Part 2

The Pheonix

           By the time the sun had set she was too tired even to sleep. No one would've called her the 'White One' if they'd seen her then - she was covered in mud, blood, and every type of plant's fiber and slime. She'd dragged the creature's pack up with her and laid it nearby, lashed the Mah'sur to a tree, and pulled out a blanket, but she eyed her newest companion warily. Would it wake in the night and kill her if she laid with it? Would it die in the cold if she didn't? Iliun bent over and looked down at the thing's face.
           It was breathing shallowly. The woman was breathing shallowly. It, the woman, her patient - it needed a name. She decided to wake the creature up so that she might talk with her. She leaned down over it and licked the woman's nose. There was a tiny moan, almost imperceptible, and the creature put her head to the side. Iluin continued, lapping at the skin on its face that she'd left bare. It whimpered and she slowed, becoming gentler as she washed. It was like a baby; she cleaned it like one.
           "Khau, uhn, uhngh," It moaned, opening its eyes. Those eyes laid on her and all the muscles in the woman's face went taught. It burbled a stream of nonsense, struggling with its bandages and then crying out in the pain that caused. Iluin held her firmly and stopped the thing's panicked motions even as she pulled away.
           "Hai, be calm. I'm your friend, I'm your friend." She spoke very, very calmly and very quietly. "I won't hurt you. You're going to be fine. No, stop struggling. I can't help you if you do that." It didn't understand, just knew she was restraining it, and it fought her feebly. She just held the woman and spoke softly to her. When the woman was spent she lapped up the salty water that drained from her eyes, being careful not to tear the soft cheek and eye membranes. It looked at her balefully, trying to get away but with less of that crazed look in its eyes. "That's right. Friend. I'm your friend." It croaked something, moving its mouth pathetically. Oh. Water. Of course.
           Iluin retrieved a waterskin and her smallest saucer, really little more than a palm-sized disk. She sat beside her patient, showing the saucer and waterskin, then put her mouth on the waterskin's feeder nipple and took a mouthful. "See? It's safe." Then she squeezed some out on the saucer and lowered it to the woman's lips, watched the water drain away. It enunciated something, something that raised pitch at the end questioningly. "More?" So she gave it another round - gave it three more, actually, until it stopped asking. Iluin finished that skin's water, then put it and the saucer aside. "Listen," she said softly, "I want your name. Something to call you." It didn't comprehend. She sighed and patted her chest. "Iluin. Il-u-in. That's me. I'm Iluin. Do you have a name?"
           "Ilwin?" It whispered hoarsely. It spoke like a Mah'sur, rough and sandy in its inflection.
           "Iluin. Ill-u-win. Yes." She patted her chest again. "Iluin." Then she put a claw on the creature's cheek. "You?"
           "Iluin," it breathed, then stared. Not much of a speaker, it was. But then, It had a face that looked all smashed in and flat - barely any muzzle at all. 'Iluin' was probably very impressive. Still, it didn't seem to understand what she wanted. She tapped the woman's cheek inquiringly and waited. It swallowed, winced, then made a little coughing purr noise.
           "What?"
           "Rachel," It repeated. What an odd name. She could hear it, its flow and rhythm, but she wasn't sue she could reproduce it.
           "Rhaqul?"
           "Rachel."
           "Rhakul?"
           "Rachel." Iluin mouthed it a few times,
           "Rakhl." The woman didn't try to correct her that time, she just exhaled and closed her eyes, then mumbled incoherently. Iluin picked up the blanket, unfolded it, and draped it across them both, still sitting beside her. The woman looked at her then, frightened, and tried to move. "Rakhl," she purred soothingly, and laid beside her, putting one arm over Rakhl's chest and cupping the furless one's head with the hand of the other. Rakhl didn't move, but her breathing was fast, and after a moment she turned her head to look Iluin straight in the eyes. Iluin moved closer, set herself against Rahkl and purred softly. She touched noses with her, Iluin's small leathery triangle against her large fleshy one. Iluin smiled, lifted her snout to lick the woman's nose, then drifted off to sleep. It was more restful than any she had had in a long time.
          
           ---v---
          
           In light of recent events I believe I've little choice but to become a patron of the diasporic theories. Somehow I'm so far away from home that I don't recognize the stars in the sky, but yet I'm breathing alien air and my lungs have yet to collapse. This planet I've found, it's just like Earth; the improbability of it astounds me. I can only accept that crazy theory in which the scraps of life are spread across the universe by some exterior force. Call it the Progenitor Vector. Call it God. It really doesn't concern me, but the aftereffects do. Once you get past all the mystically religious nonsense of the prime beginnings, the laws of science and reason begin to take hold. Who'd have thought that the mechanics of life were so strict? That life, no matter how resilient, simply existed in one pattern, needed one set of environmental conditions to further itself?
           Or perhaps the fact that I can survive here is my luck. Perhaps, although there are ranges of hospitable conditions, some are, as a product of evolution and biochemistry, more probable than others, and I was lucky to pick a planet that could host me. It makes me wonder - do ecosystems terraform the planets on which they arise? If so, perhaps terraforming is a misnomer. Bioforming might be more precise. But look at two failed planets back home: Venus and Mars. Venus, if I remember correctly, was just a little too hot, and its heat set off a chain reaction much like Earth's greenhouse effect, dashing the young world's chances for supporting life. Mars, as we all know, was so cool and small that all the water froze or wisped away. But if life had taken root on either one, if even the simplest cyanobacteria had evolved, would they have been enough to offset those planets' temperature cascades, would they have 'bioformed' their planets away from the edges of survivability, from thermal extremism, and given Earth a pair of sisters? I wonder.
           -Dr. Rachel Mitchell, diary excerpt from 10/28/2082
          
           The first thing she noticed when she woke was her lack of a helmet. Rachel gasped, tried to hold her breath, and then realized how silly she was being. The atmosphere would've killed her in her sleep if it'd been poisonous. Groggily she thought it odd that any place but Earth would have air she could breath, but it was too early to consider that statistical improbability. She tried to rise, then winced and gasped as she fell back stiffly, dull pain flooding her senses.
           That was a mistake. That roused him.
           "Rakhl?" he asked in his rich tenor voice. The thing, the alien, rolled from its place beside her and filled her vision with his face. "Rakhl? Paru naish'ta?" She tried to turn her head away, but he had a hand on her jaw.
           "I'm fine, Iluin," she muttered sullenly. God, she hoped he wouldn't hurt her. She just tried to be as inoffensive as possible. It didn't quite look like it would hurt her yet. Of course, that was using a human filter to analyze an alien reaction; Rachel couldn't really read that expression.
           Iluin's visage was going to stick in her dreams, she had no doubts. He looked like a thin-faced cougar or a hard-featured lynx: thick, slightly tufted ears and emerald eyes in a face that was mostly cat - the difference was much like that between an ape and a man. His face held a lesser capacity for expression than hers, though by Iluin's actions she thought that their expressions were probably more or less equivalent. Actually, if she looked past the dirt and the patchwork of small bandages on his face and chest, Rachel thought he kept some nobility in his carriage. He flicked one of his ears, blinked slowly, and pursed his lips. She tried to flinch when he reached his head down and nuzzled her neck. "Ah, god, that hurts!" she seethed though clenched teeth. He pulled away.
           "Rakhl?"
           "Don't you Rakhl me," she said, grimacing, and tried to get her arms under her. The pain was sharp, like cutting knives, and Iluin held her like he didn't want her up, but Rachel was determined to sit. She managed it, then promptly slumped forward into Iluin's waiting arms. He hugged her to him, shoving her face into his breast, and the stench of plants, dirt, and musk overpowered her. "Ugh. I'd be better off dead. You don't speak English, do you, Iluin?" He gently pushed her away, held her at arm's length, and stared at her with something like concern.
           "Ari yho kama deish'tet. Kauriat ll'shad, sho?" Rachel sighed, letting her defeat shine through. There wasn't anyone around who'd notice her expression, so why bother hiding it?
           "Oh, never mind. Do you have any water?" His expression lit up.
           "Whar? Allo." He took his hands off her and walked away.
           If she'd been a geologist she would've been content to lie there and ecstatic to have such a view (exogeology: was there such a field?). Old, weather-worn mountains gentle as the slopes of China were at her left, while young, rough, edgy mountains that looked for all the world like the Andes lay at her right. She suspected that the mountain range she was on was in fact nothing but the result of the two at her sides forcing towards each other, though that required a tiny slip of a tectonic plate to be wedged in between them. It was amazing, really, but as a physicist she thought she probably couldn't appreciate the phenomena, much as she wouldn't expect anyone but a fellow physicist to understand the Mitchell particle. And, of course, she doubted that there was anyone on the entire planet who could grasp either occurrence - that was the hierarchy of needs, or, as one of her colleagues in the psychology department would've said, nobody worries about where the stars go until after they get the roof over their head. Judging by Iluin's dress and possessions, she'd be lucky to see the first glimmers of a renaissance, much less an industrial revolution. Maybe if she were lucky she'd find an alien Pythagoras or Copernicus, but she didn't have much hope for that.
           Which was depressing. She'd seen her last electron, her last proton; on the off chance she survived here she'd be reduced to theory, no longer having the modern equipment to see atoms and sub-atomics 'in the rough' or to take data. Even worse, it was highly unlikely that anyone would ever see and learn or understand any work that she did. Rachel sighed, looking around. There were fronded gymnosperm bushes, large conifer look-alikes, and tiny winged psuedo-reptiles flitting high up in the trees. Well, they probably had glass. She could make lenses, once she figured out how. They probably didn't know about microscopes or microbes. Rachel snorted. Her fourth major had been in biochemistry, but she'd been mostly apathetic about the dual masters program the second time through. It had been intriguing enough for her to follow it halfway to the doctorate; she supposed she could switch to xenobiology. Hell, she was still in her early thirties, it wasn't exactly a mid-life course correction. It didn't really matter what field she worked in as long as she was discovering, did it?
           Iluin came back holding two pouches of hide with little mouthpieces on their tops, pinkish dimples. She couldn't keep herself from wondering if that was intestinal lining; the non-speculative half of her didn't really want to know. He sat facing her, knee to knee, and handed over a pouch, demonstrating how to suck a bit out from the dimple. She stared at the mouthpiece, at the folds of tanned flesh. It was definitely some part of the digestive tract. Rachel shuddered, but took a swig, coughed and sputtered at the pain moving her arm brought, then stared at Iluin and spoke to him sternly.
           "If anyone ever tells you that a degree will get you somewhere, tell them to go to hell." He didn't understand, but there was a earnest expression of attention on his face. The eyes were on her, the ears were perked; Rachel smirked, wishing that she could've had students whose ears could perk. "Look at me, Iluin, look at me: a doctorate and three masters. I went all the way in physics, came almost as close in astronomy, computer science, and biochemistry - I've got the whole range of specialist's degrees and certifications, every last damn one. It took me nearly a decade and a half-dozen million dollars of other people's money." And at that there was a grin: find me now, you blood-sucking loan banker pigs! "Those were supposed to get me either to Mars or outside of the solar system, because the space budget was booming when I was a kid and everybody knew they were gonna do something big like send someone to the red planet and they were only going to take the best and dammit, I was the best!" She paused to breathe.
           "Do you know where all that work got me, Iluin?"
           He blinked. "Hai, Rahkl. Fau?" She shook her head at him.
           "No, not here, it got me a job as an assistant professor at the University of Michigan's physics department, and that only because my predecessor had a heart attack. Before that I was a damn TA. I didn't even make it into NASA: cheaper to have me on as an 'informal consultant'. Then I finally forced them to give me something back besides loan payments and I ended up with you." She sneered at herself, took another drink, and scowled down at the ground. "And I lost my first crew. They didn't last a day in my care. Some goddamn hero I am!" Maybe it was foolish to be so callous towards an unknown like Iluin. But there wasn't anything either of them could do, and Iluin didn't understand yet, and damned if it didn't hurt to keep quiet. Quiet made pain more noticeable - babbling was preferable. "Should've joined the private sector and worked on hormones," she muttered. "Sex pills and steroids and diet drugs. I could've built my own starship off that money. And I wouldn't have gotten anyone killed." A paw brushed her shoulder, then patted it softly, too gentle to hurt her. He picked up something, maybe. Her emotions, if not her ideas. He growled something that sounded like a failing engine, then patted her again.
           "Rakhl," he said softly, and held her for a moment.
           "It's alright, Iluin; it's not your fault, it's mine. Mine and the universe's."
          

---v---

           Time hazed. She became very sick after the third day, began flushing hot and aching all over. It was at least a week in clearing up - she remembered very little of that period except riding the beast during the days and huddling close to her furry companion through the nights. Iluin demanded and insisted that they continue on the path northward (her compass told her it was so), accepting few delays, so it was north that they traveled. Even after she'd recovered Rachel worried about disease: at night they ate game that Iluin had caught shortly before, meat that was never cooked well enough because apparently Iluin thought anything more than medium rare was unhealthy. In the mornings they finished off the nights' scraps. Neither of them had showered or bathed since they'd met, and both were now smudged light brown. They stank. Rachel worried about having to redress their bandages, but Iluin didn't seem concerned. She took some solace in that she was alien to this environment and its pathogens, and therefore was probably less susceptible to the native diseases. She'd still brought her own supply of them, however, and when the mulches of leaves around your forearm started to go brown and smell you became concerned very quickly.
           To be fair, though, Iluin's treatments helped immeasurably: she gained back the ability to stand and walk (albeit stiffly) very quickly. By the end of the second week she was hobbling about independently and could go as many as five or six steps before collapsing. Considering the state in which she'd been found, Rachel considered that quite an achievement. She mostly thought Iluin was annoyed that after two weeks he still had to lift her into the saddle.
           Jolting beast-ride notwithstanding, she was grateful when Iluin finally stopped and led them farther into the valley between the older and younger mountains (the middle range long since having petered out). There was a pool at the valley's sloping bottom, too thin and shallow to be seriously called a lake, covered and mostly obscured by trees and tall bushes. Rachel had missed it in and among the canopy of the light forest, but Iluin had tapped her leathery black nose knowingly and headed downhill. He smelled the water, probably. A mountain spring higher up gushed water onto the boulders above them, over which the water broke into crystal sluices and cascaded in tiny falls to the clear green pool below. Unusually thick-fronded bushes and vines crowed the pond's perimeter, and tiny blue, green, and brown fish raced in swarms near the pool's center. Iluin grinned and shrugged off his cloak after helping her off their beast, but Rachel was cautious enough not to move.
           "Safe, Iluin?" she asked in his language. Hari - safe - was a word she knew now, as she knew dirhari, its opposite. In two weeks her understanding of his language had extended to an amazing dozen words; she knew safe, dangerous, yes and no, good and bad, water, food, help, friend, follow, and quiet. She was proud of those achievements, having deciphered what seemed to be Iluin's entire vocabulary.
           "Safe," he assured her, smiling and dipping his ears in his coyest fashion. She fumbled with the bandages on her arms, flinched madly at the pain, then tried picking off the ones on her legs. Hurt too much. Rachel fell to her knees in embarrassment and spoke very meekly to Iluin's back.
           "Help," she asked softly. Iluin turned to regard her, then hissed in dismay and came to her side, rattling off growls of what could have been self-admonishment. He was firm with his grip but gentle with his claws as he slit the bandages most of the way down to her healing skin and then peeled away the rest. She squirmed and winced as he picked the fouled cloth off her body. They'd been her only clothes for two weeks and when they came away her wounds were raw and dark purple. They oozed a pungent, misty fluid. Infected wounds, then. Wonderful. At least the burns were mostly healed and the gouges in her lacerated limbs seemed shallower. Considering that Iluin was using fairly ancient pharmaceuticals, she was probably lucky.
           Iluin towered over her, staring down at the leaking wounds. A more modest woman would've been mortified, but Rachel didn't mind - hell, they were different species. There wasn't a human around for light-years. He touched her legs gently and tensed as she balked at the assault on her tender wounds. Eventually he just blinked, dug into his breech's pockets, and pulled out a hairbrush.
           "Uhr," he named the dull wooden brush, then removed a brown package and unraveled it to reveal a grey lump. "Marop." That was brush and… soap? Rachel wasn't sure - it looked like dusty earwax. He smiled at her, set both on the ground, and patted her cheek. "Follow," he said, then stood and waded halfway into the pool. His tail swished and beat itself against the water, muddying both to a pale tan.
           He laughed at himself, or at least it looked that way. His ears were up, which was mirth in a cat back home. He'd gotten up to his knees in water before he realized that his shirt and breeches were still on. Iluin peeled off both and threw them onto the shore, turning around to her with a smile as he did so. This time Rachel did blush. Damn, and she'd sworn that Iluin was a man. Stupid assumption really, but Iluin looked like she had as much muscle mass as Rachel had mass, period. Maybe it was the men who were the runts? Iluin pointed down at the items she'd shown Rachel. "Miriya," she ordered, giving her a come-hither hand wave.
           "Coming," she said quietly, picking the brush and soap up. Where had the sympathy for her sorry state gone? Rachel gritted her teeth and rose, then stepped in. Really it was more of a stumble, especially once she started shivering at the frigid water; she wasn't hurt too badly when she hit the water face first, and she floated well enough. At Iluin's beckoning she pushed the brush and soap to her. With a ripple of muscles Iluin disappeared under the water, leaving a circle of tiny waves. It was odd that such a compact figure could be so fluid in her movements; Iluin's considerable girth made her seem an unlikely candidate for such grace. Still, her subtle dive left Rachel feelling weak and gangly.
           The water was frigid, but felt wonderful after she got past the initial shock. The cold against her wounds was soothing and the thin liquid running across her skin was welcome change to the cloying, chafing cloth and rotting plants she'd worn for the last half month. Rachel felt the residue of the bandages and compacts wafting away from her body; she kicked off the pond bottom and floated towards the center, helping the current to pull the filth off her body. It felt good to be able to move without exerting all the force in her fatigued, listless frame. Rachel laughed as Iluin, still underwater, was buried in a cloud of mud and dirt. She must've been thrashing about pretty hard. Iluin came up and spat a mouthful of water with her eyes closed in bliss, scrubbing hard at her chin and neck. It was the first time that Rachel had seen Iluin even resembling something like clean; she gaped at the sight.
           God, but Iluin was pale; she was beyond albino. The contrast was amazing. Her chest, where she hadn't begun scrubbing, was tan with dirt that'd washed away to a blizzard's white on her muzzle. Without the dirt and grime to mat her cheek hairs, Iluin's face had lost its angular harshness and become soft-featured and expressive. With those eyes clenched shut in relieved pleasure, her friend began to look less real and more like some animal deity or totem spirit of an era long gone.
           Iluin erupted with a burbling growl when she saw Rachel looking at her. Rachel swam away a bit, regarding the feline woman carefully, but Iluin's ears weren't down. In a flash from a previous life she remembered the big cats at the Washington Zoo doing something like that, a sort of plosive moan. Chuffing, they called it. Rachel didn't remember what emotion it signified, but Iluin wasn't making any threatening moves. She tentatively flagged it as a happy noise. Another chuff and Iluin threw her the soapish lump. She tried cleaning some of her unwounded skin, but the stuff was so sandy abrasive that it made her wince. It was only good for getting the slime off her hide.
           "Dhar noshe help?" Iluin asked, swimming over to her with a few strong strokes. Rachel thought she'd caught the last of those three words; otherwise she would have turned around and started pushing for shore. Nonetheless, she tread water quietly, unable to get past the instinctual wariness caused by having a deadly predator so near. Iluin handed her the brush and turned around, arching her back and stretching her arms up in the air.
           "Oh," Rachel said, a bit relieved, and in English: "sure." She steadied herself with a hand on Iluin's shoulder and rubbed the brush down the woman's spine, dislodging a flurry of soil from her protector's back. There was so much of it; Iluin leaned back into Rachel's grip and purred, sagging as she sighed gustily. She made Rachel uneasy, but Rachel brushed at her pelt roughly anyway. Was it safe to be swimming in a cloud of dirty water when you were sporting a half-dozen putrifying wounds? Were hoards of little protists swimming their way into her body as she bobbed in the pool there? For a moment they floated together (she and Iluin, not the protists, who had no business floating anywhere near her), Iluin as lax as a piece of furry driftwood while Rachel quietly worked over her. She finished with Iluin's back, then gripped her around the chest and started brushing down her front torso. Somewhere an insect chirped to itself in patterns, a little ditty that only it understood. Hnnn-zt! Hn-zt! Hnnnnnnnzt!
           Iluin's muscles suddenly went taught.
           "Quiet," Iluin hissed. "Quiet, quiet." Rachel stopped brushing and let her go, slipping into the water until only her nose and mouth above the surface. High-pitched chirps echoed from the trees along with the whistling of the wind, distorted and buried under the quiet roaring of the water currents. Their surroundings dimmed as a cloud blocked the sun. The chirping of the world's insects increased, and in front of her Rachel felt Iluin dive silently into the water again. Rachel came up a little, just enough to watch her companion's snowy form jet down to the pool's center. Iluin sunk to the floor and kicked forcefully at the bottom, agitating the gravel bottom and sending up a silent, billowing cloud of concealing silt. Inwardly Rachel grinned to herself. Her companion could think on her feet. Whether the alien was an intellect remained to be seen, but Rachel had been surprised. She looked down into the pool, waiting to see where Iluin would surface.
           Hnnn-zt! Hn-zt! Hnnnnnnnzt!
           Nothing happened as Rachel peeked farther above the water, staring out past the trees and bushes at their pack beast, searching for danger. How long could that cat hold her breath?
           Hnnn-zt! Hn-zt! Hnnnnnnnzt!
           Iluin burst up from the water on the far side from Rachel and the beast in one liquid movement, landing in a crouch in about shin-high water, then threw herself forward towards the bank, apparently unsatisfied with how far she'd leapt. Rachel snapped her head around trying to find a threat, but all she saw was Iluin moving to cover. As soon as Iluin was on land Rachel saw nothing of her either; the alien was darting from bush to treetop in an amazingly graceful blur. She turned around in the pond to look at Iluin's pile of clothes, but before she had managed the twist she heard a metal cry. Iluin was crouching in a definitely hostile stance atop her cloak and shirt, holding her sword at the ready. It was a monstrous thing, the size of a spear and almost as curved as a scimitar. She didn't want to be anywhere near Iluin when she had that thing out, friend or not.
           "Iluin?" she whispered. Iluin lowered her point and loosed a hand to wave Rachel into silence. Then she put both hands on her sword's grip and turned in a slow circle, scanning the area with intent eyes and stiff, unmoving ears. Her tail was flipping from side to side, the only noise for an eternity of seconds.
           Hnnn-zt! Hn-zt! Hnnnnnnnzt!
           "Jhe," she finally spat with resignation, bending over to take her scabbard and then sheathing her weapon. "Yarouse nomar ofa." She shivered, then waded back into the pool. "Hai, Rakhl." Rachel dove for the brush, then came back up with it in her hands. "Ehfha," she sighed, and collapsed back into Rachel's grip.
           "No safe?" Rachel asked worriedly. Iluin was silent.
           "No safe? [Not] safe," she corrected. Rachel tried again.
           "Not safe? Dangerous water?"
           "Dangerous, yes," Iluin murmured. "Tahm sraui dangerous."
           "Bad?" Iluin lolled her head back and smiled toothily.
           "Bad? No, not bad. Friend, Rakhl. Friend." That wasn't very reassuring. Rachel swallowed and closed her eyes, shaking her head, then switched to English.
           "God, kitty. What're you doing?" She pulled Iluin's left arm up and took the brush to it, rubbing the alien's cheek with her free hand. "I'd be dead if it weren't for you and that thing you ride. Don't go weird on me, don't you dare." And then, when that didn't feel like enough: "Listen to me, talking like a madwoman. God, I should've stayed a programmer." The cat in her arms watched her softly.
           "Safe, Rakhl. Friend."
           "Yeah, I'm sure." She pulled Iluin around and gave her the brush. "Your turn. Let's get out of here before your noises comes back."
          

---v---

           Circle, circle, circle. Rinse, swipe, place. Another plate went onto the pile. He took the next and threw his cleaning rag into the laundry basket, picking up a clean cloth. There were three circular wipes to be made, then a rinse through the water bucket, then a final swipe away of the water before a plate or saucer was 'clean'. Vauhya panted, stopping for a minute to scratch at an itch on his brow. The cramped, foggy washroom wasn't much different from his own personal hell.
           Garrat had made the cleaning room by putting a wall of iron bars and a counter into the corner of the kitchen. The firepit that man used for cooking was twice the size it needed to be - most of the orders that came in were just for booze. And Garrat had it on every hour of every day, 'till the water in Vauhya's washing buckets turned to choking fog and the grease of cooking meat and sticky filth wafted into his pelt. The only advantage was that you got to step outside and refill your water every once in a while, and you could get a free chance to do so if you had to use your water in putting out one of Garrat's numerous kitchen fires. Vauhya sometimes wondered whether he was going to immolate or suffocate first.
           It was better up front. Vauhya would rather have been serving at the bar than washing: more work, but the conditions were livable. At least he wasn't junior-most anymore; he'd been there not half a season and already was the third most experienced of Garrat's employees. That was third out of eight. He supposed that people left for a good reason after doing the work he was doing then, and that he should do the same, but he was tied to the place. Maybe it was that he had a chance to eventually rise to some trivial kind of power. Maybe it was that moving to a new place was work when he already had food, a roof, and people to live with day and night. Maybe it was that he didn't want to advertise a face that could get him killed. Or maybe it was just that Iluin had set him there and he didn't want to move. Might make it hard to find him if she ever decided to.
           Circle, circle, circle. Who was he trying to convince? Rinse, swipe, place. That wasn't going to happen. Circle, circle, circle. Oh. Of course. He remembered now. Rinse, swipe, place. He was trying to convince himself. The plates weren't getting any fewer - two days' worth of work because their newest, I'sha, had been slow on her last five-day shift there. Vauhya set his cloth down and bent over the counter. Time for some air. He grabbed the water bucket and walked in hunched modesty towards the back entrance, trying to go unnoticed.
           "Hey, Vauhya!" Garrat yelled from over the pit. Vauhya turned around wearily.
           "Garrat, sir, I ask you every day not to do that. It's not much, sir." The fat old man grinned a full set of chipped teeth at him, wearing that sort of confusing expression of ears-flat good humor only Garrat could manage.
           "Vauhya, it's a common name. Don't worry about it. If anything makes you suspicious, my friend, it's your paranoia. Vau, though, if it makes you feel better. You have half a bucket there."
           "You want a full set of cultures, or just a partial?" Vauhya asked, tilting the bucket so Garrat could see its contents. "There are strains in this stuff that the royal Yoichi arsenal can't match." Garrat laughed, staking a leg of meat in the fire and tossing it onto the stone pit's edge to cool.
           "Nothing that bad. I keep the molds away from the customers; there's nothing so bad in there."
           "Enough to make them sick. Sick customers don't eat, sir."
           "Ah," Garrat said, dusting down the meat with a grain meal and finely powdered sugar, "But you have to think, Vau. The Red Hide mostly just gets traveling customers. Passers by, you know? Sick customers can't pass by, they got to stay and pay, eh?" Vauhya looked at him with a cynical, nonplussed pursing of the lips.
           "You're actually trying to make me think that you're poisoning your customers to keep them here? Could've worked harder on a story than that. You think I'm going to believe that?"
           "Nah." Garrat set down his brush and held up the finished slab of meat. "Justifying laziness. You do whatever you want, Vauhy - ah, Vau. Just remember that I need all those clean by the end of tomorrow."
           "I'll get it done," he promised, than pushed his way past the back door.
           The cool night air rushed around him as he escaped with an infernal blast of hot, wet air at his back. The creek wasn't far; just down a back path. He drained out his bucket by the side of the road, making sure not to get his feet in it. Nasty stuff.
           The nika were out. He enjoyed watching the web-winged lizards circle and harry each other in the sky. His new colleagues were certain that the little flyers were playing when they did that. As an educated man he knew that they were chasing bugs, but he could see how their flippant aerial acrobatics might be misconstrued as such. They were a piece of home. Nika were everywhere, like dirt and the sun, but he remembered the same kind flitting about outside his window in the spring, back when…
           Vauhya turned his eyes down, ignoring them. No point in courting his own sentimentality.
           When he'd trudged down the winding, muddy road far enough, his claws started to scrabble and click on the smooth river stones and the moist grey clay of the creek's banks. Vauyha dipped his bucket into the channel of cold, clear water, then sloshed the water in his pail around, poured it out, and filled the bucket back up. That wasn't safe enough - used to be that he wouldn't touch water unless all the molds had been boiled out of it - but he'd learned to live with much more coarseness in his life than that. The first few days he'd been bedridden with a whole host of strains that Garrat said were things he should've gotten as a kid. The real world wasn't as clean, safe, or nice as the one he'd grown up in. The real world wasn't full of Fauras or Vauhyas or even Iluins, it was one big universe full of people like his brother and his hangers-on, like the young woman who'd tried to kill him the morning of his last day as royalty. The real world took you in and chewed you up 'till you were all ragged and battered and notched around the edges like Garrat, 'till you were all scars and broken teeth.
           He settled down in the creek, lying on his back. Vauhya let the water run down him, flowing through his mane and setting his pelt into place. He let the water creep up nearly to his eyes, let it wash away the sweat and the oil. There wasn't too much time he could waste; with a sigh he sat up and looked back at the path. His chest itched. Vauhya looked down and smiled wanly - his pendent was pressing into it. Only soft iron, yes, but his. He caught it in his claws and looked at the star inscribed in the circle.
           "I wonder if you're as lonely as I am right now… huh. Are you watching those two moons hang over you right now?" He ran his finger pads over the black metal, exploring its rough imperfections. "I might've forced Iluin to bring you back, all that time ago. I might've if I hadn't been so weak and afraid.
           "I'm learning, you know. Learning about that world you came from, the one that swallowed you up the same way it's started on me. I wonder if you worry about me. I worry about you." He sat, staring at the water and at his reflection there. His face was rough - pretty, perfectly kept Vauhya was dead. It'd turned out to be a part of him that didn't really matter. He had a thought. "You're probably worrying about me because I'm talking to myself, but I promise I'm not crazy. I'm just…" He chuffed, dropping the medallion back down to his breast. "Just taking too long to get the water. Hai, if you have any favor with the gods, I'd appreciate its use. Can't ever stop asking you for help, can I? Well, I'll make it up to you. Build you a cathedral someday." A door slammed in the distance. "If Garrat doesn't kill me first. I'm still here, you know. I won't let anyone think I was raised by a fool."
           Vauhya pushed his hands into the creek bottom and stood stiffly, not quite healed from his old leg wound. He picked up his water bucket. Back down the path were happy voices, warm food, and a clean bed, all his after another few hours of work. He thought he'd probably opt for the voices, because then he could take a drink, maybe two - he felt like waking up later, preferably not remembering anything. Voices, food, bed; it wasn't a life much different from the one he'd lead, though it definitely felt that way. So said a rational mind. Life was relative, though. Wasn't it?
          

---v---

           Wherever Rahkl had come from must've been a fairly inviting place. She thought perhaps the southern continent, where it would be warm enough to warrant bare skin and where unmoving, tree-bound food would be plentiful enough that a creature with such a weak frame might survive. Or maybe Rahkl was a group-hunting beast lost from her pack. A score of Rahkls might be dangerous, she supposed, if they attacked up from all sides, especially if they came armed with weapons. She looked at the woman and wrinkled her nose. Rahkls definitely came in packs, not herds. Iluin watched her skinless charge trying to keep the Mah'sur on the path and saw a hunter. She moved too gracefully for prey, and she had long, clawless fingers that could only be useful for using tools. Prey didn't use tools.
           "No, no, you've got to keep a better grip on it," She purred, gently reaching her paws forward to take Rahkl's hands, push them into the correct position, and wrap them around the reigns. Rahkl shivered, but nodded and chattered something through the clacking of her teeth. "There, good," Iluin encouraged her. She was getting better, though sometimes Iluin wondered if she'd ever ridden anything at all. Rahkl's muscles were out of control, crazy with tiny spasms. "Are you cold, Rahkl?"
           "I'm cold," she chattered with child-like mispronunciation. "Cold. Co-old."
           The great white champion was at a loss. Rahkl was wearing Iluin's spare set of clothing, her shirt, her boots, and her cloak, and the frail woman was still cold. The only clothes the woman hadn't taken were Iluin's breeches - how warm did Rahkl need it? Iluin hugged her from behind and pressed her cheek against Rahkl's left shoulder blade. She purred, trying to get some heat into her friend. After a while Rahkl's tremors subsided. It was odd; the scent in her cloak, then draped loosely around Rahkl, made it seem as though she was riding with herself, albeit an emaciated, bald, freeze-shocked version of herself. She found the experience slightly unnerving.
           "Better? Do you need more than that? Are you still cold?"
           "No," Rahkl chattered, "not cold. Th- thank." Iluin loosed her hold and reminded her patiently.
           "Thank? You mean thank you? Thank you?"
           "Thank you," Rahkl corrected herself, and Iluin burrowed further into her back for the warmth. The furless woman shook with an almost-cough, but not quite her chuff. Foreigner's laughter? "Not sleep, Iluin. Sleep, not help me."
           "I'm not dozing off, Rahkl," Iluin assured her, "I'm your friend." There was some comfort in that, especially when it made a bond more stable than the protector-child one she'd been using, the one left over from her time with Vauhya.
           "Friend, yes. You sleep, Iluin. I safe. I follow, not help." Valiant linguistic efforts they were, although Rahkl had contradicted herself in her attempts. Iluin took what she thought was perhaps an invitation to rest and slumped against Rahkl's bony spine. She wouldn't lose the road while Iluin napped, and after a sleepless night listening for pursuers Iluin needed the rest.
           "I appreciate it, Rahkl."
           She allowed her heartbeats to slow and the shadows grew long. The day stretched out and she closed her eyes, reducing the background bleating of woodland creatures and the aimless rustles of leaves of wind to nothing. Rahkl's breaths were warm, deep and sustained; Iluin tried to match their rhythm, falling deeper and deeper. Around her the air heavied, turned acrid, grew tangibly cloying. She let it envelope her, joining with her partner's repetitive movements to lull herself to sleep.
           Much later she awoke to an elbow poking her in the ribs. She didn't complain vocally, but rubbed her forehead against Rahkl's back. Thunder boomed around them and she felt the woman in front of her flinch. "It's just thunder, Rahkl," she said tiredly, not moving her head to speak into Rahkl's ear. The mah'sur snorted and reared up - she slid back farther on its rump, then came back as the beast dropped all four feet onto the ground. It moaned its protest and stopped, shifting its weight from side to side uncomfortably. "What are you doing, Rahkl?" she asked, waking groggily and removing her hands from her companion's stomach to rest them at her side.
           "Iluin. Help?" Iluin blinked her eyes and made them start focusing. She slipped off her mount and patted Rahkl on the leg.
           "Stay right there." Then she walked past the woman to grab the mah'sur's harness and pull the animal's head up to eye level with her. "What's the problem? You don't like your rider?" It exhaled and moaned softly. Iluin frowned and looked down the road. Hrrn, she was getting old and slow, or at least her mind was giving way to exhaustion. Forty paces away the path came to a fork with a signpost stuck at the junction. A miracle that Rahkl had woken her and stopped the animal. "Stay," she called back, approaching the sign.
           More problems presented themselves. Iluin rubbed her forehead, looking at the two dismal options the sign offered. The choices were presented three times: once in Naman script, the northern standard, again in the scrawling scratchwork of the Alman'queda trader's language, and last in plain pictoral representation of the names. The third was probably the most used, as few peasants had reason to become literate. She could read the other two sets of names, but the pictures were the most informative.
           The branch of the road that trailed downhill had on its side a picture of several buildings under a rocha, the sloping-winged metallic bird of prey the church used as its symbol. That was Agan, the birthplace of Rrsai and its religious centerpiece, an entire city devoted to maintaining the faith. She wouldn't willingly walk into that city, and her resolve was more so with Rahkl at her back. Not even if… well, perhaps if Vauhya was there. She felt a twinge of something inside, but silenced it irritably with a paw slash through empty air. No, she wouldn't, not with Rahkl to look after.
           The other choice bore the image of a city with a decorated soldier in yellow and green above it. That, the sign read, was Jas'suit'ah, named after a famous general of their northern neighbors, the Higa. She knew the place, though she'd never been there. It was a border town under Higa control, coastal, with very little specific industry of its own. A port city on the border, perfect for trading: that's what her former sisters had said of it. Very early in her time as a sher'amn her seniors had tracked highwaymen and criminals much farther north than she'd ever been, so she'd learned a lot of far-off lands. Moving out of the province was safer, but separated her from keeping watch of Vauhya. That stopped her. She looked back at Rahkl.
           "Iluin? Go?" Iluin looked at clawless, peltless, fangless Rahkl, whose skin tore like paper and who didn't seem half as strong as she. "Iluin?"
           "Yes, I know, Rahkl. I hear." It took a long moment, but then she turned around and waved an arm toward the path to Jas'suit'ah. "Let's go this way. We're safer up in the mountains if we're being followed, and Agan is more dangerous than any roving pack of bandits." And it keeps me away from Vauhya, she thought. But you're an even more hapless charge, aren't you?
           Thunder flared again and the sun hid behind dark storm crests. Iluin felt a dampness on her shoulder as she returned to her two fellow travelers, then twice, three times. "Can I have my cloak back?" she asked, pawing the item of clothing that Rahkl was wearing. Suddenly she flattened her ears and curled her tail around her leg as the thunder cracked again, this time much louder. Rahkl pulled the cloak away and handed it down to Iluin, who donned it gratefully. She looked up and grimaced as she wrapped the folds of her cloak about her. "Vauhya can fend for himself." Rain hit her in the eye and she sniffed in annoyance. "The left path, Rahkl. Let's go."
          

---v---

           For a cat, Iluin held an exceptionally favorable view of rain. She went as far as to not scramble wildly when the downpour started. Now she was sitting grimly in a niche in the mountainside, huddling in her cloak and trying to stay dry while Rachel sat under a large-leafed tree a few feet away. Rachel patted their beast carefully, trying to get it used to her presence, and at the same time pulled her survival pack off the animal and away from Iluin's bags. The pack was big and bulky, a huge bulge twice the size of her torso with a drawstring and shoulder straps. It was shiny silver (that was the heat covering that'd let it survive the crash), so much so that Rachel worried about it being visible once the sun came back out. She hoisted it up two-handed, vision blurring with the pain of suddenly reopened wounds, lugged the thing next to her companion, and then sat down beside her with a short gasp of exertion. Iluin turned in mild interest to the pack; all Rachel could see under that grey hood was the end of Iluin's pointed muzzle. She took a moment to catch her breath.
           "Here," she said in comforting English, "why don't we see what kind of useless stuff they put in this thing?" Iluin sidled up nearer to her and looked down at the bag along with Rachel, who checked the tag on the drawstring. 'USAA special-issue survival equipment package'. Great: so it was government, but not NASA. That didn't sit well with her. She knew full well how hit-and-miss the public sector could be; after all, the same people who'd given her NASA and the space shuttle fleet had given her the University of Michigan administration, a plague on students and faculty alike.
           There was a tightly packed collection of boxes and pouches stuffing the bag, all crammed together so that there wasn't any wasted space. Rachel grinned as she spotted and pulled out a largish, heavy cloth bag: it was just what they needed, right on top.
           There were two pieces of canvas in the packet, as well as a pouch with eight bore screws, each of which had loops at the end. Two of them were connected by a long elastic cord that could stretch as was needed. Iluin picked up the bore screw bag and held it inquisitively to the blurry light of the sky. She growled a question, but Rachel didn't understand a word of it besides her name. Iluin dropped the screws and took one of the canvas squares, then began pulling it open and unfolding it. Rachel did the same with the remaining one, smiling in relief that they'd at least done the tarp competently. Each canvas square was coated with some sort of all-purpose sealant, and was colored differently on each side. Iluin had the arctic camouflage and reflective orange emergency coloring canvas, while hers had been painted in shades of sandy gold desert and green-brown forest. Rachel balled up her fist and wrapped an edge of her tarp around it, showing it to Iluin.
           "Look, see? Tarp. It's a canvas tarp." She pointed at the metal loops sewn into the middle of each side and at the corners, then pointed at the screws, the cord, and a pair of trees near their steed. "We put this up over us to keep out the rain, see? Those two screws go into the trees, then we hang this canvas and spread it by putting the ones through the loops in the tarp and into the ground." She tossed off the canvas and waved her hands back and forth over her head. "You know, roof?" Rachel saw Iluin sit up as she figured it out.
           "Aoh. Ya houi." Iluin pulled her hood down and smiled with glittering eyes. "Na shou? Mao phey, Rahkl. Llef asi. Khama?" The cat patted Rachel on the shoulder and picked up the screw packet, drawing out the two screws with the cord running between them.
           "We're getting pretty good at this, aren't we?" Rachel laughed, then gritted her teeth at the soreness as she got to her feet and followed with her canvas in hand.
           Iluin had a pretty good sense of things; she jammed the bore screws into two trees just far enough away from one another, piercing the surface at her eartips' height and then twisting them in until they had bored and secured deep into the heartwood. Rachel hung her tarp over the line, then went back and put Iluin's under it as a floor while the other woman staked the forest canvas's sides into the ground. When they were done Rachel retrieved her pack, diving inside their improvised A-frame as the rain intensified once again. Iluin made her chuffing noise; she saw that the cat-woman had beaten her there and was sitting cross-legged with all three of the horse-thing's saddle packs around her. "Oh, very impressive. So you're faster and sneakier than I am. Tell me, who had the canvases? Glad you kept me around, huh?"
           "Paihsh, Rahkl?" Iluin chuffed, and drew a paw across Rachel's cheek to wipe away the rain. Lightning flashed, arcing somewhere and highlighting the wisps of fur on the feline's grizzled brow.
           "Getting worse, isn't it? I don't suppose this place has other kinds of weather…" Rachel grabbed her pack and opened up the drawstrings again. "Let's see what else we've - ah. Ah." Rachel dropped her eyes and shook her head. "That's just my luck. Hey, Iluin, let me show you how to pitch a tent."
           So she completely befuddled her cat companion by setting up yet another shelter, this one inside their canvas roof. Iluin was amazed at the poles that snapped and combined into the two support struts, and insisted that she fit them all together herself. The tag said that it was a fairly high-tech structure: it was waterproof, fireproof, it let air in but largely retained its inside temperature, and it could resist minimal radiation. It fit nicely; the pack was obviously meant to supply one person because the tent fit one of them comfortably, and with both there wasn't much privacy. Iluin sat cross-legged in front of the entrance, opposite her. They'd let the tent's flap open a bit so that it stayed cool inside. Rachel smiled as Iluin pointed at the bag. "Waiting to see what else I have in there?" She picked up the thin, compressed sleeping bag that had been in the tent's skein. "This is mine. You have fur." Iluin either didn't mind or didn't understand.
           "Soft," the cat commented, stroking the walls, then turned around and leaned out the opening to rifle through one of her own bags. Rachel pulled off her top shirt, which Iluin had given her, then started to unbutton the under one. She thought her pack probably had some decent clothes that would at the very least not feel like they were sewn from hemp. She threw her borrowed clothes in a wet heap next to Iluin, then searched through the survival pack, tossing boxes and bags aside. They were at the bottom, of course; vacuum-sealed in their flat foil packets. The grey cloak dropped over her, Iluin's one article of soft clothing but nonetheless disgustingly damp on her bare skin. She grimaced and pulled it off, throwing it onto the wet clothes pile. Iluin chuffed at her; she too had thrown her clothes into the corner, but had her worn blanket wrapped warmly around her. "Cold?" she asked. Rachel gave her a dismissive wave and ripped open the packets.
           "It could," she murmured, "be worse."
           She now had compressed desert fatigues colored a tawny, lion-like yellow. Military issue, no doubt; there were pockets all over the shirt and pants, both were double-layered, and the included black vest was a tight crisscross of either stiff nylon or metal through what was likely spider silk or kevlar. There were zippers leading to pockets where you could stuff the vest full of packaging or anything else you could find for insulation - no sense in wasting space. She snatched at the briefs, donned them, then struggled with the pants. For a few seconds they were too small and Iluin watched her with a bemused expression as she fought them, probably laughing behind those watchful eyes. Then Rachel stopped and mentally slapped herself: of course. One size would have to fit everybody. She found the straps that ran down each leg and loosened them until they fit. It was the same for the shirt and the vest - the cloth was loose and elastic. She tossed the vest aside for the moment, settling for a uniform that felt clean and smooth.
           Rachel sighed, spreading out on her back with a wince as she put pressure on a still-raw wound. Iluin zipped the entrance shut, then slid beside her and proffered a bit of her blanket. Rachel took the edge of the cloth, then shifted to her side as Iluin rolled close. It felt awkward, especially when Iluin put a hand past Rachel's shoulder and let it drop to her back. The cat woman gazed at her sagely, pulled a bit nearer when the thunder went, and purred very quietly.
           "Nami fau yeshef, pari? Ur…" Iluin seemed to realize something. "Hai, Rahkl. You cold?"
           "No, no, not- not cold. Yes. No?" Rachel grimaced and stopped, trying to express her concerns. She lifted an arm, squeezed it between them, and tapped her chest. "Cold. There, cold." Iluin took that hand and brushed it away, slipping her other arm behind Rachel to embrace her. No, that was not comfortable at all. Iluin didn't hurt her, though. She just lay there, keeping Rachel in a loose grip. When she saw Rachel's apprehension, Iluin reached out and rubbed cheeks with her, the cat's short, rough face fur and water droplets brushing up against Rachel's thin, raw skin.
           "Quiet now. Friend, I. Friend. Safe, Rahkl; I not hurt you." Rachel couldn't manage to the raspy growls of Iluin's alien tongue in her anxious state. She collected herself and tried to relax.
           "Friend," she said, then pushed Iluin's chest lightly. "Not do? Hurt me." Iluin frowned, but let go and angled her body away, giving them some breathing room.
           "Hurt you? I hurt you?" Rachel shook her head slowly.
           "No." Then, when Iluin moved back: "No. Iluin, not do. Friend?" Iluin nodded and stayed away.
           "Friend." Then the cat woman nodded her head toward the entrance. "You go?"
           "No. Stay. With you. Safe with you. I go, not safe."
           "Dangerous with me. Ghast urai. Not safe with me. Trai dangerous… You go?"
           "I stay," Rachel insisted. There was nowhere else to go. God, if only she knew a few words - more, less, only, else, because, is - then she could say what she wanted to. As it was she sighed once more and stared dully at the feline. "I, you: friend. I stay."
           "Uruf," Iluin purred, then rolled towards her without warning and pressed her back against Rachel's chest. "Friend." With a sigh of defeat Rachel threw an arm around Iluin's front. She imagined her friend as a giant teddy bear, and that felt better. Iluin purred and Rachel rubbed her idly. Rachel closed her eyes after a moment and let herself drift away. She simply hoped that the rest of Iluin's people weren't as crazy.
          

---v---

           Its secrets were finally beginning to show themselves. There was an art to it; it was an exercise in subtlety. No great wonder then, Vauhya thought slyly, that the world deemed it a woman's weapon. He stepped to the very edge of the rooftop and raised his full lleiri to a neutral, ready position, having finished his practice with the short one. This one was harder to control, but he could manage it if he was focused. The moons were both out in their full, shining glory, and that with the cool, dry night breeze did much to set him at ease. Vauhya lowered the lleiri for a minute, then scaled up to the top of the roof where there was a thin crosswalk. There was no downward slope on a section a few feet wide up at the very top. It was better up there; fewer people could see him and the risk of falling was less. No sense in pushing himself with the roof's steep slope before he had control over his lleiri.
           Of course, control was perhaps not the right word for describing how he used his weapon. The sword controlled him more than he did it. When he'd used the lleiri at that fateful banquet the thing had jumped and skipped against his forcible swing. Initially he'd thought that he didn't understand where the weapon's center of gravity was, but that wasn't the entire problem. The center moved depending on how the weapon moved, almost as though the sword's core was liquid or imbued with some type of mystical property. He'd realized a handful of days ago that straightaway force was dangerous, but that you could throw all of your muscle into the swings as long as you moved with or at least not against the flow of the blade. His discovery made him very proud of himself; lately he could swing the blade with that unreal force that Meera had once shown, and even more if he was careful not to let the weapon arc toward him. He hadn't hurt himself once, and every day he spent working at putting the blade where he wanted it he became more and more accurate.
           Vauhya swung the blade overhead, then twisted his body out of the way as it decided to deflect downwards. Rather than use that, he ducked and turned the sword to cut sideways, then turned it again and threw his weight into a circular slice that brought the lleiri back to its ready position. Attacking with a lleiri isn't like stabbing with a knife, a flash of insight told him, it's more like unfolding a piece of cloth. That was his own intuition using Iluin's voice, but he liked the analogy. He tried the sequence again with a lighter, almost coddling touch, but failed to recreate it. No, he returned his blade to its at-ready place with ears high and a wide grin. The blow had gone exactly where it was supposed to; he tried the same arc four or five times, grinned wider when they all struck correctly. Like gently pulling apart the edges of air, it was.
           "Vau?" a voice called up from below him. Vauhya retrieved and sheathed his two lleiri before tumbling down until he was standing unsteadily on the last straws of their thatched roof. Below light-brown Onin stood on the second floor balcony, looking up and squinting at the moons behind his roof-climbing partner. "I told you yesterday that Garrat was going to let me away early and you're still out here late. I haven't gotten more than half a night's sleep each night for the past ten days because of you."
           "Sorry," Vauhya panted. He leapt upwards and came down hard on the balcony next to his partner, shaking the wooden planks and sending dull pain through his knees. Iluin's leaping from impossible heights was hard to mimic, and training hurt; they'd looked at him like he was crazy the day he'd set a chair atop the bar counter and practiced jumping off. "You tryin' to fly?" Garrat had asked, and the room had laughed at him until his ears had flushed red-hot. Onin discouraged such activity, partly because it made him look like a fool by association. Mostly, however, Vauhya thought that Onin was opposed to the training because it kept them from sleeping. "Forgot."
           "I thought as much. Do you actually care about me? I mean, even at all?" Vauhya stood up and flicked an ear at Onin, who scowled. "No, you're right, I don't really want an answer. Can we get some sleep?"
           "You don't need me. Go to sleep yourself."
           "Oh, that's exactly what I need," Onin drawled with tired sarcasm, "Nightmares and ulcers! Now I know that you care." Vauhya shrugged.
           "They say the White One does it every night. I've done it; sleeping alone isn't so bad."
           "Oh, gods." Onin flattened his ears and turned his back to Vauhya. "Don't start it, Vau. I don't care who you are or who you used to be. You're not a sher'amn, you're not the White One, and you're not old Yoichi." Onin dropped to a crouch, shaking his head for a minute, then rose and turned back around. "Look, I don't mind that. I'm concerned for you, concerned that you sit on the roof and swing a lleiri like some fool kid hunting kiirin, but I don't even mind that so much if you keep yourself alive. Just do it during the day, will you? A man has to sleep." Vauhya yawned like a common person, baring his fangs and wrinkling his face in a snarl. It was one of those uncouth displays that was instinctually antagonistic but nonetheless acceptable in less civilized circles.
           "A man ought to be able to lie in a bed and close his eyes on his own. But fine, Onin. I'll be there in a few minutes." Onin patted him on the shoulder, then kept his hand there.
           "Why do I do this to myself?"
           "Because all the other employees keep leaving," Vauhya said starkly.
           "Yes," Onin said, dropping his hand and looking somewhat deflated, "Yes, I suppose that's it. I didn't expect an answer for that one." Then he threw his hands up. "Yes, I know, 'then I shouldn't have asked the question'. That's my Vau, as cold and bloodless as a corpse. You realize that I am your partner; you could occasionally drop your guard around me." Onin opened the door and stepped through, then looked back. "I'll be waiting, Vau. Don't take too long." The door swung shut behind him. Vauhya snorted and rubbed his nose.
           "You two don't think I'm as cold and bloodless as a corpse," he asked, addressing the moons, "do you?" They didn't have an answer for him. "Huh. It's a waste, just staying here and living out my life. Beside, there's no sense in getting attached if you plan to keep moving. I think it's time I told Garrat that I can't stay here anymore." The moons watched him and glowed, offering neither objection nor agreement. They were the perfect pair to talk to.
           Vauhya turned and walked through the door, then stepped down the little set of stairs to the second floor's hallway. Their room was far down to the right, a tiny patch of floor with walls and a roof that leaked every time it rained, with a cot instead of a proper bed because they needed those for the guests, and without any running water. In old terms it would have been a hovel, but in Vauhya's new perception of the world he found it livable. A lot of old expectations had had to be discarded or retooled.
           He went left, however, because that way was the stairwell, which in turn led to the bar, which Garrat would be tending. Raucous, boisterous noises leaked from below, signs of a happily inebriated crowd. There weren't any sounds of glass breaking or insistent shouts, so the night must have been a quiet one. Vauhya padded very lightly as not to disturb those in the rooms on either side of the hallway, many of whom were probably already asleep. Of need for such stealth there was probably very little; the bar's patrons were making quite the background racket, quiet night or not. As he approached the stairwell there was a loud voice and the room below went silent. He stopped immediately, being at the stairwell and within a footfall's distance from being visible.
           "-reason to believe that you are keeping a fugitive under your house and employ, an illegitimate prince who evaded his just demise with the help of another fugitive-"
           "That's ridiculous, milady," he heard Garrat exclaim. "I'm in business to make profits, not to keep political refugees!"
           "Several of our informants and loyal citizens indicate otherwise. Your building is surrounded; I have a score of my sisters outside ready to stop anyone who attempts to leave. You will submit your building and it's inhabitants to a search, sir, and you will do so now." Vauhya stepped backwards very carefully, intent on making no sound.
           "Milady, you cannot simply enter and expect me to allow you to violate the sanctity of my-" Garrat's protest was cut short by the howl of a llieri and a slash. There were shouts, howls of outrage, sounds of swords being drawn and of saucers shattering. Vauhya's breath caught in his throat; he turned and ran for Onin, then stopped and skidded when a shout came from their room. The door burst open, pushed by Onin's falling body. Vauhya furrowed his brow and silenced a furious snarl. He dashed up the stairwell, ignoring the pounding of feet behind him, shoved the door open, and leapt off the edge of the balcony.
           There were shouts from behind and below as the ground came up on him. It was too far down; the best he could do was to turn his haphazard landing into a forward roll. Then was up on his feet, clutching at his lleiri to keep them in their scabbards as he ran for the stream path and dodged back and forth and swore as an arrow flew by, slicing his shoulder as it went.
           "Stop! Vauhya, you can't escape, don't try! Our lord is willing to let you live!" They shouted; he didn't pay attention, just zipped back and forth through the trees in desperation. They followed - they were sher'amn and they were faster and stronger and better and they were going to hunt him down and kill him. Fool, fool, fool! Vauhya passed the stream, splashing back and forth, then turned toward the hills. There was a main highway past them, he knew, which might be an escape. Vauhya didn't risk a look behind him. That could be deadly.
           The bushes got thicker. He jumped over a fallen tree and landed in a puddle with a splash, only to roll under another log with a rustle as bushes were brushed aside. The larger llieri in his hand fell from his grip, clattering to rest in its scabbard a foot away from him. As he picked himself up he heard a slash behind him, and in desperation he drew his short blade. Black cloth and gold fur appeared from under the log next to him; he struck, not at the sher'amn but at the log, then turned and grabbed his remaining llieri as a young woman's cry rang out behind him. He just started running.
           For how long he ran he didn't know: Vauhya just moved, charging past brush and trees and vines until he didn't hear anything behind him. Then he stopped, leaned against a tree, and panted heavily. It hurt; god, it hurt. So once again all he owned were weapons? And now he owed even more dead people his lives - Garrat and Onin among them. It was hard to think. Vauhya panted, not sure whether to rage or collapse in grief. He was exhausted, confused, and delirious. He didn't even know what to feel. Oh, Gods but he wanted to scream. It'd reveal him, though, and get him killed, so he leaned his head back and tried to keep taking ragged breaths. Survive. That was his baseline; that was what Iluin had taught him to do.
           Vauhya gave himself a moment to sit and silently sob, more in confused breakdown than in purposeful grief. Only a moment: nothing more, because he refused to incapacitate himself. Then he stopped - made himself stop - and turned for the highway. That was the thing on which to focus. The path.