical strength.” They shake their head. “Too lucky. Too strong. We should have chosen another.”

You say nothing.

“You are like me,” says hs.ang. “Someone who lasts.” They tilt their head onto one side for a moment. “All dead,” they say, making a breathy noise of uncertain meaning. “Or almost all. Perhaps one or two escaped. Inevitable. The eater-of-towns came up beneath kem. I was lucky to get away myself.” Their eyes bore into yours, glinting with the light of a formidable will. You begin to feel for the knife that you hope is still in your belt. “As were you,” hs.ang adds, snapping their claws with a noise like stones chipping against each other. A dagger jumps out of the dirt and into their hand. “I have not lost,” they say. “The qai.olhora is still here. The qai.hizh, too. I can do it again.”

You assure them that they won't.

Hs.ang bares their teeth. They are long, and yellow, and as sharp as your knife.

“The Lover,” they say. “Ke saved you when you fell? Yes? I thought as much.” They shake their head. “You are still fighting other people's battles. Even here.”

Not other people's battles, not now. Everyone's battle. A battle against hs.ang.

“Against me.” Hs.ang's knife jumps between their hands, too quick to make out. “Against me. Do you know who I am? What I am?”

They are jinneerah hs.ang.

“Jinneerah!” Hs.ang coughs something that could be a laugh. “Very good. And were you told what that means? By the Lover, or kehr precious hawks? I see that you were not. It is no zhiira word, Subject. It is a borrowing from your language. General. Jinneerah. Do you see? That is what ke think of me, the Lovers, and the Monarchs. Do you see what ke mean?”

You do. They are summing up hs.ang's perversion in one word – their warmongering, their power, their stratagems. And it is a human word, too, if garbled; what else could it be? Hs.ang has been fighting too long against people who see the war in black and white, as man versus monster. They have become the thing they set out to destroy.

“Perceptive as well as strong,” says hs.ang. You have said none of it aloud, but it is written on your face; you can feel it there, as clear as day. “But ke are wrong. I am as loyal as any of kem. I am still zhiira. All I am doing is what must be done. For the love of my people.”

There is no love in what hs.ang is doing, you tell them. And then, taking a chance: what would the Beloved think?

It strikes home. Hs.ang snarls.

“You know nothing of us,” they tell you. “Nothing at all.”

Suddenly, out of the corner of your eye, you see something catch the light a few feet behind hs.ang. Is that … ?

Your gun. The gun.

You force yourself not to look away from hs.ang, trying hard to give nothing away. If they notice it too – well, they are closer, and who takes the gun takes control of the situation.

It almost makes you smile. You have run from and towards and at the bidding of hs.ang for so long now. There's something fitting about the two of you together at last, with nothing between you but two knives and a gun.

And, of course, a lot of unfinished business.