Poison from a Scorpion's Sting

By R. Ramey Guerrero

The Age of Fire continues in Poison of a Scorpion's Sting (book two).

The Nez'kali has failed.

Slate's actions are to blame. Without Adahai to advocate for Fire's return, no one protested in the streets. There is only one day before the Age of Fire, and the Nez'kali is near death and under the scrutiny of the Council of E

• Language: English
• Publisher: R. Ramey Guerrero
• Release date: Nov 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9798985131741

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R. Ramey Guerrero

Poison from a Scorpion’s Sting

©2022, R. Ramey Guerrero

Indie publication

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, stored in a database and/ or published in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Cover art by Seth Lyons.

Story proofread by Pamela Willson, the Picky Bookworm at  http://thepickybookworm.com

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28th day of Lacolii,

Year 1178, 4th Age of Awat

I.

Slate, tribe of Onryx

In the grey time before dawn, Slate trudged up the hill. He stroked his greying beard, his slate-brown fingers stopping at his three beads. White marble for strength. Green jade for balance. Black onyx for knowledge.

Nokhum, the Nez’kali, has failed to bring about change. And it’s all my fault. I interfered with Adahai’s spell. The tower rose before him, moss clinging to the granite. Stairs snaked around the outside, winding all the way to the top. The Scorpions were supposed to strike in Wen’togen, where there could be witnesses— not the Whisperwood. But Adahai isn’t here anymore to stir the people up.

After fifteen hundred years, our cause is lost.

Slate’s boot slid into a gopher hole, causing him to stumble. Barra. Biting his tongue, he hoped no one had heard. Pulling his foot out, he listened. Birds still slept in the trees, and no one stirred. He kept walking toward the tower. With his boots sinking into the mud, his hips popped to lift his knees. Oh, I’m too old for all this.

Fifteen hundred years were wasted. The war was lost, and the rebels went underground. Before the Oracles were banished all those years ago, they made one last prophecy: Chaos will reign upon the land if the Wheel cannot turn to the age of Fire.

Wasii Pon Ruwa had changed the calendar from the Wheel of thirteen elements after the War of Stone and Fire. Instead, the calendar counted ages by the one who was Steward. The young ones wouldn’t even know the age of Fire was beginning. Would Nokhum?

Slate arrived at the base of the tower. Groaning, he climbed the stairs to the fourth floor, where he slept. He slumped through his door, across the tile floor, and onto his sleeping mat. Summoning a light orb, he sighed.

Sitting on the edge of the slate slab where his sleeping mat rested, Slate held his face in his hands. The age of Fire begins tomorrow, and our Nez’kali is under scrutiny by the Council of Elders, he mumbled through his fingers.

How am I going to get Nokhum to do a public display of Fire without getting us both killed?Not enough people knew of him. Would they follow a stranger? Sitting up straight, Slate sighed. Why lie to myself? The people are so complacent. They won’t act until something affects them directly.

When his life-mate, Nizak, was alive, he would talk endlessly about it— how the people who had too much to lose were reluctant to challenge the oppression. They are soft, Nizak would say. Materialistic.

Slate would always claim Nizak was being too harsh. People will come out once they see with their own eyes the evidence of chaos.

But they didn’t.

Word spread quickly of the man who was attacked by monsters in the woods. Still, no one took to the streets to welcome Fire’s return. No one defied the Wasii by painting Fire symbols on the walls of their homes. No one spoke out against the Protectors for upholding unjust laws. Perhaps our cause was lost before it began.

Slate twisted the white marble bead, taking it out of his beard before working his way up to the onyx and jade. Placing the beads on the stool beside his mat, he cupped his hand over them so they wouldn’t roll.

The legends spoke of great calamities that would befall Wen if the age of Fire began without fire stewards to usher in its power. The Wasii believed Salt magic could cleanse the land of ‘unclean’ magic— the kinds of magic that could threaten his rule. That was all Pon Ruwa cared about.

Tomorrow, the Wasii would preside over the Council of Elders to make the case against Nokhum. If he’s seen as dangerous, what does that make me? I’m only the man— no, the Master— who left him and his partner in hostile territory without protection. How will the Council see that? What if they start asking questions? They might ask Atnu how we all escaped with our lives.

Maybe Atnu didn’t notice the fireballs.

II.

Ayahuel, tribe of Awat

The black delta mud made a sucking noise with each step. Ayahuel regretted wearing her favorite slippers. They were ruined now. No amount of brushing would ever be able to remove the stains on the soft blue fabric. Such a shame, she pouted. 

Trailing behind her father and the soil steward woman, Aya found it difficult to focus on her lesson. She tucked a silver strand behind her ear and pressed on. 

The gardens were a muddy wasteland, veined with delta streams. Laughing, half-naked children chased each other, flinging mud at one another. As the older ones prepared the soil for seed, a glorious song haunted the terraces. Barefooted, the Yerikuu weren't bothered by the mud.

Their tribe was so different from her own. The Awats were a proud people, governed by the ways of Water. White skinned and silver haired, they preferred the woods to the gardens. Their slight frames were too wispy to work the ground. They tended reindeer or the lakes and rivers.  

Aya kicked off her slipper.

Just before she could squish mud between her toes, her Protector turned. Contorting her slate-brown features, Dria’s gaze traveled to Aya’s feet. Is everything all right? This was her way. Always vigilant. Proper. Noticing Aya’s wayward toe, she raised an eyebrow. When she turned up the corner of her lip, Dria made it clear such behavior was unacceptable.

Aya could feel the blush climb up her neck, and she slid her foot back into her slipper. Worse yet, when she looked up again, the adults were waiting. Had Dria not alerted them, they probably wouldn’t have noticed. Dria noticed everything. Always. There would be no sneaking off with her around.

Perhaps the most important lesson of all is proper organization. Inc’thutka, the soil steward, waved them onward. In a clump, she helped them navigate the complicated network of mounds. 

Each black mud mound held a storage chamber, and by the next moon, the mounds should be green with herbs. Without organization, rations fall short in the long nights of winter.

Inc’thuka spoke as passionately about rations, mold, and vermin as people in the palace spoke about Humans, Goblins, and Tree People. It all just seemed so dull. Luckily, with Dria here to listen, Aya didn't need to. Dria’s mind was like a spiderweb. Once something entered, it was stuck forever.

Sorting through charts, her father, Pon Ruwa cooed at every interesting fact the soil steward uttered. As he followed at her ankles, he juggled his note-taking paper and the collection of garden charts and the star scrolls. Aya held back a giggle as the top scroll tumbled off the stack. Her father tried to catch it with his chin, but when he failed, he raised his knee to keep the other pages balanced.

Uh, erm, let me. Inc’thutka laughed at his dance. Taking the scrolls, she stopped in front of a round door. And this brings us to the final storeroom. She tapped a rhythm on the door. The lock clicked, and the door creaked open.

When the four of them entered, all the workers inside froze. Every eye followed Dria as she ducked through the doorway. Onryx, like her, weren't usually permitted into the garden’s boundary, but in the Wasii’s presence, no one objected. As soon as the Elder began her lesson again, the workers returned to their tasks.

Inc’thutka’s long, grey braid was coiled atop her head, and the redcrest feathers she’d woven into the spiral created a bold scarlet flower. Several confused honeybees buzzed over her head, unable to find any sweet nectar. 

The Elder was ignorant to the frenzy her hair-flower was causing as she droned on with her lessons. In chamber four hundred thirty-three, we have eleven thousand cases of dried corn. Farther in, chamber four sixty-two holds fifteen hundred boxes of preserves and nine hundred eighty crates of squash seed. By holding the wines with the barks, not only can we conserve space, but it helps with preventing mold.

Ugh, so many numbers. Aya blinked hard to keep focus. Outside, Yerikuu children her age ran past the storage room, playing under the cliff’s shadow. Mud covered their skin and clothes. And they were happy. 

Mothers and fathers, as they counted seeds and plotted rows, knelt, wistfully watching the children race. Aya batted away flies and jealousy as she scraped her slippers on the doorframe.

Awat children weren't allowed to get dirty.

Follow me this way, younglings. Inc’thutka grasped Aya’s hand to keep her from wandering. Or dawdling. 

With Dria behind and her father in front, they made an odd chain. They wove through the labyrinthine halls, passing tens of labeled doors, stopping at each. Each chamber was its own lesson. Inc’thutka spoke of the storerooms as if they were little treasures. Lovingly sharing each detail, each dull detail.

In all, we have found that by planting certain crops in side-by-side rows of ten, it yields more than planting one by itself. After harvest, we dry herbs and seeds in the air rooms, then move them to the underground chambers. If properly rationed, one harvest can last Wen five years. Inc’thutka paused as father squinted over his notes. Did you have a question, Pon Ruwa?

What? Oh, yes, um… he chuckled to himself. Hunched over so his head wouldn't knock into the ceiling beams, he looked like a waiting crane. The light blue robe he wore only blended into his pallid figure. Did last year’s flooding affect this output in any way?

Aya suppressed a groan. From this question, sprouted an endless conversation about silt from the river bottom being churned into the soil. Soil types. Soil health. Soil temperature. Rains and floods. Seasons and cycles. And numbers. 

Oh, I’ll never complain again! Just don't force me to endure anymore lectures.

And, Aya, Dria— I think you girls will like this next chamber. Inc’thutka beamed, clasping her hands together. It was like glimpsing the child the crone once was. Excitement sparkled in her mud puddle eyes, and her grin curled to wrinkle her entire face. She tapped a tune upon the door at the end of the long hall, stepping aside when it creaked open.

Brilliant sunlight fell in ribbons through the doorway. Aya hadn't realized they’d climbed to the upper levels. Most of Wen didn't see the sun until just before midday when it loomed over the cliffs. But here, in a clearing on one of the highest plateaus, it was different.

Rows of fruit trees amid flowering bushes and shrubs extended before them. So many that Aya couldn't count. The dome stretched as far as she could see.

In this glass dome, we bear the city’s earliest fruits. By New Spring, these harvests will be ripe to use in the festival’s feasts. Walking through rows of peach trees, the Elder stopped by a table laden with baskets. One was full. Perhaps, we might rest here before moving on?

Aya nodded eagerly. Peaches are my favorite.

Mm, are they now? Inc’thutka smiled, choosing several perfect fruits and passing them out. I’ll remember that next time I make my peach drizzle.

Mmhm. She sunk her teeth into the fuzzy flesh. Juice dribbled down the sides of her mouth. Aya giggled, wiping it away with her fingers. Nuzzling into her Protector’s side, she couldn't imagine how anyone could ever be sad here.

Honeybees buzzed around their heads, drawn to the peaches. Dria gasped when one landed on her hand. Even the mighty Onryx had a respectful fear of the bee’s stinger. Its furry yellow and black thorax brushed along her slate-brown knuckle, following a trail of juice down the side of her hand. What do I do? 

Be still, youngling. Inc’thutka cupped her hand, holding it against Dria’s wrist. The honeybee crawled onto the Elder’s fingertip. She didn't mean to frighten you. Bees are just such curious animals. 

She blew lightly onto its back, and the bee bumbled off again. Honeybees are truly fascinating. Did you know that when a scout finds a good nectar source, she will return to the hive to tell the others by dancing? She uses the position of the sun and hive to reveal the location of the flowers.

Holding up his pallid hand, Father allowed a bee to land upon it. Hm. I never realized. Pon Ruwa scratched his great beak nose before etching another note onto his scroll. 

It was his longest-held belief that every life instance bore a lesson. Of course, with such random jumbled notes, Aya wasn't sure how he learned anything at all. Still, he managed to fill book after book with his wisdom. 

One day, he once told her, when she was still small enough to sit on his knee, as Wasii, you will judge right from wrong for the people of this great city. 

Ever eager to be grown up, Aya had demanded to know precisely when this would happen. When would she lead Wen? Father had laughed. Well, I suppose we will know when the new age has come when I can no longer hold my quill. 

Without his quill, he couldn't take notes, and without notes, he feared he wouldn’t be able to judge logically.

Inc’thutka chattered on and on about honeybees. She probably could fill a library with all she knew about the little bugs. Dria and Father absorbed every word, until the Elder stood again.

It was only after sitting for a time that Aya realized how her thighs ached from the march. Her willowy legs wobbled beneath her. Worse, because the storerooms were built by Yerikuu, she had to duck to avoid the ceiling beams when she entered the mound. Luckily, Dria’s steady arm kept her from tipping.

Her Protector touched her hot cheek with the back of her hand. Hm. She reached for the water flask looped around her belt. Drink, love, she whispered. While she waited for Aya to return the flask, she tucked one of her stray black braids back around her beaded scarf.

The Elder led them underground again. The girls lagged behind, but the adults didn't progress too far without them. Inc’thutka and Father discussed a request scroll longer than Aya’s forearm. Preparations for the New Spring festival, she assumed.

Dria reattached her flask, walking by her side in silence. Aya watched her through her wispy silver lashes. Even in the shadowy caverns, the light outlined her high cheekbones. Flawless slate-brown complexion, sculpted angled features, dark braided hair woven around her scarf— Dria was perfect in every way. It was a sad thing her farendiil armor hid her beautiful shape.

When she noticed Aya staring, she smiled. What? Raising her eyebrows, she tilted her head. Hunched, she looked quite comical. Do I have something hanging from my nose? Crossing her eyes, she flared her nostrils. Aya covered her mouth to keep from laughing.

Girls?

Sorry, Wasii. Dria’s smile vanished. She pulled Aya along. Standing behind the adults as they discussed numbers, Aya tried to entwine her fingers into her Protector’s. Straight and proper, Dria closed her fist. 

She listened to the adults speak, though they’d missed most of the conversation. Aya bumped her hip into hers. Stop it, Aya, Dria hissed.

Casdya also requests… Pon Ruwa checked his scroll. Ten more bags of rice grass. Inc’thutka nodded, using chalk to write directly upon the door of the chamber they stood outside. Such a long list already was scribbled upon the stone. 

And, um. He hummed a bit, before looking up. Would you happen to have a jar of your delicious raspberry preserves… not— not for Casy… always just a personal favorite. He licked his lips.

Aya rolled her eyes. Dria acted as if the adults were saying something important— staring ahead, absorbing every detail. The way Aya was supposed to do. When she slapped her hand away, Aya grunted.

Now, if you’ll follow me. Inc’thutka flicked her ears. Several honeybees hovered above her head. Aya squinted, wondering if perhaps a piece of peach had become tangled in the charcoal strands. The Elder led them down yet another identical hall. I’d like you to see my favorite place in the Soil Temple. The chart room.

Opening the door to the chart room, the Elder allowed Pon Ruwa to enter first. He stopped in the doorway, blocking Aya's view of what lay beyond. He didn't look around. Instead, he reread his notes. Elder, the soil stewards have surely stored enough here for ten years.

Twenty, actually. With excess.

Why don't the Gardeners sell what is leftover? You could provide your people with so much— shoes and better clothing, anything your people desired.

Inc’thutka smiled. It was a strange smile, as if she pitied him for asking such a thing. Aya didn't understand. It is not the way of the Yerikuu to sell what the soil freely gives, the old woman said.

Dria stood beside Aya in the hall, tsking, So what will you do then?

Well… we will gather the tribal leaders to discuss our options. Most likely, we will vote to dig a new chamber underground to prepare for harder times.

Honeybees burrowed in and out of the Elder’s coiled braid. Inc’thutka flicked her ear to keep a bee from crawling inside. Aya giggled to watch the Elder repeatedly turn, confused at seeing nothing.

Pon Ruwa frowned. Pay attention. He admonished without even looking at her. Instead, he continued to take copious notes.

Aya cast her gaze upon her crusty slippers. Selen had a breakout of blight, she blurted. She didn't know why she said it at first. Over breakfast, the adults were discussing it; though, they had no intention of using the information for more than gossip fodder. 

Father and Inc’thutka watched her, waiting to hear more. Ayahuel could feel her face reddening. Selen’s stores aren’t as plentiful as ours, and if their stores run out… well, they’ll just go back to pillaging, so I was thinking, we're safer if they don't pillage. And they’ll go back to pillaging to keep from starving, unless— um.

Inc’thutka grinned. Wisdom from far beyond her years. She stood in the doorway, beaming. A natural Ancient.

Aya practically melted with glee. Her mother would have been proud to hear this. While she was living, Lehuali had taken her to the Water Temple every evening. Even after she grew ill, they’d sit together and watch the stars glitter in the pool. Before she died, she whispered in her ear that one day Aya would be a great Water Steward. Her greatest wish.

Realizing she probably had been grinning like a goofy idiot, Aya looked up. Pon Ruwa was a storm cloud. We do not speak of such foolishness here. His voice was like thunder.

Aya wanted to cry. Father just didn't understand. He feared everything magic. As the Elder apologized profusely, Dria squeezed her elbow. With all her sympathy, though, Dria didn't understand either. She didn't have a dream that would never bloom.

No one could teach her the old magics if they were too scared.

Pon Ruwa stroked her silver hair. The storm cleared, and his face was kind again. As soon as it can be managed, we will send a team of Peace Keepers to deliver aid to Selen.

III.

Nokhum, tribe of Yerikuu

Peeta-peet, chut chut chut, peet peet.

The familiar musk of drying herbs and slightly decaying books hung in the air. As Nokhum rocked rhythmically in a hammock, a warm breeze carried the heavy scent of lilacs through the open window. Loose dark brown strands of hair tickled his nose.

Peeta-peet, peet peet.

His eyelids sprung open. Directly above him, hidden scrolls peeked from the honeysuckle vines that coated the ceiling of his home. The rope wrapped around an exposed beam creaked with his weight as he began to stir.

I'm home? How? Was it all a dream? It was all so vivid— so real… Huh, I must have been listening to too many drunks in the Hollow. All these stories of shadows and wuki'rue must be troubling me more than I'd realized.

Peeta-peet, peet chut chut. A hooded bluebird landed on the window's ledge, intently gazing at him. Chut chut chut.

When he tried to sit up, Nokhum found he was cocooned in his hammock. A terrifying pain coursed through him his scattered memories could not explain. None of this made any sense. He groaned. But it does mean… someone has been here.

He looked around the room at the ancient books that lay open on the mossy carpet. There were piles more, clearly visible, stacked upon chairs and tabletops. Barra. Nokhum grimaced. I've even left the fireflyers on the shelf on the back wall. Surely, they noticed my onyx seeing pool and the dirty rose-gold music box filled with scrolls written in Q'rasdiil.

He lay his head back. Just perfect. They can choose which act of treason to execute me for.

So why haven't they?

I still feel the Shadowmen’s blade pressed against my throat. The air was so thin my lungs ached even while I was gasping for air. But then, why am I here? Perhaps, they have questions. I don't think they can read any of the Q'rasdiil or the Goblin's Jartii. The Human and Underling dialects they could easily find translators for, I'm sure. But I won't do it. He pressed his lips into a stubborn line. I'll die before I break.

Peeta-peet chut chut, peet peet peet. The persistent bird puffed up, hopped forward, and cocked his head to the side. Chut chut chut.

The corners of his lips curled into a smile. Nokhum cocked his head to the side, mirroring the bird, keeping his ears erect. Do you wish to tell me something, Hooded One? 

Peet peet. The bird darted to the shelf beside the hammock, dropping a crumpled scrap of paper. Perched atop the shelf, he hopped to the moonstone tangled in its willowcord. Three times, he beat his beak upon the stone before fluttering out the window to return to wherever he came from.

Curiosity gnawed at Nokhum, but he knew he could not reach the note. He squirmed, but he could not loosen the cloth's grip. Abhorrent. Wretched. Spider silk, he grunted.

The gears of the latch turned, and the door creaked open. Nokhum froze before hearing the voice. Barra, well… that'll stain, I bet. Atnu marched in, kicked the door shut, and collapsed into the nearest chair. Mouth full, he had a hunk of bread in one hand and a bowl in the other. Despite his social status and tutors, he still hung over his bowl like a ravenous beast. 

You’re awake! Atnu brushed his golden hair out of his eyes. Hey… um, how do you feel? There was an awkwardness in his tone Nokhum tried to ignore. This wasn't the first time the Tassi saw his home in this state. But surely, he wasn't comfortable being so near to all this contraband.

Oh, and Casdya sent some soup if you want some. Orange drips already adorned his river blue spidersilk shirt, and after a few more bites he attempted to blot them out. At last, he shrugged. Clearly, he hadn’t enchanted the fabric against stains.

Setting his bowl aside, he strode to the shelves on the back wall. Rysidian is on her way. Atnu continued to bustle about the room scooping things up and shoving them in drawers and cabinets. What do you want me to do with these, um, very angry bugs? He held up the glowing jar.

She doesn't need to come. Atnu, don't— I'm fine, don't call for her.

He snorted. Maybe I'll just shut them in a drawer for now. Still holding the glass jar in his hand, his cheeks and the points of his ears reddened. Atnu shook the jar before shoving it inside the desk drawer.

I'm fine. Don't call for her. 

Aaand you're delusional. Atnu leaned against the archway beside him. Anyway, she's coming. 

Nokhum hung suspended, powerless— a fly caught in a web— struggling against his binds until the pain was unbearable.

Really, you shouldn't do that. Atnu towered over him, like a parent scolding a child. His jade eyes darkened.

Then help me, Nokhum snarled, and his friend looked away. Atnu? Look at me. Why are you doing this? What happened? Please… you have to tell me. Surely, he wouldn't make him face the Council. If he let him go, he could run.

Sighing, Atnu continued to hide away anything forbidden. I know you're scared, but you have to trust me. We are going to have to lie… If anyone ever finds out— they'll kill us both. Maybe Slate, too, I'm not sure. I'm thinking we hide away for a while. Fade from memory a bit. And we only go out in public for absolute necessities.

It wasn't like Atnu to resort to deception. Or to shy from view.  What? What are you even—? 

We don't have time. When we got home, you were… just really bad. And because Flint had already begun studying the sting's poison— everyone thought surely, we were dead. He’s been spreading rumors. Everyone in the city is afraid the toxin makes you dangerous. They're also, um, curious, I guess, to find out how we got home.

An intense nausea washed over him. How… did… we get home?

Atnu gritted his teeth. "Not now. Just remember, everyone is watching. Everyone."

With every word, memories rained onto the waters of his mind. For a long time, Nokhum closed his eyes to reflect. We were in the Whisperwood, ambushed by Scorpions, and terribly lost— but with the poison… how can we be back? The door latch turned, and the questions died unanswered. 

His throat tightened as Rysidian removed her uvut and hung it neatly by the door. She timidly crossed the threshold, sweeping away a stray hair. She looks just as I remember her, so much like Kiicatia… lake water eyes and white hair. Except Rysidian's hair, as always, hung in a neat braid. Cat’s sister used to visit often. But after they took Cat, anytime I would see any of her family, they'd burst into tears at the sight of me. I remind them of their mourning. So, I avoid them, or they avoid me.

But Kiicatia is still alive. I know it. Even if no one believes me.

Nokhum imagined Kiicatia in the corner, pouring over her books, scribbling, and mumbling under her breath. With papers scattered around her, she’d drop a stone into the onyx bowl as oil swirled on the ripples. She’d gaze at the images before scribbling furiously again. But she's only a memory now. Memories of her settled like dust in every crack, refusing to be swept away.

She's not dead.

Eyes downturned, Rysidian shuffled to a sturdy, low table. It was usually home to many of his books. Most of which were smuggled from other nations. Atnu must have known to move them. He helped her scoot the table closer to the hammock. 

Wasting no time, the Healer's hands trembled as she brought out the bottles and supplies. Slowly she came nearer to the hammock. Little Brother, I need to check your wound, all right? she quietly stammered, still avoiding eye contact. I just want to help.

He furrowed his brow. Please, just look at me. Why is she talking to me like I'm a wounded ani—? But as she leaned over to loosen his shroud, Nokhum noticed the scrapes and bruises that ran down her right arm, with gashes above her breasts and bruises on her neck. 

I'm sorry we had to do this… but you really weren't yourself.

I wasn't myself...? He pressed his lips into a grim line, and he was released from his binds. His chest felt tight. He watched her, but Rysidian flinched under his gaze.

I did that. Barra. I did that. I attacked her. I've become a monster. Sitting, he curled his knees to his chest. Overwhelmed, Nokhum sobbed into his hand, trembling. I'm a monster. I'm sorry. So— so sorry, he whispered.

You weren't yourself. Rysidian kept her voice strong. Come now… step down. She never looked up, but he noticed the shine of tears streaming down her face. The Healer bit her lip and quickly whisked them away before turning to spread the shroud over the table. 

Atnu steadied him, leading him to it. With each heavy step, Nokhum felt dread climbing up his throat. 

What is going to happen? Panic gripped him, but his friends wouldn't let him run. Even if his legs weren't wobbling, Nokhum wouldn't get far. His gaze fell upon the tools the Healer had laid out. Sharp instruments and unmarked potions and stinking salves and all sorts of unpleasant things. No— no— no, please, someone… but they forced him to sit.

You… understand why… A bottle rattled in her usually steady hand as she pushed it toward him. It was unmarked, and the opaque glass revealed nothing.

What're you going to do? His voice was only a hoarse whisper, for his greatest fear was they'd betrayed him at the request of the Elders. Rumor said Flint had taken his lie inhibitor serum and altered it for interrogations. Still, Nokhum had long been practicing half-truths and omissions that could protect his tribe’s secrets. Atnu would know.

In his retirement from leading the Protectors, Flint only grew fiercer. He wasn't encumbered by petty morality, nor did he fear oversight. In the Holes, they met often. Flint was convinced Nokhum knew something about a rebellion. If Flint had seen this room, he wouldn't stop until he had the answers he wanted. Nokhum shivered.

His friend pinched the bridge of his nose, swallowing frustration. We're just trying to help. The Tassi had risked his station by hiding those books. Perhaps, he wouldn't reveal his omissions to the Council. We need to keep the rest of the toxin from spreading. Atnu rasped, You're safe now, don’t worry.

Reluctantly, Nokhum took the bottle and put it to his lips. It smelled of raspberries and sage. He bit his bottom lip. I taught her how to make this potion— now, I will drink it.Its sweetness will disguise its purpose— sweet trickery… almost instantly causing paralysis and nightmarish sleep. He used this to influence important leaders he would rather not kill, but it was less effective when the person knew about it. So why…?

Please, drink, she said, voice heavy with exhaustion. This is my own recipe. I only want to help— I just need you to trust me.

He lowered his eyes, sighed, and drank. Hm, odd. It tastes like peaches. With somber faces, they laid him down only to wind him into a cocoon once more. He looked down, noticing for the first time his bare skin. The shroud only reached the top of his elbows. His head felt heavy as he lay back. Oh no, Rysidian will see me naked… she’s practically my sister. Nokhum closed his eyes and embraced the familiar darkness.

Billowing silver smoke carried the fragrance of a smoldering sweetgrass rope into the darkness. As his legs dangled over the balcony ledge, Nokhum watched the rhythmic sway of the dim lanterns that hung from the honeysuckle vines creeping across his ceiling. He sighed. It is such a quiet night.Yet… His ears twitched. Something creaked.

Hey there! Out of the shadows, a figure leapt onto the railing. Nokhum fell back, toppling over a shelf of books and plants. I knew you'd be awake.

He scrambled to the wall and clutched his knees to his chest. The long gold-trimmed veil whipped about, only revealing the girl's blue-grey eyes and a