Zafiil Volume 2: FireDancer's Hand: Zafiil, #2

By M.C.A. Hogarth

The epic saga of the Faulfenza's third messiah continues in the second volume of Zafiil, FireDancer's Hand.

 

Journey with Zafiil to the borders of the Alliance in her search for enlightenment, dive into her recent history as a student at the Hearth and her difficult history with Daqan, the Voice of the God, and then return to Qufiil for the gripping finale of her story.

 

Are the Faulfenza prepared for the FireBorn, and the Others? And is Zafiil ready, at last, to face the role that will see her remembered forever in history?

 

Zafiil: FireDancer's Hand brings the epic saga of the Faulfenza's first contact with the Pelted Alliance to a stunning close.

• Language: English
• Publisher: M.C.A. Hogarth
• Release date: Jul 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201008581

Book preview

ZAFIIL

FIREDANCER’S HAND

M.C.A. HOGARTH

Studio MCAH Studio MCAH

Copyright 2022 © M.C.A. Hogarth. All rights reserved.

Studio MCAH

PMB 109

4522 West Village Dr.

Tampa, FL 33624

mcahogarth.org

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the brief use of quotations in book reviews or educational materials.

Cover design by Rachel Harden at Pixel Operative.

CONTENTS

Third Movement Continued

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Fourth Movement

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Fifth and Final Movement

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Coda

Appendices

Faulfenzair Glossary

People and Places

Art

Acknowledgments

About the Author

THIRD MOVEMENT CONTINUED

THE PRESENT (175 BA)

CHAPTER 1

The alien danced in her sterile cargo hold with the abandon that he did beneath a false sun on a hill built by Other hands, and the shock was that it was beautiful. Like a Faulfenzair, he belonged where he danced. The trailing scarf from his sword drifted and darted like incense smoke, and, rather than constraining, the enclosed space magnified each motion. She watched from the hatch, as she had watched from the base of the hill, and it soothed her soul. If it also made her ache for the sacred Dance, she accepted that as necessary pain.

As much as Zafiil had wanted company on her journey, she’d been nervous about inviting Seledor to join her. She had no memory of the Slipstream that did not involve ghosts and loneliness, and she had feared the Eldritch wouldn’t dispel either… or worse, he would and it would hurt. But he was easy company, sliding into the silences as if he belonged to them, dancing in the emptiness as if his nonsense words would fill it, and leaving her to solitude at exactly the moment she could no longer bear him. She asked him about it, and he said only, We did not plan for the ramifications of mindreading, and most of us regretted our pursuit of the talent. But one can swim against the tide, and rail when it saps one’s strength, or one can swim with it and see where it takes one.

You are reading my mind to decide when to leave me alone, she said, to be sure she understood.

Your mood, more than your thoughts, he said. Reading your thoughts is an intimacy I try to avoid.

Do you always? Avoid it?

Nearly, he said. Except when your thoughts are powers.

That lingered with her long after the conversation. That her thoughts could be powers. Was it sacrilege to believe it?

As with her itinerary home from Akana Ris, Zafiil plotted an oblique course to Sharsenne. Her passenger had expressed no opinion on seeing a dead solar system on their first exit from faster-than-light mode. She’d wondered what he was thinking, looking past her out the window at the bleak void, but hadn’t been able to guess at his expression… only that the stark contrast between the view and his profile, pearlescent with the flush of blood beneath living skin, had reminded her again how astonishing it was that the Faulfenza could navigate space. That the Others could.

The third time they coasted into a hollow system, Seledor joined her at the fore of the ship with an odd device in his hands. He sat in the copilot’s chair and began turning pegs at the end of it. How many more times will the fox double back, my lady?

I don’t understand?

He twitched his head. I beg your pardon. I am too accustomed to metaphor. But you are shaking off the trail of anyone who might be following you, is that not right?

Yes, she said. You understood.

He nodded. I would trust Dar Allen, but there are a great number of people in the Alliance, and while on the whole most are law-abiding citizens, they are also curious. I wouldn’t put it past some number of them to be tracking departures, no matter how minor, simply to pass the time.

In Zafiil’s mind, she heard Tristan’s voice whispering. They are without law. She shook her head a little, ears fanning downward; they stayed down when she remembered the many ways curiosity had disordered her life, particularly on the Hearth. Perhaps, like the Faulfenza who’d plagued her, these Pelted meant well. They must, for their society throve, and most of its populace lived. If all of them were evil, then… it would be worse than Akana Ris. Wouldn’t it?

But Seledor had asked her a question and was patiently awaiting an answer, still turning the pegs of his device. She liked the smell of it, like seasoned wood and polish. Another four systems, and I will turn us toward our destination.

That being…?

Had she not told him? She’d been so absorbed by her confusions and sorrows. There is a world someone told me about. On the border between the Alliance and the Chatcaava.

Oh, he murmured.

The way he said that made her pause. Do you know it?

No, he said. But I can see why you said you weren’t going to the best of places. Do continue, please, I didn’t mean to interrupt.

This world has both Chatcaava and Alliance people on it, Zafiil continued. And sometimes Chatcaava use it to reach the Alliance. Because the situations they’re escaping from are even worse. Had she mentioned its name? It is called Sharsenne.

Ah, yes. Sharsenne is famous. At her quizzical expression, he said, The treaty between the Chatcaavan Empire and the Alliance was signed in one of its cities. So it is your plan to go to this planet? Is there someone you know there? Someplace you’d like to see?

No, she said, I… know of the world, but little else. Perhaps when we arrive…

God will provide, he said, and moved his fingers on the device. A noise drifted from it, plangent and mournful, and when it lingered too long her ears fanned shut. Seeing it, he stopped immediately, frowning. I’m sorry… I tuned it, and I am fair certain my ear is good. Is some note sour that you can hear more keenly than I?

You do that on purpose? she said. But it creates so much dissonance.

His fingers froze, and his eyes rose to her ears. I should have thought… but… I didn’t. Do you have music, my lady?

His inability to explain this concept drove them to the computers, and after listening to samples, and to Seledor playing his device—a lute, which was almost pronounceable—they discovered that the Faulfenzair ear did not like most music. It was the first time she’d seen Seledor at a loss. A people without music! Nothing? Not even sung?

We have poetry, she said. And it is said that a dirge was performed for Quzen, but I always assumed that to be a Dance. Perhaps it was sung?

Your voices have prosody, he said. Singing is not so different. Like this.

What he did next was far less disturbing than the discordant tones created by his lute. She liked it far better, and it did remind her of recitation. The timbre of his voice was crisp and mellow, and deeper than she expected.

She didn’t understand a word he was saying, though, and said so.

My people’s tongue, he said. Would you like to learn?

Yes! she said. And then, But we should also work on Chatcaavan, if we are going to Sharsenne.

An agreeable pastime, and language acquisition is easier with a partner. Easier still with immersion, but we will achieve that soon enough.

* * *

When they reached their final dead system, Zafiil brought up Sharsenne’s coordinates and locked them into the destination target. To her surprise, a prompt interrupted her, asking her if she’d like to play ‘Border World Instructions from Tristan’ before confirming. She hit ‘yes’ and sat back as the voice of her friend filled the compartment.

Zafiil… I don’t know whether I’m glad or worried that you might want to visit one of the Chatcaava’s worlds. Since you appear to be considering it, let me recommend you choose Sharsenne. I’ve put directions for reaching the missionaries who helped my mother escape in a separate file labeled ‘sweetest flowers.’ You’ll understand once you get there. A pause. My people are depraved, arii. But they’re not all lost. And… we build beautiful things, sometimes. I hope you get to see them.

The instructions for reaching these ‘missionaries’ was more convoluted than the process by which she navigated through Other space… a prey animal attempting to lose the predator, as Seledor would say. She had looked up a ‘foqz’ to see why it might need to double-back. She also looked up ‘biizonariiz’, learning that they were people who carried their spiritual beliefs to other places to do good works. That made her feel better about her decision. Surely such people would have advice about how to navigate a fallen universe, if they had found the courage to penetrate it, carrying a message of hope.

CHAPTER 2

Seledor was a better reader than Zafiil, so she showed him Tristan’s directions. He was also, she discovered, as good at memorizing as she was. Were you a WisdomDancer? she asked. Or something like one? Someone who learned all the important histories of your people?

No, he said. But if you live long enough, you begin to practice… everything. I like to memorize poetry.

I would like to hear your poetry, Zafiil said, struck. Surely Eldritch poetry would be like the Scrolls of SoulFeeding? They seemed a people in love with metaphor.

Then we will continue learning my language, my lady, so you can understand it.

She’d thought the Alliance tongue difficult, with its extra sounds… but the Eldritch language was nearly impossible to pronounce with its flood of soft consonants. It made their digressions into Chatcaavan a relief, though that language had its own share of strange noises. She gave up trying to speak Eldren, in fact, which didn’t hinder her progress in comprehending it. Strangely, it didn’t work that way with Chatcaavan or Universal; not speaking those languages degraded her progress noticeably. I don’t understand it, she’d said to him.

How wondrous it is that we don’t understand everything, he replied.

She remembered feeling that way about the mysteries of the universe, before she’d discovered they were concealing monsters. That Seledor could believe such a thing made her think that one day, perhaps, she might recover that joy in Faulza’s Creation.

* * *

Sharsenne had an orbital station with ample room for visiting ships. Zafiil didn’t know why she’d been expecting something meaner, except perhaps that an evil world should not feel welcoming. But the station was larger than the Hearth, which meant the Slipstream was easily accommodated at a private berth without having to unload and then moor elsewhere. Zafiil looped Tristan’s tassel around her neck with its new pendant, pausing to touch the data rod: would it be safe to take it with her? But she couldn’t imagine leaving behind this evidence of the Alliance’s goodwill. Even if she never used it, what it represented was significant, and deserving of respect. And if wearing it this way was reminiscent of the use of jewelry for lifemates, it remained the easiest way for her to keep it close and under her eye. She strapped her pack between her shoulder blades and slung her brown keep-hidden over herself, and together with Seledor she left the ship.

The station teemed with a bewildering number of Others. Not just the Pelted she’d come to expect from Starbase Alpha, but many humans as well, their faces like less refined versions of Seledor’s. And Chatcaava! Meeting Tristan’s small family of refugees had not prepared her for the number of Chatcaava striding through the corridors of the station, their whip-thin tails and wings as distracting as the scarf that drifted from Seledor’s sword when he danced. She liked to look at them, despite knowing from Tristan that she should trust none of them. Sharsenne will have more Chatcaava who share my convictions, he’d said in the message. But not enough. Never assume.

Zafiil wished he was here, but having his words to guide her felt almost as good. And Seledor was a reassuring companion. People were enthralled by the sight of him, which kept them from noticing her.

The station didn’t have the arrogant sprawl of the city-sphere in Starbase Alpha, and the shuttle taking them to the surface was small and crowded with Others. She was grateful to disembark, and even the light gravity couldn’t dampen her pleasure to have soil beneath her feet at last, and a real sun in the sky.

The city where they’d landed had a different name in every kind of mouth that spoke of it, which they had ample opportunity to hear as they walked through the brassy sunlight flooding its broad streets. The crowds, the toasted grain scent in the scalding air, the way the light bronzed and warmed even the coolest colors gave it an immediacy that made the restlessness of its people inevitable. A place, Zafiil judged, that was busy doing things, full of people intent on their endeavors and with little time to spare for lazing. People even ate while walking, and when they didn’t, they stood at tables like the ones at the establishment where she and Seledor stopped. They ate meat pies and drank a tangy, milky beverage, listening to the tinkle of the metal decorations strung over stalls and doors.

A handsome city, Seledor said. I wonder what it will look like in a hundred years. Perhaps I’ll find out.

Do you think it will change much?

Oh, he said. Yes. Things do.

A curious statement. She didn’t think of anything on Qufiil as swift to change. The shock caused by Daqan’s coming had been, at least in part, a result of the tectonic shifts he’d made to their way of life, and their speed.

Would she come back one day, see what Sharsenne’s port city looked like? She glanced at Seledor, and around herself at the bright and vital thoroughfare they were threading on their way to their next stop. Odd to believe that she could. Odder still that she might want to.

Following Tristan’s directions, they headed for the outskirts of town to a vendor who rented riding beasts; reaching him through the unfamiliar sprawl took them nearly two hours. By then, Zafiil was looking forward to solitude: her keep-hidden was hot, and she couldn’t wait to shrug it off.

You’re doing the cider run? the vendor said casually. I’ve got a map here. Just follow this path, you’ll be fine. About half a day.

Seledor looked toward the descending sun. Will we get there today?

Not likely. If you don’t like camping, you can come back tomorrow.

The Eldritch glanced at her and was reassured by her expression. No, it will be fine. How do we return them once we reach our destination?

I have an arrangement with the sisters. They’ll take care of it.

Good enough. My lady?

Zafiil had been watching people clamber onto and off of the beasts since their arrival. It seemed a peculiar way to travel, but surely it wasn’t hard? The vendor brought her a set of stairs, and with their help she climbed onto the creature’s back.

She’ll follow her herdmate, the vendor assured her. Enjoy, gentles.

Zafiil liked that—‘gentles’. And that was all she had time to wonder about before her beast lurched into motion, plodding after Seledor’s. Similar groups were departing and arriving to the vendor, from every direction… did Others do this for fun? Or was there some benefit to riding that she didn’t know about? She couldn’t imagine wanting to perch on the back of a creature in such an awkward position and amble at a speed she could have easily bettered on foot.

It was so good to leave the strangers behind, though, that she stopped thinking about the strangeness of their transportation. Once she could no longer spot anyone, she pulled off the keep-hidden and sighed in relief. The heat was bearable if she could fluff out her fur.

I wondered how you were managing, Seledor said with a smile. I see the answer is ‘by feeling stifled’.

It has utility only to obscure me, she said. But we are not around anyone.

Nor likely to be, no, he said. This is a fine excursion, though. And I like this beast. He patted its neck. Reminds me of the horses I left behind.

I’m glad you’re with me, Zafiil said. I don’t know what I would have done, confronted with Driizdan’s instructions.

You would have managed, my lady. You were trained for the unknown.

Had she been? The Hearth’s program had certainly tried.

The two rode in silence, or talked in the various languages they were practicing or teaching. The creatures maintained an even pace, parting the tall grasses and flushing tiny bright-winged insects from the swaying stalks. No wind broke the torpid heat until the day aged enough for the sky’s aquamarine to darken to turquoise. Then a cool breeze brushed the tops of the grasses, flowing toward a sunfall that set the horizon alight. The view struck her silent in awe. How vast the world seemed, and they the only things in sight! She peered up as the stars brightened into points on a violaceous sky, and almost felt she could sense them, the way she had so often as a child. If she cast a net toward them, would it catch on these foreign stars, or would she be denied?

She wasn’t brave enough to find out.

Zafiil was glad when they stopped for the night. Riding was uncomfortable—for the beasts as well, because they seemed relieved to be stripped of their gear. Setting up their camp and caring for them took some time; they’d chosen one of the few patches that wasn’t grown over with the tall grasses, but a safe fire needed a pit. The effort was worthwhile for the pleasure of sitting beside it, nibbling on the food they’d brought from town.

We’re not far. Seledor pressed the paper map to the ground where the fire’s licking light could reach it. Maybe a couple of hours tomorrow. His finger traced their path. This is an interesting place, if I’m reading the elevations correctly. I thought it was at sea level, but there’s a ridge here…. He tapped a line. So we appear to be on a low plateau. Do you know geology, my lady?

Not very well, Zafiil confessed. And all the worlds I’ve been on since home have been… strange. At his curious look, she lifted a finger on each hand and made them circle one another. My homeworld is two planets, orbiting one another, and together they orbit the sun. The tides are very complicated. The shadows are, too. And there are many stresses on the land.

Startled, Seledor said, I didn’t think that could last long without the two worlds colliding.

They will, eventually, Zafiil said. When the situation can no longer be tolerated, Faulza will lead us to a new home, the way He did before.

Then… your birthworld is not your species’s homeworld?

No. She began braiding some of the stalks of grass they’d cleared for the firepit. We were born on Quzen, as a species. But we destroyed that world, so Faullaizaf—our second FireBorn—led us to Qufiil.

He nodded. You have told me your personal story, my lady. Will you tell me your people’s?

And if I do, she asked, will you tell me yours?

I owe you that story, don’t I? He smiled. Yes. Secrets for secrets.

Her unconventional training came to her aid as she told him about the Faulfenza… what other Faulfenzair had been trained to memorize and recite their history, rather than Dance it? But even if she’d had the heart to Dance, it wouldn’t have served, not to educate an alien who couldn’t read the God’s sacred gift. He asked questions, now and then, but his curiosity never felt prurient or urgent; unlike the Pelted, his interest in her lacked the desperation of theirs. As if they’d been hollow, and her presence filled that emptiness.

But Seledor… Seledor was already full. When he began to tell her his people’s story, she understood why.

"You were human?" she said, eyes round.

He chuckled. Does it surprise you? You see the Pelted, and they look like humans. And you see humans, and we look like them.

I thought… She paused. I don’t know what I thought. How could I know what Others should look like, or that they should be unique in shape?

It’s well, Seledor said. It surprises me that no one has reached the obvious conclusion. Or perhaps I do them a disservice. Perhaps they wonder… but we have made it clear we are not interested in divulging anything, so… they can only wonder.

They let you remain mysteries.

They do. They’re lonely, my lady. They want friends in this universe.

Struck, Zafiil said, Do you think that’s what drives them?

Oh, without a doubt.

Seledor spoke on, as the wind shuffled the heads of the tasseled grains around them, and the night cooled. Their fire crackled between them, and in it Zafiil imagined she saw the figures of his tale spring to life: the humans who had chosen to leave their planet, had been thrown abruptly very far from home by an anomalous phenomenon… their shocking decision to alter themselves against what must surely be their god’s plan for them. But perhaps it was not so shocking—if the Eldritch had once been human, they had belonged to a society that had felt comfortable creating the Pelted. It was almost better, that they turned these heretical practices on themselves, rather than inflicting them on innocent creatures.

She was not surprised to hear that their society had begun to decay almost instantly. There were problems, Seledor said, slowly. He prodded the fire with one of the grass stalks. I think we might have avoided some of them had more of us survived. But so many of us died to the monsters on our world that we were left with too few to fight the changes being forced on our society by the overbearing. We weren’t meant to mimic creatures of legend and myth. Being flesh and blood, such was beyond us. But trying warped our civilization, so that some labored to maintain the illusion, and some enjoyed their efforts, at their expense. And our withdrawal from the galactic stage… His face looked gaunt in the light. Exposure to other peoples would have made it easier to correct our errors. We would have felt shame, and early enough that we wouldn’t have had time to become attached to our behaviors. If we wait too much longer, pride will make it too hard to change. And then… I don’t know what will happen to us.

So… you wish for the Pelted to know more about you?

His laugh was pained. I don’t know. It might be worse at this point. If we’d discovered the Pelted earlier… but we didn’t. And now, I can’t tell if revealing ourselves would damage what few good things there are about our world. A wry smile. And my brother would be wroth with me. He married our cousin, and for better or worse, she’ll be charting our future course. He tells me she’ll make the right choices, but I can’t help but doubt. Some say that our first queen could see the future, and bequeathed that ability to her family… but Maraesa’s shown no signs of mythic power.

And you have no messiahs to show you the way, Zafiil said.

Alas, no. How much easier our lives would be if we did! Or perhaps I speak too easily. Maybe a messiah would make them harder in other ways. What do you think?

I think it is good to know what the God requires of you. Zafiil fed the fire some of her braided grasses. The texture reassured her, scratchy and present, unlike the nebulous fears in her heart. But you also lose the excuse of not knowing what He requires of you. And then… then you must do it, no matter how hard.

As I thought, Seledor said, That does not sound easier. And when I try to imagine the Eldritch with a prophet of the power and certainty of one of your Voices or Hands… He was still, and it was as if he had shuddered. Perhaps we will find out one day, what it is like to know your choices, and your choicelessness.

But it is a choice, Zafiil protested. You can choose to turn from Him.

I do not share your devotion by half, my lady, and even I know better. If one knows the right path, failing to walk it is folly. And yet… He chuckled. Sometimes it is only through our own folly that we learn.

Hard heads learn against walls, Zafiil agreed, which made him laugh so much that she couldn’t help her nose wrinkle. Then he had to learn how it was said in Faulfenzair, and attempt translation into his tongue, and the conversation passed into gentler intimacies.

Usually I play myself to sleep, Seledor said. But for your sake, I shall forgo the lute.

You could sing?

If it would not trouble you?

No, she said.

Beneath Sharsenne’s indigo sky and on its flattened back, Zafiil curled into a ball, and Seledor’s voice slowed her thoughts. She could understand one or two words now as he sang—‘home’ and ‘sea’ and ‘dance’—but she soon lost the sense of it, and felt only calm, and slept.

CHAPTER 3

Their destination was a modest pair of wooden buildings rising out of the grasses, with a curving arc of trees shading the corral for its handful of beasts. It sat on a short ridge that barely qualified as an elevation in the grasslands. Their arrival startled a flock of fat white birds, which set up such a honking they drove several people from inside the building to see what the commotion was.

Zafiil was under her keep-hidden again, so Seledor waved a greeting and called, Hail the settlement!

Hail the weary travelers, answered one of the figures, striding toward them, her long clothes swirling around her legs. Like Zafiil’s keep-hidden, her clothing had a hood, which she pushed back when she reached them.

Was it inevitable that this smiling Other was human?

What brings you to Saint Jasmine’s? the female said, stopping at the neck of Seledor’s beast and catching its reins. Can we convince you to come in, have some cider? We make a good one. It’s a family recipe.

You can, as it is you we were traveling to see, on the recommendation of a friend.

Oh? She glanced from him to Zafiil. Well. Let’s get out of the sun, shall we?

Zafiil had expected the inside of the building to be dim, but instead it was full of warm red shadows, as if it had shifted the too-bright light toward a friendlier spectrum. The walls, the floor, the ceilings, had all been made of the same ruddy lumber, and the smell was intense: woody and clean, with a hint of some tart fruit. The antechamber the human brought them through was as small as the FireMother’s from Qodii, and as cozy, and was partitioned into several different spaces by means of raised or lowered floors and lattice arches. But they were swiftly seated on a semicircular bench built into the outside wall of the room, under several long windows, and their hostess was setting out a pitcher, three wooden mugs, and a plate with a loaf of bread. One of her cowled associates brought a pot of something creamy and a knife and left them with it.

My name is Sister Jasmine Foster, the human said. I took our founding mother’s name when I came out here to establish this mission of St. Jasmine, which I hope one day will be big enough to be called an abbey. Her grin creased the reddish-brown skin around her mouth into high curves. Right now the four of us and the animals are it, though. I assume someone referred you to us because of our work with refugees?

Yes, Seledor said.

Is there someone who needs help?

Zafiil said, soft, That would be me.

The human turned toward her, and not all that Zafiil knew of this Other species could convince her that this particular person was evil. Was it wrong of her to judge based on the facial expressions of an alien race she barely knew? Or was there something else that Zafiil sensed, something that told her this person had earned a chance to be seen as a good person, despite the horrible history of her species?

Alet, the human said, if you’re in trouble, you will find shelter here. No questions asked.

Zafiil waited for the human to add some caveat, but none came. That is all you need from me? she asked, surprised.

If you can lend a hand around the mission, we’d be grateful, the human said. But other than that… no. Our work is to serve the needy, and in particular, women and children, and those fleeing injustice. As long as this building is standing—and even if it falls!—we will do that work.

Zafiil glanced at Seledor, but the Eldritch said, It is your decision, my lady. I’m following you.

Which was as it should be. If her desire was to do as Faulza willed, she had to be the one to listen for His spirit. And in the absence of divine guidance, to wait and hope to receive it. Looking again at Jasmine, Zafiil thought that she could do worse than to wait here, where she might be exposed to humans and learn a little about them. Though four humans hardly seemed enough to judge a species.

That thought brought her up short, for four Faulfenza would have been sufficient. Or so she would have believed in the past.

I… I would like to stay, she said.

Break bread with me, then, the human said. And I’ll show you to your cells. Another of those sudden grins. Don’t worry, it’s not as bad as it sounds.

We know, Seledor said, smiling back as he reached for the plate. And thank you, alet.

* * *

The rooms were a revelation.

They are caves! Zafiil said.

Nice and cool in summer, and easy to warm in winter. The cells anyway. Jasmine was standing near the stairs, but her voice carried easily down the stone corridor. Both Zafiil and Seledor had to duck not to graze the ceiling, but she liked the contrast with the high ceilings in the building upstairs. This is the guest side of the dormitory. I sleep with the sisters on the other side of the stairs, so if you want us you go in the opposite direction. There’s a door, but it’s only there so visitors won’t be bothered by us coming and going for offices. If you keep going down the corridor past our cells, you’ll end up in the catacombs. There’s an underground pool, and a cellar where we keep supplies.

And refugees, I wager, Seledor said.

Exactly. It keeps them out of sight. And if you poke around, you’ll stumble onto the tunnels, and those are a warren… it’s easy to get lost in them. That means if someone stops by to ask us questions, they’re not going to find anyone unless they’re determined.

I would have thought modern technology would have made it easy to uncover living things in hiding? Seledor asked.

It can, but it’s a lot of trouble. And you have to know. If you hunt around, you’ll find these cells, our pool and cellar… but nothing else. Not easily, at least. You’d have to get through the water.

Should you be telling us your secrets? Seledor asked.

I’m not afraid an Eldritch will sell me out, the human said with a smile. Not given what I’ve heard.

What have you heard? Zafiil asked, wondering what the story about the Eldritch sounded like to other races, and particularly this one.

But Jasmine said nothing about the mysteries shrouding the Eldritch species. That they’re much coveted by slavers, who want to trade them to the Chatcaava.

Seledor had ducked into his small room to set his pack and instrument case down, but this comment caused him to stop at its door.

You know that, don’t you? the human said.

No, Seledor said. That I hadn’t.

Her face twisted into a grimace. You should be careful.

I am, always. And if you are at liberty to discuss it, I should like to hear everything you know about how an alien species we had not met until less than two decades ago should already wish to traffic in Eldritch. Who rarely are seen abroad.

I’ll tell you everything I know, the human said.

You… must know a great deal about these terrible things, Zafiil said. If it is your work to help those fleeing.

I do. Jasmine’s smile was harder to see in the dimness. I think of it as one of the many ways humanity can use its hard-won knowledge of atrocity to help their children.

You find meaning in evil, Zafiil said, struggling.

Of course not, the human said. Evil is meaningless. But the lessons you learn from suffering are potent, and there’s no other way to get them except through experience.

And if some lessons should never be learned? Zafiil asked, tentative.

It’s not my business to tell God what He should be teaching me, the human replied. My job is to learn. She nodded toward the ladder, her smile blooming again. I’ll be upstairs… once you’ve settled in, come on up and I’ll show you around the mission. It’s small but it’s ours.

After Jasmine had departed, Zafiil stripped off her keep-hidden and set it on the cot with her pack. The cell was just large enough for its inhabitant to lie down, and the wall across from the cot had a single ledge for a shelf and a divot dug into the stone for the light. It reminded her of her compartment on the Hearth; like that compartment, she guessed its size was based on the assumption that its occupants would be spending most of their time in common areas. She ran a hand over the cool stone before stepping into the corridor to find the Eldritch just… standing at his door.

Zeledor? she asked.

I didn’t know, he said, low. We have had people leave to go exploring before, and not return, but we assumed it was because they’d chosen not to return. What if they were caught… and sold as slaves?

Oh, Zafiil breathed. I hope not.

He shook his head. We came for your sake, my lady. And yet, perhaps we had to come for mine as well.

Your world has not been visited by pirates, Zafiil said, hesitant.

No. We would know… there are too few of us not to know.

So a world could remain hidden from evil-doers. But for how long? She met his eyes, and saw her own concerns in them.

CHAPTER 4

The mission had rooms devoted to functions in a way that reminded Zafiil of a scout ship: a kitchen, a laundry room, bathing and eating areas, a common room and a place for praying. The extra building was half carpentry shop and half cider press. There was a small garden on the opposite side of the buildings from the animal pen, where the tall white birds ran with smaller brown cousins, largely ignored by the six creatures kept for milk. We get a lot of our supplies from Dilly, Jasmine said as she walked them through their tour. About half a day, round-trip, and they come by once a week with a wagon. About eight hundred people there and growing, but they’re being picky about settlers. We also get our apples from them for the cider, though I hope we’ll have our own orchard eventually. Most of our money right now comes from manuscripts, but I’d like to have more than one income stream. We won’t be able to grow unless we’re self-sufficient, we’re too far from home.

Where is home? Zafiil asked.

Mars, the human said. That’s another planet in the solar system with our homeworld. My order is based on Mars because that’s where Blessed Mother Jasmine—the first Jasmine—did her work with Martian war orphans. We’re the first mission to a world on the border, in fact. Though I’m sure many more are on the way. There’s need.

Manuscripts, Seledor repeated, though