By Montrose
Word Count: 548
Rated: PG
Summary: A short fiction piece describing a parley with the Shadows, where three questions are asked.
The four chosen stood in the lee of the walls, sheltering from the wind. In the distance, the hubbub of the Stalimas fair drifted over the rooftops: the cheers of spectators, the competing cries of merchants and vendors. Around the Chosen however, all was quiet.
Smilrr and Aetees, with their fur pelts, were feeling the cold substantially less than the other two. Eguna and Lyis were well-wrapped in what clothing they could muster, for although each had some experience of the cold – the Ubamiye in their travels, the Novarite at high altitudes – they didn’t feel quite the same competitive need to seem unconcerned by it as the two hulking beastmen.
Aetees scuffed the ground, impatient. “They aren’t coming, are they”, he growled, eyeing the empty, snow-blown square in front of them, kept clear of revellers by discreetly placed Ulfrandi guards. “You don’t know that”, Eguna responded, a slight weariness entering his voice. “Your distrust for the Shadows is known to all of us, but… ah, here we are.”
Behind the lion, the air had distorted slightly, and the bare ground now contained two figures. One, glad in grey robes and a winter cloak trimmed with grey wolf fur, Aetees recognised as one of his former captives, although the proximity of a Shadow chosen and the trappings of his own society had a transformative effect. Next to him stood Yukora, clad in the bone-white carapace armour of his caste, but unhelmed. His black eyes glittered, and although Eguna was no expert on Shadows, he would swear blind there was some faint amusement there. He noticed, with a snort of suppressed laughter, that Yukora’s cloak appeared to consist of most of a white mountain lion.
That hadn’t gone unnoticed by Aetees either, who had taken half a step forward before Smilrr’s barking voice commenced proceedings.
“Yukora, in your own time and in front of these witnesses, ask your hivemate the three questions agreed. Once that is done – and immediately after that is done” – here a glance at the glowering Aetees – “you are quite at liberty to return home.”
Yukora offered a little bow to Smilr, then the other assembled chosen. He turned to the other Shadow, and they exchanged some short words in their susurrating tongue. Then, the Shadow chosen began.
“Did you see who tried to rescue you?” Yukora’s voice, even raised to lingua, was whispery.
“Yes”, came the one word response, the word mutated as it emerged from a mouth that resisted it.
“Where they kora?” Confusion amongst the chosen. “Non-Shadows”, whispered Eguna to the other chosen, explaining the Silhalin word. He’d taken care to try to find out more about the species and their culture during the fair.
“Yes”, whispered the second Shadow. The chosen were silent now, waiting intently on the third, critical question.
“Which kora?” Ears straining, eyes locked on its four-parted mouth, the assembled chosen heard the final word clear enough. “Felerikora”. Feleria.
Four sharp intakes of breath, three pairs of eyes flicking at once to the hulking lion in their midst. Aetees looking back at them, surprise chased off his face by anger. He spun, ready to shake the truth out of the damn insects, but they were already gone, a slight disturbance in the drifting snow the only evidence of their going.