She pulled the book out, turning the ancient pages with care. Even so, the edges crumbled under her fingers.
The black spider called me sha’deia. First in Bastion, where she’d found it attached to Hollis Plaguetouch, and again when she’d confronted Jaedia. It wasn’t a word Maya knew, but it had the sound of High Chosen. It said I might be “the one.” The one what?
It took her a while to struggle through the dictionary’s arcane organization, and longer to cross-reference lists of meanings. High Chosen was hellaciously complex, words changing their function depending on prefixes, context, or even the speaker. Maya dug out a sheet of foolscap and scribbled notes, and after half an hour of swearing and crossing things out she’d managed to compile a short list of reasonable guesses.
Sha’deia:
Precious Seed.
Reserved Child.
Maya’s fingers brushed the last line, and she swallowed. Her other hand came up, unbidden, to touch the Thing.
Beloved Daughter.
Chapter 3
The door to Elariel’s chamber slid open. It was dark inside, even for Refuge. With his silver eye, Gyre could see a person-sized bundle of sheets on the bed, curled up and facing the wall.
“If that’s you, Tyraves,” Elariel mumbled, “go away and fuck yourself with a jagged iron pole.”
“That’s… quite an image,” Gyre said. “But it’s me.”
It had been three days since the end of the trial. The ghouls had taken Elariel away and given Gyre a small sleeping chamber, with a soldier-construct watching the door in case he had any illusions about his status. Most of his time had been spent haggling with Tyraves over the logistics of his expedition. Money had been the simplest of his needs—the ghouls could forge Republic thalers easily. Alchemical ingredients, too, she’d been happy to provide, but the core of Gyre’s requests had proven more contentious. Blades like his own silver sword that could cut unmetal armor and the fields that offered protection against deiat; these were the keys to facing the Order in battle, but they were also the hardest to explain away as scavenger finds. In the end, Tyraves had grudgingly agreed to part with a limited number of each.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been to see you sooner,” Gyre said. “They said you were still recovering from your procedure.”
“Recovering from my procedure,” Elariel said, voice thick. “That’s one way of putting it.”
“Are you all right?” Gyre let the door close behind him. Moss overhead started to glow weakly. “Can I help?”
“I’m not all right, and no one can help,” Elariel said.
“Okay,” Gyre said. “But they want us to leave today. Do you think you’re going to be up to it?”
Silence. Gyre blew out a breath and crossed the room, squatting beside the bed.
“Elariel,” he said gently, laying a hand on her shoulder. “I don’t know what happened—”
“Don’t touch me!”
Elariel twitched like a landed fish in her blanket cocoon, and Gyre hastily backed away. She managed to thrash herself off the bed entirely, landing on the floor with a thump, and fought wildly to escape from the tangled sheet. Gyre’s eyes widened as she emerged, kicking the bedding away and sitting with her back to the bed, breathing hard.
The Elariel he remembered, with red-brown fur, huge eyes, and long, pointed ears, was gone. In her place was…
… a human.
She looked to be twenty or so, with milk-pale skin and hair the color of the old Elariel’s fur. Something about her face still held a trace of her former self, eyes a little too wide, ears slightly pointed. Her once-sharp teeth were now flat and perfectly white.
“Elariel?” Gyre said. He couldn’t help a note of disbelief, but regretted it immediately. Tears welled in her eyes, and she angrily knuckled them away.
“Yes, it’s me.” Her voice, at least, was the same. “Just… altered.”
“Chosen defend,” Gyre muttered.
“It’s only logical,” Elariel spat. “If I’m going to go far from Refuge, and there’s a chance I could be killed or captured, we can’t have my corpse raising too many awkward questions. I’m sure Tyraves was laughing at the irony.”
“Are you…” Gyre shook his head. “Is it permanent?”
“I suppose they could change me back, but why would they want to?” She drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them. “They’re not going to let me back into Refuge, whatever happens.”
She hid her face, and her shoulders shook with quiet sobs. Gyre waited until the silence grew too awkward to bear.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “When I asked for you as liaison, I didn’t think—”
“Of course not,” Elariel said. “How could you know? You’re just a human.”
Another silence, even more awkward.
“I’m sorry,” Elariel said. “It’s not your fault. This is… better than being tortured to death, obviously. I just…” She sucked in a breath. “You have no idea how painful the last few days have been.”
“I think I do, actually,” Gyre said. He closed his eyes for a moment, and his mind filled with Naumoriel’s knives and his own hoarse screams.
“I suppose you might,” Elariel said, looking up. Her eyes were red from crying, but she set her jaw decisively. “You said you’re ready to go?”
“More or less.”
“Then let’s get the fuck out of here.” Elariel clambered to her feet. “I don’t want to— What?”
Gyre looked deliberately away. She was naked. Of course, she’d always been naked, all the ghouls were, but their thick fur made it less… obvious.
“We’re going to need to get you some clothes first,” he said.
“Oh.” Elariel looked down at herself. “I suppose it’ll be colder on the surface.”
“That’s… one reason.” He caught her inquisitive expression and sighed. I may have some explaining to do.
In the end, the ghouls came up with a crude wardrobe for Elariel, to which Gyre added his own traveling cloak. We can buy something better in Deepfire.
The supplies he’d asked for were too heavy to carry on foot, so Tyraves agreed to deliver them to a spot on the western road in three days’ time. That would give them a chance to secure transportation and a few other things he needed. For the moment, he carried only a satchel packed with thalers and a half dozen energy bottles.
Tyraves rode with them in a transporter through the long, curving tunnels, coming to a stop near an apparently impenetrable rock face. At a gesture from her, it slid apart far enough for them to slip through, revealing a hint of morning sunlight. The ghoul turned away, shielding her eyes.
“Human,” she said. “I don’t pretend that I believe this absurd venture will succeed. But I trust you will try your hardest to justify the unprecedented faith the Geraia has placed in you.”
“Give them my thanks,” Gyre said.
“Elariel knows how to reach us with a message,” Tyraves said, pointedly not looking at Elariel herself. “But she should not bother unless you have good news to report. Expect no further help from Refuge until you have proven your worth.”