The father’s tale:

There’s a rythm to our life. Like the waves. Born, grow, marry, die. This year, me daughter Emily is fifteen. She’s a strong girl, good head, fast hands. When she sets her mind to it, she can do anything. But she don’t, cause she still acts like she be a child. And now she’s not. I’ve talked to her mom, we agree. The reed-weaver’s eldest son is a good lad. Works hard, saves his money, does his prayers. We’ve talked to his dad, he agrees. They’ll be a good pair, and she’ll learn to be a grownup. Like she is.

In early spring every year we bring an offering to Asakent’s temple to celebrate winter’s end and the ocean calming down enough to sail out on. On their seventh Spring Celebration I brought each of me two children along for the first time.

Our weekly feasts and offerings are in the village temple, but that one time of the year, we go to the big hall in Kent Lazpar. The kids are awestruck – like I was when me dad brought me the first time.

At home, there is just an altar and a priest in blue-green robes. He does everything for the village, including the offerings to the other gods, even. But in Kent Lazpar there is a temple to every one of the gods we worship – for Selenselt, for Saylese, for Ewerg and Asakir, for Adnilen and for the fates and all the others.

Asakent has one of the biggest ones – down by the harbour of course. There’s an enormous statue in the middle of a salt water basin, magicked to look like he’s swimming and all the scales are glittering and sparkling like a fish in the light. The statue looks like it’s alive; if a stone merman could swim, that is surely how it would look - except stone is grey, and the statue glows in all the colours of the ocean. Grey, green, blue, shimmering, white and dark. It glows like the sun on the water and sings like the moons reflected. When the sun goes down and the moons rise for the night prayer, it’s easy to see why the White Lady fell in love with Him.

There are minor shrines in that great temple too. One is for Thalr, and we thank Him for fresh water in the streams that quench our thirst. The other is for Tawnels, but it is empty. Noone worships Her – she is the violent ocean and the deep currents and all the monsters in the black seas. We ask Her father to keep her quiet, and the monsters at bay.

Our way is His way. Like the neverending waves flowing and receding, like the ebb and flow of the tides, so is our life. From we are born into a rocking cradle, and until He-who-weeps carries us in his boat to the Divine lands at the end of our days. We give Asakent the first bite of our meal, the first catch of the season.

For the smaller celebrations we go to the village altar and the village priest takes care of it. Such as the autumn feast this year when Emily was going to be betrothed.

The brother’s tale:

Emily a wife? Well, I guess I knew it would happen one day – life’s like the waves and all, like dad liked to say – but she never seemed the marrying type. She never ran after the boys that I saw. More often she was challenging them to dive as deep as her, or run as fast as her, or swim as far as her out in the bay.

I’m sure she could have been a wife if she had to. She could have earned their keep on diving for mussels, she was always good at that, or trapping the layran fish with the pretty scales that we can sell to the fine people in Kent Lazpar.

But I don’t think she’d have been much good at the weaving or sewing or cooking or having kids, that mums do. She’d probably just run off on her own thing and let master Reedweaver tend to the house.

And she did run off – at the betrothal feast. It was a nasty rain we had that day. Real autumn weather that pushed everyone into the shrine hall, packed tight like herring in a barrel. We were seated at the front, because mum and dad told us to. We didn’t know - though if Emily had had any sense, she should have known or guessed – about the announcement. So when it came and the reed-weavers stood up proud and straight beside the altar, and mum and dad stood up, dad had to pull up Emily beside them. She was just gaping like a fish out of water. It was easy to miss in the torch light, but I saw how the colour just drained from her face. She was pale and shocked – and then she bolted, pressing herself through the crowd and out the door.

I was going to congratulate her, but it stuck in my throat and disappeared in the uproar. Young master Reedweaver had been all glowing with pride, and I saw that disappear too. He looked real hurt.

Dad looked stunned. Mum had her lips in that real thin line that says someone will be going to bed without supper. Some folks shouted. Some old women just laughed. Some old men laughed too, and patted Reedboy on the back, like it was some joke he wasn’t getting.

I didn’t get it either.

I ran after Emily. She was supposed to be happy and start a new life, a new wave, just like dad says.

I thought she’d gone for the cliffs and the caves in the rain, but they were empty. Just the sand, the crabs and the bits of bones left by seagulls and predators, and the rain pounding down on the beach outside.

That was when I noticed her boat out on the waves. They were dark grey, heaving big and splattered with rain drops. I heard Emily faintly over the roar. She was shrieking and crying and howling like the storm itself. Mum shouted from the temple doorway. She must have seen Emily, too. Something about ‘stupid child’ and ‘act like a woman’. But the dark grey waves were in her eyes too. I think she was afraid. Really afraid.

I’m a good swimmer. Emily wasn’t all that far from the shore yet, and she was rowing against the waves. I should have remembered that I’d be swimming against the waves, but I’m only twelve and can’t remember everything.

So I dived in and started towards her.

Emily’s tale:

It took a little while before I heard him. The crashing of the waves against the cliffs were drowning out most everything else, and the rest was muted and dimmed by the steady stream of rain on water.

Had I known my stupid little brother would try swimming after me, I would never have gone out. I promise that. I’m not stupid or mean. I’m just not a wife. Why does ‘being responsible’ and ‘growing up’ always include making someone elses dinner and bed and clothes and babies?

I thought he would return to shore when the wave caps got all white. I thought for sure he would return when the first lightning bolt lit up the bay, painting the cliffs stark in white and black, and the foam shone pure white on all the crests and all the waves all the way out to the deep ocean outside the bay.

I admit I was screaming with fury at my parents. I was screaming against the box they were putting me in – the good little wife – like the storm was pushing us into our little bay.

Then I saw my brother go under and didn’t come up again. He didn’t scream. People who’re drowning don’t. He was quiet like the deep, like the still song beneath the waves.

I turned the boat and rowed as fast as I could back to where I saw him last. That was the easy bit – the waves and current were pushing me towards the shore. The hard part was staring into the inky black water for too many moments looking for my brother.

He was gone.

I pulled off my boots and cloak and jumped in after him.

The lightning flashes whitened the land above the water, and lit the deep with sparks of grey gold. I was under once, twice, thrice. Holding my breath for as long as I could, until panic drove me up to the surface again.

On my third dive I was touching seaweed. Long strands waving and murmuring in the currents. I was too scared to think, too scared to shake or feel cold, too scared to do anything but search for him. The seaweed turned light grey when another bolt tore across the sky. I was a good diver – the best in the village maybe – but I saw my brother tangled in the seaweed, and I saw his eyes unfocused, and I was almost out of breath myself.

Around us in the flashes of light came answering flashes. Shiny scales on shiny fish sparkled in the darkness. I saw deep water fish with their strange lanterns or white eyes. I saw long, black bodies move just out of reach, moving the water with their fins, brushing against the seaweeds. In flashes I saw sharp teeth and enormous creatures. Whales and monsters, and the cold bit through me. Not the cold of water or the cold of losing my brother.

But something else. Something older, something deeper.

I saw her face. Almost humanlike, but gilled and scaled. Fins embraced her neck, shells and mussels covered her arms. Her hair was green like the grass beneath the surface.

As she swam up to me I saw her tail. Shifting, muting, changing like the sea. Sometimes finned like a fish, sometimes clawed like the seal, sometimes writhing like the tentacles of a gigantic squid.

She looked at me. Waiting.

I was almost fainting, but I tried to whisper in my mind, please help!

What can you give me, human?

I will give you me. Save him. I would die for him.

Would you live for him? Go back to the man they have chosen for you? Be the dutiful wife?

…I would. Anything to have him alive.

She stared into my eyes. I saw the darkness in hers. Darkness that enveloped me. I think I saw He-who-weeps on His boat, but that might have been dreams and lack of air.

The next thing I knew, I was lying on the beach. Beside me was my brother. He was breathing – raggedly but alive and soaking wet.

I lifted my head to see my family and village running towards us.

And then I noticed the tiny deep-water mussel clutched in my hand. And I noticed the ringing woman’s voice like crashing waves in my head – MINE!

Tawnels’ Tail:

My very own human. My very own worshiper. I am the deep ocean. I am the whale, the octopus, the shark. I am the giant eel and monsters of the unknown. Far too long have I had only the company of my children, while my Father receives the offerings.

Now I have my very own worshiper.

I let her swim deeper than any other, I gift her with endurance and sight beneath the waves.

Then I let her set up my altar in the cliff caverns, in the darkness, where she can sacrifice to ME. The first catch of the season from her, from her family, from her village. The first bite of the meal from her, from her family, from her village.

My Father, Asakent, did not save the human boy. I did. And now they come to me.

The father’s tale:

There are many ways of growing up. I received me son home safe, and me daughter has found her place in the world. A priest from Saylese’s temple confirmed her vision as a true calling – an honest-to-gods Wildrite. The Asakent priests frowned, but they decreed she could take a robe in blue and black for the deep sea. My wife made it for her, for me daughter, the new and first priestess to Tawnels.

The reed-weavers will find another wife for their son. Sometimes the current turns and the wave breaks, but there is always another.

#fantasy #fiction

The Water, chapter 1, part 7

Up on the loft, Ansil and Nerath slept soundly in the bed just to the right of the ladder. Anbar dove into his own bed further in along the same wall and seemed ready to fall asleep immediately. Etin's bed was just to the left of the ladder, but she sneaked on towards the big trunk standing beneath the small window. She set down the enchanted candle in a holder, and pulled out the worn cow-hide scrolls they had borrowed from the winter school. It would start up again after the autumn feast, but by then she might be far from here.

In the city of Kent Lazpar, in the temple to Saylese, center for magic and school for the Gifted.

She opened a scroll on Gifts. In it was written a lot of confusing things about Sources, rare among humans, almost unheard of among dwarves, but almost every elf had an outside Source to supplement their personal power. In it was also written of the Realms of magic - Fire such as Terrekrin had, but also Water, Air, Earth, Illusions, and many others. It said some were connected to only one Realm, while others - like mister Terrekrin - knew several. It said...

"It's late, Etin." Anbar broke through her reverie. Etin lifted her head and noticed he was watching her. The shadows in his face were strangely still in the magical light.

"I want to know," she whispered back. Know about everything - all in the cow hide scroll, all that was within her, how mister Terrekrin could See, everything.

Anbar smiled. "I get that. What sort do you think you have? Plant or Body-realm would be seriously convenient."

Etin shrugged - she hadn't noticed anything yet. "No idea. The scroll says the human Kindred has 'a natural affinity with Fire' - whatever that means. But mister Terrekrin is a dwarf and knows Fire."

Anbar grimaced, thinking hard. "It's been ages since the Saylese-priest visited the winter school and talked of Gifts. Didn't seem so important out here in the middle of nowhere. I guess they assumed everyone who got one, went to Kent Lazpar."

"Like me, maybe."

"Like you, maybe. But anyway, I think he said affinity meant that Realm was more common among that Kindred and that they knew it a bit better. More stronger that is." He was quiet a moment, then said, "I'm sure Mama will let you go."

Etin hoped it, but, "I'm her little girl. You think so?"

Anbar nodded. "A Gifted in the family is seriously convenient. A temple-taught Gifted would make mum and dad's life so much easier. They wouldn't need to pay for so much or work so hard, if we could make our own magic. No matter what Realm - even if it's just a bit of Air to fix the weather."

"Or Void to fix your thoughts!" Etin made a pretend scary face and they both chuckled.

A deep cough from downstairs changed their thoughts. Etin said, "mum and dad will have a hard time anyway, now with the dwarves... We are so dependent on trade with them."

Anbar playfully slapped her hair. "Hey, it's worse for the dwarves! How would you have liked if the rock fall had gone straight through the house or something? They've got nothing!"

"Sorry," mumbled Etin. He was right. They had been lucky. "I wonder why it exploded. And if more are alive. I... I hope my Gift is something I can use to help them, too."

Anbar looked at her with sympathy. "I think anything would be useful - both for us and them."

They were quiet a little after that. Etin half read, half pondered, and didn't pick up much of what the scrolls said.

Anbar changed the subject again finally. He never managed to stay serious for long. "The temple is good for bringing out Gifts as well as learning to use it. And maybe you find a husband there." He grinned.

Etin snorted. "I'm there to learn, not get married. Anyway, you should find someone before me, shouldn't you? What about Pebblebank's eldest? You spent the whole summer in the bushes with her."

Anbar stopped grinning. "She's being betrothed to someone from Icendale at the autumn feast. Probably wedding in the spring. But," and his eyes glittered again, "I'm sure I'll get invited and if I can't find anyone at the autumn feast, a wedding is great for dancing and girls!"

One of the little ones grunted and turned over in his sleep, and the two elder children went quiet. Mum's voice came up from the main room, "no-one goes anywhere if they don't go to bed when they're told to! Sleep! Now!"

Etin put the scrolls back in the trunk and curled up under the blankets, enchanted candle in it's holder on the floor beside her. Despite being tired after a long day, she lay awake for a little while, listening to the conversation downstairs.

"Did you have a family," she heard Mister Sarakhan ask.

Mister Terrekrin replied, "I drank the funeral cup for both my dear parents and my dear master many years ago. They were spared this, Gods be praised."

Sarakhan grunted. "Siblings?"

"I was taken in as an apprentice to an Enchanter when I was quite young. There was not much time and opportunity to keep in touch with those of my blood, so I do not know if fate has been kind to them. And my master-siblings have long since become my rivals in trade. May Saylese and He-who-weeps carry them gently if they met their end. And you, Mister Sarakhan?"

"Saylese carry them gently," the warrior replied simply.

Part 1; The Water, chapter 1, part 6

By the time the men returned, the sun had long since set beyond Plainsvale, the 'ridge and the swamps or desert or ocean in the west. The two youngest were in bed, and Gran snoozed in her chair. Etin was still up, together with Mama, and she returned to the window to gaze, time and time again. The stars were hidden behind clouds, the small half moon was weak and faint under a veil of clouds and smoke, and the greater moon - despite near full - had only barely started to rise above distant peaks.

The night was oppressively dark against the tiny lights of people, hear at the western edge of the Green Country Radanrand. The capital Kent Lazpar was all the way out by the eastern coast, many miles away, through wilderness, mountain regions and deep forests, and it was a small and lonely community of humans that sought towards the dwarves in the north instead.

What was left of them, anyway. There was still a heavy stench of smoke in the air, and Etin turned away from darkness and night to calm nervous fingers combing through Gran's hair. Gran woke barely, grunted with pleasure, and fell asleep again.

Pa came in first, saying, "we have guests. Make sure they're well."

Anbar led a sooty and dirty dwarf up the stone steps. The dwarf was unsteady and breathed heavily, but Mama caught him in strong arms. Etin gathered cushions and blankets and made a bench for him in front of the hearth. The dwarf sunk into them with a sigh. He was dressed in a thick leather tunic covered in tiny metal rings, on his shoulder was a pin with a black stone, and on his back was a giant axe. It probably wasn't for cutting wood. Hair and beard was black and plaited, fastened at the ends with miniature rings of a yellow metal. On his feet were heavy boots, they too covered in ash and dust and mud. He breathed deeply, but started coughing instead. Mama waved Etin over to the keg in the corner, and she hurried to fill a mug of beer for him.

She had no sooner sat down at Gran's feet, before Pa returned with another dwarf. He was narrower round the waist, his eyes darted around the room and those within, he was a little short of breath, but nowhere near as dirty as the first. He was dressed in a kirtle of red and orange, a cap of thin, orange leather, and his lightbrown hair and beard was curled, brushed and trimmed. On his fingers were plenty of jewelled rings. Etin thought they looked familiar - was he the dwarf she had seen first? On his feet were soft and pointed leather bootlets, and around his neck was a chain of yellow metal. He sat down beside the other dwarf, legs crossed, and introduced himself as "Terrekrin, but please just call me Terre, and since I unfortunately have no knowledge of my co-refugee or his name, he must speak his own name, I'm afraid."

The war-clad dwarf coughed again, said "Sarakhan", and drank deeply of the beer.

Pa drew a stool over from the dining table and sat down heavily. He smelled sharply of smoke and sweat.

"Refugees? What has happened? And what was the smoke? Are there more?" Mama barely took the time to breathe, and looked anxiously from the dwarves to Pa and back again. Pa shook his head while she put a mug in the hand of the richly clad Terrekrin.

"There were many dead," said Pa. "They were knocked out by the smoke. Some were burned, but most looked to be poisoned by the air." He looked at the dwarves.

Terrekrin nodded and dried the corner of his eye with his sleeve. "Most are dead or dying. Your eminent neighbour - was that Brookstone his name was? He brought home a couple, and I hope and pray those who escaped alive down in the valley found shelter with the farmers living there. But how many will survive the night? The explosions - at least at this end of the mountain were too terrible, too sudden. They came from the deep and spread so fast . I cannot fathom - you cannot imagine! - how many ended their lives. Fire, explosions, smoke - and we lost..."

"We should say as little as possible," Sarakhan broke in. "I need to go to the capital and speak to the chief of the humans." He coughed so badly the rafters and windows rang. It was a rasping old man's cough that fitted the powerful warrior equipment badly. Etin heard her little brothers mumble up in the attic, before they fell back to sleep.

Terrekrin looked like he was about to argue, but then he peered at the pin on Sarakhan's shoulder. "Are you of the Master's Guard?" He sounded awed. Etin wondered what that was, but didn't dare to ask.

Sarakhan replied, "am - or was. That depends on who lives."

Terrekrin shook his head. "I can't See anything about that, I fear." He looked at their confused faces and explained, "my apologies! I have forgotten to announce my profession; I am an Enchanter, that is - I can imbue objects with magical properties, but the Gods have also seen fit to endow me with a little True Seeing. So I See. A little. Enough to keep me alive and two steps ahead of the problems of life - but no more than that." He grimaced - part smile, part sadness - and continued, "but I agree with the Guard Sarakhan that the ruling powers among the human kindred must be informed of our plight. And they are in the famous Kent Lazpar, are they not?"

Pa nodded. "Aye. Kent Lazpar is where our Kindred was created and where the king lives. We will provide food and shelter until you are ready to undertake the journey. It is a long walk."

Mama dug up a bowl of porridge and a knob of butter for each of them. Etin followed with spoons and cloths to wipe their hands. She bumped into Terrekrin's fingers as she gave him the cutlery, and he jumped. He stared at her for a moment, then said, "we would do well to bring a scout among the humans. Someone to speak for us and help us with their ways."

"The young man, then," said Sarakhan, but he looked confused. Etin also wondered why they would need it, but she was even more confused and suprised by Terrekrin's answer.

"No," he said. "The girl. She is of a suitable age to see Saylese's temple and meet her Makers anyway, is she not?"

Me?

Pa shook his head. "Only nobles and magically Gifted go to the temple for the Spirit-rite, or an education. We have no titles, and there have been no Gifted here in many generations."

"You have one now," said Terrekrin and nodded to Etin.

Me? Etin couldn't think anymore. It was too much.

Pa looked from Terrekrin to his daughter with a deep frown. Etin knew he loved her. Now she saw the joy change to pride, and she felt her own joy blossom like a rose in her chest.

And then it withered. Terrekrin must be mistaken.

Mama gaped until she noticed it herself and shut her mouth. She said, "is it true? By all the Gods and Powers - a Gift in the middle of everything?"

It couldn't be true.

Sarakhan stared at them thoughtfully. "Well," he said, finally, "they say you need a Gift to see a Gift."

Terrekrin only looked at Etin, his brown eyes boring into hers. "It does," he said. The grimace was turning into a genuine smile. Was it true? He continued, "and I can See you have it, little one - but I cannot See anything about the what or the how."

It had to be true? Why would he lie? Etin asked carefully, "and you, Master Terrekrin, what kind of Gift do you have?"

"Etin," Mama said sternly, "they have just escaped a terrible destruction."

But Terrekrin's warm smile did not disappear - though the reminder made his eyes a little more haunted. He drew a wax candle out of a pocket in his robe. With a flick of his fingers he lit it and then he started moving it around. The flame kept still. Did not wave or flicker. Did not even eat of wick or wax. It didn't even touch his fingers. Etin and her family stared wide eyed - even Gran seemed to wake a little.

"I am a generalist," Terrekrin said. "I know a little about many realms, but my favoured realm is Fire; flame and heat. Here, young lady, this is for you." He gave Etin the candle and she received it in wonder and awe. A real Enchantment. She waved it a little, like Terrekrin had done, and the flame stayed just as still and dependable. The fire was hot and real, but it didn't burn and stayed obediently on the end of the wick. What a thing to bring into the barn on a dark morning - a safe light!

What if she really had a Gift. What if she could learn to make this herself for Ma and Pa. Out loud, she said, "Mama, I really want to go with them and learn!"

Mama and Pa looked at each other - hope and fear in equal measure. "We will talk about it," Mama replied finally. "Let the guests eat in peace, and you and Anbar go to bed."

But Etin saw a longing gaze in Mama's eyes. A gaze that said they had just lost so much, and even though she hated to let her daughter go, it would be very much easier to rebuild with a trained Gifted in the family.

The Water, chapter 1, part 5

Etin was about to grab the dwarf. She leaned on the remains of the cliff for a moment to find her footing.

There was a tiny shiver in the ground, then, like an afterthought to the catastrophy. It was just enough to topple the last rocks into the opening. Both she and the dwarf jumped - to one side each. Etin ended up sitting on the ground outside, the dwarf was caught behind the rockfall.

She tried pulling on a stone, but it was far too heavy. "Are you ok," she shouted in to him.

"Yes, yes! But the smoke will kill us. Help us, please, dearest, to dig away the fall!" The voice was weak and muffled through the holes in the scree. Small puffs of smoke escaped with the desperate, hoarse prayer.

"I'll get more help," said Etin. "Just stay there!" Oh, that was unnecessary. Where would they go? She felt tears coming - whether it was the smoke or the dwarves' fate, she didn't know. Both, perhaps.

She ran down to the house as fast as she could. Several of the roof slates had slid down. One of the stone pillars under the food loft had collapsed. The building still stood - there were many pillars under it - but it was leaning, and Etin didn't dare to think about what might happen to the food.

Mama had emerged in the yard, gripping Gran by the arm and with her two small brothers behind her. Gran breathed heavily and shook, and Mama was pale and scared. Ansil and Nerath grabbed her skirts tightly.

"Are you well, dearest," asked Mama.

Etin nodded, but gestured to the damage around them. The house was standing, the loft needed repairs, and the stream was gathering in the sheep stall turning the earthen floor into mud. The sheep were bleating pitifully but had nowhere to run.

Mama started towards the food loft, but Etin interrupted her. "Mum," she said, almost out of breath. "There are dwarves stuck behind a rockfall up at our cliff. We need to help remove rocks so they can get out. The smoke is poisoning them behind there."

Mama looked like she was about to collapse, only held up by her hair knot. She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. Then she looked up at the remains of the cliff side and nodded. "Yes, life is the most important. Nerath, run down to the timber woods and get your dad and Anbar."

"What way did they go," asked Nerath. He was shaking, but biting his lip to avoid crying. He probably wanted to look brave. Ansil let the tears run freely.

Mama looked down towards the birch woods, where her husband and eldest child were to spend the day. The enormous rocks had torn and bent trees in the northern part of the woods, in a broad path down to Plainsvale.

"Southern I think, gods be praised. Ansil, try to calm the animals. Mother-in-law, the food. Etin, you and I see what we can do for the dwarves."

Gran grunted. "They are probably just cooking something strange in their smithies. We shouldn't meddle - put a bit of wood under the loft so it holds up instead. Mixing up in dwarf business will just get us in over our heads."

"In over our heads? The rock fall could have destroyed the whole farm! We almost lost both food loft and sheep stall," said Mama.

"But we didn't so now we should clean up our stuff."

"Mother... If the dwarves suffer, it is our duty as good neighbours to help."

"Good neighbours! Every village from the West Swamps to the Foggy Lake pay tolls to those greedy dwarves," hissed Gran.

"We do not pay toll!" Mama was fast turning from exasperated to angry. All the tiredness erupted into the argument. "They trade fairly with us, and we have all we need, because the dwarves pay us rightfully for our goods. Far more than the merchants of Krathno Town - or the taxmen from the king in Kent Lazpar. If the dwarves suffer, so do we."

Mama stopped to draw breath. "But it's not just about money. We learn from them too. Was it the dwarves who built the new temple-school? No, it was the manservant at Elderton who had apprenticed to them, and brought home tools and knowing."

Gran didn't reply, just grunted and stomped back in the house to restart the hearth and the pot.

Nerath ran down the hills, while Ansil dried his tears and started on the sheep stall. At ten years old there wasn't much he could do, but he grabbed a shovel and started to dig away mud and debris to lead the stream back outside. Mama picked up a crowbar and she and Etin climbed up to the cliff behind the house again. Black, acidic smoke still poured out of all the holes and hollows.

"Hello," cried Etin, and put her ear to one of the holes. She thought perhaps she heard a mumble, but it was terribly faint. "We're here now!" Still no clear reply. Maybe it was just her own echo through deep corridors below the ground.

She and Mama started pulling on the rocks. They pushed the crowbar in between two decent sized lumps, and put their full weight on it. The lump stirred a little. Some few smaller stones moved, but it was heavier than Etin was prepared for, and they both had to stop often, coughing from the smoke. Etin began to fear they would accomplish nothing at all when Pa and Anbar finally climbed the steep incline from the timber site. They too lived, praise the Gods.

"Was all well down there?" asked Mama.

Pa said, "we were on the south slopes. Had we been on the northern end of the woods, the rock fall would have taken us for sure. It was the sheer good will of the Gods that the fall spared our farm."

Etin said, "I saw fire and smoke from Plainsvale, right outside the Zanubegil main gate."

"Saw the smoke, too. And the ground shook like anything," said Anbar. "Toppled loads of the oldest trees - those the scree left standing. Dad almost got an oak on top of him."

"We had to run from our tools. We'll have to go down and gather them up, what we can, later. We have to tend to the wood piles, and the fences. Many good stone walls fell. There is plenty of work ahead of us," said Pa.

He looked just as exhausted as Mama, but he took the crowbar from Etin and started directing them all with new energy. First this rock, then that one. Shove the bar and the stakes in there, everyone press, NOW!

The work was still heavy, and they were only a little further by the time Nerath arrived with Mister Brookstone and his eldest son. Brookstone was a massive man, as wide across the shoulders as the Tsik wings mounted over his door - almost. He breathed heavily from the climb. "So, the boy of yours says there's dwarves behind here?"

Pa nodded curtly and said, "Etin, Emerie, go down and get food in you. This could get late."

"I'll keep food on the hearth for you," said Mama.

Down in the house, gran stood stirring the porridge pot. "Twice cooked, cold and burned food - but that's a farmer's lot in life," she said. She had just pushed the wet ashes and wood to one side and grabbed new. Etin expected the cleaning job to fall to her - wiping down, carefully putting back the useable logs so as not to quench the fire, and sweep up wet, dirty ashes - and she wasn't looking forward to it.

She let her gaze sweep the living room before sitting down. Below the kitchen window she saw the broom and a small pile of broken plates - once Mama's dowry. She met Mama's gaze, but although her mother's eyes were red and puffy, she shook her head and said quietly, "it's just things. We have our lives still."

After dinner, Mama said, "I and Etin see to the food loft." She pointed with her spoon, "Ansil, you are in charge of the dishes. Nerath, you help him. Mother in law, see what you can tidy up in here."

Etin breathed a secret sigh of relief - it looked like Gran was slated to clean up the mess in the hearth. Caring for the food was the job for the mistress of the house, and Etin felt a little bit more mature and responsible helping Mama look over their future.

The Water, chapter 1, part 4

Etin hurried down on her knees again to fill the other bucket, but with a wary eye still on Zanubegil and the surrounding peaks. They too were shivering. Giant rocks that had spent thousands of frosts and thaws to crack, finally saw their ending. The needle towering over Plains Ridge broke. Ravens' Hee tore apart. The standing stone above Isenhigh fell.

For a moment, Etin stopped to squint - was there someone up there? Maybe just an animal.

But then closer, much closer and much worse. The great, polished cliff just a stone's throw up the hill above the house, the cliff that had been there since aeons before Apple Hill farm was built, the cliff that had been safe and solid, protected them from the northwind - that cliff cracked and a rock the size of several men, tore away.

It thudded down on the ground below, crushing heather and turf.

Turned slowly and uncertainly once or twice, as if it was wondering about its new found freedom.

Hit the stream a few hundred yards above where Etin fetched water.

Speeded up where water and ice had scoured the path for hundreds of years.

Rolled, roared and thundered down towards where Etin was standing.

Pulled along dozens, hundreds, thousands of pebbles, stones, man-sized rocks. An impacable rockfall that thundered and sprang down towards Plainsvale and Apple Hill farm.

And to Etin.

She stood gaping for less than a moment, before finding her wits and legs. She grabbed the buckets and ran. She stumbled and got up. Stumbled again, slipped on the wet snow covering the heathered slope. Spilled the buckets. Wet all over her skirt, but she crawled up again - without the buckets. A stone the size of Papa's chest sailed towards her, but she threw herself aside.

Staggered, lurched to keep her footing.

Here a bare spot.

There a steady stone.

The tumbling rocks hit one bucket and crushed it. The other bucket rolled down to the sheepstall, like a bell-sheep with the flock of stones following behind it. The rockfall spread sideways, tore with it heather and moss and earth that the centuries had built up, but the sheepstall was halfway down the hill and held like a dam to the masses. They flowed like a thundering, billowing, deadly waterfall around the corner of the stalls, tore away a little of the walls and disappeared down the hill towards Plainsvale.

Etin breathed. No more rocks fell. Apple Hill was safe.

The buckets were gone, but that was hardly the worst that could have happened, and Etin trotted down to the yard again to fetch new ones.

But if the rockslide was over, the shivers weren't. They continued and grew stronger and stronger, larger and larger. Etin stopped to check if more fell from the cliff. They needed water, but lives were more important than doing dishes. She heard the glass panes tinkle. The pillars under the food loft creaked. Pine and birch and rowan lost their last snow.

And then came the last, the greatest quake.

It started as burst of flames around Zanubegil mountain. Black smoke cascaded skywards, billowed out the gate and down the valley, oozed out of every hidden crack and hollow and secret window up the mountain sides. The shakes revertebrated along all the ridges in all directions, and down the slopes right down to the valebottoms. Peaks fell and old snow and even older stone fell.

Zanubegil cracked open.

Long rifts tore open the ridges and mountain sides. Stinking smoke met the once fresh skies. Blazes of flame lit the depths momentarily. The cliff above Apple Hill opened - as if a gigantic divine knife clove through the rock like butter. The enormous, scoured cliff side cracked into hundreds of rocks - small and large. Some lay as a newly created scree in the opening, others still stood up above. Balanced, like a tossed coin occasionally lands on its edge.

Etin stood gaping - but closed her mouth fast and drew her shawl over nose and mouth when the awful, heavy smoke seeped down to her and scraped her nostrils.

"Help!" She was roused from her trance by a muffled and coughing voice from deep in the crack.

Something - someone! - moved in there, clambered over the new stone scree, waved their arms.

"Hello?" Etin crawled up the last bit of hill. It wasn't simple, with one hand on her shawl. She stumbled often - had she had any extra fingers, she would have crossed them to ward off sprains. The smoke was thick up here. Hot, acid, heavy and thick. She was sweating now, and coughed just like the person trapped.

The person shouted again, "here! Oh my, is there someone out there? Gods be praised! Help me!" A hand reached for hers, small, genteel, with large rings, but the nails were black and the fingers newly scraped. A face became visible through the smoke. That too, black from ashes, but his beard was trimmed, and Etin noticed a faint scent of rose water - even through the burning stench of smoke. Streaks of tears laid their tracks through the ashes. "Sweetest, kindest one," the dwarf sobbed. "Help us out of here!"

Wings out, tail down, claws out - and I landed, gripping the edge of the cliff where the family nest sat. I shook out my wing feathers and folded them neatly in. Then my hair. I tried giving it a good shake, but it was so matted and muddy, it didn’t really help.

“You need to clean up, sis.”

My brother, Pirree, was fastidious and shining. Somehow he never got a feather out of place.

I said, “not much I can do in this weather. Pick up a mouse and get mud from nose to tail.”

He neatly picked at a claw that was already perfect. “You should at least clean your claws, Kirlee. They’ll blunt if you don’t.”

He repeated mum and dad as if I didn’t know. I tried, but not everything came off. I dutifully started biting and licking at them anyway. They were full of blood. I’d had a good day down the marshes and was feeling nest-ready for once.

Pirree cocked his head and stared at me. Now I felt like a mouse. “What now, Pirr?”

“Your hair. It’s a real mess. The body mage over at Raven’s Hee could cut it for you. That should make things easier.”

I changed to the other foot. I could feel the sting in my cheeks, but Pirree was of the same clutch as me and I told him, “I still owe him from last time. I only got enough to feed myself today. The mage wants a whole rabbit, and all I gave him last time was a squirrel baby.” The body mages are useful for a species without hands, but he knew he was useful and he knew he was exclusive, and if he hadn’t been in control of his own body, too, he’d be too fat to fly. I’ve always wished I didn’t need him, but what can a Tsik do when the weather is autumn from equinox to equinox?

Also, hair grows - unlike feathers.

“Well, you will have to fly there and pay him back at least. Maybe a pigeon up front will get you started on the next cleanup.”

As if I could even find a spare pigeon those days. The prey bred worse than us. Me and Pirree, we used to have another clutch sibling. He survived hatching but not much more.

We heard a squawk of greeting. It was from our big sis Sirril. She’s from the clutch the year before, and she flew wider and got better prey than any of us. “Hey, baby chicks!”

That’s a tease. Both I and Pirree had our adult feathers, and hoped to find our own mates and nests that season. Well, he had a chance at least. Not so sure about me. The good males don’t really like a partner who looks like a ball of owl-spit. Sirril was good to us, she’d let me stay until I find someone, even if this was technically her territory now, after mum and dad decided to migrate to the islands. I’ve occasionally wondered if mum and dad were right. There’s fish out by the islands, and the rumours say it’s better pickings than here on the Grey Peaks - but that’s neither here nor there to the story.

Anyway, Sirril said, “did you hear about the nest down by Marri-dale? Nobody has seen the pair in almost a greatmoon-cycle!”

Marri-dale. That’s a decent territory. It’s low altitude so you wouldn’t see much, but there’s trout in the Marrilit rivers and loads of creatures trek to the streams. “What do you think happened to the owners,” I asked. Though I had my suspicions. There’s a human town by the Marrilit/Grey river fork.

Sirril echoed my thoughts. “Humans probably. Though killing the whole pair is harsh. I hope they didn’t have chicks.”

I shuddered. One, two, maybe three hatchlings just getting their first real wing feathers, but no chance of learning to fly or feed themselves. “And noone would know to adopt them in time before they starve.” Killing the whole pair was harsh.

“Why did they hunt together,” asked Pirree. As if we could answer that. “The council should forbid hunting on human farms!”

I ate a chicken once. It was the best meal I ever caught with my own two feet. I told Pirree that.

Sirril licked her lips. Pirree stomped and shook himself, head to tailtip. “No,” he said. “It’s not worth the risk. Kirlee - I don’t want you dead.”

“Oh, you just have to think about what you’re doing,” said Sirril. “Not just focus on the prey, but the surroundings and circumstances too. A mama thrush will flee when you pick her nest, so you’d never worry about it, but taking from human farms is more complicated.” She grinned. “Some of us like a challenge.”

And the way the pickings were that year, some of us had to. “Maybe the nest is open for new owners,” I said.

The day after, my belly was rumbling again, my hair still looked like owl-spit, and Sirril woke far too early. The overhang kept the nest dryish, but there were droplets all over her, and when she flapped her wings, I got a load in my face. “Thanks,” I muttered.

“Makes you fresh and awake, baby chick. You hungry? I am.”

“Someone started talking about chickens last night,” I sighed.

Sirril gave me a sidelong glance, her black eyes glittered under the blonde locks. “I’m thinking we could get a better view of the humans if there’s more of us,” she said.

“You two are crazy,” the curled up shape of Pirree said. He drew his head out from under his wing and yawned. “I said yesterday I don’t want you killed - and that goes for both of you. I’m serious. Just don’t.”

“I’m hungry,” I said, as way of explanation. “And the body mage at Raven’s Hee will probably clean me nose to tailfeather and back to claws for a full chicken.”

“One each might be pushing it,” said Sirril, “but a half chicken should be enough both to fill your belly and to get you that haircut at least.”

She was serious. She really wanted to hunt farms.

Pirree stared at us. Then he stuffed his face back under the wing. It was muffled, but “I will have no part in this,” we heard him say.

So I and big sis flew. Circled first at the high end of the Deep Vale, checked the Vale holts, then stopped at the Foggy Lake. There were some nice looking ducks, and Pirree said “how about mallard?” Apparantly he’d followed us anyway.

“Thought you said you wanted no part of it,” said Sirril.

“I have to look out for you,” he said.

Yep, it was dangerous. I said, “mallard is good.”

“Baby chick! You running out on me? Come on, that farm on the south bank looks promising.”

It did. Some good trees around it to scout from, a good upwind from the lake to the cliffs, and the chicken coop was behind the barn.

“Anyway,” Sirril continued, “the territory owners won’t like if we take their ducks.”

“Will they like that you take their chickens,” asked Pirree.

“No, but there’s none on my rocks. It is getting a bit sparse, especially with the three of us.”

She liked us, but still… “You want us gone soon, right?” I said. “Find your own mate instead?”

Sirril sighed. “That would still make it me plus one plus chicks. Unless I can expand with the mate’s territory as well. I was checking out our neighbour on the east side. He’s a kind guy, but then I had to ask the Memory Keeper and unfortunately she needed only recite lineages for three breaths before finding a common ancestor. So no expanding that way at least.”

We flew in to perch on the copse of tall spruce behind the main house of the farm. From that angle we could see the farmer had built a tight lattice work of beams around and above an open area where the dumb clucks wandered around pecking at the ground and each other.

“Okey,” I said. “How are we getting through that fence thing?”

Sirril started bobbing her head back and forth. She was measuring for much longer than I would have done - but then again, I didn’t think that fence was possible to maneuver through anyway.

Sirril said finally, “come. Watch me.”

We closed in; me, I landed on the barn roof. Sirril swooped down to the coop, and then she did a maneuver that defies words. It was a combination of a side slide, a tail twist - and then she folded in everything and somehow slipped through the tiny space between the beams. I’ve seen swallows do that sort of thing. I can’t catch those. I’ve never thought a full grown Tsik could do it. I might consider practicing that sort of fold in at two hundred feet above the ground. But not two feet above. The chance of crashing was crazy high.

Sirril was airborne again with a chicken in her claws. She headed for the same opening.

She was almost through.

And what did I do? I did what she said - I watched her.

But I didn’t do what she said last night - watch her surroundings and circumstances.

So when the farmer and the shovel turned up out of nowhere, I heard Pirree shriek from the copse before I saw it, and Sirril didn’t see in time at all.

Gods, I heard that shovel hit her head.

Pirree was there like a falcon. I didn’t know he could fly that fast. He was beating at the farmer with his claws and wings.

Sirril was just lying there on the ground.

I flew down. And what did I do?

I grabbed the chicken. That’s what she came for right? I could help her with that. Later I would sometimes tell myself I did it to distract the farmer, but really? I had no reason. I just grabbed it. Food. Instinct. Fucking instinct.

And Sirril was still lying there. And the farmer beat her again. And Pirree was flying around him until she was bleeding and bleeding and bleeding. And there was blood on her face and in her hair and her feathers were soaked in it and the claws were drenched in chicken blood, and when Pirree came to the cliffs above that fucking farm, she was dead.

I had a chicken, and my big sis was fucking dead.

Pirree opened his mouth. I knew what he was going to say. So I tore off a chicken leg and dumped the rest in front of him. Then I took off with just that fucking leg that Sirril had died for.

Do you have any idea how much tears sting when you fly top speed at top altitude? I wish we were like other animals. They don’t cry. But we’re not. We’re Folk. We’re Kindred. And the Gods made it so we can cry. And I just lost my fucking sister and Pirree hated me.

I cried. And it stung. And I cried more, I could barely see where I was going.

Lucky thing there’s not much in the way between two mountain peaks, right?

I landed on Raven’s Hee, near the mage’s nest. He was busy making a council man pretty. I could see it was a councillor - he had shiny dwarven bracelets around both ankles. Probably enchanted stuff. Something to keep him nice looking, or good speed, or something like that. I don’t know.

The body mage finished his job and the councillor flew off. He had some really cute black tail markings - but a councillor is way above my station, and I just raided a farm and my fucking sister just died, so I wasn’t really looking for a mate. I tiptoed over to the mage’s nest and dropped the chickenleg. My stomach rumbled. Maybe it hadn’t noticed that I was in a really bad shape right now.

“Thanks,” the body mage said. “Want me to start up on the next session? You could really use it.”

As if not everyone already had told me this. Including my fucking dead sister. “Yes, please,” I said. “But just the haircut.” I couldn’t afford more.

I flew home afterwards. Even though I knew Pirree would be there. Even though I knew what he was going to say. And he did. “Coward,” he called me. And a lot of other true things. I tried defending myself. I said, “if you’d been closer and helped, maybe she would have lived. We could have used an extra lookout. But you were so noble. You didn’t want any part of this, you said!”

I said, “with a better territory and nest we wouldn’t have needed to raid farms,” but he threw my own words back at me.

“‘Best meal I caught with my own two feet,’ wasn’t that it? Duck wasn’t good enough for you. Our sister just died so you could pretty up!”

That wasn’t fair. She had wanted it too - and Pirree had told me I needed to get clean. But it still stung. Still my fault.

“You don’t deserve a better nest,” he said. He was right about that. I didn’t.

“I bet you didn’t even Memorize it for the council.”

He was wrong about that. I didn’t have to Memorize like mum and dad taught us. The whole scene was etched into my brain. Every clang of shovel on skull. Every crunch of bone shattering. Every fucking drop of blood on my sisters face. Even the third eyelid stupidly coming out to protect her eyes. As if that stupid bird feature could protect her against the fucking metal shovel.

The Memory Keeper at the council would be able to find every detail in my head. Including the fact that I’d been a fucking coward and left my sister to die.

Pirree has a sharp tongue. Mine isn’t. Some time in that argument I got so fed up that I slashed at him with my claws instead.

I didn’t connect, thankfully. But he did retreat. Before flying off to sleep in a tree, he said, “the council will be convening at Isenhigh Rock to decide the Marri-dale nest, come next full small-moon. It’s a good place - but it doesn’t have - you know - chickens.”

Fuck him. I’d take it anyway. He can inherit the family nest.

By the time the council convened, I and Pirree were nesting together again, but we weren’t talking. Well, sometimes I said, “here is a mouse,” and then he’d say, “eat it,” and then I’d have to eat my own peace offering and we’d still not talk to each other.

He never offered me anything, and I didn’t expect it.

We flew in silence to the council, and perched on the outside of the assembled council members, Memory Keepers and assorted full adults, at Isenhigh Rock. They discussed a lot of things, most of them boring. Pirree tried to ask an adult to propose a farm-raid ban to the council, but they shook him off. She said they’d discuss it about once a generation, and then decide that what a raider does is on his own head.

And so when Sirril’s death came up, and Pirree urged for a ban again, they let me off the hook. Tragic accident of the hunt, they said. No blame, they said. No fucking blame? I can do that for them. I wake up every morning to the sound of the fucking shovel.

But at least noone else was going to punish me. I stayed long enough to hear that noone was in line for the Marri-dale nest and grounds, so I said, “I’ll take it then,” and then I flew. Might as well be me, and I’m pretty sure Pirree was thrilled to see my tail.

Of course I should have stayed and listened to the boring adults. Next morning the cute councillor landed on my new, nice, own nest and told me to leave.

“Why? There were no inheritors!”

“There’s a breeding couple up from Bluevale that needs it. She’ll be laying any day.”

“No, this is full! There’s no space for breeders here, the territory is half the size of something useful,” I said. I’d checked the edges before going to sleep. I had begun to understand why the previous owners maybe had tried going for the human settlements. There was fish in the river for sure, but it was also a dangerous rapid, and not something to loose your balance or your head trying to catch.

“The council has decided. You are still a juvenile, and you will obey the will of your elders.”

“You don’t understand. There is not prey for them and chicks. I’m unmated, I can scrape by here. Let me have it!”

He hissed at me. Large wings, spread tail. I tried not to be intimidated, but there’s fucking instincts and I got scared and I really, really wanted this little nook in the forest for my own, and so I hissed back.

At a councilmember maybe fifteen years older than me, with the whole fucking council behind him.

He bared his claws.

I slashed at him with mine.

And fuck, I connected. Sheer fucking luck against someone way more experienced than me. Sheer fucking bad luck that I hit a councilmember, and he starts bleeding.

And he bleeds.

And it’s like Sirril only a half mooncycle ago, but it’s not a shovel this time. It’s my claws that hit and connected and tore his major throat artery, and he screamed and shrieked and it echoed across the whole fucking Marri-dale and up the cliffs and across the Marrilit rivers and I’m sure the humans in the town heard him, and I just stood there in shock.

“I’ll get the body mage,” I whispered.

“I’ll get you fixed!”

“Don’t die!”

“Please, don’t die.”

But he did, and I just killed a fucking councilmember and the whole council would know, because the Memory Keeper would rip it from my brain and I don’t know what they would do to me, but they would probably kill me, and so I took off.

I flew up, up, up. Over the Grey mountains. I shot across the great grass fields without a tree in sight. I didn’t stop to rest, I didn’t stop to eat.

Until I fell with exhaustion, and I didn’t notice the humans who came closer than I’d seen them since the day the farmer and the shovel bashed my sister to death. I didn’t notice their traps, their ropes, their cages.

And that’s how I ended here, a cage-pet to a human in Tamospar.

Fucking daughter of a dog-formed demon snipped my flight feathers. Unfortunately for her, I have figured out how to manipulate the cage lock with my claws, and even clipped, I can still flap my way up to the door handles. Unfortunately for me, although Tamospar is a small town the way the Tsik flies, I’m ground-bound and will probably get caught before I reach the edges. If I don’t starve first.

If I kill my owner, maybe they will shoot me. Maybe Sirril will find some rest then.

The Water, chapter 1, part 3

The arguments continued through the day, until mother ordered them to start the evening meal. Ansil and Nerath set the table, while Etin went down to the food loft for flour and parsnips. She couldn't see the Tsik anymore, but what she had thought was smoke, looked like fog descending from the distant peaks.

Inside again, mother had started the cooking. Grandma stretched her fingers towards the heat of the fireplace. "I'll take mine by the warmth today," she said.

"You always do," said Nerath.

"How are your hands today," asked Ansil.

Grandma was happy for the opportunity to complain about stiff knees, hurting joints, bad weather and chilled fingers, and entertained the little ones while mother stirred the pot.

"Etin," said mother, "could you get another couple of buckets of water, for the dishes afterwards."

Etin obediently picked up the buckets and the yoke. She stomped up past the sheep barn and put down the buckets by the little stream that provided Apple Hill with fresh, clear water. It sprang from high up where the snow melted above the cliffs, where it was white all year round, and jumped from rock to rock, and gurgled from pond to pond between heather and moss, down the long slopes to Plainsdale, where it finally became one with the long and broad Plainsriver.

Etin let her gaze run along Plainsdale. First south, where heather and birch had become pasture sprinkled with juniper and other shrubs. She followed the Plainsriver with her eyes until it disappeared between hills and mist, long before it watered the broad fields in sunny and strange Ainrand and burst forth into the bay between the Twin Cities.

Then she turned northwards, beyond the cliff, above the ice-sheared mountainsides, and to the top of the valley between Plainsridge and Bluemountain Ridge. Where the two ridges gathered, together with the ends of the Gray Mountains and Isenridge, the Vengvet Heights and the Tamospar-ridge, stood Mount Zanubegil, the "Hand of God". At the dawn of time, it was said, Saylars - god of smiths, maker of the dwarves, He who Shapes - stretched out his hand and drew Earth from Sea. Where he held became the highest point the Five People knew of. Zanubegil, home and capital of the dwarves, which although it had gates and roads in most of the nearby valleys, had its main entrance towards Plainsdale and the 'river.

Occasionally Etin saw small figures up by the gate, but outside marketdays, the dwarves usually kept to themselves.

Her eyes travelled south again, towards the other farmsteads along the west side of the Bluemountain Ridge - Swiftstream, Brookstone and a handful of others. On the other side of the valley the Plainsridge lay like a straight row of hilltops for many, many miles, and west of that, said some there were swamps, and others said there was a desert and others said there was the ocean and the Westhavens.

Etin was happy that wasn't here. She stepped out on the flat rock a distant ancestor had laid out in the pond and carefully lowered the first bucket into the water.

The ground shook gently. Low and murmuring like the sound of a distant animal herd. Rings spread in the pond, tiny waves broke on the banks, and a small, round pebble dislodged from its place among many. Etin pulled up the bucket and placed it beside herself. A rock as large as her fist rolled down and bumped softly against the bucket. She looked up towards Mount Zanubegil, the Hand of God.

Normally it was covered in snow and the gate closed. Now it was licked by small tongues of flame like a crown, and black smoke poured out of the open main gate.

The Water, chapter 1, part 2

Apple Hill was a prosperous farm, with thick stone walls and coarse dwarven glass covering the windows. The fields produced willingly so they always had enough to sell to the neighbours, the dwarves dwelling deep in the northern mountains. Roots and rye, barley and oats, as well as salted meats, were swapped with all that the dwarves created in their mines. The dwarves made good tools, such as knives and axes for the farm, as well as pure iron for nails and horseshoes. They shaped clay and stone to plates and crockery, and they had Gifted; magicians who could enchant coal to glow through the night and baskets to keep food fresh longer.

Mum’s favourites were still the blue and purple minerals she used to colour her weaving yarn. She had set ten year old Ansil to wash the porridge pot, while she sat concentrated and bent over a tapestry she was planning to sell at the great autumn feast. Birds and beasts in brown and red and black frolicked among vines of green leaves and blue berries, and around them she wove a frame of purple decked in small yellow stars.

“Mum,” said Etin.

The tight grey-brown hairknot rose from the loom. “You got all of it?”

“Yes, but there was a Tsik.” She held up the chicken which writhed in her arms. “Can we have it for dinner?” Please?

Mum stroked it with a finger, lifted the wing. The hen pecked after her and she grabbed it across the back. “No, this one is still lively enough.”

Grandma had managed to putter over from the bench to the rocking chair by the fireplace. She was gobbling porridge with a spoon and few teeth. “Don’t you wish to treat us to a nice chicken soup, Emerie?” She said with her mouth full of porridge.

“I wish you all the best in the world, but the winter has barely started and it’s a long time until we get new chicks.”

Grandma growled. “And if it dies on its own? Then you’ve wasted a good meal!”

Mum checked over the chicken again, but shook her head. “It will be fine. Look, the rift is small and no longer bleeding.”

Etin looked more closely. It wasn’t as bad as she had first thought. Maybe it had just had a shock from the attacking Tsik. “OK,” she said, a bit disappointed. “I’ll take it down to the coop again.”

“Can you water the glass house too?” Mum’s glass house was a tiny dwarven building along the south wall. It contained a rare and tender Ekne-bush from the mild valleys in the far south.

Etin bowed her head, embarrassed. Always something she forgot or missed, something that showed she wasn’t an adult yet. “Sorry, I forgot in the middle of everything. I was so worried about the Tsik-bird. I’ll go water now. They weren’t very ripe yesterday, so we can probably wait a few days with picking them.”

“All right. As long as they are jarred by the autumn feast. I have to sell them then.” She gave her daughter a serious look. “And no eating. They are far too valuable. The dwarves will buy them.”

“Scrooges,” grandma muttered into her breakfast. “They’ll never pay you what you put into the bushes.”

Mum rolled her eyes. “Etin. The berries. And we get better paid by the dwarves than any others at the feast.”

Etin took the small bucket of water that had warmed up from being inside.

When she got back, Ansil had finished cleaning the pot and gran’s bowl and spoon. He had scraped the leftovers into a bowl for Etin, and she gratefully ate while cleaning the eggs. One by one, she took them out, checked for cracks, wiped the dirt, and then put them back in the basket for the midday meal. Then she quickly cleaned her bowl - before mum said anything - and found her belt-loom to make ribbons for belts and edgings. Some for sale, some for her own future bridal chest. Ansil had brought their smallest brother - seven year old Nerath - to the best place before the fire to play a game of stones, so Etin found the other chair instead.

“Did you kill the pest,” asked grandma.

Etin looked at her. She was crooked, wrinkled and grey, but still spun the pile of wool in her lap into beautiful, thin yarn. Yarn that mum later would dye and weave or knit. “No,” said Etin. “I threw a couple of old apples at it. It flew away.”

“Bah,” said grandma. “They don’t scare that easy. No, I remember a story from the Swiftstream farms. A girl there they found torn apart below the Swift Cliffs. Swear it was the birds that got her.”

Mum sighed and shook her head. “A Tsik can’t carry a whole child. Maybe a tiny infant, but nothing bigger. I’m sure she climbed and fell, and they came to eat on the dead body.”

With her loom tied around her waist, Etin let her fingers do their familiar dance. Through, turn, beat, through, turn, beat. It let her thoughts wander and she was reminded of something her eldest brother had whispered to her one late evening. “Grandma, Anbar said you’d told him of someone who was hanged for killing a Tsik-bird.”

“Mother in Law!” Mum sat up straight and looked angrily at them both. “What sort of stories are you feeding the children? Noone here gets hanged, Etin, and certainly not for that. Maybe fined a cow.”

Nerath stared at them with big, round eyes. “Brookstone has Tsik-wings over their door,” he said with awe. “Did they have to pay a whole cow?”

Mum bent over the loom again. “No, just a ewe. The judge said it was self defence.”

Grandma grinned. “The critter tore apart the fencing he’d built. Mister Brookstone emptied a dwarfish Repairwand to fix it. Those wands be expensive - your dad can’t afford one. Brookstone got fed up and grabbed his axe.” She chuckled and continued. “Don’t think Brookstone can afford another one either.”

Etin could see Ansil think carefully. He was so adult for his age, and loved all creatures. “The priest at the winter school says the Tsik are People,” he said. “We aren’t allowed to kill them.”

Grandma spat into the flames. “Bah. If one starts on our coop or the lambs, your dad will find his axe too. You’ll see.”

Mum frowned. “I don’t know…”

“Yes, he would, girl. And you’d happily pay a pregnant ewe to get rid of those pests.”

The Water, chapter 1, part 1

Etin squinted against the glaring autumn sun. Newly fallen snow glittered white over house and barn and trees at Apple hill farm, and shone on the high peaks surrounding the mountain farm. An icy wind tugged at her brown curls, and she tied her woolen shawl tightly around her head. Against the snow and blue sky she noticed the contour of a bird of prey circling, but it was far off and she could hear the chickens clucking down in the coop. She hoped the bird would stay away and took the broom leaning against the wall of their main house.

"And the basket, Etin," Mum called from the inside.

Etin grabbed the woven willow basket from the hook inside the door. "I have it, mum. What do you think of me?"

She heard a grunting laughter. That was probably old Gran waking up on the kitchen bench.

Etin trotted down to the chicken coop to start her daily chores. She let the creatures out into yard for them to feed while she swept, but they flocked around her legs and puffed their feathers. It was a cold morning for both people and animals.

A shadow passed in front of the sun. Etin looked up. A Tsik-bird! The predator with the humanoid face perched on an apple branch and grinned down at her with sharp teeth. The Tsiks weren't rare, but they were bad news for any who had lambs or chickens or rabbits. The body was as large as a small eagle, but the head was just like the real Kindreds - humans, elves and dwarves.

Etin shuddered. She would never get used to that face. Black eyed, narrow and sharp, and yet undoubtedly humanish.

The chickens ran to their coop again, but Etin had to finish her job. There was straw to be changed, dirt to be swept and food and water needed to be refilled. The Tsik wasn't so stupid as to attack while she was there, was it?

The work made her hot and sweaty. She stopped for a moment to stretch and loosen the shawl, and wondered if she should have waited with the underskirt until later.

It was that moment the Tsik needed. It shot like an arrow into the flock of chickens, claws first.

Etin gasped and struck at it with her broom. The Tsik fluttered in one direction, and a chicken in the other. The rest of the flock clucked and cooed and ran all over the yard.

Etin hit it again. Once, twice. She had to get it away.

The large Tsik-bird flew more lightly than she expected, and with a couple of strong wing beats it was back up in the apple tree.

Etin looked around. The chickens ran around wildly, except one. It stood shivering with blood dripping from its side.

What would Mum say? It was Etin's responsibility to watch them. No wonder Mum kept ordering her around!

She picked up a fallen apple her little brothers had overlooked, and lobbed it at the Tsik. It missed and the bird glanced at her, before starting to clean its feathers. The apple landed instead back in the snow with a soft thud, and rolled down towards the food loft. Etin glared at the Tsik. She wished it would leave.

She herded the hens back into the cozy chicken coop. First she gathered the eggs, then she used her apron to wrap up the wounded bird. She felt for it, but still had a small hope of fresh sunday dinner. The lambs were already slaughtered and salted and hung in the loft for winter, and Dad wouldn't be taking the pig before another couple of weeks. Fresh meat was rare at Apple Hill, and her mouth watered.

Etin brought the chicken with her outside. It stirred in her apron, but she had to show Mum. It was she who made decisions about the food at Apple Hill. Etin kept the eggbasket in her other hand. There was an icy wind down the mountain side, but worse was the Tsik which might take eggs if it didn't get chicken. Etin decided to clean the eggs indoors for once.

The bird of prey was still in the apple tree. Etin picked up another apple and threw at it. Again she missed, and the Tsik let out a hoarse screech that eerily resembled human laughter. Etin mumbled a few words she was glad Mum didn't hear, and went up the stone steps to the main house of the farm.

Behind her, she heard the heavy beating of strong wings, and she turned to see the Tsik fly back to the mountain peaks. For a moment she thought she saw smoke up there, but it was perhaps just a cloud.

“Kill me, kill me now,” the snake said. “Kill me if you want to live!”

But the snake had provided the apprentice with his greatest wish – how could he kill him!

The apprentice ran instead from the wyrm, out of its cave, out through the frozen plains, across the Mounts of Fate, and was almost to the Parsan river when he heard the gruesome roar behind him. Billowing clouds of fire, smoke and ash tore up the grass where the dragon breathed.

“Take a scale and hold it up,” the snake said.

The apprentice did so, and the scale turned into a hard, round shield which protected him from the flames. The dragon roared with frustration, turned and flew back.

“Now kill me,” said the snake, but the apprentice still refused.

He ran on south, across the river and down the plains. He could see the welcoming peaks of Mount Zanubegil in the distance, when he heard the dragon’s roar again. It was ripping and shredding with its claws, tearing at the ground, pulling up trees, gashing the earth.

“Take a scale and hold it to your chest,” the snake said.

The apprentice did so, and the scale turned into a strong and hard chest mail that covered his torso, and protected him from the terrible claws. The dragon roared again and turned back.

“Now kill me,” said the snake, again, but the apprentice still refused.

He ran and crawled and crawled and ran, till he was under the shadow of the mountain itself, and then he heard the dragon again. Its tail was beating and crashing into the rocks, causing enormous stones to fall.

“Take the last scale and place it on your head,” the snake said.

The apprentice did so, and the scale turned into a strong and wellmade helmet that protected him from the rocks and the lashing tail. The dragon now finally gave up and flew home.

The apprentice happily entered the great doorways of the mountain kingdom, and strode as fast as he could to the caverns of his master, but his happiness was short lived, for the sound he heard as he approached, was the one of celebration. Indeed, just then was the master performing the ceremony of the keys, and his master-siblings were jubilating their inheritance.

He was ready to fall down and weep again, but the snake insisted, “if you want your prize, now is your last chance. Kill me now, or forever have lost.”

Blinded by tears, the apprentice took his knife and pierced the skull of the snake.

Wonder of wonders! The creature shrivelled up, and from the old skin a new creature emerged; a snake brilliantly coloured, and with the wings of a fairy! It flew across the ceremony hall, and tore the throat of the siblings’ tinich, and from the destroyed dragon a mere snake emerged.

And thus – only the apprentice was in possession of both a fairy dragon, real dragon hide, and now the keys to his master’s forge and work shop.

“And the helmet you see before you, o tradesman, was that very same transformed dragon scale, which has passed from craftsman to apprentice through the centuries, before it now is mine,” finished the dwarf. “So what will you buy it for?”

“Nothing,” said Kavar. “For there is dwarfblood in my veins, from those who were willing to share with each other, but who paid dearly for their fault in robbing someone who should have been their sibling-in-craft. The helm is more costly than I could pay, and yet worth much less than their friendship might have been worth. Will you work with me now?”