In the Castle of the Crystal, the ancient Lords discussed a matter which seemed to alarm them most severely. Some of them, anyway. They were tall and birdlike—carrion feeders, purple and brown and gray, elegantly dressed to conceal bodies that were mostly vestigial (save greedy, squawking mouths and clutching claws), for like carrion themselves, they were decaying. Each Lord was many hundreds of trine old.
'Despicable! Abomination, horror—blasphemy!' cried skekZok, the Master of Ritual for the SKEKSIS, who at this time were called Lords of Thra's Crystal.
'In Ha'rar, Stone-in-the-Wood, the swamplands… two in the Desert,' said skekSil, the Skeksis Emperor's advising Chamberlain, 'but one of them was also Vapran… a plague, hmm? Yes, there's the line…'
'They are fascinating, these disgusting creatures. Gelfling are capable of so many peculiarities,' said skekTek, the Scientist. The other Skeksis looked at him funny. Ever the social outcast, skekTek.
'Who cares?' huffed the General, skekVar. 'Wings, no wings, boy, girl; whatever idiocy in their minds, all Gelfling can fight.'
The Skeksis EMPEROR, skekSo, turned his half-bored gazed down on skekSil from where he sat upon his throne. 'Yes Chamberlain, you asked for this meeting. Why do you bother us with this… Gelfling nonsense?'
The Chamberlain bowed slowly before the throne. 'My Emperor,' he said, 'we have seen similar problem many trine past, when two wingless Gelfling came to us requesting marriage rites.' He turned to the others, and made his grating, nasally voice loud enough for all the other Skeksis to hear: 'We all know that only a winged Gelfling and a wingless one together can produce offspring.'
Scientist skekTek cleared his throat, saying: 'Yes! That was the clear result of my testing, I have it recorded several times; I can go produce data most compelling as to… err, that is to say…' Awkward stares from the others sent his voice away.
'Yes, skekTek, you have shown,' said the Chamberlain. 'Yes, children only from pairing of winged Gelfing with un-winged. Children, and it does not take long for their spawn to grow into full-sized ones, much size as silly Gelfling can manage. We need soldiers to beat back Arathim, and workers, yes, workers to keep our weapons made, our home protected—empire fed! If one silly Gelfling without wings calls itself "girl," soon many will—this plague will only worsen! Then less soldiers, less workers—less produced! Lose the war—tithes diminish! Feasts wither away! Less!'
SkekAyuk, the Gourmand, saw fit to bluster in with his basso voice: 'The feasts! Gelfling foolishness threatens the feasts!'
'Less soldiers?' General skekVar said. 'This is serious, Emperor. What should we do?'
'Imprison the traitorous Gelfling!' the Ritual Master cried. 'Kill them, so they cannot spread this disease!'
SkekEkt the Ornamentalist shied to the outskirts of the circle of Skeksis, whining quietly.
'Emperor,' said the Scientist, 'we must study these creatures. See how this illness has come about, how it spreads, how we might—'
The Emperor clanged his scepter against one arm of his throne. 'Enough!' he cried. 'We cannot act rashly. These ridiculous creatures… their illness may pose a danger even to us. If we imprison one, the rest of them will ask questions. Their little tribes! We must find a way to split these diseased ones away from their peers. SkekSil! I know that smirk on your cowering face. If you have an idea, cough it up!'
The Chamberlain was indeed smirking deviously. He flicked his little squinting eyes at the others, said: 'We have not only seen this problem before, but solved it. I solved the problem of Gelfling pairing without chance of offspring! I! Their love of Thra's natural lore… creating children is natural, hmmMMmm? The natural duty of all Gelfling, to serve their Crystal and its Lords. A "wingless girl" can't do it, not with a wingless boy, all this confusion—this delusion—they are hurting themselves, and all Gelfling! Some sickly girl ones might start cutting their own wings off, in the name of this illness! Gelfling hurting Gelfling's own body unnatural as well—pretending to be what they clearly are not. And their religion, yes, there! Show them just how dangerous these Gelfling are—how blasphemous!' He turned to the Ritual Master as he said this.
SkekZok drew a claw along his beaky chin. 'I've studied their pagan mutterings, Chamberlain. There is no mention of the evils of wingless girls, or boys with wings.'
The Emperor leaned forwards in his throne. 'Are you unthinking, skekZok!?' he roared. 'Your station is the creation of rituals. If the Gelfling do not have beliefs for rejecting these ill ones, make them!'
'I…' SkekZok bowed towards the throne. 'Of course, Emperor. But… we cannot just insert beliefs so blatantly, and so far-off from their existing practices. They'll reject ideas if they cannot find a way to align them to their own putrid superstitions.'
'…yes skekZok,' said the Chamberlain, 'their religious texts are long and terribly dull, and that's not to mention the senseless mutterings of their "oral traditions"…' The other Skeksis scoffed amusedly at this. '...but there must be something we can use… hmmmmm…'
This day, no moment came where the Skeksis Lords found a way to realize this aim. They continued whispering to each other, and bouncing poor ideas around, until at last the Emperor spoke: 'Enough! SkekZok, devise a way around this problem on your own time. Ask Chamberlain and the others if you can't clear the cobwebs out your skull! You're all dismissed, except for you, Chamberlain, and… you.' He extended a long, clawlike finger towards skekTek. The Scientist gulped.
The other Skeksis left, still babbling and squabbling as they went. 'Horrid!' the Ornamentalist whinged. 'These little ingrates would still be mindless and naked without us!'
Emperor skekSo watched them leave, then looked down at the other two annoyed. He spoke in a covert mutter: 'Both of you fools. If Gelfling just do this, why have I not heard word of it before?'
The Chamberlain scratched the frill-lined base of his neck. 'Mmmmm, I spoke with skekOk, and our dust-brained Ritual Master,' he said. 'There is record of abominations like these, in our long history of the Gelfling. Always uncommon, but… seems that they became even less common, when I solved the problem of "boys pairing with boys". Wicked Gelfling learned to hide their treachery.'
'It's true, Emperor,' skekTek said with a sigh. 'I have seen Gelfling saying these sorts of things when they come to us for physical examination. I just chalked it up to normal Gelfling foolishness… I didn't realize it was a disease that could endanger others.'
SkekSil narrowed his eyes in confusion. 'SkekTek, you've seen this other times, and didn't tell anyone? What did you do with these deluded ones?'
'Oh, well, I knew that their beliefs were not biologically supported,' skekTek said, 'insanity, yes, that was the note I made on cases like this. "Boys with wings"—hah! I did the same as with any of the crazy ones, with their delusions of "corrupted Crystals" and "darkness in the roots" and whatever else…'
'What did you do, Scientist!?' skekSo demanded. 'Look at me when I'm speaking to you! Don't tell me you sent them back to their own kind, to spread this filth!'
'Oh, no Emperor. I just wish I could've kept them here, to learn more and trace the causes of this illness.' He sighed. 'No, the same thing for all insane ones. I sent them to the war. "Front lines, no training," just like skekVar said.'
Emperor skekSo exhaled sharply. 'Huh? Hah—"front lines, no…" HAH! Ohohohohoho! HAHAHA, oh, HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!' He continued to chortle loudly, doubled over in his seat. SkekTek looked at both the other Skeksis confused.
SkekSil began to cackle as well, a stream of piercing screeches. He shook skekTek's arm and grinned at the Scientist. Hesitantly, skekTek joined the laughter, and his giggles built up to rasping mania. The Emperor wiped a tear from his ancient eye.
They three laughed and laughed. But in his mind, The Scientist had a thought: There must be some better use for all these Gelfling. What of the ending of the war?
* * *
Zeyida was deep in the Spine-ending forest now. This was not the thickest, nor the oldest wood in Thra, but it was old enough to canopy her in darkness, especially now as the night began to fall, and all three Suns dipped low. She eyed the orange-tinted shadows around her, the trees, creatures flitting past; all manner of strange lifeforms undulating in harmony about the ground. Then the trees began to thin once more, and she saw it through the last few lines of trunks, in the far distance: The Castle of the Crystal. Many spires of some black, almost bone-like stone (or maybe it was metal) reaching like a hand up from a crack in the earth. The Castle sat low in a basin of scrubland, one rocky and nearly barren of life. There was—
'GET DOWN!' cried an unknown voice. Zeyida whipped her head around to face the noise just as its maker—a Gelfling boy—tackled her to the ground.
She flailed, resisting, but was mostly caught unawares; both Gelflings rolled a short distance in the leafy undergrowth, then came to a halt. She sat up first, in anger. 'What are you doing!?' she cried.
The boy who sat up next to her, watching her and holding out a calming hand, had hair nearly as dark as her own, though it was short and wavy, rather than thick and tightly curled. His skin was a brownish shade of beige, like ancient bone. Quietly, he said: 'Hush, now wait a moment. My name's Jellarn. You're from the Desert, right? I can give you food, or other help with your travels, but tell me: who are you, and why are you here?'
'Zeyida,' she said tersely. 'My "why" is none of your business. I'm going to the Castle to see the Lords, and I don't need strange men attacking me on my way. I… just stay away from me, alright?' She stood and brushed herself off.
'The Castle!?' Jellarn shot up too. 'Why are you going there?'
'I just told you to leave me—' Zeyida looked into this boy's eyes. He looked… frightened, more than anything. She was frightened too. 'I… I don't know what's happened to me. I've been… exiled from my family, from my clan, I…' She frowned. 'The Lords of the Crystal will know what to do. They'll set things right, somehow.'
Jellarn grabbed her arm; there was terror in his eyes. 'No, Zeyida: the Skeksis—these "Lords"—they're evil!'
* * *
Two Gelfling walked this forest, which Jellarn told Zeyida was called "The Far Thicket" by his people in the South. She eyed him warily.
'I'm sorry for tackling you, Zeyida,' he said. 'I just—you can't go there. They'd more likely send you off to the war to die, not "help" you.' He brought her deeper into this forest, towards the foothills of the spine.
'But I don't understand,' she said, 'they're Lords of the Crystal! They have access to all of our world's collected wisdom… how could they be evil?' Throughout her life, she'd tried to be kind to men, to listen to them. She knew they weren't so incredibly strong, but they had wisdom of a special kind. Even if they could be… confusing, at times.
Jellarn stopped and rubbed his chin. 'Well,' he said, 'I guess having knowledge doesn't necessarily mean you'll do something good with it. And they've done something to the Crystal, something bad; it's gone quieter than it should be. It no longer shares wisdom; we believe it only collects insights, hoards knowledge for the Skeksis alone! They've set things up that way on purpose; they watch us through it, and hate to be seen. Why do you think they stay locked up in that big castle of theirs?'
'I don't know,' Zeyida said. And she didn't: even in her study of the old words, there wasn't much written of the Lords in the Cloister. 'Wait, who's "we"?'
'Huh? Oh, us! The Wedge—the revolution! We're going to set things right, unify all the Clans! Put an end to Skeksis oppression, take the Crystal back for all Thra!' Jellarn raised three fingers to the sky, flat together and pointed, like a wedge or mountain peak. Gelfling only have four digits on their hands: three fingers and a thumb.
'Yeah, but like, who? You have warriors? Or allies… how many Clans have you brought together already?' Zeyida knew enough of foreign peoples to recognize that Jellarn was Spriton; she hadn't seen any of their people in all her life until now. They're revolting against the Lords?
'Oh, um… there's two of us so far. Myself and my friend Stavri—comrades! The first seed of the revolution! And he's Vapran; he's pieced together a lot of this from tomes he found in Ha'rar. You'd be our third; and then another, and another…'
'Two!?' Zeyida stared at him skeptically. 'Not two Clans, two people? Doesn't sound like much of a "revolution".'
'Not yet,' he said. 'Ah, most Gelfling accept the rule of the Lords and the Maudras beneath them uncritically; this makes our insights unpopular. Worrying; most people just want to keep doing what they're doing. We're planning to go East to Stone-in-the-Wood, the war front; the Stonewoods might hate the Arathim, but we believe they're starting to get sick of fighting, and we know The Truth Of The War.' His clothing was also of a Spriton style Zeyida recognized from the Cloister's records: simple green and yellow close-garments, with coat and cap of a heavier brown material over top. All of it looked worn from use.
'What? What do you mean "The Truth"?' This boy has such a serious way of describing things. She wasn't particularly impressed.
'The Skeksis are behind the War also!' he said excitedly. 'The Arathim aren't the monsters we've been led to believe. They're capable of fighting, sure, and they are all connected permanently, like they all share one mind. But that's kind of like a permanent Dreamfast, if you think about it, and anyway they were never really a danger to us. The Skeksis attacked them and drove them from their native home in the caves up North, then when they came southeast to find a new home, the Skeksis made sure to incite a war between our Stonewood cousins and the Arathim refugees, so we'd all be fighting each other instead of them. Y'know, those bird-brains aren't even from here, they—'
A stick snapped under leaves nearby, and both Gelfling whirled. There stood a third, hooded Gelfling, holding a bent piece of wood which he was bending by a string attached to both its ends. There was another, straighter stick tucked against the string, with its sharpened point facing her. Wait, that's a "bow"! Zeyida thought,a weapon! She dove to the ground.
'Who—' said the third one. 'Jel, who's that?'
Jellarn gasped. 'Oh, oh, sorry! He didn't mean to frighten you,' he said. 'This is that guy Stavri I was telling you about.' He pointed at a flustered and now rather leafy Gelfling girl crouched on the ground. 'This is Zeyida. She's Dousan, and she was trying to go to the Skeksis for help. She's going to join The Wedge!'
The two boys led Zeyida to a little cave dug into a hillside, with a wooden bough-roofed entrance hall outside it. The sight reminded her of a primitive, forest version of her own home back by the Wellspring. But the Wellspring isn't my home, she thought, not anymore, or… I can't go back, not yet. She wasn't necessarily buying all this stuff about the Lords being behind some evil conspiracy, but she was willing to hear these poor boys out. She really didn't know much about "the Skeksis," and one thing she'd learned from her studies was to seek wisdom from many sources to piece together the full truth. Plus, these two probably had food, which she was low on.
Inside this hut there was a cook-fire, and some old hunks of tree to sit on. Jellarn brought another one in for her, then got to work on a pot of stew.
She sat down with the Vapran boy, Stavri. His blonde hair was cut quite short, but… it didn't look bad. 'So you came all this way alone?' he asked.
'Yeah,' Zeyida said, 'it was tough, but I managed it. A few days through the Desert, then I climbed the sides of Raunip's Spine to stay clear of the perilous Shifting Pass.' She held her head high.
'Amazing!' Stavri cried. 'Wow, sounds like you're pretty strong, Zeyida. Must be tired too. Don't worry, we can put together another bed for you, and maybe dig out another room for privacy.' He pointed at a pair of beds made from flat, rectangular piles of tree boughs.
Zeyida smirked. 'You guys can have your privacy,' she said. 'I'll probably sleep outside. I'm used to living in the elements.'
From his stirring of the stew, Jellarn shook his head. 'Sure you will. Zeyida…' He eyed her. 'Why didn't you just fly here?'
Zeyida went red in the face. She was lucky she'd spent many hours studying Gelfling wings in the archives, and had paid attention during her trip. 'Oh… well it was real windy up in the mountains. Not great for flying, y'know, the air currents, and… and anyway wings aren't really made for distance flights. They don't have that kind of endurance.' Boys don't get it, she insisted to herself. Well, they get not having wings, but they don't get being a girl without wings. She couldn't tell them the truth, not yet.
'Uh-huh.' Jellarn muttered. His focus was on the food.
'Oh, good point!' said Stavri. 'Guess you'd know more about this than we do, hahaha. But you came all this way alone… lemme guess: you discovered some truth that changed the way you see the world, but all the other fools couldn't accept it, so they drove you out?'
Zeyida stared at the fire. 'Yeah, actually,' she said. That was pretty close to correct.
Stavri shook her shoulder. He had a very friendly tone of voice. 'It's okay, you don't have to tell us. We're just glad that you made it here. Guess it's good this hard-head found you, so the Skeksis couldn't get you first. Right Jel?'
Jellarn rolled his eyes. 'Food's ready. You're cleaning these in the stream when we're done, Stav.'
'Course,' said the Vapran boy. 'C'mon, let's eat!'
They ate out of little wooden bowls. The stew was tasty; there was some especially rich quality to it, which Zeyida enjoyed especially. Also, she was ravenously hungry.
'You like it, huh?' Stavri asked her.
Zeyida looked up from her bowl. 'Oh, yes. Jellarn, what did you put in here?'
'Oh, boiled Drumlur, sweet Tortle-moss, some dried Bublup legs,' he said, after a swallow of his own food, 'and a few sprinkles of dried herbs from my pack; it's just whatever I could throw together. Glad you like it.'
'Wait… Bublup legs?' She'd never heard of a "Bublup" before, but… 'There's meat in this!?' Zeyida dropped her bowl, gagged, and started rubbing the length of her tongue with her hands.
'You don't eat…' Jellarn shook his head. 'Zeyida, we're in the wilderness now. We have to take what nutrients we can get.'
'What? No, sorry—I'm sorry about him,' said Stavri, 'I'm sure we can find stuff for you to eat, Zeyida. Ah, it's so wonderful to learn about Dousan culture!' He smiled. 'You still hungry?'
'Oh no, I'm fine.' I'll have to join their foraging tonight, she thought. She still had at least half a dry-ration left, to eat when Jellarn wasn't looking. She didn't want to offend these generous (if strange) boys.
When he finished his own food, Stavri stood abruptly. 'Alright!' he said. 'Zeyida, you're not really going to sleep outside, right?'
'I…' She puzzled this. The Suns weren't so bright here, with all the trees. And she doubted there'd be many sandstorms, seeing as all the sand here was turned to dirt. But maybe they had dirtstorms? 'What, uh… is there anything dangerous out there?'
'Oh, just creatures that might eat you,' Jellarn said. He was… sort of smarmy. Reminded Zeyida of her little brother Wimsoal, except that he was closer to Zeyida's own age. Maybe even older? What was cute on a little boy became a bit pricklier coming from a full-grown young man. An "attitude," as her mother might've put it.
Stavri gave him a stink-eye for Zeyida's benefit. 'I'm sure you can handle yourself, Zeyida. But yeah, probably best to stay in here at night.' He reached into a shallow hole in the back wall of their sod-dug hut and produced stone picks and wooden shovels. 'C'mon Jel, let's make her room!'
'You're supposed to be cleaning the bowls, Stav.'
Stavri rolled his eyes at his compatriot. 'Gotta help our guest out first. Or… wait, how about I'll dig it myself, if you do the bowls. Or the other way around; you dig, I clean, we—'
Zeyida snatched one of the shovels from him. 'I'm a grown woman. I can dig my own room. Which way?' This was essentially true: despite her troubles leading up to her first Night as a woman, the day had passed. At least by count of trine and Gelfling standards, she was an adult. How she saw herself was another story.
'Oh, of course!' Stavri said. He pointed at a direction, and Zeyida set to digging. She'd done some journeys across the Desert with mother throughout her own youth, and there was always plenty of digging to be done out there. Jellarn sighed, picked up all the dirty dishes and left for a nearby brook.
Stavri helped her dig a wide room on the left of the hut, then lengthen it deeper into the heart of the hill. He wasn't really that much help; Zeyida wondered how these boys got all this digging done in the first place, just the two of them. Out the corner of her eye, she caught him pick up some kind of worm, rub it on his sky blue jerkin and slurp it into his lips. Meat-eaters, she thought, blasphemy.But maybe it's my people that're wrong? Maybe the other Clans understood the idea of girls without wings; Telora was Vapran, and she still helped Zeyida after finding out the truth. So maybe some Dousan traditions could be wrong? These boys seemed to have something in common with her: they couldn't fit in to their own Clans. That didn't necessarily make them right, but…
'So what do you think about Jel?' Stavri asked from behind. 'He's kind of a stick-in-the-mud, right?'
Zeyida snorted. 'Yeah,' she said. 'Like he thinks he's got all the answers.' Her shovel clattered against a rock; Stavri took the tool, and passed her a pick.
'Eh, he's not so bad to have around. Not totally stupid.' She heard another slurp from him behind her. 'Just like… when he gets into all his stuff about The Problems With Women, you gotta understand: he doesn't mean you. It's about, like, the Maudras and whatever. More about the elitesthan anything really to do with all women.'
'What?'
Jellarn returned with a stack of clean cookware. 'What are you two on about? There's talk that helps the work, and then there's talk you do instead of working.'
'None of us have any right to give orders,' Stavri said. He turned to Zeyida, smiled. 'We don't do bosses here, not even Maudras. No one tells anyone what to do. Just free living, harmony with all Thra's creatures!'
'No, we're anarchists,' Jellarn said flatly. 'That doesn't mean no power. It means everyone has authority: everybody gets a say. And everybody has a job to do; if someone doesn't do it, they deserve a bit of chewing out.' He glared at the other boy.
'Yeah,' said Stavri, 'you cooked and cleaned, and we did all the digging.' He sat down and smiled.
Zeyida was still digging. Boys, she thought, and shook her head. At least Jellarn could cook.
The Spriton grumbled to himself. Stavri held the other boy's arm and said: 'I'm just kidding. You know I don't mean anything by it, Jel.' His tone was very apologetic; Jellarn's eyes sparkled. 'We'll figure this out. There's three of us now, right Zeyida?'
Satisfied with the size of her "room," she set the picks and shovels back into the hole they'd been taken from. 'Sure,' she said, 'three. We'll figure stuff out together.'
'And I'll do the cooking tomorrow night!' Stavri said. 'I'm a really good cook, Zeyida. There's no match in the world for Vapran cuisine!'
Jellarn muttered something under his breath, and then said: 'Fine. Let's get to bed.'
'Wait, bed?' Zeyida said. 'Now? The night's hardly started!'
Stavri stared at her like her head was missing. '…yeah, that's why we'd…' The boys shared a look. 'Zeyida,' said the Vapran, 'are you noct—do you sleep during the day, and stay awake at night?'
'Yeah,' she said. '…What!? The Brothers could boil your blood in the daytime! Are the plains really that much—or, or up in the mountains, don't you…' She blushed.
'Fascinating!' Stavri said. He removed a book from near his bed. 'I didn't know this about the Dousan tribe! I'm a scholar, by the way. You'll have to tell me more about your culture when we… I mean, when… are you gonna stay up all night? And sleep tomorrow morning?'
'I, um…' She wasn't so entirely un-tired. Her journey had been long and arduous; in trips across the Desert, skiffs and Skimmers did most of the work—and she was something of a permanent Wellspring-dweller in recent trine. Wrinklefinger was the Dousan insultgiven to people like her, for how often they got their hands wet; how easy they lived. 'Err, maybe I'll take a midnight nap or something.'
Stavri yawned. 'Oh, good,' he said. 'Oh, uh, we have some extra boughs and fuzzbil leaves for your bed.' He disappeared around a sodden wall.
Jellarn picked up a wide and shallow woven basket from nearby on the floor. 'If you're gonna be awake in the nights, might as well do some foraging.' He proffered the basket to her.
'Oh, of course!' she said. 'But… I, um… I don't really know the plants here…'
'Oh, yeah, sorry! Hmmm…' Jellarn raised one finger. 'Of course! There's a big growth of Goljuj ferns a little ways northwest, up the hill. They're good to eat, and I wouldn't call them "meat". We've been drying them.' He retrieved a withered little of spindle of dried plant. 'See, they're different now that they're dead, but: green, with brown and orange splotches. You can't miss 'em!'
Zeyida took the basket. 'Alright,' she said, 'but what about those dangerous creatures? Y'know, the ones that might eat me?'
'Oh,' Jellarn said. 'Hah, no, it's not that…' He sighed, smiling. 'I was just messing with you. There might be some Nebrie in the mud of the mountainwash further West, and they've been irritable lately, but you'll be just fine as long as you aren't looking for a mud bath. Oh, and there could even be Landstriders this far North, but they aren't… they're plant eaters, like you! They won't cause you problems unless you really bother them, and anyway they're probably asleep by now.'
Zeyida had never heard of any of these creatures. 'Alright,' she said, feigning confidence.
Stavri reemerged from the distant corners of this hole, carrying a bundle of dead greenery. 'You're telling her about the local wildlife?' he said. Jellarn nodded.
The Vapran dropped his armful of leaves on the floor of Zeyida's fresh-dug bedroom. He reached into another hole in the wall. 'I have pictures… I'm a scholar, remember?' He produced sheets of paper with drawings that were crude, but depicted the creatures well enough. These "Nebrie" looked to Zeyida like giant, fatter Slobs, and the "Landstriders" had very long legs. They looked sort of scary, except that their faces looked kindly—almost silly. They had whiskers like a Skimmer.
Stavri yawned again. 'Alright, we'll be getting some sleep. Goodnight Zeyida!' He smiled at her.
'Wait,' she said, glancing at the pile of foliage he'd just dropped, 'what about my bed?'
'You're not sleeping yet, right?' Stavri asked. 'Oh, but I can—'
'No, come on Stav,' said Jellarn. 'She's a grown woman, right? Or do you want us boys to make your bed for you?'
'No,' she said, 'I can handle it.' Zeyida smiled. 'Enjoy your beauty sleep, brave revolutionaries! I'll go make sure we have food tomorrow.'
Jellarn shot her a glare before he retreated to his sleeping spot. Stavri gave her one last, sleepy smile.
Zeyida stared at the little pile of leaves and leafy branches. Frowning, she mussed them into something resembling a bed and lay down on the spread. Lying on her back, staring at the ceiling—she couldn't sleep. What am I doing? She didn't know these boys! She couldn't—so what if they thought the Lords were "evil"!? They clearly didn't have any real answers, and she didn't either, so, so—
Abruptly, she stood and stomped outside. The night was dark. Incredibly so; the thick trees here covered most of the starlight. It was almost like being inside a sandstorm, and all the strange noises didn't help. She shivered. I could just go back! she thought. Go home. They don't really hate me, and I… I did lie, to everyone. I can't believe dad knew! Urgh, I have to go back, I'm not… this is insane! They love me! And they did. But the Dousan have a saying: 'If you cannot silence your doubts, trace your spine to find their source.' She knew; she allowed herself to realize. Her secrets hurt, but served a purpose. Things as they were, the Dousan would try to help her, but not as a "her". To be accepted as one of them, she'd have to live the rest of her life pretending to be a man.
Her mind now like a sandstorm, Zeyida sat on the dirt. One thousand thoughts assailed her, grains whipping at the inside of her skull: There has to be another way—someone who understands—some way this all makes sense—somewhere, somewhere else like this—I have to tell them—I can't tell them—I have to convince them—I have to keep running—I have to go home!—scholar—daughter—coward—lost—liar… LIAR! She clutched her head and shook it.
For the first time since the Wellspring, she felt Theelis' pendant around her neck, by its slapping against her chest. She drew it out. A milky-white sliver of crystal from the heart of the Desert; said to be related to the true Crystal in the heart of the Lords' castle (though, it bore a closer resemblance to the Dousan's worship-crystal in the Cloister; if reports were to be believed, The Crystal was purple). She rubbed the pendant between her thumb and forefinger. She gave this to me, Zeyida thought. She didn't know what I'd done, what I am, and she helped me without a second thought. She clutched a fist around the crystal. Strength, she thought. The protection of a Guardian of my xeric.
She looked up now, through the boughs of the trees above. Some stars were still visible, as was a shrouded half of one of the three Moons, the Sisters. There'd be clearer skies further up, where the trees thin! She stood and clambered up the hill behind.
There was a starlit clearing, at the crown of a slightly taller hill further North towards the foot of the Spine. Here Zeyida sat, folded her legs and, crystal pendant still in hand, began the Ritual of the Flickering Dead. She traced the paths of the three Sister Moons in the dirt—it was all as wet as any of the Wellspring's wettest sands, and so kept the lines sharply. Typically one was to carve a triangular notch facing southwest, for the Wellspring, but she knew that it was northwest of her now, so dug the thin side of her palm into the sod facing that way. Then eight crooked fingers thrust points-first into the dirt for the stars of the Peeper Constellation, three fingers together towards the South for the Great Star, and a crescent in its proper path for San, the Hidden Sister.
She felt the faint glow of all these bodies on her painted face, breathed in a slow, heavy rhythm. I am here, she thought, where it's damp and strange. But I am Dousan. I breathe with Thra. I am Zeyida. Death approaches, a friend. I deny their distant love, for now. Today I'm of the sand—the dirt. Someday my smoke will rise to bless the Desert. She sat in meditative silence for a few minutes.
In time she opened her eyes, stood slowly and brushed the dirt and matted grass off her clothing. I am Zeyida… and hungry! She removed her last bit of dry ration and nibbled it as she continued along. Where did he say those plants were?
She found the Goljuj ferns, and that "mountainwash" river Jellarn had said contained dangerous creatures. She kept her distance easily; saw no cause to approach the danger. Swimming was blasphemy. What else? she thought, gnawing on a raw fern, thick with water. I should've asked him, or maybe Stavri, for more edible plants to forage.Wait… Stavri's a scholar, like me! He must have records! Basket full of plants, she took off running, back towards the hovel under the hill.
The boys were fast asleep inside. Don't look at them, she insisted to herself, boys need their privacy. Maybe these boys were sort of different, living out here on their own, but she doubted it. She'd slept outdoors many times, and most of the girls she knew wouldn't mind a boy's eyes lingering on them. But even out in the depths of the Desert, boys stayed to tents, hidden; they liked to "keep up the mystery". A mystery to Zeyida, no doubt.
Okay, foraging! Where would he keep writings, or, or diagrams? After dropping a pile of Goljuj ferns, she rummaged in more than one packed-dirt alcove before she found what she was after. A messy journal: loose pages wrapped in a cover of heavy, slick brown cloth that felt almost like skin. Eee, maybe it is! They eat animals, what if they use their skins for writing! She held the thing away from herself, steady as she could, and opened it. Inside there were many labeled diagrams of flora and fauna with detailed descriptions, including much about the culinary qualities of each specimen. Perfect! Excitedly, she hurried back out into the night.
She returned with the first of the Suns. That basket Jellarn gave her, she'd filled once more with thick plants and herbs. Enough for all of us, she thought. What plants lived in the Desert came out in the night, same as the Dousan, to sop up the dew or, on colder days, the hoarfrost which collected in the chilly starlight. The key in foraging was to collect as much as possible. Some spots in the sand were empty, and it was hard to tell the difference with them retreated in the daylight. Zeyida wasn't much of a cook, but she could try. She wasn't picky.
Jellarn was awake inside, sitting, looking groggy. 'Oh, Zeyida,' he muttered, and rubbed his eyes. 'you—huahhhh.' He yawned. 'You gonna sleep during the daytime?'
Zeyida followed with her own yawn. '…Yeah, guess I should,' she muttered. 'Got food.' She dropped the basket by the hole in the wall where they'd been making fires, then sat heavily in her leafy bed. 'Enjoy your Sunlight.'
'Wait, I…' Jellarn sighed. 'Alright. We'll see you at sunset?'
She lay down on her back. 'Sure. Maybe someday I'll do like you forest Gelfs, sleeping at night!' It wasn't so terribly hot this morning, with all the tree shade. She rolled over to face the wall and shut her eyes. These leaves were much… dirtier than a tent blanket, but they were surprisingly soft…
She awoke to the sound of the fire's crackle. The room was darker. How long did I sleep? She sat up and rubbed her eyes.
'Oh, hey there sleepyhead!' Stavri said.
Zeyida was already stumbling outside, through the wooden entrance and into the darkness. No Suns anymore, and all three Moons were (barely) visible. She'd slept the whole day through. Aww, too bad. She liked to see the Pearl Sister rise as she woke. Sighing, she went back inside.
She was growing accustomed to the smells of wood and warm, dry soil. And the leaves here, the branches… some of them had an acrid scent, almost nutty. She'd never been inside a house not made of stone or tentcloth. It was becoming surprising cozy, here in the wood-studded dirt.
'Here,' Stavri said. He passed her a leaf-made cup of water.
She took it and sat by the fire, drinking greedily. There's so much water here! Jellarn was slicing up the plants she'd brought using a little metal knife, while Stavri stirred the pot.
In time he filled three bowls with the finished stew, and passed one to Zeyida first. 'For all your hard work,' he said with a nod. 'Oh, and no meat this time.'
Zeyida slurped from the vessel loudly, smacked her lips. 'Ah, that's good,' she said. She hadn't eaten more than a few fresh-picked snacks throughout the previous night, and this first bowl only seemed to deepen her hunger. She offered it, empty, back to Stavri.
The boys were eating more slowly. 'Oh,' said Stavri. 'Yeah, of course.' He filled it yet again. Jellarn glanced at him, then sighed.
She decided to take her time with this second bowl-full (though a third would likely be needed). 'This is great!' she said. 'You guys will have to teach me what herbs to use.'
'Oh, definitely,' Jellarn said, 'we'll wake you up before the Suns set tomorrow, so you can cook for us. See what you can do.'
'Sure,' she said, 'but… I've never really done much food preparation. I was a scholar, mostly, at the Cloister. Oh, and I helped with the rituals sometimes. I can try to help, but… don't expect too much. My dad's the real cook.'
'Oh, in the Cloister!' Stavri said. 'What was your area of study?' He leaned in, and both boys watched her expectantly.
'Err… history. And I liked, umm, studying rock formations…'
'Certainly! Natural History!' Stavri said. 'I was more into Gelfling history myself… that's how I started putting together all the things the Elites have been up to!'
Elites? 'Like the Lords of the Crystal?'
'Oh yeah,' said Stavri, 'and the Maudras, and everyone else up there who we're "supposed to" trust. My teacher Aleryn wasn't very well liked in Ha'rar, but she saw the truth! The Skeksis Lords are evil!'
'The Maudras?' She remembered Stavri's words from the previous evening. 'Jellarn… what's this about your "hating women," hah, or whatever?' He couldn't actually hate women, right? But these guys clearly weren't very popular… maybe there was a good reason…
'You really want to know?' Jellarn met her eyes with a grave expression. 'You'll hear me out? You swear?'
'I, umm… sure.' They've helped me, she reminded herself. The benefit of the doubt. I at least have to try, if I'm going to live with these two male revolutionaries.
'Okay.' He set his bowl down, took a deep breath. 'It's not that women are "evil"…' He flicked a quick glare Stavri's way. '…we live in a matriarchal culture. Where women have sole access to power, and men are oppressed to make that work. The Matriarchy demands servitude from its men, denies us agency, treats us as less than people. This begins with—'
'The Matriarchy?' Zeyida frowned. She had some idea of what this word meant. 'What, like we're all just sitting around plotting secret ways to keep men down, full of nothing but hate and greed? Have you ever actually known any women, besides me?' She smiled at Stavri; he smiled back her, winked.
'No!' Jellarn said, eyeing both of them. 'It's not… look, just listen, alright? It's not that all women knowingly intend to hurt men, it's about perspectives. Expectations! In our culture it's seen as normal for men to have less access to power, to have our bodies commodified and treated as usable objects, to be led rather than encouraged to lead. Or just, not—even the average woman doesn't really treat any man as her equal! Even if they're married!'
'Yeah, but… women are stronger, and, like…' Zeyida didn't want to bring up wings, but most women had them.
'Oh, what, and they can fly?' Jellarn shook his head. 'So what, you think women are smarter than men, or something?'
'Well, I don't know. There are plenty of smart men… my dad's really good at his role. But most scholars are women, and—and most of the big contributions were made by… Stavri, you said your teacher was a woman, right? Does that mean she's "evil" too, just because she was in charge?'
Stavri frowned at Jellarn, whose face had tightened. 'Well, no, it's really all about the Skeksis,' he said. 'The Maudras are just following their example. Tyranny, lies, pretending like they're the "good girls". And, yeah, they don't always treat men right either.'
'It's about material reality!' Jellarn blurted. 'The problem isn't just down to "good" or "bad people"—it's systemic! The Maudras and all the powerful women, merchants or scholars or whatever else they are; they uphold the power structure, and it stretches out fractally to every household, where men are expected to submit to their wives! The exploiters, whether Skeksis or just women with a long line of younger and younger husbands beneath them, benefit from the exploitation of the male gender!'
'They're all old,' Stavri added, 'this is just how old people are. Too busy clutching onto life to give up power to the young. Those decrepit old narcissists set things up this way just so they could live a little longer, never considering the evil their actions do in the long term.'
'Wait, hold on,' Zeyida said, 'Jellarn, what do you mean "exploiters"? Not all women are, like, sickly old monsters. Some of us do care… I don't want men to be—'
'Oh, hoho, "not all women"!' Jellarn chuckled derisively. 'Yeah, "not all women," sure Zeyida, not every woman goes home thinking about how they're going to make their husband's day worse. But most women turn a blind eye; are happy to sit back and let men do all the cooking, and the cleaning, and the child-raising, the inferior domestic "duties" while she goes messing around with her gals, or finds a new man to better fit her fancy. And this intersects with power; the higher up the hierarchy she is (and only women can climb to the top, in Matriarchy), the more a woman can get away with! Even most men are complicit in upholding the matriarchal norms! Do you know what the Maudras do, when no one's watching?'
Zeyida stood abruptly. 'Look here! Maybe in the East there are "evil matriarchies" like you're saying. I've read up on the other Clans; I've even met a few Vaprans. We Dousan do things differently. We judge on individual merit; men can be worthy of any role, even Sandmaster!'
'Oh yeah?' Jellarn said. 'Yeah, I've heard about your "Xerics" from this simpering scrawler. But what about male Maudras—how many of those have there been among the Dousan?'
'Oh, well… I mean, it's not like a man could be a Maudra…'
'Aha!' Jellarn stood and pointed at her. 'Why not, huh? Just because of the feminine aspect of the title? Why do you think they—'
Stavri jumped up and got between the two tense Gelfling. 'Alright, please,' he said to both of them. 'All this shouting isn't helping anything. We all need to cool off.' He put a hand on each Gelfling's shoulder.
Jellarn looked at the hand on his shoulder, stunned. Then he leaned around Stavri to continue his stream of words: 'Maybe your culture really is "different," Zeyida, but it's still a misandristic, matri—'
Stavri turned to him in anger. 'Jellarn!' he shouted. He softened as he turned back to Zeyida. 'Come on Zeyida, let's go outside.'
She went out, and Stavri lingered. 'This is why there's still just two of us,' he hissed to Jellarn. 'If you can't keep a lid on all this anti-women shit, how are any women ever gonna join us? Or anyone, for that matter.'
'Wha—!?' Jellarn set his brow. 'I'm not "anti-women," you drooling wing-worshipper! But females are more receptive to Matriarchy—we can't afford to take in women who aren't willing to change! To reject all the entitled, spiteful nonsense they've grown up in!'
Stavri clicked his tongue and threw his head to one side. 'Aww, save me the sermons,' he said. 'Zeyida's trying to be personable, she's listening, and you got worked up into a screaming match! What's the point if we can't spare a little trust for a good woman?' Scowling, he left the hut before Jellarn could respond.
Zeyida stood outside awkwardly. Approaching her, Stavri sighed. 'He's just a bit… temperamental,' he said. 'Just because he's… smart, about some things, and independent-minded, doesn't make a guy any less crazy.'
'I'm sorry,' Zeyida said, 'I didn't mean to—'
'Oh, don't worry about it,' he said. 'You're our guest! He could learn to be a bit more understanding, a bit more hospitable. But he knows you're a good woman deep down; he just gets mad when people don't agree with all his "theories" right away.'
'Wait,' she said, ' "good woman"… you really think so?' Her eyes sparkled. 'I mean, I don't try to be cruel to boys… I know how some girls can be… y'think he has a point? That women, I don't know, get away with more, because of how things are?'
'Bah.' He walked over to the hillside and sat. 'Maybe. Problem is, he thinks he's got all the points…'
'Heh, yeah,' she said, and sat down next to him, 'and knows just where to stick 'em.'
'Hahahahahaha!' Stavri's laughter fluttered. He shoved her arm playfully, met her eyes. 'You're so clever, Zeyida. This is why I liked being a scholar so much; it's no fun being the smartest person in the room.'
'Boy, I'm definitely not the brightest,' she said. She set her hand down on the hillside; the grass was cool in her palm.
'You said you've met other Vaprans, right?' Stavri asked. 'We have such a vast collection of knowledge back in Ha'rar. I'll share everything I can with you. I'm sure you'll figure it out faster than I did. Mistress Aleryn really did have all the answers… she just wasn't taken seriously!'
'Oh, yeah. My own teacher Telora was Vapran, and she was wise too. And so kind to me, and I…' She looked away to hide her sorrow.
Stavri rested his hand on hers; Zeyida's head whipped around to stare at him, wide-eyed. 'It's alright,' he said, 'we'll figure it out. And someday, when the Wedge succeeds, things will all go back to normal. Back home with our families and friends, sharing the new knowledge we've discovered. Together.' He smiled.
'I, uhhh… sure, yeah.' She tried not to look at his hand.
'And Zeyida?' She met his eyes, terrified. 'I think you'd make a better leader than Jellarn. I'm glad he's here, but… we need someone who can getthrough to people, y'know? Who's a natural at making friends, and… and leading!'
'I… what?' If there was one thing Zeyida did not consider herself, it was a leader. 'No, not me…' She took her own hand back, to rub against the other.
'I'm serious,' he said. 'And c'mon, that's how you know someone's a good leader: she doesn't think she deserves it!' He pouted. 'Jel loves to give orders, pretend like he's so smart. He doesn't even understand about the Podlings!'
'What? The Podlings?' Zeyida had heard of the Pod People, but not much was written about them. They were… odd, and mostly kept to themselves. In her perception of things.
'Yeah, it's… oh, Zeyida, this is the most troubling truth of all! It's so easy to look down on the Podlings… some of the other Clans, the Stonewoods especially, even call them "friends". But they live in the Castle of the Crystal as well! The Skeksis say they're just "servants" or whatever, but that's just what they want us to think! Mistress Aleryn found the truth!'
'What do you mean? They're part of this "Matriarchy" too, somehow?'
Stavri squinted and shook his head. 'No, no, that's just how Jel sees things. Women aren't the problem. Even the Skeksis might not… they weren't always like this! Something's corrupted them!' His eyes were wide. 'Don't you see? The Pods only appear harmless! They've been working together to ruin everything for us, to make Lords into monsters, and Maudras into their servants!' He sighed. 'And this is why I have to get Jel off this "anarchy" nonsense. That's a Poddish invention, to confuse us… when the Lords are healed, and the Maudras, everything will be set straight. The right women will be back in charge!' He smiled at her again.
'Oh, I… okay. Thanks.'
Stavri stood. 'No, thank you Zeyida. It's good to have a little extra sanity around here.' He walked around to the mouth of the hut. 'Sorry about today. But the future is bright. We can do this! End Podling parasitism and save the world!' He craned his neck towards her, to whisper: 'Err, don't tell Jel about all this. Spritons are a bit more, uhh, Pod-friendly, so it'll take me a while longer to convince him. He'll come around eventually, he's just stubborn.' He winked and slipped inside.
The Podlings are behind all this? She'd never met a "Skeksis" or a Podling. And they said that the Arathim weren't evil, so… what was even going on? Women, Podlings, Skeksis, "good," "evil," "matriarchal"… maybe we're all just people, all just dumb and odd! She felt dumb and odd most of the time. But the world was upside-down; maybe the Lords really were evil, and "exploiting" through the Maudras and whatever else. I just need time to think… and some serious evidence! She stood.
She tried to enter the hut, but Jellarn was there. Head bowed, leaving; he hardly seemed to notice her. She watched him trudge over and sit on the hillside, where she'd been. He looked defeated. Zeyida lingered, anxious, then decided to sit by him. A good enough distance away, but… she at least pitied him. For some reason.
'I'm not… going to apologize,' he murmured. 'I'm angry. Sometimes it's all I feel; anger, despair… I fear you don't know what it's like to live on the worse side of Matriarchy.' He met her eyes. 'It's awful. Random women will see your body as nothing more than their plaything, with their eyes and whistling mouths if not their hands. And when you do get mad, for what's being done to you, your anger's just a joke.' He flapped a hand. ' "Hah, look at the angry man! Isn't he so shrill and stupid?" And women don't understand, don't want to understand, because it's everyone. Everything we take for granted, all the benefits they get from "having" husbands, the Maudras; our whole way of life is rot.'
Zeyida wasn't sure what to say. She… Jellarn wasn't just talking about the bad women. He was talking about culture as a broader thing; women who believed they were good, but somehow still hurt men. Didn't take men's perspectives seriously. But nobody takes me seriously either, not since— she hung her head. Maybe it was because everyone saw her as a boy now? Maybe there was something not right, some "rot"…
'It hurts you too, y'know.' Jellarn said; Zeyida met his eyes. 'The Matriarchy. Toxic femininity—I don't mean that women are "evil". Only the Maudras really benefit; most women are just… hurting, like… have you ever felt totally comfortable expressing your emotions? Your sadness, your weakness, your truth in groups of girls, or with your mom or whatever?'
She hadn't. Zeyida shied away.
'Yeah, didn't think so. Or, I mean… all the ridiculous standards you women get held to. Like you have to just keep going, "protecting and providing," leading, and nobody really cares about your inner pain? Heh, maybe I do "hate women," sometimes. But sometimes I just wish… I don't want to…'
Zeyida nodded. 'I think… I don't know,' she said. 'My friends aren't so bad. There is this one boy back home, and I know he really cares. Humsil, he… I abandoned him…'
'That's a part of it too!' Jellarn cried. 'I'm sorry, but it is, toxic femininity; forcing men into this "caretaker" role. Putting all your fears and traumas onto just one boy, "your" one, when women would be better off building stronger, loving friendships with other women!' He sighed. 'But who am I to… I get it. I—there was this one boy…'
She looked at him cross-eyed. OH! He's one of them.
'Yeah,' he said. 'In my hometown, this boy, and we… we tried to—it was good, for a while. We had our secret love. But then he got cold feet, and told his parents, and they told everyone. I wanted to run away with him, but he… well, no more Sami Thicket for me. Now I'm out here, trying to figure out why my people hate people like me.'
She frowned curiously. 'Because of this "Matriarchy"?'
'Yeah.' Jellarn looked into the distance. 'The ladies all want cooks, and cleaners, and, and boys who won't… who'll look the other way. Obedient husbands, and that leaves little room for men who don't much want a wife…'
Zeyida touched Jellarn's shoulder gently. She felt some strange kinship with him. Pity, maybe. She figured that they both didn't fit in with their homes, for similar reasons.
He eyed her. 'You… like boys, though?'
She smiled. 'Just the one.' She removed her hand from him abruptly. 'Oh, sorry, I—I didn't mean—'
'It's fine,' he huffed. 'Somehow I know you aren't… I didn't realize I could have these kinds of conversations with women. It's like… Stavri's right: you aren't so bad.'
'For a woman, you mean?' She grinned.
'For a person,' he said. 'That's what it's gotta be about, but it's so hard, I-I… I know we're right, about the Skeksis, and the Matriarchy and everything, but sometimes it's so hard, t-to believe in what we're doing, and the future, and—and change!' He bit his lip. 'But we have to, right? Try to fix things?'
'We can,' she said. 'Together.' She felt the warmth of that togetherness very strongly. She felt no particular attraction to Jellarn (and maybe that was for the best, if he wasn't "into" women) but there was something to him, maybe something stronger, he was… he was good. Really good, underneath all the stubbornness and anger; or maybe those were related? Good people could be stubborn and prickly? She'd met people who were… slimy, with false kindness… actually, now that she thought about it—
Jellarn brightened. 'Yeah,' he said, 'yeah! Three of us now! Trust, and kindness and togetherness, and mutuality! And if three of us can build that, why not four?'
Her trail of thought was interrupted. Trust… She leaned towards him, shaking in fear. 'Jellarn,' she whispered, 'there's something I need to tell you…'
'What? Oh, you're interested in girls as well, right? Of course, I've always—I knew there was a reason why we understand each other so well. This fear is one of the Matriarchy's strongest weapons: that even females who only like boys are made to feel ridiculous, or lesser—boyish—if anyone even suspects they're interested in other females! They keep us down, but threaten you all with the same treatment if you deviate from—'
'Jellarn!' she cried. 'No, I… or, I don't know… it's not about that! Jellarn… I don't have wings!'
He stared at her blankly. 'What, like… you lost them?'
'No. I never had them. Never,' she said; her eyes were already lined with tears. 'They called me a—'
'So… you're a boy? Or, like—'
'NO!' she blurted. Jellarn lurched backwards. 'I'm sorry, I—I don't know what I am, it's like, I-I, I just am a girl, even though it doesn't make any sense! I know it doesn't make any sense, but it's still true, it's like—'
Jellarn stood slowly, watching her all the way. 'I have to tell Stavri about this,' he said.
She stood to follow him. 'What? Wait, can't we just—'
He turned on her, eyes sharp, words firm. 'He has a right to know. You lied to us, Zeyida! Or… or whatever your real name is!' He stomped towards the hut.
'My name is Zeyida!' She trailed him, pleading: 'No, wait, please! I'm sorry, but I couldn't—it's the same, don't you see?' Her words were choked by sobs. 'They pushed us all out! We're in the same—'
Jellarn stopped by the entrance and hung his head. 'No more lying,' he said, not turning back to look at her. 'If you don't understand that, we were never the same at all.' He went inside.
'I'm not—!' He shut the door in her face. Zeyida didn't even know the hut had a door. She stumbled back to the hillside and tried to silence her sobs.
The door of the hut flew open; Zeyida stood and wiped her eyes. Stavri came trudging out; she ran up to him, desperate: 'Oh, Stavri, thank the ancestors—Jellarn won't listen, he—'
'Is it true?' he said. 'You never grew wings?'
'…Yes.'
He grimaced. 'You lied to us, Zeyida! I… I thought you were cool, but you're just another boy… in some kind of disguise? Why did you lie to me?'
'I—okay, I didn't tell you everything, but I am a girl! Stavri—' She held him by the arms, brushed her hair out of her eyes. '—Stavri, I am! I don't know how to explain it, but I just—'
Flailing his arms, Stavri threw her hands off him. 'Stop lying!' he shouted. 'I don't care that you're a boy, or into boys—he definitely doesn't care—but you've gotta be honest if you want to stay here with us. Just… just stay outside tonight. Dig your own hole, "lady".'
'No, wait, please…'
He hurried back inside and shut the door.
Zeyida sat back down, stunned. She didn't hear the croaking, windswept rhythms of the awakening night. The stars were dark to her. T-they don't… but no, it can't be. They're just upset now, they won't—oh, why did I run away from home!?
She knew why.
These men, they… they're freer than people in the cities. They'll listen eventually; Jellarn will understand. He has to, there has to be a way to… She remembered that there was a thin, wood-framed slit of a window towards the back of the hovel. The boys were probably still awake. She stood and climbed the hillside. Sure, I ruined things, she thought, I should've told them from the start. I'll remember that when we find a fourth person to join us. But they were just upset with me; Jellarn is a good man, I know it! I'll bring back some more forage, and tomorrow night… cooler heads. Cooler heads. She was going to continue on into the night, to go gather supplies and help earn back their broken trust. But she couldn't help herself; she laid down besides the window on the hillrise, out of view, and listened.
She heard the voice of Stavri: '...can't trust someone like that. He isn't worthy of being here!'
Jellarn's voice was also nearly a shout: 'No, Stavri! I think… I think I was too harsh. Women have lied to my face so many times! But… if he's really not a girl, that means he's one of us. We have to help this lost brother of ours.'
'Brother!?' Stavri lowered his voice; Zeyida strained her ears. 'What else do you think he's hiding, if he'd lie to us about something so important? How can we know what's going on in his head!?'
'Wait,' said Jellarn, 'of course he wants to be a girl—who wouldn't? What better way to get taken seriously by the Matriarchy than by pretending to be one of them?' He spoke with a tone of dawning realization.
'Exactly!' said Stavri. 'Pretending—he tricked us! You've said yourself that even men can be part of the problem. He's a liar, a—a male exploiter! He's proven all the stories right, ruined things for the rest of us—just another man who lies to take advantage, to shirk responsibility, to—to seduce!'
Zeyida jumped to her feet and ran. Her tears flew free, but she was angry. These idiots! I'm not "pretending" to be a girl…. I never wanted any of this! She saw no reason to stop running, gave no consideration to her direction.
So she did not hear the rest of the conversation between the remaining two members of The Wedge. Jellarn bowed his head, and said: 'No, I don't know. He seems to believe he is a girl. Sincerely! I'd say he's just… sick, somehow. Maybe this is something the Matriarchy did to him, not some choice he made to deceive. We do have to set things right, but we have to be kind to our wayward brother. And… if he wants to be called a girl, for now…'
Stavri kicked a crumbling clod of dirt into the fire, sat. 'Urgh, I'm not buying it,' he said. 'A girl with no wings… it just isn't true! He wanted something from us, that's for sure. The weirdo!'
Jellarn sat in silence. Not long after, the two boys laid down to get some rest, but for this one the night was sleepless. When they awoke and found Zeyida gone, he was left with one echoing thought: Why did I do that? My stupid anger; I messed things up, and now he's gone!
* * *
The town around the Crystal Desert's Wellspring was a place of tents and hand-carved cavern dwellings. There was but one true building in the whole Claw Mountain-shaded settlement: the hall of Maudra Ezlan, assembled of many large and sweeping slabs of red mountainstone. Here the Dousan held their most important meetings: emergencies, rituals for all the gathered xerics, and trials for only the highest of crimes. Today, bound and surrounded by warriors of the Clan, the Vapran Telora stood trial for her crimes against the Dousan and all Gelflingkind.
The accuser, Sandmaster Jekhor, gestured aggressively and threw her words—like the deadly grains of a sandstorm—at the offending outsider, addressing her Maudra and all her people seated in the hall around: 'The wisdom of the Lords and testimony of our Vapran neighbors have confirmed our suspicions: this man Tallor is afflicted with a disease of the mind. For this reason you may wish to pity him, but do not forget, sisters and brothers: he lied to his own people—fled their truth for him—and came here under false pretenses. Worse still, he spread his delusions to my own son. My Guardian Ballarha and my own younger son and husband now travel by Crystal Skimmer over the Spine to ensure my eldest child reaches the Castle of the Crystal safely, but for a time Keyz'ri too accepted the lie that our son was female, despite his lack of wings. This insane Vapran man has poisoned my child's mind, broken my family! In your judgment, Maudra, consider not only my plight, but the danger this man's evils might have posed if this affair had not uncovered him. How many more sons—or even daughters!—could have been imperiled by his treachery. The Vapran decadence!'
'Enough!' said the Maudra. She sat upon a chair above the floor, watching the proceedings through proud and stoic eyes. 'This man does not represent all his people. We have no quarrel with Vaprans; only this man, who lied to them as well. By the right of the ancestors, my judgment is this: Tallor, you shall be brought to the Castle of the Crystal, the same way my Sandmaster's son is headed, and for the same reason: treatment for your condition. For your lies, your face will be known here, and not as a friend to the Dousan. Until the Lords of the Crystal confirm your healing, you are banished from the Crystal Desert. Your own people in the East may do with you as they wish, by the All-Maudra, but your entrance to the Desert before your sanity is restored will progress your movement through Thra's cycle: to your death, to quench the sands. As for any Dousan afflicted by the plague he spreads: you may stay here by the right of your xeric, but I advise you go for treatment as well, for your own sake as much as for our people. So says Maudra Ezlan, first of the Dousan!'
All assembled bowed their heads, then many shouted: 'So says the Maudra!'
Telora hung her head in shame. Zeyida, please reach the Castle safely, she thought. The Lords are wise; they will fix this. They will see the truth.
Sandmaster Jekhor strode angrily towards the Maudra's throne. 'Maudra Ezlan—'
'Silence, Sandmaster! My word is final,' the Maudra cried. She set her hand on an ornately carved bone knife at her side. 'Do you challenge the right of the Maudra?'
Jekhor bowed her head and backed away. 'No, I… my apologies, Maudra Ezlan. The dead speak through your throat.'
Telora was led away by Dousan warriors. The people in the hall dispersed, though a few still milled about inside, discussing this matter in anxious tones.
'Poison for our sons, from the East,' one woman whispered.
Jekhor stepped into this conversation, saying: 'Or your daughters! There's word from Ha'rar that a girl cut off her very wings, to pretend at being a man!'
Several Gelflings gasped at this.
'D-do you think,' one man ventured, 'do you think she was… was trying to—'
A woman nudged him from one side. 'We should hope that she was merely ill,' she said, 'and not a more wretched deviant. I don't know why we allow these Vaprans into our home in the first place!'
Jekhor met this woman's eyes. 'We shouldn't,' she hissed, 'tell your Sandmasters. Between the Arathim invasion and this plague from the East, there's something rotting in the lands beyond our home. Those without the strength our ways provide us should not be allowed to taint our people.' She spread her words between the attentive, horrified eyes around her: 'Ensure these truths do not die in this stonetent: only the Sifans are far enough from the blight to warrant trusting. The other Clans are no friends of ours; our borders should be closed until the distant Maudras set their own problems right!'
Many frightened whispers followed in the wake of these words. Jekhor noticed the Maudra stepping down from her throne, and rushed to meet the leader of her people. 'Maudra Ezlan!' she said. 'Maudra—I have served your will loyally for many trine. Just a few Suns past I returned from my journey to the northern caves—I have dealt with the Vaprans personally, and would not say that evil is a constant of their nature!' The Maudra held her chin high and did not face Jekhor as she continued off her throne and down towards the doors of the hall. 'Maudra! You know that I do not speak out of foolishness! Your wisdom is not baseless, but we must not put diplomacy over the survival of our kind—the passage must—'
Maudra Ezlan whirled on the woman. 'Silence!' she cried. The highest authority in all the Desert sighed in anguish. 'Jekhor, I know that this pain has reached you personally. I do not envy your grief, nor the unknown dangers your son may face—'
'My son,' Jekhor said with difficulty, 'my son Zeyida, or… whatever we're to call him; he is not my only worry here. Consider—'
'You've had your say, Sandmaster, and I listened. We have done all we can for the daughters and sons of the Dousan; we cannot—'
'And what if another Vapran comes here with the same lies!?' Jekhor shouted. 'We cannot trust them anymore! They are not—' She exhaled heavily. '…they are not beholden to our customs. How can we allow them here, to bring our young to ruin?'
Maudra Ezlan bit her lip. 'I have been speaking to the others of this,' she said. 'Though the Guardians disagreed, I hope our plans will bring you comfort: we will have the Vaprans and all outsiders checked for wings as they enter. To ensure their statements match the truth. And those who'd lie to us, in such times—'
'Yes,' Jekhor said raptly, 'perfect, yes, but… what of children? We all know that wings may not develop until very close to adulthood, and to check their… other parts, especially males…'
'Children will arrive with parents,' Maudra Ezlan said. 'We will ask their word, especially the mothers.' She saw Jekhor ready to spit more disagreements out and stopped her with a flat hand. 'I know; their children may have been diseased, as your eldest son was. Our hope is that the parents will know better, and at the least, the children will have less capability to spread this poison than an adult would. This uneasy compromise will have to do. You consider your family and your xeric, Sandmaster, but I must see the needs of all Gelfling, and the commands of the All-Maudra.' She spoke these words with finality, and left. Her Skimmer sat outside.
Jekhor stood stewing in the stony hall. Zeyida… he'll be alright, she thought. She lowered her head. My son… I am so sorry. For what Tallor did, and your father, but… for what I've done as well. I should have seen the truth sooner. No son of mine should face these perils alone. I love you.
These three are words she'd never said, not to either of her children. Son or daughter.
* * *
Zeyida was lost in the suffocating forest of the Far Thicket. She hadn't the slightest idea where she was going, and didn't look up to check the stars and the Sisters. She was just running.
She reached an edge of the trees and broke out into the clear, cool night; stumbling to a halt in a thin patch of flattened grass and scattered leaves. She was East of the thicket now, and unthinking, turned right to gaze down the basin at the Castle of the Crystal. There was something foreboding about its black spires in the night, and worse: down from the mountains towards it descended a trio of Crystal Skimmers. Zeyida knew what this meant. She even got a strange sense that her father was among this group, which must've been searching for her. She stayed frozen for a few moments. I have to—I have to—
She turned to the southeast and continued to run. I'll go back. Someday I'll go back, but I can't! I just can't! New tears came to sting her skin. Most of her face paint had washed or rubbed off by now.
She realized that she'd been running for hours, by the rising of the first Sun. She panted and slowed to a halt. The grasses were getting taller, thicker; these southern lands were a wilder part of the Spriton plains. She wanted to stay off the roads, but couldn't keep the course; the grasses quickly became neck-high and unmanageable. As she plunged out onto a thin trail, she caught sight of titanic, long-legged creatures striding across the plains in a shallow basin to the south. They were plenty tall enough to navigate the grasses.And girls should be able fly over all this!
She spent a day or two running across grass-lined paths in the eastern part of the plains. Then another woodland rose before her: the ancient Endless Forest. She'd heard much of this place, and consulting her map she realized this southern part of it would be very active now, for here was the site of the Arathim horde's invasion, against the Gelfling of Stone-in-the-Wood. Those boys had said something to her about the war being the Lords' fault, but there was a war either way, and she was hoping to avoid it. She didn't really want to see people at the moment, war or no. Or be seen, maybe. There was a river, collecting into a lake at the forest's edge, with a bridge just before this widening. She crossed and turned northwards, hoping to pass far enough from civilization to remain unnoticed.
Dousan become accustomed to the Desert's extreme quiet (when there isn't the extreme noise of a sandstorm to worry about), so she, creeping into this thicker, darker woodland, noticed approaching people before they could her. She ducked into the underbrush off this path she'd been traveling. There was a caravan of many Stonewood Gelfling: supplies, beasts of burden, rolling little fuzzball companion animals, and many, many dark-haired peoples clad in greens and browns, trudging in dull exhaustion. They were mostly men, children, and elders.
When at last this long caravan had passed her by she—furtively watching—returned to the trail and carried on. The scrub was much too thick here, and she'd stepped in something unpleasantly moist when she'd dove off the path. Not her favorite sort of surprise. She carried on, ears open.
The Endless Forest was a wondrous—if slightly terrifying—place. There was constant noise and constant movement; it seemed even the plants reacted to her passing. It would be day by now, but very little light reached the forest floor, even along a fairly wide trail which trees could only stretch out over. They did, and lichen hung, and many different grasses shrouded her from above. Zeyida clutched her stomach. She'd left her bag back with those Wedge boys, but still had that precious wet ration from back home, and her map. Hoping to conserve the former a little longer, she set her mind to directions. Where am I even going? Stone-in-the-Wood probably wouldn't be so far to the southeast… though, there weren't many trails here marked on her Cloister-drawn map. She had to guess at her location, using that river she'd crossed as a landmark.
Northeast of her there was a large, outlying mountain marked, as simply 'Mountain'. The Dousan had a saying for when you're lost (lost she surely felt in this moment):'If you need to know where to go, get up high.'That's probably why I aimed for the Spine, when I… She sniffed. When I left. If this Mountain is so important, there has to be—
She stumbled. There were more noises approaching which she hadn't noticed; the rising thunder of many feet and wheels. She looked left and right for a place to hide, then heard a voice: 'Hey, who's that!'
Panicked, she dove into a large swath of grass. There came another caravan of the Stonewood. She heard voices searching, but they soon gave up. She panted. Where are all these people going? Why? She ventured a peek through the grass. More men, children, elders. They all looked sad. Are the Stonewoods losing the war?
The caravan passed. After one more peek to make sure she was alone, Zeyida crept back out onto the trail.
'Aha, there you—huh, a Dousan!?' said a voice. Zeyida whirled. There was a little old Stonewood man sitting hunched on a rock alone, where from her hiding place, he wouldn't have been visible. A man who knew these woods as well as his own body.
Zeyida shied away. 'I, um… bye…'
'Wait, oh, you're that one everybody was talking about, right?' the man said. 'Zerr… umm, Zeyitha?' He struggled to his feet.
'What?' She eyed him. 'No, I'm just… for the war, I mean. I'm a warrior.'
'Hah, no you're not,' he said, 'come now young one, we're all headed for the Sami Thicket. Not so much hope for us back home, but hope lives while we're together. Come on. We're all Gelfling.' He beckoned to her.
She stayed still. 'I can't,' she muttered, 'I… I'm not going back.'
The man averted his eyes for a moment. He looked at her tenderly. 'You're worried about spreading this strange illness you have. Hey, I don't care, I'm gonna die soon anyway!' His grin faded. 'No, seriously, we Stonewoods know a lot about healing. We could help you, or, the Lords certainly know how to—'
Zeyida shook her head and started away up the trail. 'No, no,' she said, 'no, I'm sorry, I can't…'
The man was slower on his feet. 'Hey, hold on a minute, Zeyitha! No wait, that's not right… Zeritha? Whatever—hey, kid! Where are you—?'
She was far enough away that neither Gelfling could see or hear the other. The old man sighed and shook his head. 'What's happening to the world?' he said. Concerned, he pressed his four fingers flat to a nearby tree, closed his eyes. 'Help her, spirits,' he whispered, 'whatever her name is.'
New tears came as she broke into a run. 'Help' me! The Lords, the other Clans… even my own people don't really want to help me! She turned right onto a new, fainter trail, by unthinking instinct. They just want… they think that I'm… She ran. She ran for hours.
Zeyida slowed. But I'm…. what if… That man had said that word had spread far, because she was "sick". And… what if? She'd considered the possibility that all the other Gelfling were wrong, even her own people, even the Lords, but… what if she was wrong? The land beneath her began gradually to rise. I am a girl! But all the other girls she knew had wings, at least at one point in their lives. She knew that didn't matter much. She was a girl, from the start, there was no… but if her mind was sick somehow, if even her deepest-held beliefs were wrong… what then? How could she trust herself? I can't, she thought, huffing out one manic laugh. She dragged a hand through her hair. A woman without wings. That's stupid! She laughed some more. What was I thinking? She doubled over in wild, tearful laughter. The forest was thinner here, and thinning. The sky around her was less shrouded, but darkening. Clouds were rolling in from the North.
She rubbed her face. But dad, what was he… Zeyida took out the last of her food and began to eat it. He knew, and he still called me a girl. Why? Why did he lie to me!? She squeezed the half-eaten log of wet ration in her hand. What's true? What—
She didn't notice that there were very few trees now, and she was climbing rockier ground that rose most severely. Telora… she helped me! She heard them say I have no wings, or maybe she knew all along, and she helped me! She didn't… why!? None of this makes any sense! I… I lied to them. I am sick. I can't even see the truth anymore… I failed them all!
There was a clearing, a rocky knob; a peak of the mountain. Here Zeyida found a towering tree, its branches wider than a Crystal Skimmer's wings. She couldn't have said for sure if it was Staba—one of the Great Trees, as grew in the Wellspring—but somehow it felt that way. She felt the first raindrops on her face, and then her outstretched hand. She ran to the large tree for shelter. What am I doing here!?
She knelt down amidst the roots of this great tree and prayed. For answers, for hope, for anything or anyone that could help her. She didn't hear any answers. Zeyida looked up at the tree's canopy, its brilliant pink-hued leaves defiant against a darkened sky. Somehow it was strong.
She doubled over down and gripped the roots; they were slick with water. Shuddering, she began to sob uncontrollably. 'What's the point,' she whispered to herself, 'Please! I just need a reason, I…' She threw her head back, eyes shut tight, and wailed to the wind: 'What good is a girl without wings!?' Her tears ran free, unseen.
The stormwinds swallowed her words. Then the only noise was the rainwater dripping down at her from the leaves above. Zeyida lay down and whimpered.