“Did the Mountain God treat you well?” called a familiar silken voice as the welcome party rode clear of the trees.

  Four large goat-like creatures trotted steadily, each tall and long limbed with shaggy white coats that fell to their knees. All had curved horns, arching back from their foreheads and ribbed down their lengths. They picked each step intentionally and carefully, their cloven hooves spreading on the ground with a delicacy reminiscent of deer. The saddles were odd, double seated things with beaded charms and ribbons tied on them, a Laon soldier at the front seat of each guiding their mounts with lightly held reins, and two with a second rider in the back.

  The voice had been the honey-voiced Vigilant that had guided them through the gate - riding behind one soldier and bundled against the chill of the morning with gloves and a great cloak pulled over their robes. The second goat with two riders had a sickle horned Laon drone in the back, not the one they had met in the Vigil Chamber. This one had a bright, haughty expression and toothy grin on his face, his body and face smeared with dark ash and a cloak of wolf-skin around his shoulders.

  Val waved a greeting to the Vigilant, Bastian relaxing at her familiarity. Dorius was too drained to respond or even notice, hunched now in the morning chill on a rock and his head nodding with exhaustion. Elias and Lee’to were not faring much better, the old man especially seeming brittle.

  “The carillonists sensed you coming,” explained the Vigilant, letting a soldier Laon lift them down from the goat, “We asked the Laons for their help to ride up and welcome you.”

  “Alate,” called the drone Laon from goat-back, his impish grin broad and horns gleaming in the dawn light with a vain shine, “My my, Ja’kel said you were built like a bull elk.”

  Val grumbled back, “You know the drone at the chapel?”

  “Indeed! A relation of sorts. He is one of twenty one brothers by my father, and of eight by my mother.”

  Val sniffed, nervous what the reaction would be from the Laons to learn of Til’wane’s death. The drone dismounted with a flourish of his wolf pelts, and approached them ahead of the Vigilant. The soldier Laons stood at attention as he passed, and the manner of his long confident steps spoke to his unconscious command over them despite only coming up to their shoulders. His hair was long and unbound, unlike every Laon Val had previously seen, hanging sleek and dark over his shoulders.

  “I was informed though, that you left with two of our kin bound to your service?” asked the drone. As he spoke, his hands rapidly signed. Lee’to ducked her head and signed back.

  “We have unfortunate news then,” responded Val bleakly, she had hoped the breaking of the news could be less direct than this but she might as well shoulder responsibility for it. “Til’wane was killed in my place. He was on guard at my order.” The drone continued his conversation with Lee’to even as she spoke.

  “Hmm. It is a heavy death, but such as it is. Alates and drones alike may speak, and the lower castes obey,” he said matter-of-factly, his lack of concern unnerving to Val. The soldier Laons seemed less stoic, having watched the hand conversation and their faces growing grim.

  Val lowered her head resigned, somehow the lack of reaction just made the weight feel heavier.

  The drone approached, lifting her chin with one finger, and looking at her more directly than any Laon had done previously. His gaze lingered looking up at her, studying her eyes and scars and the curve of her horns knowingly. He had dark grey eyes, the whites almost yellow in contrast. Val watched back, willing herself to give away nothing as he searched her. He cocked his head, his eyes flicking to the wolf pelt around her shoulders, and released her to sign wordless orders to the soldiers.

  Finally, he announced, “I am Za’kel, First for our Young Matriarch, Queen of the Mountain Colony. Let your humes ride with our soldiers. We will guide you back to High Haven.”

  “I will walk,” announced Bastian, who had come close to them while Val had been distracted looking into the drone’s eyes.

  “You may walk,” replied Za’kel with a snort of disdain, “but your companions have reached the limits of their hume strength.”

  Before Bastian could open his mouth Val bristled and shot back an irritable, “Lee’to is Laon and just as tired.”

  Za’kel waved his hand dismissively, “The fact they are allowed here at all is only as a favor to you, Alate. I care not to argue.”

  “Shall I order you show them more respect?” spat Val. She was not certain where the strength in her came from, but something instinctively put her on edge with this drone just as it had the one in the Vigil Chamber. The disrespect irked her in a way human disrespect never had.

  The reaction in Za’kel’s face was immediate, his jaw clenched, and a spark of fury mixed with something else flashed in his eyes. Val looked down at him and waited.

  “I offer you a lesson, Alate. While it is your right to exert your rank and blood over me, I am no ordinary drone, and you would be best served by respecting me in front of my own. I have been told you claim to have no colony, and certainly you keep company and conduct yourself as hume rather than Alate. So, I will forgive this as the misunderstanding that it is, rather than the insult and ill intent I could take it as if I were less generous,” the drone’s voice was calm, but the sharp edge of his warning cut true.

  Val was suitably cowed, and shot a glance at Bastian who had his attention on the Laon, brows knit and the ghost of a frown on his lips. “We are tired” he said diplomatically, “And our flight here through the night was not how we intended to return.”

  Za’kel turned his shoulder, apparently uninterested in the details, “Hmm, I am sure. I should like my breakfast soon. If you would oblige me then, and get your companions mounted, I would like to be off and we can discuss further on the road.”

  He raised an arm to attract the attention of the Vigilant, who was respectfully hovering at a distance with the goat steeds. “You deal with these humes, I am apparently too irritating to our guests.”

  Val tossed her horns backwards, drawing an exhausted breath and stared at the bright blue of the sky to gather her strength again. The Vigilant patted her on the arm as they passed, and began to help Elias and Dorius to their feet.

  In short order, Dorius was bundled onto the back of one goat steed, Elias and Lee’to each another, and the Vigilant on the final one. Za’kel seemed content to walk with Val and Bastian as they set off down the winding mountain path. The goats occasionally bleated to each other as they walked, but obediently obeyed their riders.

  “Tell me, Alate,” began Za’kel, his head held high in front of her as they walked in single file down the narrow mountain path, “What is your circumstance? Why do you serve this hume prince?”

  “My name is Val,” corrected Val, still irritable, then added, “I am a foundling. A human mercenary company found me as a child with wild Fae. We thought I was a half breed.”

  Za’kel gave a haughty chuckle, “You mean the misshapen humes?”

  “We call them Fae, or more often wild-Fae, to differentiate from Fae like yourselves and the Fae-touched of our own species - those with feathers and scales and the like,” added Bastian from behind, his tone respectful. His control of his manner despite being just as exhausted as Val impressed her, he had a strong grip on his surly, quick anger when he needed it, despite how it came off in their private company some times.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  Val could not see Za’kel’s expression as they walked, only his back covered with his plush wolf pelt, but his voice still contained amusement, “Indeed. An incorrect understanding of the phylogeny, but go on.”

  “Dorius’ family took me in,” replied Val simply, “I have lived with humans for the life I remember.”

  “Where were you found? If it is true that you were found.”

  Val ignored his accusation, “South, across the border of the Pentarchy, in the wastelands before the sand deserts.”

  “You are Sand Colony,” concluded Za’kel, “They live in the red rocks where the Wind God sings. You hear the silent symphony?”

  Val felt her exhaustion vanish in a rush of curiosity, “Yes, if you mean my magic?”

  “Do you sing back as fire or earth?” he asked, back still to her, his horns bobbing as he watched the path in front of his feet.

  “Fire.”

  “Hmm,” he sniffed, “I know who you are then. We heard word of it over twenty years ago, we lost two Alates when you went missing - yourself and the escort who was taking you to another colony. You sang fire as a babe, and they wanted to move you to a home that bred the same. Our own Alate sings earth, and the Sand Colony is most often the same.”

  “The other drone said you had no Alate?” asked Val.

  “Our Alate wanders, as your kind often do. We have not seen him in many years, he will return when he is ready,” replied Za’kel blandly.

  “What do you know of the sand colony?” asked Bastian from the back, “How numerous are your species?”

  Za’kel paused and looked over his shoulder, bringing them to a halt and letting the train of goats wander ahead of them, “What business is it of yours hume?”

  “He is with me,” said Val steadily, she caught Za’kel’s eye and felt the tension of their castes again. The drone watched her back, and Val shrugged her shoulders, jostling the axe mounted in her harness.

  Za’kel turned finally, and began to follow the goats, “We are aware of six colonies of our kind. We have diminished, like all creatures through time. Much was lost in the Unrest, we likely number in the few thousands today.”

  Val felt her heart sink, so few, barely more than a few large towns.

  “You call it the Unrest too, but the fall of the Monarchy was a human event? Did the warring spill over to you as well?” asked Bastian.

  “Is that what your species thinks of it these days?” taunted Za’kel, “Ask the Vigilants to inform you of your actual history. The Dragon Throne was much more than a hume figurehead or political seat, they were chosen by the Watcher herself, and their fall accelerated the diminishing of a great many things. It is the great tragedy of the weaving, that all of us are fated to grow lesser through time as the energy of creation fades.”

  Undaunted Bastian continued, “What is the nature of how your castes function? Can only higher castes order those lower? Are they able to disobey an order?”

  Za’kel paused again, swinging on his feet to face them fully, cloak swaying behind him, and shot Bastian a disgusted look around Val. He spat sharply, “Why do you care?”

  Bastian had an odd look on his face, as if he was considering his words. Instead Val offered, “I am curious. To know what Til’wane choose or consented to when he died with us. And Lee’to, if she does stay.”

  Za’kel turned and continued his walk, picking up his pace so they would not fall behind the soldiers. His tone was irritated when he finally said, “Our societies are small and tightly knit, order is important. The compulsion to obey is like an itch, the body yearns to follow but the mind may do otherwise if it wishes. Nevertheless, it is deeply uncomfortable and persists as long as the order is disobeyed. The lower castes would go insane if they were to fight it all day with the number of explicit and implicit orders they may be given, submission is easier. Only the Alate and Matriarch are immune.”

  Val caught his use of the word compulsion clearly, and felt his words summon her own experiences of the Vigilant bells. Za’kel continued, “We may pass the order to obey to another, but the compulsion to follow stems from the original higher caste speaker who may phrase the passing as a contract of sorts - bound by time or conditions of their choosing. The worker is doubly bound, passed to you by my Brother to be freed at your choosing, and compelled by your word alone without that passing.”

  “Val is free of this compulsion?” asked Bastian.

  “That is what I said.”

  Val looked over her shoulders, not breaking her step as they walked. Bastian had a thoughtful expression on his face and did not notice her looking, watching the ground as he placed his steps down the rocky mountain path.

  “How many Alate are there?” she asked, turning back forward.

  “We know of another three. Our male, another male who visits on occasion, and a female that we have only heard speak of by the other two. You would be the fourth, a colony is lucky to birth one a generation.” Za’kel signed, and his tone became melancholy instead of haughty, “It is a pity you are as you are. The Alates fill a precious role of communication, learning and cultural history - otherwise the colonies would be cut off from one another and eventually die alone.”

  Val felt her gut wrench at his sincerely spoken words, and then the sharp blade of anxiety at what might happen if they requested her to stay, or worse, request of Dorius for her to stay. Her feelings were a jumbled mix of misgivings, longings and her own diffidence that she did not know how to sort. Every word from the drone added a new thought to the pile, it was too overwhelming for her to process on her feet, and as tired as she was. Uneasy, she asked, “You said you knew who I was then? How I went missing? I’d like to hear if you’d tell me.”

  Za’kel walked silently just long enough she wasn’t sure he was going to answer, then in the same sincere and reticent voice replied, “The sand colony's Alate was the one who chose to move you. You were a miracle, and a gift to be shared. For your own advantage it would have been best to grow with a colony with better histories of fire, and so the colony in the north-eastern peat bogs who had no Alate seemed the best home. The Alates all travelled purposefully for months before your move to coordinate it. And when you were due to stop by our home on the way and never came, our own Alate marched out and never found you. We had assumed you killed by humes and have no knowledge of what happened, too much time had passed to leave any evidence for clues.”

  “We did not kill the missing sand Alate,” muttered Bastian defensively, “She was found with wild Fae. They likely killed them.”

  “As I said then,” hissed Za’kel.

  The conversation seemed to leave Za’kel without further words - and Val felt pained by the weight of what he left unsaid. So they walked in silence, broken only by the calls of song birds in the early morning and the occasional bleat from the goats.

  As they reached the base of the valley they crossed the clearing towards the rear of High Haven. A great gate, like the one on the other side, was waiting opened, three great wooden beams that would have barred it shut propped on the wall where two Laon soldiers waited. A greeting party of Vigilants, including the Prime, who had the sleeve of her missing arm hemmed short today, waited for them. With care, Dorius, Elias, their Vigilant guide, and Lee’to were passed down from the goats and Za’kel remounted.

  “I pass you to the Vigil’s care,” he said, looking down at Val. “Till next.” He signed a farewell with his hands, and although fast they were ones Val recognized

  Without bidding or ceremony, the soldiers turned their goats away from the gate, and began to continue up the meadow towards the central valley instead of the side where they had emerged. Val half heartedly raised a hand to attempt her own farewell sign, but none looked back to see it, and she grabbed her elbow feeling awkward about the gesture.

  “We have arranged beds for you,” Val started at the sudden voice, and looked down to see the Prime standing by her, eyes up the valley too. “The carillonists have agreed to meet with you, and your guide has been summoned and waits for you, so we have fulfilled our terms of the bargain. It will not be an easy journey, so you are free to rest and prepare till you are ready to depart. There is some urgency, the Dragoness has grown more active and we hear her hunting almost every night since you stirred her.”

  The Prime did not look at Val as she spoke, her eyes watching something in the distance. Val followed and saw several figures at the far treeline across the meadow watching them back, the sitting forms of wolves.

  They were guided inside and the gates barred behind them, painted carefully by the Vigilants with a fresh coat of a thick waxy red substance to show any tampering with the seal. Val felt a wave of exhaustion at the promise of somewhere to sleep and food, and let her mind drift away from the unpleasant thoughts that plagued her.