Mothers of My Mothers

Hithwenia swore to keep her composure despite the rattling and chucking sensations of Norwallia-Karkebi Rail. Two eyes made it disorienting enough, but each sharp shift on the winding track caused the three motion-detecting eyes on to the crest of her brow to go haywire. She clicked a switch on her headpiece and had a light-blocking lens cover what was already tinted by thick goggle lenses. With royal connections and beauty to match her sharp, unconventional mind, she had been waiting for an opportune marriage to gain more influence, but she had miscalculated. "I shouldn't have to marry with this much of my freedom at stake," she thought, having never felt so uneasy to be reuniting with Bleddynia, her beloved sister. Bledd always knew just what to do. But not since they had faced the wrath of their brother Lou Hen had she felt this much dread.

A few days later, the sisters united at the decrepit, ill-maintained trash heap that was Threatening Valley Station. It was a bittersweet reunion. After Lou Hen, Bleddynia's face was unrecognisable, and Hithwenia, who used to be able to read the motions of her eyes and mouth to know what her sister was thinking, felt like she was staring at a stranger. Straight to business, Bleddynia led her to a type of building known as a love shack, where marriage arrangements and contracts took place. Hithwenia couldn't believe she was using one of these. 

Bleddynia's voice hadn't recovered either. It moved from a wavery trill to a guttural rasp. "As you know, there are several stipulations that come with a visa-by-marriage to Eskern. You can only marry into about nine families, you must be able to reproduce with their species- did you find a Leechweaver to sign fecundity papers?”

“I have them.” These rules worked to Hithwenia’s advantage, because only about nine families were worth marrying into.

“I will only say that it was difficult to find a willing suitor for you,” Bleddynia said. 

“Are they from a good family?” Hithwenia asked. 

“Moderately. Nina Penwythion, come around now." A Halfwing female entered the small room, a sister species who Hithwenia knew as an Aphii. She had iridescent white hair that was piled to one side and one of her bulging green eyes missing. The clothes she wore were in the style of Eskern nobility, but judging by the fibres and smell of material, they were cheaply made. No attendants, no gifts, no dowry. Then again, if she had obeyed her brother and stayed in Karkebi, she’d have had no choice who she married either.

She glanced at Nina, who returned a smile that didn't match the crudely patched eye and increasing number of scars and painted tattoos Hithwenia could smell up close. An overwhelming veil of dread and apprehension suddenly flooded the small meeting room, someone was unconsciously releasing their chemical signature for danger - Hithwenia could smell it, and she wasn't sure if that was coming from Nina or from her sister. She soon learned it was from her sister, but this was not until she and Nina were later alone and noise of the incoming train startled her.

Hithwenia stared at her cut-open fleshy palm.The blood was milky white, one day Hithwenia wondered if red would mingle in it too. She turned to Nina and wondered if her mysterious new bride thought the same.  As in the cheap love shack, their honeydew had been bound and their marriage registered on paper. Hithwenia was no longer the sister of Lou Hen of the Constellarium. She was Hithwenia, bride of Nina Pen–”

“House Penwythion,” she read, in the papers that had carelessly fallen out of Nina’s hands, it had their names written with the sap which kept them living. “Ina of Cin Penwythion. Hm… Nina, it looks like your name was misspelled.”

Nina was coaxed out of her slumber only enough to get her to read it closely. “No, Ina is right. You’re marrying Ina.”

“I thought your name was Nina.”

“No, no,” the false bride said, as Hithwenia’s face distorted in confusion. “In our naming convention, we’re all named after the brood queen. An-Ina, means “not Ina”... but I guess my accent is too strong.”

The dread Hithwenia was feeling crept up slowly from the confusion she was facing. The train rattled as it went over a bridge which carried the river separating Kargast from Eskern. This far from the inland, Hithwenia could smell the sea, and the greenery. She hadn’t been into a forest since that time. She couldn’t stand the smell of soil or leaves.

“Then who,” Hithwenia asked, “am I marrying?”

An-Ina’s face twitched, as if a sharp pain had erupted from it, the fabric of her eyepatch tightened. She breathed heavily for a moment, but then calmly took up her knife, glancing at it while she stayed just out of Hithwenia’s reach.

“I will let you know when we get to our lands. You have nothing to fear, Hithwenia,” An-Ina said, but the scent she gave off was so deeply threatening that Hithwenia felt pinned to the spot. “But as a notice in advance… I wouldn’t make any sudden movements in front of my grandmother.”