Revaramek The Resplendent - Chapter One Hundred Twenty (Patreon)

Etchka dreamt of other worlds, of gods living in the guise of mortals, and of a pup he did not have. He dreamt of other tribes, and other lives he once lived. He dreamt of fear and of all the times he had died before. He dreamt of happiness and loneliness, and of a promise from a god to a mortal to one day know love as they knew it. And he dreamt of a great crystalline sphere, enclosing a grand truth, and burdened now with a crack he could not seal up again.

All this faded from him when he woke, and yet he could not quite free himself from it. The dreams were like gossamer spider webs he had passed through. They collapsed and vanished even as bits of them still clung to his mind, like the webbing upon his fur. Trying to divest himself of the unsettling images, he set up, and rubbed his eyes. When he pulled his hands back, the dried blood crusting his fur made him gasp.

“What happened?” He sat up straighter, pushing aside the hides to look himself over. More blood coated him, but he did not seem wounded. A moment passed before he remembered whose blood it was. “Ibba!”

Rain rushed in from outside, a water urn in her hands. She set it aside and rushed to him, her ears up and eyes wide. “Etchka! Easy, easy, you-”

Etchka started to rise up, panting, images of that poor mangled pup flashing through his mind. “But Ibba-”

“Is fine, thanks to you.” Rain set her hands upon his shoulders, and pushed him back into bed. She settled down to next to him, shaking her head. “I don’t know how you did it, but she doesn’t even have a trace of injury on her. I was afraid she’d be traumatized for life, but…her father came by, said she doesn’t even remember it. It’s as though, to her, it didn’t even happen.”

“Oh…” Etchka lay his head back against the bed, smiling. “That’s good.”

“That’s…” Rain trailed off, laughing. “One way to put it.” She lay her head against his chest, and stroked his blood-stained fur. “How do you feel? How does your head feel?”

“Better, I think. But I had…odd dreams. Of impossible things.”

“Dreams are rarely mundane.”

“This was different.” He rubbed around one of his horns, grimacing. “I had…some kind of déjà vu, last night. After I’d saved her. And then…then I started seeing things.”

“Whatever you did to save that girl, it must have wrecked havoc on your poor head.” She sighed, and shifted to lay her head alongside his, horns brushing horns. “You’d tell me if you still felt…wrong, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t say I feel right, just…better. I don’t…even know what happened, last night.”

“That goes for all the tribe. The elders will want to talk to you…The tribe, they’re…” Rain snorted, and flicked her tail against him. “I heard the word miracle more than once, just when I was getting water. And…I don’t know how to feel about that.” She nuzzled at his ear, then gave it a lick. “Because I don’t know what they’ll think that means for you.” Her voice softened, wavering. “I was worried about you, Etchka. Terrified, really. I thought…you might have saved that poor girl at the cost of your…well. You know as well as I what I must have feared. You seem alright now. But you should rest.”

“I should get this blood of me.” Ethcka chuckled, then rolled towards her to bump his nose against hers. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

“Not as if you did it on purpose. But if it’s forgiveness you seek than I forgive you. This time.” She clicked her teeth at him, growling playfully. “But frighten me again and you’ll regret it.”

“Oh, I will, will I?” Ethcka chuckled and licked her nose. “And what is little Rain going to do to make me regret it?”

“Possibly this.” With a smug grin, Rain bumped her knee between his legs, making him squeak in alarm. “Or withhold mating, but I suspect you’d sooner take the knee.”

“I’d sooner not frighten you again.” Etchka set his hand upon her leg, stroking her from her knee to her hip and back, ruffling her fur then smoothing it down.

Rain shivered a little, pulling her leg back. “Then we’re in agreement. Now, I’d rather you stayed in bed for a few days, but I suspect I’d be hard pressed to convince you to do so.”

“Not without a bath, anyway.” He nipped at her muzzle, still teasing her fur. “And a meal, maybe. And a lot of water. And some Kurat.”

“You can have the bath, the food, and the water.” Rain slipped out of bed, and offered him her hands to help him rise. “The kurat will be mine, because I’m going to need it to deal with keeping you resting in bed as often as possible, till you’re sure you’re well.”

“I’m certain you can think of some way to keep me in bed.” Etchka rose to his feet, only to wobble a little.

Rain perked her ears, giggling. “Oh no, no persuasion of that sort till you’re well, either.” She took his arm, and draped it around her shoulders, then let him lean against her. “Come on, I’ll help you to the water. I’ve got a private tub for us out back, but…the tribe’s going to want to see you again, soon enough.”

*****

When Etchka was rested, the tribal council conveyed, amidst the copse of towering hand fruit trees used for public debates. The rest of the tribe gathered around them. Ibba’s parents both hugged Etchka tight, and thanked him profusely for saving their daughter. Between their deep gratitude, and seeing Ibba at play with the other pups as if she’d never been injured, Etchka’s heavy heart was lightened. He still wasn’t sure what exactly how he saved her, but he was glad it worked.

For long hours, the elders debated what saving Ibba’s life meant for the tribe. Everyone knew he was the strongest shaper, and that his healing was without peer, but no one expected him to be thatstrong. One elder openly wondered if using such power was an affront to the gods, abuse of the great gifts they offered. Another argued that the fact Etchka could do such things was proof that the gods wished them to use their powers to their fullest, whenever needed. A third suggested that perhaps the gods only gave the greatest of their gifts to their prime shaper, leaving it to that individual to decide when they were meant to be utilized.

Whenever the elders debated amongst themselves, Etchka kept quiet. His own thoughts were muddled and often in conflict with what he long believed. Etchka did not think he had much to offer the discussion until they asked him questions, directly, or wished for his opinion. Rain sat with him, holding his hand, stroking his fur, kissing his cheek or licking his ear whenever he most needed a moment of comfort.

When the questions were directed at him, Etchka answered as honestly as he could. They awoke to screams, armed themselves, and ran to the commotion like everyone else. He knew what had happened before he arrived, and he knew she would die if he did not act. When someone asked if he believed she was meant to die, Ethcka answered that honestly, too. Yes, he did believe that. Why had he saved her anyway? Because he didn’t want her to die.

The answers seemed simple enough to him, but ignited a firestorm amongst the elders, and some of the tribe. Questions were called out in frightened anger. What if the gods had meant for her to die? Was he not befouling their gifts by using them to go against their wishes? He could bring punishment upon them all. Others were just as heated in his defense. No righteous god would punish someone for saving the life of a child. It was not abuse of their power to save the life of a pup. Perhaps it was a test, a sign, the gods might seek someone brave enough to go against their wishes in order to do what was right.

Ibba’s mother rose and yelled at the tribe, chastising members who were angry with Etchka. If it was their pup hanging from the beast’s jaws, would they not have wanted her life to be saved, just the same? They were all there, trying to save her in their own way, did that mean they were all going against the gods’ wishes? Her father stood up alongside his mate, adding to her argument. A great guilt hunt over him, for not doing more to stop her from slipping outside at night. If the Gods meant her to die, what if he’d woken, and put her back to bed, preventing her from going to the oasis? Would they now fear punishment from that, too?

When the arguments died away, the elders returned to questioning Etchka. He described how everything had slowed for him, how the world itself felt bent to his will, and how all of it felt in a way, as if he were in a dream. Looking back, with his head a little clear, he told them he almost felt as if he were the hero in some great story, guided by the gods’ hands to save the life of an innocent pup. That he was able to do what he knew impossible, simply because he wanted to save her life. Because he wanted her to life.

That only ignited more debate. Now, some of the elders pondered what it was actually the gods will that Ibba survive. That Ibba was meant to die that night, but the gods decided to be merciful, and thus, granted the prime shaper full use of his great power, that he might save the girl. After all, the stories their people told spoke of a time in which a high priestess once communed with the gods themselves. And though they had no such priestess, they all believed in the gods, and they all believed in the stories of their peoples’ history.

New questions soon arose. Could Etchka do that again? Could he save other lives on the verge of death? If so, should he? A few other parents spoke up, saying that if any of their pups were ever deathly ill, or mortally wounded, they would race them to Etchka, that he might save their children’s lives. After all, if the gods granted him the power to save one child, surely they could grant him the power to save all children.

The elders silenced the debates long enough to ask Etchka directly. Could he do that again? His answer was as truthful a reply as he could find within himself. Yes. He was not sure how he knew, but if it came down to it, he could do those things against. As he spoke, he stared at the desert beneath his feet, uncertain. His head felt odd, as though he were but an intruder in his own mind. Flickers of bloodied fur and crimson-stained sand flickered through his mind. He cringed and squeezed his eyes shut.

“You alright?” Rain nudged him, whispering.

“Head feels funny.” He smiled and nosed at her cheek. “M’okay, though.”

The debates went on around him. Asking, if it was within his power, should he not save anyone who needed it? Surely, it was not abuse if he only used his power to save lives. Other injuries and illnesses could be left to heal on their own, but when someone was dying, why not save them? The gods must have granted him this power for a reason. Others even argued it was his responsibility to save those who would otherwise die.

Then someone else spoke up, a soft snarl in his voice. “What about old age, then? What about those of us who are lucky enough to live until our fur falls out, and our bones grow brittle? When our tribe’s founders take their last wheezing breaths, what then? Should he save their lives, too? Make them live perpetually in a state of decay, just because he can? Because their children don’t want to say goodbye?”

“You haven’t got a pup!” Another urd’thin shot back at him. “You don’t understand!”

“I understand we aren’t supposed to live forever! I understand there’s only so much food to go around! I’m glad he saved Ibba, and I’d want him to save any pup! But, there has to be a line, drawn. Maybe the gods gave him this power as a test, not of bravery, not of kindness, but of responsibility! You start saving too many lives that should have died, and eventually, there’s too many of us! There’s not enough food, not enough water-”

“Then maybe you should march off into the desert, and leave more of it for of us who actually care about each other!”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it! And what about him?” He thrust a finger at Etchka. “What about when he’s the one sick, or dying? Does the prime shaper get to save himself from death?”

“He saved my daughter!” Ibba’s father snarled, waving his hand at Ethcka. “I say, he should save himself from whatever he has to!”

“Why, so he can take responsibility out of everyone else’s hands? So, if some poor hunter goes charging into a viper nest, he won’t have to worry no matter how many times he’s bit? Or some drunk youth falls out of a tree and breaks his head open, it won’t matter? We’ll always have our prime shaper to save us from our mistakes, is that it?”

“Now you’re just putting words in my mouth! You know perfectly well-”

“Sometimes…” Rain pushed herself to her feet alongside Etchka. Her voice was timid at first, but soon gained strength. “Sometimes stories have to end.”

Etchka fought back a whimper as a voice echoed around inside his head.

“Sooner or later?” Rain spun on her feet, waving her hand. “We all die. Ours is not to choose how, or when we die. Yes, we should try to save one another. Yes, we should live as long as we can, but we are notmeant to live forever. Sometimes…we have to learn to let go of one another, just because…because that’s how life is. We are all but another story told by the gods, and eventually? All stories mustend.”

All stories must end.

Someone spoke those same words to him before, he was sure of it. He gazed around the room, and for a breath, he saw the image repeated, a glimpse into a looking glass, reflecting back at him. The same room, the same people, the same debate. Etchka squeezed his eyes shut, but the images lingered, a memory, layered over a memory.

All stories must end.

“Mica’s right.” Etchka rose to his feet, wobbling a little. “I am glad I saved Ibba, and I would do it again, but…sometimes, a story must end, so that a new story can begin.”

“What did you call me?” Rain turned towards him, grasping his arm to steady him.

“I dunno…” Etchka peered at Rain, trying to focus on her. But her image kept shifting, dark gray fur replaced with pale gold, like she was two people at once. Then she was just gray again, but flickering back and forth, like a ghost, as if she was somehow in two places at once, reality overlapping a memory. “You look…wrong.”

Rain cupped his cheek, whimpering to him, worry shining in her gaze. “Your eyes look strange, Etchka. It’s like you’re…focusing somewhere else, even when you’re looking at me.” He lifted her voice, calling out to the elders. “He is unwell! I am taking him home to rest.”

Rain guided him by his arm, and the tribe parted to make room. His steps were shaky and unsteady, and Rain spoke to anyone in earshot. “I am as overjoyed as anyone that he was able to save Ibba, but look at you all, asking if he can do it again, can he save you from this, or that! Or if he’s going to doom you through his kindness. Whatever power he has, he has for a reason, but it isn’t to invite the gods’ wrath, any more than it is to save us every time we should have died. Look upon the toll it’s taken! It may not have harmed him physically, but I fear for what it’s done to his mind. There’s every chance that if he saves someone else from death, the act might shatter him completely. Give that some thought, spare him some consideration before you spend your days debating what next he can do for you.”

Her words made him smile, and he licked one of her ears in gratitude when they reached the edge of the crowd. She nosed him in return, and then came to a stop. More memories flickered through his mind, as if he’d been here before, maybe in a dream.

“You’re…you’re going to…” He murmured, only half comprehensible. Rain was going to ask about death, he was certain.

“The next thing you know, you’ll be asking him if he can bring back the dead!” Rain snorted, flattening her ears alongside her horns. “We’ve been lucky out here, so far, but we all have to admit it. Death is a part of life, and sooner or later, it will take us all.” She took his arm again, and when Ibba’s father came to take Etchka’s other arm, she offered him a thankful smile. “I’m going him home, now. And any one of you, elders included, who come to pester him about his powers until I say he’s well enough to receive you? Will find my teeth in their ears.”

*****

Earlier that night, Mirelle had done her best to convey Nyra’s illness to Ekki, as well as the purpose of their journey. It was a challenging task even without the sizable language barrier between them. How did she even begin to explain that the dragon was not ill with any known sickness, nor was she poisoned with anything known to exist in the world the urd’thin knew? Getting someone to understand and believe such a concept with the benefit of first-hand experience was difficult enough. It was made harder still by a inability to understand more than basic words and phrases from one another. Complex concepts were a far harder thing to convey.

Yet somehow Mirelle had prevailed in getting the gist of it across. She stretched her limited knowledge of their language to its utmost, and used all manner of gestures and drawings in the sand. At first they thought she was the one sick, after she mimed vomiting and dizziness. Some of them even brought her medicinal teas and things before they understood she was talking about the dragon.

At least once they understood that Nyramyn was sick, things were a little easier to explain. Mirelle used the knowledge of Nyra’s illness to help illustrate the fact that they were not messengers from the gods, nor were they explorers, or traders. They were just looking for someone who could help save a friend’s life.

Once that was made as clear as language differences would allow, Mirelle set into asking about their powers. Through a combination of words, mimed gestures, and drawings, she was eventually able to intuit that yes, they did have what the books referred to as, shaping. Some of them had it in great measure, others had only a hint of it. Each used it only to the extent their lives in the desert required. A few of them were talented in healing, but if Mirelle understood correctly, they were better able to do things like set broken bones, and mend deep wounds than they were able to quell lingering toxins. Mirelle suspected their beliefs also limited the ways in which they were willing to utilize their powers, though without being able to speak more directly with them it as impossible to say.

Mirelle always wondered if they had dug the irrigation canals by hand, or used their shaping for it. In the books, only one such urd’thin openly used his powers that way, and they referred to him as their prime shaper. Mirelle did not know the words for that, though if anyone in this village had stronger powers, it might well be Ekki. She also could not help but wonder about the rank of priestess. That was not a role that had occurred in Vakaal’s village. At least, not the versions in the books she had read.

When she had a chance, she broached the top of the strange black flowers with the white-speckled petals around the statues. Again, she battled through great language difficulties before finally reaching a point of understanding. Best she could tell, the flowers were a very rare, and very potent medicine. Mirelle imagined they had very specific growing conditions, needing shade and the right amount of water. They probably only grew after a rain storm, in the desert, but the urd’thin were able to replicate those conditions well enough to grow some for the tribe. It also made clear that they were considered a sacred thing, a gift from the gods to help keep their people safe in a harsh land.

The name of the flower translated to something like, god gift. Just to be sure, Mirelle asked about star’s blessing in relation to the flowers. Again, Ekki seemed insistent that Star’s Blessing was not found here. But their words for star and god seemed similar, as were the words for blessing, and gift. Mirelle worried she might be mistranslating something crucial, but if so, there was little to be done about it.

She asked about the nature of the flower, and what it was used for. It took a good deal of effort, but eventually she determined that it was used for not for wounds, but for illnesses and venoms. It helped counterattack the stings and bites of venomous creatures, and assisted the body’s ability to fight off disease. If she understood Ekki correctly, when taken in high doses, it also assisted with clarity of, or sicknesses of, the mind.

Mirelle pressed her on the idea of the god’s gift flower being used to treat poisons. It took quite a bit of back and forth, but as far as Mirelle could tell, the blossom was useful in alleviating the effects of poisons. What she wasn’t so sure about was the time frame. That concept proved an elusive one. Mirelle feared that the flowers might only be able to cure the poison when it was freshly in the blood. In Nyra’s case, it had been part of her for her entire life. Even if the blossom helped to filter it out, it would not undo the damage already caused.

But that wasn’t going to stop them from trying.

After their conversation, and before the feast, Ekki had taken the tribe’s healers to see to Nyramyn. Though the female dragon clearly disliked being poked and prodded and examined, she kept her hissing to a minimum. Revaramek put a paw over hers, nuzzling her, murmuring comfort in the swamp dragon tongue. Ekki gave her the most thorough examination, and according to Nyramyn, it felt as if Ekki was sometimes touching her inside her body. Mirelle wondered if Ekki was the only one in the tribe who they considered ‘authorized’ to use her powers for healing.

When they were finished, Ekki took Mirelle aside to speak to her as the other healers set about preparing things for the dragon. Ekki held Mirelle’s hand, patted it, and then sighed. Her ears drooped. “Blood bad.”

A simple statement that held so much meaning. Mirelle needed no more questions, no deeper conversation to understand what that meant. That there was deeper, more systemic damage, and whatever healing powers they might have, it was beyond them to fix. It must have been the same thing that claimed Revaramek, all those years ago. She had escaped the poison, but the damage was done, and it was only a matter of time before her body failed.

It was going to crush Revaramek, she knew it.

But no sooner did she try to break the news to him then he cut her off. He held up a paw, his voice soft, a trembling whisper. “They said she’s dying, right?” His frills sagged, and he blinked back tears that glittered in the firelight. “That they can’t save her?”

Mirelle opened and closed her mouth a few times, unable to find words that sounded right. Instead, she just nodded, and then wrapped her arms around Revaramek’s neck, hugging him tight.

The dragon returned her hug, his words like a flame that somehow strengthened him even as they seared his throat. “That’s not news, Mirelle. I already knew she was dying. I didn’t expect to find urd’thin here, so the fact they can’t save her changes nothing. We still have to find Star’s Blessing. Whatever that is…surely, it can save her.”

“Rev…” Mirelle took a deep breath, and eased back from him enough to gaze up at his face. “You…you may have to come to terms with…”

“We’re here for a reason, Mirelle.” Revaramek swallowed hard, his wings hanging limp at his sides. “Seeing the Father up there on that dune, seeing the gate out here…that only confirms it for me.”

“I agree with you there, Rev. Asterbury sent us out here for a reason. But…” Mirelle gently stroked the dragon’s foreleg. “We’re talking about Asterbury. We may have to assume this is only for hisgoals, not ours. There might not be anything out here that can save her.”

Revaramek squeezed his eyes shut, fangs bared as his muzzle twisted up. He sniffled and swallowed again. “No. This is…he wouldn’t want Korakos to…to grow up without a mother.”

“Why not? He did. Vakaal, I mean. And…Korakos already knows his mother better than Vakaal, ever did.”

“He just…he wouldn’t lie about this! Not this…”

Mirelle took a slow breath, leaning her forehead against the dragon. “Then what if he’s just wrong? I just…I just want you to be prepared, for the worst.”

The ghost of a smile flickered across the dragon’s muzzle, there and gone again in the same instant. “I know, Mirelle, but I never liked that saying. How could anyone be prepared for a such thing? But…” He sniffed, and lifted a foreleg to wipe his eyes. “I’m glad she asked to come with. I won’t tell her this but…if the worst does happen, then I want her to know what it’s like, to…to have an adventure. To feel like a hero. So at least…even if we go home, with nothing, she can spend her days with Korakos and I, and…and she can look back on her great adventure into the desert. All the places she got to see, all the people she got to meet, that she’d never have known in the swamp…like a hero, on a great journey. She can tell stories of her own adventures to Korakos…and he’ll remember them, when he thinks of his mother.”

“That’s…beautiful, Rev.” Mirelle rubbed her eyes, caressing the dragon’s chest plates.

“I’m not giving up, Mirelle.”

“You never do.” Mirelle chuckled, patting the dragon’s cheek. “But that’s good. If anyone can save your lovely mate, it’s someone as infuriatingly stubborn as you.”

“I shall take that as a compliment.” Revaramek arched his neck to smile at her.

“Good.” Mirelle cupped his chin, smiling back at him. “Because that is likely the first, and only time, I shall ever mean it that way.”

*****

After the feast, when the tellers of tales had wound their stories to a close, some of the tribe’s youngest and oldest members headed off for bed. Many more remained, and soon Ekki and a few others began doling out a new drink. She brought a cup for Mirelle, made from the husk of some large, hard-shelled nut, and then poured a bit of liquid into it. Revaramek and Nyra were given larger wooden vessels, with more of the drink poured into them.

“Strong!” Ekki said the word several times as she poured each drink.

Mirelle passed the word of caution onto her friends, and then snipped at her beverage. It had a sharper scent that the fruit drinks from before, as though it was fermented as much from herbs and flowers as it was from fruits. She took a tiny sip, and found the taste strange, but enjoyable. It was heavy with the familiar flavor of handfruit, first, but then gave a layered, bittersweet after taste, along with a faint tingling feeling.

“I don’t know what’s in this, Rev, but I get the feeling when Ekki says strong, she’s not just talking about the alcohol. So…” Before she could tell Rev to proceed carefully, he’d already drank half of his and was asking for more. “Rev, if you end up wandering out into the desert, chasing hallucinations, Nyra and I are going to be quite angry with you.”

“I’m not going to wander off, Mirelle.” Revaramek tossed his head, and then stretched his wing out as if to hide himself from Mirelle while warning his mate not to drink too much.

“I can see you, you know.” Mirelle laughed and took another little sip.

“Of course, you can see me, Mirelle.” Revaramek poked his head up over his wing. “I’m right next to you.”

“That’s not what…” Mirelle sighed and waved him off. “I suppose the important thing here is you’re taking my warning seriously.”

Revaramek only snorted at her. “We all know which of us has the drinking problem, after all. So when you me, I know it must be serious.”

“I do not have a drinking problem!”

“Agree to disagree!” Revaramek folded his wing back, lapping at his wooden vessel. “Why, I’ve seen you get annihilated off only half as much wine as it takes me to even notice the effects.”

“First of all.” Mirelle held up a single finger. “That’s not what a drinking problem is.” She held up another finger. “Second, you’re sixteen times larger than I am, so of course I don’t need as much alcohol to get drunk as you.”

The dragon curled his neck, looking himself over. “Your math is terrible.”

Mirelle leaned forward and waved for Nyramyn’s attention. When the female dragon peered down at her, Mirelle pointed at Rev, bent over, then threw her head back, hair flying in all directions. It was a close as she could come to the way dragons tossed their heads. Mirelle knew Nyra would understand the gesture more than she’d just rolled her eyes. Nyra laughed, and then swatted Rev’s foreleg with a paw.

Revaramek glared down at her. “Stop telling my mate how frustrating I am!”

“I didn’t say a word, Rev.” Mirelle smiled, and sipped her drink.

Once everyone had drink, Ekki came to the hard-packed center of the plaza. She looked around, and shooed a few people back, making room for herself. All the other urd’thin around her fell silent, watching. Mirelle glanced up at Revaramek, and the dragon only shrugged his wings. Mirelle took another sip, then cradled her drink between both hands. The whole tribe was quiet now, and everyone who remained was focused on Ekki. She turned towards Mirelle and her friends, and held up her hands, her palms flat towards them, as if telling them to stay where they were.

Ekki lowered her hands, and took a few slow, deep breaths. She swayed back and forth, her tail swishing in time to unseen song. Her ears perked, and swiveled, following music only she could hear. She took a step to the right, then another to the left, half-pivoting. Then she spun back the other way, dancing amidst the silence. A few more steps, and the ground rippled beneath her feet.

Mirelle’s breath caught. She’d only seen something like that happen when Asterbury was involved.

Ekki danced back across the center of the plaza, and threw her arms in the air. All the hard earth beneath her feet changed in an instant, a wave washed across it and it was sand, loose and fine and golden. It shifted beneath her steps, her footprints filled in again as quickly as she made them. Waves of fresh sand washed up against Mirelle’s feet, and she scooted closer to Revaramek. Ekki moved around the edges of the plaza, her swishing tail brushing people here and there. She twirled in front of Mirelle, and for a moment, she smelled of the desert itself, and of the rains that nourished it.

The fires dimmed, and the village darkened. The light of moon and star lessened, casting the village in shadow. The urd’thin all seemed enraptured by Ekki, and just as Mirelle was starting to get nervous, a single point of light was born, above Ekki’s head. She came to a stop and held her hands out, her palms up. The flickering light drifted down to her palms, and Ekki raised it to her muzzle. She took a breath, and blew it against it, and the spiraled away from her, out into the darkness.

Within the dark emptiness, there was a lonely star.

Mirelle shivered. Ekki said nothing, and yet she was certain she heard the words, clear as day. They rolled through her head, in a voice that was Ekki’s and yet not Ekki’s. As if whatever shaping she called upon to create these images was summoning something older, something deeper. A voice that spoke not one language, but all of them, all at once.

The lonely light drifted across the golden sand. Ekki swept her arms out behind it, and the sand beneath the light grew and grew until Mirelle sat not in a village, not at the edge of a plaza, but in the midst of a great and endless desert. No sun sat in the sky, no moon either. The sky was dark, and empty, the sands lit only by the shimmering radiance of the single, lonely light.

Where once was life, all was gone. Where once was love, all was emptiness.

The single star drifted across the desert, its pale radiance cast the sand in warm, golden hues, but only for a moment, a trail of light left in its wake that faded in its absence. For unknown time, the star wandered, illuminating the desert, pushing back the darkness, only for the shadows to close in once more when it had passed.

The emptiness brought loneliness, and loneliness brought sorrow, and sorrow, brought tears.

Sparks of liquid light fell from the star, colliding with the desert. Each spark flared, bright and fiery, and when the flares died away, they had forged life. Shapes moved through the desert now, familiar shapes. Urd’thin formed from the empty sands. The star continued to wander, continued to cry, and each tear it shed birthed a new tribe from the sands below. Now, when the star passed, the urd’thin cast their own light, holding the emptiness at bay.

Life brought the star joy.

The glowing light drifted, from tribe to tribe, casting golden joy upon them. Each tribe was immaculately detailed, as if Mirelle walked amidst them. Fur rustled in the breeze, their eyes shone with life, their bodies rose and fell with breath. They worked hard, built villages, took mates, had children, loved, and in time, died. The star wandered to the next village, and the whole process repeated. It was if Ekki was showing them a hundred years of life in an instant. More and more, Mirelle could not separate story from reality, shaping from vision.

In time, the star drifted away from the villages. Though they remained bathed in their own light, a sense of loneliness pervaded everything, as if the star’s longing was her own. As if Mirelle too, was adrift, and alone, even surrounded by her friends. The urd’thin were not like the star. The star was not one of them, could never be one of them. And that made the star sad.

Ekki danced, and the world danced with her. Waves of sand rose and fell, picking up the villages and the urd’thin, and carrying them away. Dunes rose all around them, and soon those dunes were mountains, and those mountains were walls. But walls to keep them safe or keep them imprisoned, Mirelle could not tell. Again, the plaza was an empty desert, that somehow stretched far, far beyond the village.

The star wanted what it could not have.

Stars bring light, and life, but are never to know love.

Mirelle ached for the star. She floated above the sand alongside it, gazed down upon the empty desert, remembered happy, loving families, and longed to know that love. But love was not her place in the cosmos. Hers was to renew life where life had long faded. Love was not required. Love interfered. Love brought the wrong choices.

So the lonely star wandered, leaving life in its wake, but never truly knowing life.

Years passed, or so it seemed. Decades of loneliness, of isolation. Centuries. Time was meaningless to those who did not age. Who did not die. The star wandered across the infinite desert, sinking deeper and deeper into despondency. Giving into its fate as the only such star that existed, never to understand love, or family. It left itself fall into slumber, to escape the sorrow. It did not need to be awake to shed its life-giving light.

Pain woke the star.

Mirelle had been asleep. No, the star had been asleep. In the distance, darkness rippled red and blue with pain, with sorrow, with loneliness strong enough to eclipse even the star’s despondency. The star drifted across the sand until, in the distance, it discovered the source of the pain. Two urd’thin, a male and female, a mated couple. Putting a child’s body on a pyre.

Their grief was overwhelming, and the star cried for them. His light fell across them, and all around them, yet never could they see it. The star drifted lower, and lower, close and closer. They were not meant to know him, nor were they meant to know their child. Their pup had died as soon as he was born. The great injustice of it was agony to the star. The star did not want it to be this way, for them, no more than he wanted to wander, alone, for all his endless existence.

They knew loneliness, just as he did.

The star knew, then, how to end that loneliness for them both.

Light grew and grew as the star descended towards the child, and the grieving parents. It settled just above the child’s body, and then bloomed into such incandescence as to blind Mirelle. She turned away from the images, and still the light seared into her brain, warmed her very bones. So bright, so warm, she half thought some star was being born right in front of her. Only when the light faded a little did she look again.

Now, the parents stood with their pup between them, each holding one of his hands, as they walked across the desert, and towards a great, yawning chasm of light. The light silhouetted them as they walked into it. Then it too, grew, and grew, until the three of them were gone. All the light faded, after that, leaving just shapes in the sand, in the darkness, walking together into their new world.

In an instant, the visions were gone, and Ekki dropped to her knees, panting. The bonfires once more cast the enraptured crowd of urd’thin in flickering orange light. A few other urd’thin rushed to her side, checking on her. They helped her up, and she thanked them, then gently shoved them away. While she caught her breath, Mirelle rubbed her eyes. She tilted her head back to stare up at the dragon, half-wondering if he had seen the same thing she had.

Revaramek stared back down at her. “Did…did you see that?”

“Yeah, Rev.” Mirelle glanced into her cup. The drink was gone, though she couldn’t remember finishing it. “I saw it. I’m not totally sure what I saw, or felt, but…I saw it.”

Revaramek took a slow breath. “I’ve seen that star before, Mirelle.”

Mirelle froze. “You have? When? What do you mean?”

“When I met Vakaal…there was…a star. It was…lonely. So lonely. I had to follow it, and…it led me to Vakaal. Or…or it was Vakaal. I think that’s how the urd’thin see their gods.”

“As…as stars?” Mirelle set her empty cup aside.

“I’m starting to think so. Or maybe that’s how their gods perceive themselves, and that just…filters down to them.”

Mirelle took a slow breath, nudging her boot against the fresh sand that remained, shaped there by Ekki. “What do you think that makes Star’s Blessing?”

“I’ve no idea, but…I think I’m starting to understand why it can save Nyra’s life.”

Mirelle her breath out slow. “That’s one way to look at it.”

“I’m an optimist, Mirelle. That’s how I always look at things.”

Ekki approached them, and Mirelle rose to her feet to greet her. She bowed again, and then struggled to put her thoughts to words for the urd’thin. It was hard enough to compose her thoughts in a language she was familiar with, let alone one she struggled with. In the end, she picked a few words she knew, and hoped the thought behind them was enough.

“Story much beautiful!”

Ekki smiled and dipped her head, mimicking Mirelle’s bow. “Thank you, Me-rell! Is important story. Star much important.” She tilted her head back, staring up at the night sky. Countless stars now dotted it in a shimmering blanket of pinprick lights. “Urd’thin. We. Stars…come from.”

“Yeah, I…I got that part.” Mirelle giggled to herself.

“Urh?”

Mirelle shook her head, waving off the question. “Thank you for story!”

Ekki smiled and nodded a few times. “Star sad too, yes?”

“Stars sad too, yes.” Mirelle chuckled, hoping she’d have a chance to come back here, someday, and study their language. She would love a chance to hold a deep, meaningful conversation with this urd’thin priestess. An idea tickled at Mirelle’s brain, and she made a questioning question. “Star make ur’dthin?”

Ekki nodded, beaming as if happy Mirelle picked up the history lesson. “Star make life desert!”

“Star have name?” Mirelle pointed at herself. “Mirelle.” She pointed at Ekki. “Ekki.” Then she pointed up to the night sky. “Star have name?”

Ekki gave Mirelle a cunning smirk, and waggled her clawtips at the woman. Though Mirelle wasn’t sure, she imagined the gesture was akin to a grandmother shaking a finger at a child who thought she too clever for her own good. “Star name not for Me-Rell. Star name…only for star, star talker.”

Mirelle pursed her lips. There was that language trouble again. She couldn’t tell if Ekki was differentiating between, god talker, and star talker. The words were only slightly different, but somehow Mirelle suspected that context and intonation played a bigger part in Ekki’s language than they did her own.

She did her best to repeat the word, just as Ekki said. “Ekki…star…talker?”

Ekki clucked her tongue, clacked her teeth, and then shook her head, ears flat. “No, no, no. Ekki god talker.” Ekki held one hand out flat. “God talker, yes?” Then she lifted the other hand, and held it up above it. “Star talker, yes?”

“Sort of like, a priest, and a high priest.”

“Urh?” Ekki made her questioning noise again.

“Where star talker?”

Ekki dropped her hands, scrunching up her muzzle. “No, no no. Star talker not for Me-rell.”

Mirelle chewed her lip a moment. “Star talker…can help?” She pointed to Nyra.

Ekki tilted her head back and forth, her tail swishing. “Star talker…not for guest.”

That’s not a no. Mirelle ran a hand back through her hair. “Where star talker?”

Ekki gave a little growl. She lifted her hand, and pointed towards the west, only to drop it down again and repeat herself. “Star talker not for guest. Star talker not…happy for guest.”

Mirelle wrung her hands, trying to come up with the right words. “Star talker…danger? Danger to…Me-rell?”

Ekki took a step forward, and gently clasped Mirelle’s hand. “Star talker much danger, Me-rell. Only urd’thin go star talker. Me-rell go Star’s Blessing, come back. No more. Yes?”

Mirelle smiled and gave Ekki another little bow. “Understand. Thank you, Ekki.”

Ekki nodded three times in quick succession. “Good, good, good. Oh!” She clapped her hands. “We make!” She waved her hand to where a few of her other healers were grinding up a collection of the black-petaled flowers. “For gods beast. She drink. No fix, but…better. Yes?”

“Yes, Ekki, thank you. That’d be lovely.”

As soon as Ekki went to check on the progress of the medicine, Mirelle turned away. Her smile vanished in an instant. Even before she told Revaramek, she already knew what his answer would be. It did not matter how dangerous it was. Whoever this star talker was, she knew Revaramek would find them.

Mirelle was not about to let him go it alone.