Chapter 13: Bird is the Word

The next morning, Cecilia—back in her disguise as Jon—was outside of the Krkrow’s embassy, in a much nicer district of the city than the one the trio were staying in. Shin had reached out to their contact to see how the survivors were doing, and he had passed along a standing invitation. After some discussion, they decided to send Cecilia, whose current form was unknown to the Guild, rather than either of the others.

Okay, Cecilia had argued passionately for the idea, and not entirely for altruistic reasons. The Krkrow were apparently not a very common People, even in cities, but Cecilia had never met any non-human people before, and she desperately wanted to talk to them as much as their condition would permit. Shin and Cantor had both seemed mildly baffled by the intensity of her desire. And borderline horrified at the realization that her world contained no other People than humans.

“Did we kill them all?” had been Cantor’s first question.

Cecilia had winced. “If they existed? Probably. But no one’s ever found a body or a fossil or something. You’d think if dragons or bird people were around, they’d leave traces.”

“Not dragons,” Shin had remarked. “They dissolve into azoth when they die. Only parts removed while the dragon is alive remain intact after death.” At Cecilia’s sidelong look, she had bristled defensively and muttered, “I did not say I have done dragon trophy hunting. But as a Hunter, I must know these sorts of things.” The conversation had faltered then with awkwardness on all sides, but it had made it easier for Cecilia to press her suit.

Now she was here, before the embassy, her arms laden with a large basket of freshly purchased fruits and veggies. Shin had advised her that Krkrow were most often vegetarian, and even those who ate meat preferred it as an accent rather than a meal. The building itself was...somewhat disappointing.

It’s not that I really thought they’d live in a giant tree or something…

But, if Cecilia was honest, she’d expected something more, well, birdy. Big windows people could fly out of. Glass walls. Maybe, yes, okay, a huge tree filled with perches of various sorts. Instead, it was a lovely building, and certainly taller than the others around by a good twenty feet, but most of that height was a series of peaked roofs, and the windows were no larger or more numerous than the buildings to the left or the right—although they did have actual glass panes, a marked step up from Cecilia’s own rented rooms. There wasn’t a single sign of a tree or human-sized perching branches, either. Just a wooden door with a series of indents on the front that reminded her vaguely of Braille.

She shifted the basket, balancing it easily on one palm while she knocked with her other hand. The door opened almost immediately, and Cecilia was face to face with her first healthy Krkrow.

The person who opened the door was covered, except for their face and hands, in soft gray feathers, some of which shimmered with a subtle iridescence. The longest, on their arms, were banded at the ends in darker gray and white. A beaded net of silver chain was clipped to their breast feathers, the beads catching the light with their movements, and because they wore no shoes or other clothing, she could see that their feet were far more human-like, but covered with a thick, scaly skin that reached up to mid calf before the feathers reasserted themselves. Overall, there was an impression of round fluffiness. The Krkrow turned their head, looking Cecilia over with first one eye, then the other.

Cecilia cleared her throat. “Sorry for bothering you. Clerk Tomi said that we were—that is, my name is C—Jon, and I was one of the people who found your people at the..." She realized she had no chance of saying the unfamiliar word with the butterflies in her stomach. And defaulted to, “down in the sewer.”

The feathers along the Krkrow’s head poofed up as their nearly lipless mouth turned up in a smile. “Yes. The mercenaries.” Their pupils shrank, exposing white on the edges of their circular eyes. “I am delighted to meet you. I know Keikei will be, as well. He was most grateful.” With a bob of their head, their attention turned to the basket. “What is this?”

“Oh!” Cecilia offered it. “It’s, um...well, when you visit people, especially when they’re sick, you should bring a gift. Or so my mother always said. So it’s just some fruit and things, in my hope that...Keikei and the rest of your people will recover swiftly.” No one in this world had figured out greeting cards, as far as Cecilia could tell. She had checked. And if they had, surely “sorry over half your family died” was beyond even Hallmark’s most ambitious attempts to condense emotion to a sentence and a pithy drawing.

Despite the differences that made a Krkrow’s face notably non-human, the amusement was clear enough that even Cecilia could read it. The basket was taken from her with a solemn air, and her greeter said, “It is most kind. Thank you for explaining. For the Krkrow, such gifts of food are most common from parents to wounded children, but they look delicious. I will prepare a meal for Keikei and the others using them. I am Ulala, protector of this aerie. I can take you to Keikei.”

“Ulala. Nice to you meet you. I hope now isn’t a bad time?” Cecilia stepped inside at Ulala’s gesture. Her stone skin prickled as the door swung closed. It was hot inside. Easily as hot as mid-summer. The foyer-type room was rounded and tall, but not particularly big.

“It is a good time. Keikei is awake.” Ulala led Cecilia deeper into the building. The layout was alien—not incomprehensible, but the Krkrow didn’t seem to like hallways; instead, every room was circular, attached to one another like bubbles. And it was stifling. By the time they reached an inner room that appeared to serve as a parlor, Cecilia knew she would have been sweating furiously if she were capable of it.

She knew that for certain because Keikei had a human visitor, and he was notably damp in the layered and rather fancy clothes he was wearing. As he and the Krkrow looked to Cecilia and Ulala, in the moment before his eyes widened with surprise, Cecilia recognize the face of a man trying not to beg for ice water. He said, “Jon! What are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same thing, Mynet,” Cecilia replied. “We were the ones who found, uh,” she glanced over and wondered if she should bow or offer to shake, “Keikei, right? And the others.” Her tone softened as she took in the number of bandages the birdman was sporting. “How is everyone doing?” Out of the corner of her eyes, she noticed Ulala slipping out through a different door.

Keikei bobbed his head and gestured at one of the...Cecilia had to call them stools, rather than chairs, for they lacked both arms and backs, except for a small curved lip to support the base of the sitter’s back. They were intricately carved, with tall legs and plushly cushioned. She sat down and her butt sank all the way to the supporting wood through some sort of airy stuffing beneath the velvet and her feet barely touched the floor. Curse my stone backside. Please don’t let me break these nice things.

The stool held. Keikei didn’t seem to notice anything amiss, as he said, “Those who survived are recovering. Our young one, Tucuc, may be delicate for some time. But she is alive. Thanks to you and your partner. We are in your debt.”

“Oh, no you’re not,” Cecilia said, quickly. “It was a job. We got paid. Helping you guys out was just the decent thing to do and you don’t owe us a thing for that.” Somewhere, Cecilia had the distinct feeling that Shin was twitching without knowing why, but it was true. Even if she understood the gratitude, being somewhat dependent on the kindness of others herself at the moment, she wasn’t going to trade favors for people’s lives.

Keikei smiled at her. “A kindness. A decent thing. It is a welcome balm to the cruelty which brought us here.” He tilted his head at Mynet. “The Viscount’s kindness is also noted, and equally appreciated.”

“You’re here for work?” Cecilia asked. “I thought you were a scribe.”

“I am.” He quickly wiped a trickle of sweat from his brow before it could snake down towards his eyes. “The Viscount is most disturbed at this attack on Keikei’s nest, and has asked me to interview him and transcribe his account in hopes that it might be useful to find these attackers.”

“The fox masks,” Cecilia said. “Right?”

There was a sad, low trill from Keikei, where a human might have sighed. “Yes. You remembered.”

“I doubt I could forget.” She looked down at her hands and shuddered at the unfamiliar, masculine texture of the fingers. “If there’s anything we can do to help, we will.”

Mynet cleared his throat. “It’s a kind offer, Jon. But before we get to those sorts of things—Songleader Keikei, would you be willing to share your full account of the incident? In as much detail as you can.” He had a bound pad in his lap and another of those steampunk pens like Cantor used. The pad of paper looked remarkably like a spiral notebook to Cecilia, but instead of wire for the spiral, it had thin strips of woven fabric, wrapped loosely through holes that looked as if they had been burnt through the paper, rather than punched.

Cecilia said, “Keikei, if you’d like me to leave for this, I don’t mind.”

“No.” He straightened as best he could with his wounds. “I wish you to stay. I wish for the people who struck down my people to be found, captured, and killed. The silence where the songs of my nest used to be shrieks for vengeance and should you see anything or gather any useful information from my words, it will be well done.”

Neither of the other two seemed to find this matter-of-fact desire for death to be out of line. It didn’t sit well with Cecilia, a lifetime of modernity telling her that Keikei should seek justice rather than revenge. But then again, what other justice could there be for the torture and murder of eight people? Even on Earth, you’d get the death penalty for that. Probably. Unless you were wealthy or knew the right people, belonged to the right business and political circles.

Cecilia wondered what would happen in this world if the masked villains were found to be friends of this Viscount. Mynet, at least, seemed to be taking his task with all seriousness; he tested his pen and nodded to Keikei. “When you are ready, then. And take your time should you need it. I—we will hold our questions until the end of your initial recitation.”

“I thank you.” Keikei’s battered feathers tightened along his skull, and he ducked his head, staring at the floor. “Our nest traveled from the great aerie you would call Mourning Peak, as several of us wished to spend time among People not our own and learn their ways, perhaps form bonds outside the shadow of wings. Such relationships are good for many of our classes. The journey was unremarkable until we were past the Wardstones and nearly to the city. We could have pressed on. It was suggested.” His hands tightened into claws. “I chose otherwise. I thought that it would be better for the memories we were seeking to build if we entered the city under the sun’s light. If I hadn’t been so sentimental—” He trailed off.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

The silence stretched. Cecilia couldn’t bear it any longer. She said, in the deep voice that wasn’t her own, “It wasn’t your fault, Keikei. You had no way of knowing what was going to happen. I know that doesn’t help right now. But it’s true.”

He looked up and nodded. “I say this to myself, but I do not believe it. I don’t believe it when you say it, either, but it is another kindness.” His crest rose, and his other feathers puffed out around their bandages. “But this is one way I can make up for it. I will continue.” He swallowed. “They attacked at night. Our caravan did not have any trueflyers, but we did have a sentry. Only one, for we were within the Wardstones. It didn’t matter. They used magic to subdue us; nets of shadow that we could not escape or break.”

Mynet scribbled this down, frowning as if he wished to interrupt, but true to his word he only gestured for Keikei to continue.

“I cannot identify our assailants. They were robed and masked. Identical painted fox masks in white and red. I believe they were all human, and a mix of men and women.” He frowned. “Your women have those peculiar growths on their chests and it changes how the fabric moves and folds around them. They were strong, although not as strong as our friend here,” he nodded to Cecilia. “I would not say there were many of the warrior classes among them.”

It would fit, if the Krkrow had been ambushed. They clearly didn’t want a fight. But Keikei was covered in wounds, his feathers torn out and she still remembered the marks of mutilation on his body. She’d assumed those wounds had been taken fighting off the attackers. If not…

Keikei’s voice interrupted her unpleasant train of thought. “We were rendered unconscious through another spell, I believe. When I awoke once more, the sky was gone.” He shuddered. “It is a terrible thing for us to be trapped beneath the ground. We were lashed to those stones, as we were found. The fox-masked ones were still there. And as we regained our senses, they began to tear our feathers out, to cut us so that we would scream and bleed. They said nothing, even when we begged. But…” He closed his eyes, his head turning from one side to the other, as if hunting for something in the dark memories.

“There was a scent. The one torturing me had to get quite close. Or wanted to get close. I believe they were female, and they had a most unusual scent. Not floral, nor citrus. It lingered on the back of the throat and felt, mm, how do I describe it? Thick? If a scent had weight, this would be one that did. I had never smelled the like.” He opened his eyes and shook himself. “Then they left. We feared they would be back to hurt us more. But as the time passed, we began to fear that they would not. We require food and drink more often than you do. I am told several of us starved there. Others bled out from their wounds.”

Abruptly, Keikei reached for Cecilia’s hands. She froze, not knowing what to do as he laid his talon-like fingers over her own and stared into her eyes, his own gaze solemn. “The rest of us would have perished within a day. You saved us. Our nest owes you life debts we cannot repay.”

“You don’t have to—”

“But we will try.” Then, the energy seemed to drain out of him, With a rustle of feathers, he withdrew to slump in his chair. “That is what I remember. You have questions, I’m sure.”

Mynet had the grace to look apologetic. “I’ll be as brief as I can. Could you identify about where you camped? And how many attackers were there?”

“Yes. If you have a map, I can mark the area.” Mynet was prepared for this, and pulled a small scroll from within his fancy jacket. He unrolled it (making a face at the tiny damp corner where the sweat had penetrated), and Keikei only took a moment to mark a spot with his claw. Mynet circled the spot with his pen. “To your other question, I would say...thirteen. At least, when we woke the second time, underground, it was thirteen. One for each of us, and one in the center of the stones, working some magic.”

This was duly written down. Mynet tapped the back end of the pen against his lower lip as he thought. “And your class has no recall or magical identification abilities?”

“No,” Keikei said. “I am a Songleader. I speak for my nest in times of peace. My skills concern themselves with mediation and fortification. I was able to draw out our lives, shield us from some of the dehydration. But not enough. Perhaps were my level higher.” There was another of those sad whistling sounds. “The attackers gave my skills nothing to grasp.”

Cecilia found herself wanting to give him a hug. She didn’t, of course; she had no idea of his wounds and they weren’t even acquaintances. But the urge was there. While Mynet didn’t seem the hugging sort, at least when he was in this more formal, on-the-job persona, she could easily read a sympathy that matched her own. And something else: anger. He kept it out of his voice. “You did well to do so much, Songleader. I think I’ve got enough to report. Is there anything that the city can provide you or your nest? We will do our best to find these people, but I can ask for guardsmen to be stationed—” He trailed off at the firm shake of the Krkrow’s head.

“We came here to learn and be a part of other People, not to hide behind walls and swords,” Keikei said. “Our first lesson has been a tragic one, but it has not been without balm, as well. We have found care as well as cruelty. And Ulala is a fine protector. Our aerie is safe. Once we are recovered, would the Viscount be willing to assign us a guide? Someone to help us meet and understand your people.”

“I can’t speak for the Viscount without permission,” Mynet said with a smile, “but under the circumstances, I think that’s the least she might be willing to do. And it would be our honor to serve. Is there nothing else?”

“No. Ulala provides for our needs. My thanks. I will ask the others when they are ready if they recall anything else, and if they will be willing to speak to you.” He was visibly growing tired, and had his stool had a back, Cecilia felt that he would be sprawled against it. He nodded to her. “I grow weary, but please leave your card with Ulala. I should like to invite you and the other for dinner once my nest is hale. They would all like to meet you.”

Cecilia froze. It was a hell of a time to learn this was a society that did calling cards. She cleared her throat. “We only just got here ourselves, but I’ll send our address. As soon as I figure out what it is.”

Mynet made a sound that was suspiciously like a chuckle, but when she turned to glare at him, his expression was bland and benign. “I might be able to help with that. I believe I also owe you compensation for the aid you three rendered on the road. Do you have a moment after we leave?”

Cecilia allowed that she did, and that moment came swiftly, because Ulala appeared with an unnerving silence as Keikei started to nod off. They made their hasty goodbyes, and once they’d stepped outside, Mynet said, “I didn’t expect to run into you, but I’m glad I did. I only realized once I’d settled things with the wagon that I had no way to contact you.”

She had a feeling that Cantor would say that was the idea, and all of them knew how dangerous it was to keep a contact who might be able to link them to their arrival in the city. But Mynet had been friendly, and it seemed wrong to just shut him down. “You don’t have to do that. It was nice to have more company on the road.”

“How is Ohta doing? I think I owe him the deepest debt of all, and he was in a bad way when we parted.”

Ohta? Cecilia nearly tripped over nothing, before remembering the names they’d settled on. She hadn’t had to use Cantor’s, since he’d spent all of his time alone and most of it unconscious. “He’s...better. Your advice helped. About the food.”

“Good.” Mynet studied her with eyes as green as grass, shadowed in this instance by thoughts she couldn’t read. “I’d really like to pay you all back. I’ll walk with you to wherever you’re staying. I can probably buy a few charging stones to get him back on his feet.”

Cecilia was about to deflect, but the mention of the changing stones brought her up short. They simply couldn’t afford them, and without them, Cantor might take days, or a week or more, to recover. And he was driving all of them insane with his fretting. “I...alright.” She made the decision with an internal wince, but no urge to take it back. “Come on, then. The odds are moderately good I don’t get us lost.”

They walked in a silence that felt companionable, at least to Cecilia. She was still in full fantasy tourist mode, and couldn’t help gawking at some of the things they passed. More non-human People, although no other Krkrow, wound their way through the crowds. The most astonishing was a figure who appeared to be made of mist, lit by pulsing nodes of light within, and more astonishing (at least to Cecilia) was how they simply existed, haggling with a street vendor, like anyone else.

Mynet caught her looking and grinned. “Free Elemental. You rarely see them in these parts.”

She blinked. “Are there...non-Free Elementals?”

“Yep. Most Elementals are minor creatures. It takes a certain concentration of azoth for them to start to have a presence, and then usually it takes interactions with someone with a magic class and the right skills to give them a mind. In the Empire, once a familiar has developed a true independent mind, it must be released and given the rights of People. That’s unfortunately not true everywhere.”

“Who gets to decide whether someone has a ‘true’ mind?”

Surprise flashed across his face, and he peered up at her. Well, really, at the face of her Disguise, which was several inches taller than her. “Obviously, when they gain a Class, they have a mind. Unless someone is blocking analysis skills, an evaluator can tell.”

Oh. That made sense, in a world where one did, actually, have some sort of overall arbiter of person-ness and you could distill things like Mind and Soul to numeric values on a scale. But this was clearly something Mynet thought she should have known, which meant that none of the follow-up questions that begged to come after could be safely asked. She’d have to pester Cantor about it; it sounded like something a Class Scholar would be dying to talk about.

For now, she ignored his surprise and his searching look, and gestured as the streets became more narrow and rundown. Mynet’s court outfit was definitely attracting looks. “We’re right around here. I’m not familiar with how addresses work in the city.”

He let the moment pass and laughed. “It’s not intuitive. But we’re in the Falcon District, and this is Third street. The buildings themselves either have names, like that one,” he pointed to a small plaque next to a door she hadn’t thought to examine, “or they’re numbered from the nearest intersection in a direction proceeding out from the Viscount’s estate alternating left and right. So, when we cross this street,” and they did step across a narrow little road with barely enough room for one of the hand-drawn carts, “that would be One Past Charring Alley and Third, Falcon District.”

Cecilia hadn’t seen any signs naming that street. “You’ve been working for, what, a couple of days? How do you know?”

“I read a map.” At her wide eyes, he ducked his head and scuffed one toe. “It’s not that impressive. I’ve got a skill to remember things like that. There’s a lot of crossover between Scholar classes and Scribes, you know.”

It made her curious. She tried to use Analysis on him; she’d been refraining from using it on people, as such, because the thought of people using it on her still made her feel weird. Still…

[Species: ??? Gender: ??? Level: ??? Class: ??? - Data Warded]

So much for that. And it wasn’t like she could get upset about it; she probably looked exactly the same if he’d tried to read her own class. But she wondered why a scribe, of all things, would have need of class warding. Then again, she supposed a Viscount’s court was at least as cutthroat as a guild of adventurers. Not that she knew first hand, but she'd seen a couple of episodes of Game of Thrones. “How are you settling in?” She recalled some of the rumors they’d heard of the Viscount's political troubles. “Is everything alright?”

Mynet’s smile faltered. He sighed, and rolled his shoulders with a deliberate casualness. “It’s exciting, let us say that. As you’ve noticed, I’ve been given an immediate task, which I enjoy. And if it means I can help those poor folk find justice, I’ll be satisfied.” Although he didn’t sound it. He sounded just a little worried.

Cecilia was considering her next words so carefully that she almost missed their rooms. She stumbled to a halt. “We’re here.” And then she ran up and pounded on the door. “Dai, Ohta! It’s Jon, and I brought a guest. Remember Mynet? He’s here to visit!”

There was a crash and muffled cursing from within. Cecilia turned and offered Mynet a wide smile. “See? They’re delighted. Let’s go on in.”