Chapter 08: The Green Pass

Status: First Draft
Last Edited: Nov. 9th, 2025
Content Warnings: Fantasy Violence, Suggestive Content,

Show spoiler

Fantasy Racism, Loss of a Loved One, Spiders, Vomit, Intoxication

Chapter 8

There was no path up the mountain. Perhaps, a thousand years ago, there had been a road through the Green Pass that travelers had walked, back in the days before even the Khandin Empire. If so, where it had lain was now a mystery. The rough, steep ground lacked even deer paths, the animals here knowing better than to let their movements grow predictable.

Kalolin was plenty grateful now to have traded her skimpy Sarnain clothes for the more hearty Setsuza’oan garments. The air was growing more biting with every step as they gained altitude. They climbed up the unsteady incline of the forest floor, weaving back and forth to find the surest path, stepping carefully over jutting stones and well camouflaged tree roots that threatened to send them tumbling back down. It was difficult, the threats hidden in many places under thick blankets of pine needles, but at least it gave their feet some respite from the hard, rocky ground underneath.

As they walked, Tareuk tried to make conversation with Ainjrejeu, going over plans for the new branch outside of Kveltz, but then a rustle in the woods nearby would make Ainjrejeu jump, and they’d both lose their train of thought.

When they veered South for too long, they were cut off by the cold streams which fed the waterfall below. The streams flowed through deep fissures in the rock of the mountain, with hazardous stone bluffs rather than gentle, sandy banks. Each time, they stopped and rested by the streams, sometimes able to find small streamlets with their own miniature waterfalls from which to drink. The water was icy, with a slightly metallic taste, and Kalolin drank it gladly.

Ainjrejeu stood watch as they did, glaring across the stream or back into the forest, until he would harshly usher the others onward. The scent of decaying leaves and sharp pine would greet them each time they returned to the shadowy forest. Then, they would march North until a vertical rock face, some even as tall as the trees, would stop them.

As the sun moved across the sky, it began to happen more frequently, until they were being turned around every couple of minutes. It was slow going, but the open sky behind the trees below them proved they were still making progress upward.

Kalolin sighed when the forest again opened up to a sheet of rock, and she stepped out onto it. The sky was empty and blue above, the sunlight a welcome warmth against her skin. She could hear the rush of water, but couldn’t see where it was coming from. She walked carefully across the smooth ground until she reached the top of a high ledge, but when she peered over it, the water sounded like it was coming from behind her.

Ainjrejeu took a break from tapping his foot impatiently and waved for her to follow him, leading her to a sharp outcrop where two cliffs met. Down on their knees, they looked over the edge. Kalolin’s stomach did flips inside her from the height. Below them, emerging from within the rock itself, was the rushing, clear stream. It snaked down the mountain, carving a winding, narrow chasm to the West, where the Elerhem was a faint glint on the horizon.

“It’s beautiful,” Kalolin breathed.

Ainjrejeu sat back on his heels and took a deep breath of the cool air. “Up here, it’s obvious how small and meaningless it all really is.”

“Is this why you wanted to come here?” she smiled at him.

“Risk my life just for this view?” he smiled back at her. “How absurd.” He clapped his hands to knees and stood up, turning back to the forest. Kalolin brushed the dust from her skirt and followed after.

In the forest, she was pleasantly surprised to find the ground becoming less steep under their feet. With a cliff below them to the South, and another above them to the North, the path forward was now straight and level. It made the walking easier, but there was growing sense of claustrophobia, as if the two cliffs would meet at a dead end.

Ainjrejeu stopped ahead suddenly, and turned round to face the others. His face and voice were bright, muddling the meaning of his words.

“No matter what you see me do, don’t fight back, don’t resist, and definitely do not come to my aid. With luck, you’ll make it through with minimal broken bones.” Then he turned and rushed ahead impatiently along the strait.

Before Kalolin could debate whether to match his pace, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Tareuk and Kalem were still trekking steadily forward ahead of her. She tried to turn around, but her feet were swept out from underneath her.

She braced for impact with the ground, but an arm caught her halfway, slamming into her stomach and knocking the air out of her. She wasn’t able to cry out, but it wouldn’t have mattered if she had. She could see shadowy forms moving in the corners of her vision and heard Tareuk and Kalem shouting in the chaos.

A grassy-tasting gag was placed in her mouth and she was hoisted up onto a shoulder before she had even caught her breath. The shouting was replaced by muffled grunts after a few moments, Tareuk and Kalem evidently in a similar condition. She pressed a hand against the snowy-white skin of her captor’s back, trying to angle herself and look around.

Tareuk and Kalem were each knelt on the rocky path, restrained by several shorter figures. Further ahead, Ainjrejeu was on his stomach, growling and flailing like a wild animal as a pale, red-haired figure kneeled atop him. Once his arms were bound behind him, he was pulled to his feet.

The men were herded forward (Kalolin would have preferred being herded to being carried, as her captor’s shoulder was digging into her thigh uncomfortably). Ainjrejeu fought the whole way, sometimes darting forward until the rope holding him snapped taut, sometimes lunging backward into the bare-breasted woman at the other end, sometimes dropping to his knees and refusing to walk until he was dragged back onto his feet.

If his words hadn’t convinced her to go quietly, seeing him exhaust himself to no avail would have.

The path widened into a gentle valley with green, forested hills on either side, and round, snowy peaks beyond the tops of the trees. As they continued onward, more figures stepped out of the trees and into step beside them. One figure walked largely in the center of Kalolin’s vision, allowing her a good look at them.

It was a woman, slightly shorter than herself, but slender-boned and dainty despite the lean muscle across her body. Her skin was white like snow, her huge eyes an eerie, icy blue, in stark contrast to her fiery orange hair. The hair was pulled back behind her, segments of it braided around the rest like some sort of net, holding the bulk of it in place. Colorful feathers, the bones of small critters, and odd, unmatching jewelry were woven into the hair, with some decorating her ears as well. She had a nasty looking scar on one cheek, and her small nose was slightly crooked, as though it had been broken at least once.

She wore the brown hide of an animal on her shoulders, a simple loincloth belted at the waist (though the belt appeared to be worn more for holding an ugly looking dagger than the loincloth), and a scrap of what looked like blue velvet tied around her neck. She was both bare-breasted and barefoot.

Perhaps if my breasts were that small I could walk around without a shirt, thought Kalolin. As it is, it looks like my breasts weigh more than her entire body.

Soon, small wooden huts were visible, nestled among the trees. The ground beneath them became dusty and bare, vegetation worn away by generations of passage. They reached some sort of encampment, with the wooden huts more frequent and tents raised in the spaces between them. Hammocks were fixed between some of the trees, and the smell of cooking fires was in the air.

They came to a halt, and Kalolin was dropped onto the ground, landing inelegantly on her rear end, but sustaining no injury. She looked up to face her captor, and was struck by the sight of him.

It wasn’t just the inhumanly pale skin, the big, blue eyes, or the long, red hair done up into a simple ponytail behind him; these all matched her expectations. It wasn’t from the lack of clothes. In fact, though he was shirtless, he wore more than many of his peers, including a pair of Northlands-style trousers that had once been richly embroidered. They were now so well worn it was impossible to tell what color they had been. And it wasn’t from his age, though that surprised her. It was hard to know, with their big, alien eyes and smooth, round faces, what age any of these Benni were, but she thought him slightly younger than herself, only recently fully grown.

What struck her was the uncanny resemblance to Ainjrejeu. No, the nose is different. She convinced herself she had imagined it. Catching her lingering gaze, the young man smiled a disarmingly charming smile down at her, pointed canine teeth and all. The resemblance was back, and her thighs were warm.

He planted a bare foot on top of her leg, in a superficial attempt to restrain her. Offended by his casualness, Kalolin grabbed his exposed ankle and dug her fingernails into it. It wasn't hard enough to break the skin, but the young man yelped and yanked his leg away. He hopped deftly and avoided losing his footing.

In front of them, there were three Benni standing guard around Tareuk. He was even more a mountain of a man next to the lithe Benni. One looked back over her shoulder to scold the young man, her voice harsh.

“Ai, ai! Shan feish!” The young man shouted back, placing a firm hand behind Kalolin’s neck as though she were a wriggling snake. With the other hand he patted her down and emptied her pockets.

A crowd had gathered at the edges of the dusty clearing, watching the arrival of the prisoners. One word kept being murmured across the onlookers.

"Kaimera..." they said with hushed voices, eyes trained on Ainjrejeu where he had been pushed down to his knees. He still fought against the hand gripping his shoulder, but, distracted by the crowd, he was even less effective at it than before.

A tall woman stepped out from the crowd. Unlike the Benni around her, her long hair was pale, frosty blond. A red-haired infant was strapped to her chest by a sling. Her tone authoritative, she addressed the woman restraining Ainjrejeu. Words passed between them before the blond woman called out to a man behind her, and he took off at a run.

Only moments passed before the man returned with a stern looking, middle-aged woman following close behind. Her hair was pulled over her shoulder and braided practically, lacking decoration. When she arrived, she nodded to the woman holding Ainjrejeu, who bent down and untied the gag from his mouth. The crowd fell silent.

“Fal kei Ainjrru Ailan,” Ainjrejeu coughed. “Ailin Ailan’ni leishk.” When the stern woman did not reply he repeated himself. “Fal kei Ainjrru Ailan, Ailin Ailan’ni leishk.”

“Not you are to speak Benni,” she said. Her face showed hostility, but she spoke with a soft musicality, as though reciting poetry. The effect was enhanced by the way she spoke each letter with precise sharpness and clarity. “Not you are Benni, not you are to speak Benni.”

“I am being called Ainjrru Ailan,” Ainjrejeu growled with annoyance. “Ailin Ailan-of child.”

The woman scoffed. “Stubborn. Like Ailin muchly.”

“You knew her?” Ainjrejeu asked, moving restlessly on his knees since he couldn’t stand.

The woman nodded. “My...sister,” she admitted.

“Ahhk Ti’ifa?” he brightened. Murmurs started up again in the silent crowd.

“Not you are to call me such,” she narrowed her eyes. “You have brought Tarshti’il to this place, Kaimera. What words do you have to defend yourself?”

“These Tarshti’il are under my command,” said Ainjrejeu. “I come here by right.”

“Not you have right!” shouted Ti’ifa. “Not you are Benni, not you are to enter Ben.”

“I am not Benni,” he sat upright with all the confidence he could muster. “Yet I am Teveri’ine.”

“No,” Ti'ifa growled.

“Who are you to deny the call that is within my bones?” Ainjrejeu’s voice was ice.

Her response was a wordless snarl. After a moment, several members of the crowd echoed it. The blond woman laid her hand on the older woman’s shoulder. She said something to her gently that sounded like a question. Ti'ifa took a deep breath before she answered. The other woman nodded her head in understanding and issued an order.

All of the Benni guards moved at once. Ainjrejeu and Kalolin were pulled at the same time to their feet.

“Wait!” Ainjrejeu protested. “Err aish errnakt afa bronamh!”

The Benni froze. A squirrel’s footfalls could have been heard in the clearing. The only other noise was Ainjrejeu’s angry panting and a small intake of breath from the young man gripping Kalolin’s shoulders. She bit down on the gag in her mouth, seeking comfort from the tension in the air.

“You cannot deny me…” Ainjrejeu said weakly.

The stern-faced woman, Ti'ifa, but a hand to her chest and let out a shuttering sigh. “I knew it was so and yet the pain is fresh.” She waved a hand at the woman restraining Ainjrejeu, who released him. Ti'ifa removed the binding from his hands herself.

“I learned the words of the Tarshti’il so I might someday hear news of my sister,” she spoke gently to him. “Yet you have brought her death to me in Benni. You shall have bronamh. Then you shall leave this place.”

The blond woman barked orders at the others and Kalolin found herself lifted back over her captor’s shoulder. She lost sight of Ainjrejeu as she was taken further through the trees. This time, she was let down onto the rough floor of a wooden cage, but at least the letting down was more gentle. Cut saplings were bound together in a lattice to form the floor, and the uneven surface was uncomfortable underneath her. Kalolin shuffled backward until her back pressed against the wooden bars.

The young Benni man knelt down and reached forward, undoing the gag from her mouth. He dropped it carelessly on the floor of the cage and gave her a relaxed smile. When she didn’t return it, he smiled wider and pointed a finger toward his face, as though perhaps she hadn’t noticed it. His pointed teeth made Ainjrejeu’s look like a puppy’s.

“What are you going to do to us?” Kalolin asked, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

He gave her an apologetic look, pouting slightly. His skin was inhumanly pale, his lips had a grayish cast to them. A long, blue feather adorned his left ear, hanging down to brush against his bare shoulder. Kalolin assumed he couldn’t understand her.

He leaned towards her, and Kalolin pressed herself against the wooden bars. He closed his eyes and parted his lips gently, making Kalolin’s pulse spike. If it weren’t for his half naked form, he would have been indistinguishable from any of the Benni women. All of the Benni seemed to share the same inhuman beauty.

The red-haired man scrunched up his nose, upper lip curling to expose his pointed teeth, and took a few rapid, shallow breaths through his open mouth. When he stopped, he opened his eyes and lowered his body to the ground, one arm outstretched toward Kalolin in an odd, palm-up gesture.

She held herself still and silent, though she was less afraid than she knew she should have been. He’d carried her easily over his shoulder, but his small stature made him unintimidating, despite his strength.

With only a small frown he sat back upright and nodded at Kalolin, an acknowledgment of something still unknown to her. Then he crawled backward, eyes half on her, until he exited the wooden cage. Getting back to his feet, he grabbed a loop of rope from the top of the door and removed it from a wooden peg, allowing the door to fall shut. Another peg at the bottom of the cage served to latch the door closed, but Kalolin was sure that with a little time she would be able to reach her hands through the bars and unhook it.

It didn’t matter, as the young man stepped over to the trunk of a tree nearby and tugged at a rope there. Kalolin hadn’t noticed the rope at the top of the cage, which wrapped around a sturdy branch and came back down to the base of the tree, but it was clear now as the cage shuddered and rose a few, jerking inches each time he pulled it. When he finally stopped, he was bracing himself with one bare foot against the trunk and tying the rope firmly around the tree itself.

Looking down at the ground below increased the queasy tension in Kalolin’s stomach. She had to be at least ten feet above it now. That’s a hex of a drop, she grimaced to herself. The Benni waved a cheerful goodbye to her before rushing off back the direction they had come from.

Ainjrejeu watched as a couple of Benni women turned out his and his companions’ traveling packs. They dug through the contents, tossing aside blankets, piling up food. Despite his warning to leave valuables behind, they found a pouch of gold coins at the bottom of Tareuk’s bag, and a delicately carved flute inside of Kalem’s. Both were now property of the Benni.

Besides a blanket and some rations, the only thing in Ainjrejeu’s bag was a neat stack of small papers. They tossed those back inside the bag without a care. It wasn’t just that they couldn’t read Khandin, Ainjrejeu knew. There was no Teveri’ine written language at all. When he was younger, it had taken him a turn just to explain to his mother what it meant that he was learning to read and write. To Benni, it was inconceivable that words on paper could ever have important meaning. What would she think now if she knew what a large percentage of my life I’ve spent reading books? he thought to himself.

They graciously placed the blankets back into the traveling packs, though the rations were forfeit. Then, they searched Ainjrejeu himself. It was actually for the second time, but it was a much more thorough search, their suspicion heightened by finding nothing the first time.

“Do you know how to prepare for bronamh?” his Aunt asked. Her large, round eyes were so like his mother’s that it hurt him to look at them.

“No...I do not,” admitted Ainjrejeu. I am lucky to have remembered the word at all.

She nodded in understanding. “I will when my son returns have him prepare you. I will be making other preparations.”

“Thank you,” he said.

“Not to touch anything. Not to speak to anyone. That is best to ensure you remain on the correct end of all spears.” She left him in the central clearing of the camp. Though untended, he was far from alone, with several pairs of blue eyes trained warily on him from around the clearing. He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the prickling against his skin.

Ainjrejeu waited patiently until a young man entered the clearing and found his way to him. It was easier for Ainjrejeu to hold his gaze than it had been his Aunt’s, not only because he was significantly less intimidating, but also because it was more like looking in a mirror and seeing yourself with the colors washed out than looking in a mirror and seeing your dead mother.

The younger man gestured a hand for Ainjrejeu to follow him before turning and leading him quickly away from the clearing. Ainjrejeu struggled to keep up, carefully picking his way over tangled tree roots so as not to fall on his face and make a fool of himself. Still, he looked like a clumsy puppy learning how to use its own feet, while the other boy was an agile buck at home in the forest. It was only natural, but Ainjrejeu gritted his teeth and picked up the pace anyway.

At the same time, the other boy slowed down, causing only a minor collision between the two of them.

“Khet,” swore Ainjrejeu, grabbing a nearby tree branch for balance.

The pale-skinned boy looked around, making sure they were alone. “I’m Aitan,” he said in Benni, making eye contact with Ainjrejeu over his shoulder. “Are you really Aunt Ailin’s son?”

Ainjrejeu nodded, better able to match the new, slower pace. “You aren’t supposed to speak to me.”

Aitan shrugged his bare shoulders. “I don’t see why not. You don’t exactly look like a threat.”

“Your mother said I am not to speak Benni, as I am not Benni.”

“But you are Benni,” Aitan replied, dodging deftly under a low-hanging branch. “Your mother was Benni.”

“I am Sarnain Teveri’ine,” clarified Ainjrejeu. “I was not born here, so am not Benni.”

Aitan rolled his eyes at what he thought was an egregious case of semantics. Such semantics were actually quite characteristic of Ainjrejeu, but he had no way of knowing that.

Aitan stopped in front of a pair of trees, a hammock hung at about chest height between them. On the other side stood a brown tent made of sewn together animal skins. It was built around a tree using the trunk as a central support, and ropes tied to neighboring trees would hold it fast against even the roughest storm.

“I am to use Mother’s things,” said Aitan, ducking inside. Ainjrejeu followed him in, arm raised against the door flap. It was dim inside, the dirt ground covered with layers of animal skins and wool blankets, only the roots of the central tree left respectfully bare. It was familiar to Ainjrejeu, a little from the stories his mother had told him, and also because if you swapped out all the animal hides for cushions and the wool blankets for silk, it wasn’t too different from a Sarnain traveling tent.

“How many shepherds do you have to rob to get this many wool blankets?” asked Ainjrejeu.

“Many,” Aitan beamed a proud smile at him. He pulled a roughly made wooden box from the far end of the tent toward the middle, where he could more easily search through its contents. Patting the ground beside him for Ainjrejeu to sit down, he pulled out a large comb carved from the bones of what Ainjrejeu hoped was some sort of animal.

With deft, practiced hands, he untied the cord from the end of Ainjrejeu’s braid and shook the rest of the hair out until it hung long and unfettered down Ainjrejeu’s back. He ran the comb roughly through a few times to remove any tangles, and then, starting at the scalp, pulled the hair back behind Ainjrejeu. With his hands on the sides of Ainjrejeu’s head, Aitan began to braid tiny, precise braids starting from the underside of the fiery mass of hair. He worked each side with only one hand, braiding expertly between dexterous fingers. The technique required him to press his wrists against Ainjrejeu’s head and body in a way that became oddly rhythmic and relaxing. He brought the many braids together in a central seam as he formed a sort of web, restraining the bulk of the hair beneath it.

“Mother says all Tarshti’il men are violent and klarrsha’in.” Aitan said. The Benni words for ‘men’ and ‘women’ were odd, something like ‘could-mother’ and ‘could-not-mother’. Still, Ainjrejeu assumed Aitan was referring to men specifically, and didn’t mean to include any old women, or the like. “If you say you’re not Benni, then are you also this, even if you’re Teveri’ine?”

“Your mother is correct,” replied Ainjrejeu. “Where I am from, men are always fighting over…” He picked thoughtfully through his limited vocabulary, hoping he made sense. “...rare things, and women, and power over others.”

“Hmm-phm—do this?” asked Aitan, holding a finished braid temporarily in his mouth while he fingered through a selection of tiny beads and charms beside him in the box.

“I do,” said Ainjrejeu. He wasn’t sure whether to be remorseful or unabashed.

“But...you speak Benni. My aunt taught you the Benni ways,” argued the man. “And you’re violent anyway? Because you are...kaimera?” he whispered the last word, as though it might offend Ainjrejeu.

“Yes,” Ainjrejeu said with confidence. “No matter what, my father is as much a part of me as my mother is.”

Aitan was quiet for a few moments. “I don’t know this: father.”

“Sorry,” said Ainjrejeu. “I don’t know if there is a Benni word for this. The man whose blood your mother uses to make you.”

“Ah,” Aitan nodded understanding. “Rurk Hailen. My mother had me do bronamh for him when I was very little. They weren’t Eidelen, but I have no siblings anyway.”

Ainjrejeu scoured the back of his mind for the meaning of Eidelen. He knew he’d heard the word before. His grandmother had fallen out of a tree onto his grandfather (here meaning the man his grandmother loved, not the father of his mother, necessarily), and broken many of his bones, and that was how they had become Eidelen. Still, he didn’t know exactly what it translated to.

“Where I am from,” he said, “children are cared for by their mother and instructed by their father.” Hypothetically, Ainjrejeu added to himself.

“Of course!” Aitan clapped his hands together in realization. “Since Tarshti’il mothers don’t hunt, you would need a father to teach you.”

“Yes, essentially,” said Ainjrejeu. “Though I was not taught to hunt animals nor rob shepherds. I was taught to...hunt power.”

Aitan had finished with Ainjrejeu’s hair, all held neatly down the center of his back except for one thin braid hanging down beneath each ear. Little bone charms and bits of shiny metal had been braided into it, the Benni equivalent of jewelry.

Aitan took a small, wooden mortar and pestle from the box, then removed a few pieces of burnt wood from a hide pouch and placed them in the mortar. Black soot was already visible on his pale fingers before he even began grinding the wood into a fine dust.

“I don’t understand power,” he said. “I know what the word means,” he clarified. “But...it’s like...strength? Except against the ones you love, instead of for them.”

“It is difficult to explain,” Ainjrejeu agreed. “The Benni way is to act always out of love, to aid and protect your own kind.” He furrowed his brow, not confident in his choice of words. “But in Sarnai, it seems we can act only out of fear or greed. The more you inspire these in others, the more power you have.”

“That bear-like man that came with you,” Aitan said, dipping a finger into the soot-filled mortar, “he must have much power among Tarshti’il.”

“Tareuk is gentle and kind,” growled Ainjrejeu, flinching backward as Aitan moved his black-coated finger toward Ainjrejeu’s face. “He is a good man who brings my heart-sister happiness. He fears me, not the other way around.”

“You?” Aitan laughed incredulously, leaning further forward and smearing the dark powder underneath Ainjrejeu’s eyes. “You are hardly any larger than I am.”

Ainjrejeu blinked soot from his eyelashes. “And yet three Tarshti’il followed me to Ben at risk to their lives. That is the difference between strength and power.”

“I see,” said Aitan thoughtfully, tapping soot gently into the hollows of Ainjrejeu’s cheeks. “I can’t imagine what it would feel like to have power. It must feel good, for you to hunt it so.”

“Is it better not to imagine such things,” Ainjrejeu scolded. “Power is the road by which The Adversary may gnaw at the edge of your soul.”

Aitan sighed. “We must be related, for you to sound so like my mother.” He stood up, emptying the small bowl of soot outside the opening of the tent and wiping what he could off his hands and onto the leg of his pants.

Turning back to Ainjrejeu, he looked him up and down and admired his own work. Then he frowned. “I don’t suppose you stole those clothes from a traveling Tarshti’il?”

“No, unfortunately not,” answered Ainjrejeu. “I bought them, with money,” he emphasized the words he knew Aitan wouldn’t understand. He accepted the confused look he wanted from his cousin before he explained. “I gave someone shiny things to make them for me.”

Aitan pursed his lips. “I don’t think you should wear such things for bronamh.”

Ainjrejeu nodded his head in agreement.

“You should fit in my clothes,” said Aitan, picking up the wooden box and putting it back where he’d found it. He found a leather bag on the other side of the tent and emptied its contents out onto a blanket.

Ainjrejeu began to undress, teeth gritted against the chill mountain air.

“The Tarshti’il woman...” Aitan said. His tone was clearly meant to emulate small talk, but the look on his face belied his interest, even as he arranged an outfit on the ground before him. “You phelji’i her?”

“Phelji’i?” asked Ainjrejeu.

Aitan nodded. “She is...like animal? She is yours?”

Ainjrejeu had never heard the word on its own before, but now he recognized it as the ‘herd’ part of shepherd. “No,” replied Ainjrejeu, resisting the chattering of his teeth. “I am trying to get rid of her.”

“Why? She is so pretty,” gasped Aitan. Serr fei’ali’ine, he’d said.

Ainjrejeu could feel his ears growing warm despite the temperature. “I do not...say she is not. But she has followed me into danger, like a dog… a wolf puppy,” Ainjrejeu frowned defensively.

Aitan grinned and squealed. “Too cute! Pretty, soft, and t’heim; I would be on my back for such a woman in a heartbeat.”

Ainjrejeu thought t’heim meant something like stupid, or foolish. Regardless, the way Aitan said it was too affectionate for Ainjrejeu’s liking.

“She isn’t Teveri’ine.” He snatched a buckskin loincloth from Aitan’s hand. “It isn’t an act of love. She wants something from me that she will not get if I am dead.”

“Like what?” asked Aitan with mock seriousness.

“Money, status,” Ainjrejeu shrugged his shoulders. “Some people just enjoy being adjacent to power.” He was distracted with an unsuccessful attempt at tying the loincloth and didn’t realized for a moment that he had begun speaking Khandin. “Dunno,” he said in Benni. “But she must have taken a blow to the head to risk this much to get it.”

Aitan easily finished the knot for Ainjrejeu. “Maybe she simply seeks shei'imahn,” he smiled to himself as he wrapped a red scarf around Ainjrejeu’s neck.

Ainjrejeu shook his head, not understanding.

“The good face,” said Aitan. Then he chuckled. “Do Tarshti’il men not know how to find shei’imahn? I find the trick is usually to use my mouth.”

“I don’t need sex advice from you, child,” Ainjrejeu whispered his contempt.

Aitan shrugged his shoulders, unoffended, and led Ainjrejeu out of the tent.

“I have never in my life,” added Ainjrejeu to himself in Khandin, “been more glad not to have a younger brother.”

Ainjrejeu’s bare feet were numb the moment they touched the cold ground outside the tent. There was no risk of him accidentally speaking in front of other Benni, his teeth chattering too hard for him to use his mouth. Aitan led him through a new section of the evergreen forest. They had already turned around enough for Ainjrejeu to have no sense of where they were.

They came to a small stream meandering through the understory. They could hear voices a few moments before they saw their source—a trio of young women bathing in a shallow pool at a bend in the stream. Aitan hopped lightly over the stream but Ainjrejeu froze, struck by the sight.

He was not shocked to see women bathing. It was common in Sarnai for men and women to bathe together, and he had done far more than bathe with several women. It was, in fact, the familiarity which shocked him. Only one of the women had the red hair that marked the Teveri’ine. Another was a brown-haired Northlander, the last a black-haired Fenlander, her nude form undeniably pregnant.

“Wait here a minute,” Aitan instructed.

As Ainjrejeu hung back, Aitan galloped at speed down the bank of the stream. Even moving so swiftly, he was still as quiet as a gentle breeze. He crashed into the water, dropping to his knees beside the women and sending a sheet of water cascading over them. They squealed with laughter.

The pregnant woman was, understandably, the slowest to retreat from him and he leapt upon her, nuzzling his face into the side of her neck, her wet black hair clinging to his white skin.

"It's fine!" she protested.

"It's fine! It's fine!" The other women echoed her between breathy laughter.

"How would you know?" chuckled Aitan.

"The smell is well," the red-haired Benni woman assured him.

Only then did Ainjrejeu understand what they were saying. 'Fine' as in 'well'. As in 'healthy'.

Aitan sat back onto his heels, letting the Fenlander woman right herself. He said something to the women in hushed tones and they glanced behind him, seeing Ainjrejeu for the first time.

With a gasp, the Northlander covered her eyes with her hands, and the Fenlander woman followed suit. The Benni woman did not, instead throwing a hateful look like a sharp spear at Ainjrejeu.

She moved like a graceful, dangerous spider on hands and knees, putting the other women behind herself. She and Aitan exchanged a few more words before she nodded sternly, and Aitan climbed back to his feet.

He returned to Ainjrejeu, with a cheer that seemed unaffected by the hostile air around them. He waved for Ainjrejeu to follow him onward through the forest, and Ainjrejeu obliged, happy to leave the Benni woman's vehement glare behind.

"Have the Benni started taking Tarshti’il women and using them as…?” He didn’t know how to translate ‘breeding stock’ for a culture that had no livestock.

"No,” Aitan shook his head with a bemused smirk. “Those are Children of the Mountain. The White Bear taught our people about them. Abandoned by their Tarshti’il mothers, they have been given their true names by Benni mothers and kept apart from the outside world. This purifies them so they may bear Kaimera without the curse."

"The curse?" Ainjrejeu asked, narrowly avoiding stubbing his toe on a sharp rock.

Aitan nodded. "You do not know of your own curse?"

Ainjrejeu shook his head. "My mother told me that the Benni are meant to kill their Kaimera children, but nothing about a curse. Maybe I was spared it somehow?"

"Of course not," Aitan laughed. "Look at you," he gestured vaguely at Ainjrejeu.

"The White Bear is the first pure Kaimera," he continued. "Her..." He snapped his fingers for a second. "Father! Yes, that is a very useful word. Her father took her from the Tarshti’il to save her life and begged to be allowed to raise her amongst the Benni. It's a good thing, as she has taught us much wisdom that will save our people."

"That tall woman, with the white hair?" said Ainjrejeu.

"Some of the elders, like my mother, do not agree with her teachings. But she has borne three Benni children, and that is proof enough for the most of us. Fallow Doe," he gestured a thumb behind them, "is to bear the second pure Kaimera. They will then give me—er, our people," he flushed, turning from white to an ashen off-gray, "Benni descendants."

"So the child is yours?" Ainjrejeu raised an eyebrow.

"It does not belong to me," Aitan answered, casting his eyes downward. He used the word ‘phelji’i’ again, intentionally conflating paternity and ownership. In Benni culture, children were raised solely by their mothers, but Ainjrejeu suspected this had less to do with that and more to do with dodging the question.

"But I must admit,” Aitan continued, “I have become very protective of both her and the child. She is very willful, but not as strong or graceful as a Benni. The others consider the Children lesser for it, but I rather like the softness of them." He turned back to Ainjrejeu. "They are very... earthy." He made a rounded gesture with his hands. "Like your Tarshti’il woman."

A growl rose up from Ainjrejeu's throat and Aitan flinched. Embarrassed, Ainjrejeu swallowed it back down. Like marriage, and the written word, jealousy wasn't something the Benni had. He really was cursed, after all.

A small fire was burning on a rock pedestal in an open patch of the woods. On one side, a fallen log served as a bench for a couple of young Benni men, intimately braiding one another’s hair, while on the other log, a weathered man crouched on a flat tree stump. He was carefully watching a rabbit roasting on a narrow spit over the fire.

“Greetings, Kofal,” said Aitan. He used a hand on Ainjrejeu’s shoulder to guide him closer to the fire and Ainjrejeu stuck his hands out towards it greedily.

“I am preparing my cousin for bronamh. I’m sure you’ve heard.”

The older man nodded. His muscles were lean and wiry, his face unlined, but tough and angular. “I was here when Little Ailin was born. I was here when she was lost to us. I did not wish to be here while her child sat bronamh. This world is strange to me.”

“This world is strange to me,” repeated Aitan. It sounded like a prayer. “I seek your help to obtain the blood for bronamh.”

“Because I did yours for your first bronamh,” the old man smiled. “I will do this out of love for you, young light-through-leaves.” Ainjrejeu wasn’t sure whether it was a nickname or a more general term of endearment.

“If I tell you where, could you fetch the tools I need?”

Aitan nodded, and after a series of only moderately confusing instructions, was off. Ainjrejeu was glad to wait in the warmth of the fire, even as the men on the other side gave him strange, lingering looks.

They did not appear taken with him, as Aitan was. Perhaps they call him light-through-leaves because he is not too bright, Ainjrejeu thought.

Still, they did not look at Ainjrejeu with scorn or disgust the way his own Aunt had. Instead, their looks were a mixture of unease and curiosity as though he were just an oddity, yet to be understood.

The man, Kofal, patted a hand against his knee, startling Ainjrejeu out of his own head. Without speaking, he gestured Ainjrejeu closer to him. When Ainjrejeu obliged, he pressed gently on Ainjrejeu’s shoulders, guiding him down until his face was level with the seated man. He turned Ainjrejeu’s head in his hands and looked at his ear.

With pursed lips and a furrowed brow, Kofal turned Ainjrejeu’s head to the other side.

“What is it, Kofal?” one of the onlooking men asked.

“I have never seen one with so many bronalh. As though he has sat bronamh almost ten times.” He used his fingers to count while the men walked around the fire to see better. “There are eight here already, four on each,” said Kofal.

“How does he have any ear left?” one of the younger men let out a shocked chuckle.

“I admit,” said Kofal, “they are done very cleanly and have all healed well. But this will make it difficult to make another. I am going to need to chose an...unconventional placement.”

Aitan returned to see Ainjrejeu being poked and prodded.

“Have you seen this, child?” asked Kofal. “Surely you would have thought to warn me if you had.”

Aitan sat down the pile in his arms and leaned in close to follow where Kofal pointed. He audibly gasped. “That’s so many.”

“It is,” agreed Kofal. “I’ll have to do the new one...here,” he pointed. “It will work, but it will hurt serr mahnalanen.”

Very something. Very badly? Ainjrejeu didn’t need to know the word itself to know it would translate to ‘like a keutjage.’ Perhaps Kofal might have been more subtle if he’d known Ainjrejeu could understand even that much.

Aitan nodded. “I’ll bring something for the pain.”

Aitan returned with a wine-skin of a foul-smelling tincture that Ainjrejeu had to hold his nose to drink. It tasted like a mix of mint and pine, and burned in his mouth, throat, nose, and even in his eyes. The tears welling up in his eyes were a blessing, making it harder for him to see the large, cruel-looking needle as Kofal held it in the fire for a few seconds. In his other hand he held a piece of bark lined with a cloth bandage.

They had Ainjrejeu sit on the ground with his back against the tree stump, Kofal seated above and behind him. Even if he hadn’t spoken Benni, Ainjrejeu would have been able to tell how badly they expected it to hurt by how forcefully Aitan was pinning him against the stump. Even the two other men were alert, on hand to keep him still, if it came to that.

He took a deep, calming breath. As they had noted, his ears had been pierced many times before in Sarnai, though this was the first time that Miar wouldn’t be there to hold his hand.

He stared into the fire, trying not to focus on the needle in his peripheral vision. He was successfully distracted by the fire when the smoke rising from it grew heavy, falling back down towards the ground around it until it almost blocked out the light from the flames entirely.

The black cloud crept along the ground, moving steadily towards him. Its surface bucked and roiled, as though it were not one solid mass, but a swarm of smaller moving things. As they came closer he was able to make out their tiny, black bodies, their skittering legs, their millions of shining eyes. He tried to pull his legs back, but they wouldn’t move, and the swarm climbed over them and up, engulfing his body, blocking out all light. He could feel their legs scrabbling over every inch of his skin but he was paralyzed, unable to shake them away.

Agony split through the side of his head as one bit into his ear, its venom burning into his veins. The fear of death spurred his body into action and he scrambled to his feet.

When he opened his eyes, there were no spiders. He ran a hand along his arm and found only his own sweaty, feverish skin. The fire before him burned calmly, and lazily, though the heat from it was overwhelming. The pine smell of the empty forest around him was nauseatingly strong.

“Mister Kaelkarim!” came a voice from behind him. He turned to find Kalolin rushing to meet him, her black hair streaming behind her.

“What are you doing?” Ainjrejeu asked. “Where is everyone else?”

“They’re preparing the ceremony, silly,” she said, batting his arm playfully.

“The bronamh?”

“No, the wedding,” she grinned at him. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, and her breath formed mist in the air at every word she spoke.

“Sorry,” he frowned. “I’m not feeling very well. I don’t even remember our engagement.” He shivered despite the wet, hot sweat dripping down the side of his face.

“I’m not marrying you, idiot,” her smile didn’t falter. “I’ve decided I’m going to stay here and marry your cousin.”

“What?”

“Aitan and I are going to have so many children,” she said. “Look, I’m already pregnant!”

Ainjrejeu looked down. Kalolin didn’t appear pregnant, but she was entirely naked. When he looked back up, Aitan was there with an arm around her ivory shoulders.

“Isn’t it swell, cousin?” Aitan’s grin was as wide and uncanny as Kalolin’s. “I’m so excited to do whatever I want to this stupid woman.” He paused and frowned slightly. “Wait, that’s your line.” He smiled impishly, “I, on the other hand, am actually capable of loving other people.”

“Aren’t you happy for them, little spark?”

Ainjrejeu’s stomach dropped as he heard his mother’s voice. Her hand was on his shoulder, her grip unusually tight. Shaken, he turned to face her. Her blue eyes were as big and sad as he remembered them.

“Why aren’t you happy for them?” she caressed his cheek. “It’s the Benni way to love with all you are, to give freely of yourself. If two people you love make each other happy, then you should be happy for them, right?”

Ainjrejeu’s voice caught in his throat and he wasn’t able to answer.

His mother wrapped her arms around Kalolin. “We’re all going to be so happy here without you, little spark!” she smiled her rare, beautifully carefree smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of Kalolin like she’s the daughter I never got to have.”

The splitting pain returned to the side of Ainjrejeu’s head. He reached a hand up to grab it, but something was in the way. This is wrong. My mother is dead, he told himself. I’m here for her funeral right now.

The pain in his head was matched by a pain in his stomach. He fell to his knees, but it felt more like the ground was coming up to meet him. He vomited, black bile spilling onto the rocky ground beneath him. It wiggled and shifted before his eyes, breaking up into skittering spiders that dashed every direction across the ground.

His stomach emptied, his throat started working again. “I love both of you,” he choked out. “I love you two more than I love anyone else in the world.” He closed his eyes against the terrain spinning around him.

“That’s why...Lhanna, of course I’m…”

There was pain, like a chain against his neck, keeping the words from coming out. It pressed against something inside him. Not the place where sounds came from, but where words came from.

“Where truth resides,” a voice said from behind him. It was deafeningly loud compared to the unreal sounds of the dream.

Ainjrejeu opened his eyes to find the ground a colorless, featureless plane. Invisible, but undeniably real. The fire was gone, the forest was gone, and he was alone. Except…

He looked over his shoulder. A figure lingered there, as unseeable as the rest of this place, and yet somehow Ainjrejeu still knew it took his own shape.

“Sorry,” it said in a facsimile of his own voice. “I didn’t mean to interrupt...whatever this is.” Every word dripped with supernatural condescension.

“What are you doing here?” Ainjrejeu frowned.

“I am always here,” the figure chuckled. “You’re the one who decided to drop by.” It shook its head. “And a good thing, too. What a pitiful attempt at self flagellation.”

It snapped its fingers and the forest landscape returned around them. But it was flat, like a painting, the people and the fire frozen in time.

The figure stepped forward to examine the frozen form of Kalolin, still beaming and beautiful even like this. The figure was like some sort of ghost, a colorless, empty spot against the vibrant background.

“This is what you fear?” it mocked. “Why, when you can simply kill the man and take the woman for yourself? If the child is what bothers you…” it grinned evilly, “why not cut it out of her? It would make a wonderful excuse to see if she is as lovely on the inside as she is on the outside.” It hovered a hand next to her, not quite touching her, and held Ainjrejeu’s eyes with its own. It was teasing him.

“I could show you how to do it without hurting her, if you would only make a...” it blinked out of the picture, reappearing next to Ainjrejeu, whispering in his ear. “Deal. With. Me.”

Ainjrejeu flinched away despite himself. “I know when there are deals to make and when there are deals to walk away from,” he growled at it.

“I see.” It leaned closer to him, tilting its head and looking up at him with his own face. “Maybe I’m just not negotiating hard enough.” It smirked suggestively at him, and Ainjrejeu turned his face away from it. If he had any doubts about his own persuasiveness before now, that took care of them.

“There’s nothing you can offer me,” replied Ainjrejeu, breath unsteady. "I have only one desire which matters."

"A desire which we share," the mirror image said with a nod of its head. “But are you sure there isn’t anything else I could do for you? Not even...getting rid of a pesky little curse?”

Ainjrejeu turned back, stunned. “So the curse is real?”

“Oh, don’t play such games,” it grinned. “I’ve been in every dirty little corner of your mind, and we both know you were aware of the curse long before that silly boy brought it up. Deep. Down.” It poked him in the chest with a finger.

“I mean, I can read between the lines,” it gestured at Kalolin and Aitan’s petrified forms. “The betrayal hurts worse because you actually believe you deserve it.”

“I…” Ainjrejeu averted his gaze.

“You’d think you’d be happy about it,” the figure shrugged. “The sins of your birth are fated to die with you. Shouldn’t that bring you comfort?” it sighed. “But instead you’ve wasted valuable time on useless potions and rituals to break a curse you won’t admit you have. Because if you did admit it…”

“Don’t say it,” Ainjrejeu pleaded, but the words came anyway, his own thoughts ripped from his head.

“You’d have to admit that. You. Failed. Her.”

Ainjrejeu’s senses came flooding back to him. The others were shouting from where they stood over him, but it was all nonsense that he couldn’t understand. He sank further onto the ground until his cheek touched the cool stone. The world around him seemed to be spinning, and he was grateful for the ground, at least, to feel solid and real.

“He isn’t bleeding out,” a woman’s voice growled in Benni. “He’s drunk. How much of this did you give him?”

“I—not that much,” protested Aitan.

“He’s Kaimera!” the woman barked. “It would take him months to work up to half of what you’d give a Benni child, fool.”

Ainjrejeu felt a hand on the side of his head, and he struggled to right himself. The ground underneath him was wet, but he was relieved to find this time the vomit wasn’t made of spiders.

“Ai, ai!” Kofal’s voice interrupted the others. “He’s awake.”

Kofal helped Ainjrejeu into a sitting position. A small crowd had formed around them, watching on anxiously.

The tall, white-haired woman loomed over him. “You. Alive?” she asked in broken Khandin.

Ainjrejeu nodded his head, though it still swam.

"He'll be alright," she said coldly. "Serrshe!" she called into the crowd behind her. "Fetch water."

"You will stay with him," she said to Aitan, her tone still scolding, her blue eyes intense. "He is to drink as much water as he can and vomit until he can walk on his own feet."

"Yes, of course," said Aitan apologetically. He crouched down beside Ainjrejeu. His face was paler than Ainjrejeu thought possible, his eyes wide and fearful.

The blond woman shooed the crowd away with the sweep of her hands, and disappeared with them into the trees.

Pressure released from Ainjrejeu's ear. "The bleeding has stopped," Kofal said. "Despite everything, it is done and should heal fine."

"Thank you...and I'm sorry," Aitan said.

"It's alright, young one. It will surely make an excellent tale." Kofal handed the bloody bandage to Aitan and gathered up the rest of his tools before leaving with them.

"How is your ear feeling now?" Aitan asked after a few minutes had passed.

"It throbs awfully," Ainjrejeu admitted, putting a hand on his stomach as though he might settle it by force. "It is much less painfully done in Sarnai, with much smaller needles."

"Have you really sat bronamh so many times before?"

Ainjrejeu shook his head, then regretted it, blinking his eyes against the pain and dizziness. "In Sarnai, we have this done so we can...wear shiny things in our ears."

“Isn’t that heavy?” Aitan raised a ginger eyebrow. “Even that many antler studs would be. How will you ever grow old?”

“What?” For a moment, Ainjrejeu thought the lingering effects of the Benni liquor had him mishearing things. Translated literally, it would be ‘to grow long of ear,’ wouldn’t it?

“Wouldn’t the weight make them grow long faster?” Ainjrejeu said, tugging down on an earlobe illustratively.

“What? It would keep them short,” said Aitan. He touched the tops of his ears as though making sure they were still there.

“Why would your ears grow upward as you age?”

“Dunno,” Aitan shrugged. “Even if they don’t, why wear so many shiny things in them at all?”

"To show how many shiny things we have," said Ainjrejeu, with an amused smirk.

Aitan laughed. "Now that, surely, is the work of The Adversary."

“I fear everything we do in Sarnai is its work.” Ainjrejeu said it with a smile that was less than sincere.

“Is your soul not so ‘gnawed on’ as you say, then?”

“It is,” admitted Ainjrejeu. “But my soul is a fair price to achieve my goal,” he declared. Then, his voice softened. “Sometimes I worry that I have no soul left. That the voice inside my head is the voice of The Adversary, and if I were to chase it out, there would be no ‘me’ left.”

Aitan grew quiet. “That makes me so sad.” His voice was almost apologetic.

“We are preparing for bronamh,” Ainjrejeu sniffed. “Best to stay that way.”