H - 93: Sit (Patreon)

Kaln emerged from the ancient Timekeeper amenities attached to his lair, still stretching away the stiffness of sleep. He was still fascinated on an intellectual level; those were so obviously designed as toilet facilities that it was hard to conceive of any other original purpose they may have had. Which, as far as he knew, was the first archaeological evidence that the Timekeepers had been of roughly human size and proportions. Even their buildings tended to be large enough that many scholars thought they had been giants. Apparently they’d just been grandiose.

Atraximos had been storing crates of jewelry in there. Kaln had cleaned everything out, confirmed that all the water was still flowing thanks to Emeralaphine’s spells keeping the ancient pipes clear, and added soap and soft towels. There were even dedicated fixtures in the original Timesteel which appeared designed for each.

Back in the main vault, he paused to look around at the beginnings of his tiny village, and reminded himself yet again to work on properly decorating this place. Today, perhaps; he had no specific plans apart from daily training with Tiavathyris.

“Good morning, Commander. Anything to report?”

As always, the Commander of the Phantom Legion materialized before him in a swirl of blue mist, already saluting. This had become part of Kaln’s morning routine; he felt it was appropriate to check in with his subordinates, now that he had any, even though there had never been anything to report.

Until today.

Rather than only saluting, the Commander produced his Hegemony regulation manual as he did whenever there was something specific he needed to communicate, holding it open to show Kaln one page in particular. Helpfully, the words were inked in crisp and subtly glowing lines that stood out well against the murky background of the pages. Less helpfully, they were still in classical Darashi.

“Ah…okay,” Kaln said with a wince. “I’ll do my best, but I might need to go get Pheneraxa. My Darashi is still at the level of struggling through children’s fables.”

The Commmander, still holding the book open, pointed with his other hand at one line—specifically, the header of a passage in bolder print. Kaln leaned closer to it, squinting.

“Okay, I know that one, it means ‘rules.’ The second word is… Hm. All right, I recognize the root of the middle part there—that means ‘name,’ right? I have no idea what the prefix or suffix are, sorry.”

The ghost shifted so that his spectral finger—which continued to slowly shift between a stick of bare bone and a shriveled mummified form—pointed at another spot in the subsequent passage.

“I’ve never seen this conjugation, but the root… That just means ‘good,’ right? Or…acceptable, maybe?”

The Commander continued shifting his hind to point unerringly at specific words while Kaln tried gamely to follow along.

“That’s a compound of person and…hang on, I swear I know this one. It’s derived from the same root as ‘rules,’ it’s just—oh, wait! Person in authority. That’s you, right? All right, we’re getting somewhere. This is…also a construction based on ‘person.’ And… I’m not sure. I’ve seen that symbol, but it was used alone, as a particle. With person? And person? Um…. Person in question?”

The Commander removed his hand to salute again.

Kaln narrowed his eyes, flicking them over the page and thinking.

“Rules, name, acceptable, Commander, person in question… Wait. Is this about Zhiiji’s assistant?”

The Commander saluted.

“So,” Kaln said slowly, connecting the dots as he went, “Corporal, ah, Spooky…likes her nickname?”

The Commander saluted.

“Well, all right then,” Kaln said bemusedly. “Far be it from me to interfere in something that’s working. So, you guys have regulations about nicknames, huh?” Damn, no wonder this army had been routed, he did not say out loud. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Commander. If there’s nothing else, as you were.”

The Commander saluted once more and dissolved back into mist.

As usual, Zhiiji had been up long before anyone else, and by now, appetizing smells of food and strong morning tea were drifting from the kitchen across the whole vault. Kaln gladly let them draw him over to the dining area, where plates and utensils were already laid out. As he drew close, a pot of tea came gliding swiftly out of the kitchen, trailing wisps of fragrant steam which blended with the vague misty shape holding it. Only upon arriving at the table did it resolve into the form of the spectral maid, who set the pot on its dedicated platter amid the cups.

“Good morning, Spooky,” Kaln said with a smile. “Thanks for your work as always.”

Spooky saluted and then disintegrated back into mist, which went streaking away back to the kitchen.

“G’morning,” Percy mumbled, stumbling up to the table.

“Morning,” Kaln replied, pouring her a cup of tea. “Uh…are you okay?”

“I did not sleep well,” Percy explained while flopping gracelessly into a chair. “That’ll teach me to nap during the day. And listen to Zhiiji’s horrible stories.” Her hair had been combed with a bit less attention than usual; she didn’t have any outrageous cowlicks, but it wasn’t neatly tied back today. At least her eyes didn’t look too shadowed, though they also weren’t fully open. Percy accepted the cup from Kaln with a mumble of thanks, lifting it to her face to inhale the pleasant steam before venturing a sip.

There were several dragons slowly converging on his location; Kaln was a bit more vividly aware of everyone’s position than usual, as he’d been keeping a steady but distant watch on the drakes ever since yesterday. They never had come to dinner, but as far as he could tell were fine—better than fine, it seemed, as they had remained out on the plain for hours in apparent conversation before heading off somewhere together past the extent of his senses. When he’d awakened briefly in the middle of the night and thought to check, all three had been home again, and asleep in the doorways of their respective mothers’ apartments, half in the vault. Not together, but where they could see each other. It seemed like a promising sign.

For now, though, he turned with a smile to the nearest dragon, and the one in whom he had the most interest out of those slowly approaching.

“Izayaroa,” Kaln greeted her in a low, warm tone, smiling and not lifting his face, so as to look up at her through his eyelashes in a manner Haktria had said was fetching. He was…gradually…getting better at singling out which parts of her advice were universally useful as opposed to tailored ot her specific tastes, and also could mostly recall her these days without having to repress a pang of grief or anger. It helped a lot that his spouses were unconditionally supportive, even if Izayaroa enjoyed some gentle teasing and Emeralaphine didn’t seem to have a solid grasp on her own desires, much less his.

“Husband,” Izayaroa replied, reaching out to stroke the backs of her claws along his cheek. Kaln stepped in and lifted himself up for a kiss, which she reciprocated with enthusiasm—in fact, he’d meant it to be a chaste little touch, but she drew him into a hug. Warm, but not truly impassioned. They were not alone, after all.

Indeed, he turned back around to find Percy looking away, her teacup held in both hands in front of her mouth and a faint tinge of pink in her pale cheeks.

Kaln pulled out a chair for Izayaroa, at which she smiled in thanks, before seating himself across from her.

“Zhiiji,” he said as the cook emerged from her domain, escorting the cart of food being pushed by Spooky, “exactly what horrible stories have you been telling Percy that are keeping her up at night?”

“I had a feeling that might happen,” Zhiiji said, smiling up at Percy with sympathy but without remorse. “Lemme guess: since you refused to hear the details about the Dirt Man, your brain created its own.”

Kaln and Izayaroa blinked in unison.

“The…Dirt Man?” she asked pointedly.

“We got to discussing folklore,” Percy said in a weary tone as Spooky laid out serving trays and began dishing food onto their plates. “Zhiiji mentioned this…critter they supposedly have in the Nourdells which is so terrifying she carries dirt around.”

“You don’t carry it around, you have to put it in a little bag under your pillow,” Zhiiji explained. “And not just any dirt! If you don’t have a little of the earth from the place where you were born, the Dirt Man might come for you. It’s just an old folktale, it’s not like this is a real bugaboo—the Dells are just awash in adventurers, if some whatsit was out snatching people somebody would have its head mounted on a plaque by now. Obviously it’s a story meant to encourage loyalty to one’s home and tribe. But yeah, when I heard the story, even knowing that, it sparked up this little…itch in the back of my head that never truly went away until I visited home and got myself a little bag of sand from the Reaches.”

“I know all about horrible folk creatures that were made up to teach children moral lessons,” Percy said in the sourest tone Kaln had ever heard from her. “We have lots of those in Boisverd—in most Vale cultures, I think. They gave me a lot of nightmares as a child. I am rather disgruntled to learn I haven’t outgrown that.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Zhiiji said, stepping over to Percy’s chair to pat her on the arm. “Sorry, kid. I picked this morning’s menu to make it up to you. We got a traditional Verdi breakfast: sausage, honey crepes, and taters au gratin.”

“Ah! Excellent!” Percy perked up visibly as Spooky carefully dished food onto her plate. “The potatoes aren’t actually eaten for breakfast usually, but I don’t mind that at all. I’m quite fond of all of these!”

Kaln turned to give a welcoming smile to the next resident who was approaching, but she didn’t appear to have even noticed them yet.

Pheneraxa had her shoulders hunched and was repeatedly clenching and relaxing her claws at her sides as she stepped up. She drew in a deep breath and, as Izayaroa looked up at her, bent forward in an awkward half-bow.

“Izayaroa,” she said stiffly. “I…wish to apologize to you. For, well…all of it, but in particular, I’m very sorry for lashing out at you. That was…unfair and extremely stupid. I was upset about something completely unrelated and taking it out on you was just…just absurd behavior. I am very embarrassed.”

Izayaroa rose from her chair, causing Pheneraxa to stiffen and shuffle backward half a step, but the elder dragon only took her face in both claws and raised it. Leaning forward, she momentarily rested her forehead against Pheneraxa’s.

“Your presence in this household has always been calming far more often than it has been otherwise, Pheneraxa,” she said softly, smiling. “I am very relieved to see you are feeling better. Please, sit, join us.”

“Good morning, Pheneraxa,” said Percy, giving the noticeably more relaxed young dragon a smile as she settled into a chair next to the princess and Spooky began filling her plate. “Anyway, Zhiiji, I give up. What exactly does the Dirt Man do if he catches you?”

“You sure you wanna know?” Zhiiji asked, trying for an innocent tone but unable to repress the grin of mischievous relish from her muzzle.

“Not really,” Percy grumbled, “but if I don’t know my brain is just going to keep filling in the blanks while I’m asleep, and I suspect that might almost be worse.”

“If the Dirt Man comes upon you while you’re sleeping,” Zhiiji said solemnly, “and finds you without a connection to the land that birthed you, he binds you to the dirt right under your feet. And then…you start sinking. Bit by bit, day by day, you’ll start to slip into the ground, no matter what you do, until you either sleep on your home soil, or get sucked completely under.”

Izayaroa raised her eyebrows and Kaln grimaced, but neither stopped eating.

Percy, however, set down her fork with a loud clink, staring incredulously at Zhiiji.

“That’s it?” she demanded. “That’s all?”

Zhiiji blinked at her, clearly not expecting this reaction. “That’s…all? I mean, yeah. It gave me nightmares. What more do you want?”

“That’s nothing!” Percy exclaimed in exasperation. “Of all the— Is that the worst the Nourdells have? Why are they so violent, then? In Boisverd children grow up worry about the Snipper Stitcher! If you’re careless with your clothes and get them torn, he slips out of the crack between your bed and the wall while you’re asleep and steals your torso!”

Everyone froze, staring at her in shock, even Pheneraxa.

“Then he sews your limbs and your head back together without it,” Percy continued, “and stitches your lips and eyelids shut—but not your ears, so you can hear everyone’s screams when they see you scuttling around like a spider. And whenever you hear someone scream, you’ll be compelled to skitter right toward them and if you catch them, your limbs will wrap around them and pin them down and nobody can pry you loose. You’ll be stuck that way until they can’t stay awake any longer, and as soon as they nod off from exhaustion the Snipper Stitcher comes and gets them too!”

Now, even Spooky had frozen. When her shifting features revealed a fleshless skull, its jaw was hanging open. Silence reigned in the room; Izayaroa glanced down at her plate as if reconsidering whether she wanted any more.

“Wow,” Zhiiji finally said. “There were like five different places that could’ve stopped and still been the worst thing I’ve ever heard, and it just kept going.”

“Humph,” Percy grunted in annoyance, picking up her fork again. “Yes, well. Vale folklore tends to be…dark. My brother Franz always says that if we Valefolk weren’t known primarily for being sneaky, everyone would be horrified by our grim sense of humor. I never particularly noticed.”

“You…didn’t?” Pheneraxa asked warily.

Percy shrugged, scooping up a bite of cheesy potatoes. “It was more that people around me were either fairly humorless, or were laughing at things that weren’t actually jokes. I don’t see what’s funny about seeing someone embarrassed. Seeing someone else uncomfortable makes me uncomfortable.”

“Percy, I have to apologize,” Zhiiji said earnestly. “I was…not familiar with the context in which you viewed that kind of thing. Damn, girl, and I thought the Dellfolk went too far with their hazing.”

“Now, that sounds like a less disgusting story,” said Kaln. “Quick, Zhiiji, tell us an amusing Nourdell anecdote to supplant the Snipper Stitcher. Maybe if you’re fast and loud enough the rest of us won’t dream about that tonight.”

“Too late,” Pheneraxa muttered.

“Well, there’s a mushroom that grows all over forests in the Dells,” Zhiiji said gamely, “with a distinctively shaped brown and red cap. It’s got a delightful, meaty flavor and adds a subtle spiciness to anything it’s cooked with that you can’t really taste in the mushroom by itself, but when heated it comes out in the scent and the flavor imbues other ingredients. Wonderful little things, you can bet that was one of my standbys the whole time I was working there. Used to go out and collect ‘em myself, great excuse for a lovely refreshing walk in the forest.”

“I’d like to try one of those,” Pheneraxa said wistfully.

“Eat your crepes,” Zhiiji ordered. “So I got hired to work at the castle of King Ymrodh, right? And he’s got a nearby forest, so I go do my thing as usual. I get back and I notice people are giving me these little looks and kinda smirking, but I didn’t think much of it. I was always getting looks, I’m half everybody else’s height out there and the only person most of ‘em have ever seen with fur. So that’s how I learned that in apparently only one place in the world, in the valley forest of Dell Ymrodh, there is another mushroom which looks exactly like the one I just described to you, except it grows low on the trunks of trees instead of from the ground between their roots. Yeah, I know, that was on me. You don’t screw around with mushrooms; anything even slightly off can kill your ass, don’t take chances. But I really can’t emphasize enough how they look exactly the same! But it turns out that this other mushroom species has an unpleasant astringent flavor that just ruined my stew, and also when consumed gets you higher than dragon tits for about sixteen hours.”

Pheneraxa choked on her tea.

“They let you eat that?” Percy asked, scowling. “That’s what passes for a hazing prank? That’s awful. Where I come from, if you tamper with someone’s food it’s because you want them dead.”

“I do so enjoy learning about other cultures,” Izayaroa mused, smiling and sipping her tea.

“Yeah, you bet your lack of tail I didn’t share their sense of humor,” Zhiiji agreed. “Walked outta there as soon as I could walk, and they can just be grateful I didn’t stay long enough to make a whole batch of stew for the castle and then run to tell their neighbors the entire garrison was stoned useless.”

“Now that’s how we would do it in the Vales,” Percy said, nodding.

Kaln had been quietly absorbing Zhiiji’s story and the byplay, but now took advantage of this brief pause in the delivery to turn and address the other dragon who had been hesitantly approaching over the last few minutes.

“Good morning, Vanimax. Care to join us for breakfast?”

Vanimax flinched when everyone looked up at him—only slightly, and he immediately covered for it, but his covering included a flash of annoyance at himself for flinching before he could smooth his expression. It was almost funny, at times, what an open book he could be. Right now, Kaln had taken the precaution of taking a quick peek at the young dragon’s emotional state and decided not to intercede. Vanimax was…resolute. That didn’t necessarily mean whatever was about to happen would go well, but he felt that any sincere effort should be encouraged.

Within reason.

Pheneraxa gave her brother a smile—small and a bit uncertain, but still a smile. He smiled back in exactly the same way, and Kaln had to concentrate on not grinning outright in relief; Izayaroa glanced between the two of them with visible happiness, but she too refrained from drawing attention to herself. Then Vanimax visibly steeled himself, straightened his spine, and flexed his claws at his sides in a gesture almost identical to the one his sister had made just a few minutes ago.

“Princess Perseverance,” Vanimax intoned in an attempt at formality that came off as stiff and awkward. “I wish to apologize to you for treating you so disrespectfully. The truth is that at the time, I did not regard you as a person whose perspective was worth considering, which I now recognize as an unfortunate leftover of my father’s opinions which I wish I had not absorbed. While it is true that you will inevitably be dead so soon that it may not seem worthwhile to become attached to you or your kind, or to plan my activities around your perception of them, I have come to understand that as a sapient being you are still worthy of some consideration. I very much regret having treated you as an object to be used and maneuvered, and I am resolved to henceforth address you with such regard as I would a dragon or similar being. I have learned that there is value in this even if it does not seem logical. Please accept my apology.”

So saying, he bowed rigidly from the waist.

Izayaroa’s expression was a masterpiece of self-control. Outwardly composed, so as not to repudiate Vanimax’s good intentions, she managed to express through silent blankness alone that she was deliberately not stepping into this, but would instantly if she deemed it needful. Kaln was trying for much the same, but hadn’t a sliver of her fine control. He only hoped his expression wasn’t going to make this worse.

Percy was staring at Vanimax with her mouth slightly open. It took her several seconds to formulate an outward reaction.

“That’s your idea of— Vanimax. Is this the first time in your century of life you’ve ever apologized to anyone?”

“No,” he said irritably, straightening back up and scowling. “Just yester—I mean, no. You needn’t be concerned with…any other…events.”

“Really,” Percy said sharply, once more setting down her fork more firmly than it required. “Because that was by far the worst apology I have ever heard in my life, and I would be willing to bet, the worst you’ve ever heard in yours.”

“What?” he demanded in rising ire. “Why? What was wrong with that? I was completely sincere!”

“You were much too sincere!” she snapped back. “An apology is supposed to make someone feel better. Why in the countless hells would you spend it listing off all the reasons I should be beneath your consideration, right to my face?”

“I…I was just…I thought…oh.” Kaln couldn’t make himself feel good about seeing Vanimax twist in the wind, but in truth it was encouraging to watch the dawning realization on the drake’s face. He was capable of getting it, he just didn’t have the practice. “I didn’t mean…um… Augh. Drat.”

He trailed off, and everyone turned to look again at Percy. Who, surprisingly, was now wearing an identical expression of pained realization.

“Th-that’s why Mother always said…” She broke off, swallowed heavily, and then lowered her eyes, wiping her lips with a napkin. “Ah… Ahem. Yes, well. When it comes down to it, perhaps I don’t have much room to criticize someone for bungling a well-intentioned attempt. I accept your apology, Vanimax.”

“Thank you,” he said warily.

“Please refrain from lecturing me further about how inferior you perceive me to be.”

“Ah…yes, of course. Um. Sorry.”

“This doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

Vanimax sighed, and nodded. “Obviously, yes.”

“Vanimax, would you like to join us for breakfast?” Izayaroa said mildly. “Zhiiji’s cooking is truly excellent. I find that a good meal and good company make an excellent start to the day.”

He looked cautiously around the table at each of them, his eyes continually flicking back to Percy. “If that… I mean, if you’re sure that’s…all right.”

“If you behave in such a manner that I feel compelled to evict you, I will,” Kaln said with a smile, “but I’m fairly confident you won’t.”

“Fairly,” Vanimax repeated.

Kaln nodded. “Until such time, you are welcome at my table, Vanimax.”

The drake nodded jerkily, stepping up and pulling out one of the unoccupied chairs. Spooky had already set a plate and silverware before it, poured a cup of tea, and begun dishing up food.

Vanimax plucked up one corner of a crepe with his claws as if checking underneath it. “What’s the matter with these pancakes? They’re completely flat.”

“Hey Percy,” Pheneraxa said sweetly, “tell Max about the Snipper Stitcher.”