The weather at Iron Gaol refused to settle on a season. A hot spell had come in out of nowhere, followed by a brutal deluge and a long, clouded dark that left the rejuvenated convicts of Kyr's work detail sodden and shivering. The weather took its toll upon the Watch as well; Hjoldn was off sick for three days with a cold. The female who replaced him slipped on a water-slick stone, breaking her ankle in the fall. It was hard to generate much sympathy, as every child in the group experienced a heart-stopping lurch of a slipping footpaw on a regular basis, and nothing was ever done about it.
The return to more pleasant weather brought something new and wondrous to the rejuvenated convicts. Their day began like almost all before it had; waking early, performing chores, and readying themselves for the looming day of pointless physical labour. But around mid morning Rhyd gave Kyr a subtle shove and flicked his orange-furred muzzle in the direction of an unfamiliar group. “Nobles,” he whispered.
Kyr turned to watch the approaching delegation. Most wore the amber and black of House Gronahl, with a male in the centre of the group wrapped in thick red leathers with speckled, white-furred trim. Bjol, the Lord of House Gronahl himself.
Lord Bjol studied the workers with artificial eyes while his subordinates spoke to Hjoldn. It was a brief conversation, followed by a bellowed order to form up in lines for inspection. As Ban's movement was restricted, being leashed to a pole, one of the lines formed around him.
“Why is that one restrained?” Lord Bjol asked.
“He's unfit for manual labour, Lord,” Hjoldn answered smartly. The Watchman stared straight ahead as he answered.
One of the group approached, a middle-aged Dawnsider whose blond fur had a few premature patches of grey in the roots. “Mongrel, eh? Easily fixed – give him some oxyaver and he'll be fit.”
The dismissive tone of the man's comment made Kyr's stomach knot. “Begging your pardon, sir, but oxyaver would do little to improve Ban's condition.”
From the corner of his vision, Kyr saw Hjoldn's eyes widen. The rejuve knew with absolute certainty that he was going to be put through hell when this meeting was over, yet the visitors did not seem offended. The examiner turned toward Kyr with a raised eyebrow. “What do you base that on, young man?”
Professional pride compelled him to answer, “Oxyaver would be an appropriate treatment if he had sulln syndrome, but that would not be consistent with his symptoms.”
“Which are?”
“Sensitivity to irritants, weakened respiratory tissues, and intermittent fluid build-up in the lungs. All of these are consistent with GIRA.”
The older Kyyreni scoffed at Kyr's diagnosis. “General Intermittent Respiratory Ailment? That's a diagnosis for doctors who can't be bothered performing a proper examination!”
Kyr's fur bristled at the insult. “GIRA is a recognised and Guild-validated diagnosis. Any competent doctor would agree.”
“Oh, so I'm incompetent, am I? Because I would say those symptoms are consistent with iskens.”
“That's ridiculous! Iksens is highly contagious! Furthermore, he shows none of the external symptoms; no lesions, no fever, no discoloured urine.”
The House-doctor shrugged off the challenge. “Iskens-by-father then.”
Kyr's jaw dropped. “There is not a single recorded instance of iskens-by-father on Taviksaad in over a hundred years, and it was only ever recorded in a tiny population of Dawnsiders from an isolated community! It is a unique, recessive genetic defect!”
There was no immediate response to the boy's outburst. Kyr took the silence as an opportunity to compose himself, during which he couldn't help but fixate on the House surgeon's muzzle splitting grin. It was certainly preferable to the look of eye-boggled outrage from Hjoldn. “I'm being tested, aren't I?” he asked at last.
“I just wanted to be sure you really were the same Kyr son of Ozra I met in the hospital. I don't suppose you remember me though, given that you had so much else to occupy your attention. I am Ulfat, personal surgeon of Lord Bjol. It is nice to meet you again, Kyr.”
A hazy memory resurfaced of five Kyyreni in House colours assisting with an emergency rejuvenation. “I... forgive me, sir. I was sleep deprived back then and I didn't recognise you.”
“As I said, you had other concerns,” Ulfat turned to his Lord and nodded, “I would like to bring young Kyr into the fold.”
Lord Bjol gave a single, slow nod. “Of course. What of the others? Do you think Dearest would have use of them?”
The surgeon chuckled, “Dearest would be overjoyed with a stable full of children, but grown men would be better.”
“Yes, but her good mood is worth a little lost productivity, surely?”
“It is not my place to tell you how to run your lands, lord,” Ulfat answered with a smile, “especially when Dearest is involved.”
“Then I say we take the lot. Watchman, how long will it take to arrange their transport to my holdings?”
Hjoldn seemed startled by the question. “A few days, I think?”
“Very well, I shall arrange their collection in three days. See that they are cleaned up and made ready for transport bright and early, if you please.”
“Yes, Lord,” Hjoldn answered on automatic. He looked utterly lost, as though his entire world had just been turned upside down. He ran a paw through his mane, ruffling the thick, dark fur sprouting from his neck as the delegation departed from the quarry. The convicts still hovered in the lines where he'd left them, most of which having not received so much as a cursory glance from their new master. When he spoke, his voice had none of the usual force and bluster, replaced instead with quiet doubt. “Convicts, down tools and return to your barracks. I suppose you'll need to be properly rested.”
Their last days in Iron Gaol were the most joyful any convict had ever known. Two and a half days without work! For the last two days, Hjoldn insisted on subjecting them to an hour's exercise, but stretches and short jogs around the quarry were nothing compared to their usual hard labour. They were left with plenty of time to simply be alone in each other's company, and giddy speculation gave way to games of chance, then even a bold bit of wrestling and rough play. All was fair game now – the knowledge they belonged to a Lord gave them unmatched confidence and a near total disregard for the rules.
All of them saw Kyr as the source of their good fortune. Kyr had impressed the House Surgeon, and that had won them all a new life. He found himself gifted what few treats the other boys had squirrelled away for themselves, while Sel chose to reward him in a far more physical fashion. She shared his bed for each of their last nights in Iron Gaol, and she made sure he fell asleep satisfied.
On the morning of departure, the barracks were roused long before dawn. What few personal belongings they were allowed to take with them were boxed and tagged, waiting to be collected. Among the items left behind were their convict uniforms, which meant they were marched nude into the cold pre-dawn morning and ordered into the shower block. There, at least, clean clothes were waiting – not-quite-black shirts and shorts, along with a pair of the cheapest shoes Kyr had ever seen for each of them.
Scrubbed so thoroughly it hurt, then dressed in clothes that did not quite fit, the convicts were escorted out of Iron Gaol and to a waiting shuttle-car. The long machine bore the livery of Western Land Transit, with their company logo placed as if an afterthought in the shadow of the Lifter Guild seal of certification. Hjoldn saw them out. “I know you all think this is a golden ticket to luxury, but you all be mindful of your behaviour! Lords can and will come down on you far harder than I ever could! I hope this new life of yours is as grand as you all imagine it will be. Go on, get aboard.”
Kyr found himself strangely sad to leave their overseer behind, but there was no denying his excitement. It was a feeling shared by all as they found seats in the vehicle. Kyr took a window seat near the middle, and Sel planted herself next to him. “How long do you think the ride will be?” she whispered into his ear as her paw squeezed his thigh.
The boy gave a shy chuckle, “I would very much enjoy what you're planning, but I think Hjoldn is right – we're not free, and we have no idea how our new masters might react to us fooling around. Let's not push our luck until we know what we're pushing against.”
Sel gave an exaggerated huff. “I hate it when you talk sense!”
With the doors closed and Watchmen stood clear, the shuttle car's engines rose in tone and volume as the vehicle floated up off the dusty ground and rotated to the south-east. There was a jolt of acceleration as the driver built up speed and raced away into the gloom. An hour later, with the sun only just poking over the horizon, the shuttle slowed and touched down on a dust-blown roadway outside of a landing strip. Long bodied jumpers and other light craft were sheltering in open fronted hangers or waiting their turn to use one of the run-ways or launching squares. More staff from the transport company were waiting, flanked by a pair of House Gronahl servants. “Okay, everyone out!” the driver called, and as soon as the first convict stepped onto the roadway they were pointed via torchlight to a waiting jumper.
“I don't like this,” Sel mumbled, her joy having disappeared entirely at the sight of void-capable vehicles. “I'm really starting to think we should have stayed in Iron Gaol!”
“It'll be fine,” Kyr answered, though in truth he shared her doubts. The prospect of being Transported was a bleak one – if they were to go off-world there was a real risk he would never see his family again.”
The jumper had no windows, and the crew didn't bother to turn on any of the internal screens. Under the watch of the House staff, both large males with the demeanour of soldiers, the convicts were ordered into pre-allocated seats. Kyr no-longer got to sit with Sel – he was instead placed between Yul and Rhyd. The Daysider beside him trembled in his seat, faint whimpers slipping from his maw between sharp, tense breaths. Kyr tapped him on the forearm, “Don't worry, I'm sure we'll be fine wherever we're going.”
“It's not that, I just don't like being here,” Rhyd answered in a small, shaking voice.
“Afraid of flying?” Kyr asked.
“No, I'm afraid of confined spaces,” the boy clenched his eyes shut and let out a long whine. “I want to get out!”
Kyr clutched Rhyd's paw and gave it a firm squeeze. “Take a deep breath for me and hold it. Hold. Hold. Let it out slowly through your nose. That's it, Rhyd. In through the mouth, hold, out through the nose.”
As the jumper began to lift, Kyr glanced across the isle to the far row of seats. Sel caught his eye and flashed a smile – there was some anxiety in her features, but she was certainly not worried about being inside a windowless metal tube. Why would she be? She's a genuine space pirate! Kyr told himself as he smiled back.
Though the convicts had no frame of reference for speed, nor precise way to tell time, Kyr guessed that they had travelled a quarter of the planet based on his limited experience with jumpers and atmospheric flight. That they were still on Taviksaad was undeniable, for the angle of ascent had felt far too shallow for atmospheric escape, and the eventual descent had confirmed it. They disembarked, to Rhyd's immense relief, into a sun-baked landing strip where yet another shuttle car awaited them for the final leg of their trip. They were heading almost due north now, but where precisely they were was near impossible to say – although the rolling hills outside were in places quite different to anything Kyr had seen before. To the west was a long, shimmering body of water, around which sprouted stubby green plants. The air above the water was thick with insects, almost impossible to see individually but perceptible by the eerie shapes their swarms formed in the air. Such islands of plant and animal life became more frequent, often around water but increasingly apart from it, until the whole northern horizon was speckled with sparse, yet hardly grasses and other low-level flora in a dozen shades of green and yellow.
It was in this land of half-hearted greenery that House Gronahl sat. It was not what Kyr had come to expect from the aristocratic holdings, consisting of low buildings of blackened metal and rust-red bricks all perched atop a large, wide, shallow hill that hardly seemed worth the effort of changing altitude. The shuttle carried them through the open gates and sighed down onto the loose gravel of the front path. To Kyr's surprise, they were greeted by no less than their new lord.
“Welcome to the House Gronahl,” Lord Bjol announced as the convicts were escorted from the shuttle. “Ulfat's waiting for them in the medical building. Take them straight round.”
The two soldiers from the shuttle were joined by two females, both of whom were older women that wore the expression of impatient mothers. To the rear of the plot were more brick buildings that followed the crest of the hill. To the west the land fell away at a slightly steeper angle towards a circular duelling ring, currently occupied by the youths of House Gronahl, who sparred with wooden weapons. Some of the combatants were barely older than the newly arrived convicts. The medical building stood out as it was built of grey concrete rather than brick, with a more solid and well-kept path connecting its glass double-doors to the fighting ring below.
Ulfat greeted the rejuves as soon as they arrived. “Excellent! I was beginning to fear you'd all gotten lost! Kyr? Why don't we start with you? Come through.”
While the rest waited under guard in the entrance hall, Kyr followed the surgeon to his operating room. It was a spotless space, equipped to standards that went beyond what he would expect of a City hospital, let alone a private practice. “Please take off your shirt and lie on the bed,” Ulfat instructed. Kyr took another brief look over the setup before obeying. “Raise your left arm up over your head, that's it. I am going to put a needle in your arm, okay?”
“What procedure are you performing on me, exactly?” Kyr asked as Ulfat circled around and took hold of his right arm. The rejuvenated doctor glanced up at the fluid bag that Ulfat wheeled into view and peered at the label as best he could. The runes caused his stomach to knot, “why are you lowering my heart rate?”
The House Surgeon let out a chuckle, “I obviously can't keep anything from you, Kyr. You're being implanted with a tracker, and I was ordered to put it somewhere that can't be easily removed. You need not worry, I qualified my Guild training with a Prime-Superior rating.”
“I was Prime-Exemplary,” Kyr replied, his voice wavering a little as the needle pinched his flesh.
“Really? I hope you won't be offended if I don't defer to you on medical matters,” Ulfat said with a smile as he dialled in the drip. “I'll apply a local anaesthetic to the incision site – it's a simple spray. I'm sure you know what to expect, but it'll be quite cold, then numbness will follow.”
Kyr gave the slightest of nods to confirm his understanding. “I'm not feeling the effects of your sedative. Perhaps you should up the dosage by another half-point?”
The surgeon raised an eyebrow, but complied. Kyr took a few deep breaths and tried to remain analytical. “I feel a little unfocused now,” he said.
“Alright then. Sounds an excessive dose to me, but who am I to argue with a 'Prime-Exemplary' surgeon of the Guild? I shall begin now.”
The procedure was quick, and blessedly painless thanks to the combination of spray and drip. Kyr followed along as best he could, noting the incision point between his ribs and timing how long the surgical probe was inside of him. A subtle pulling sensation marked the end of the process. “All finished. Let me lower the bed so you can get down safely.”
With the needle removed, Kyr was allowed to go back to the waiting room. He glanced to Ulfat before he left. “It's close to my heart, yes?”
“I will not talk about where it is,” Ulfat answered firmly, “go on! I'll send for the next one shortly.”
It took an unpleasantly long time for every convict to be chipped – long enough for the sedatives to thoroughly wear off, but also for another bleak realisation to set in; they weren't 'convicts' any more. Now they were slaves. Kyr had known many slaves during his time as a doctor; the Guild's company and administrative office had kept plenty of them, as did many of the hospitals he worked at. None had been mistreated by any of his peers, and certainly not by Kyr himself, but there had often been subtle things that signified a different place in the world: they worked the crappy shifts more often, and were less likely to be invited or given passes to social events. Slaves were a lower rung of society – Kyr just hadn't noticed until he was stood upon that rung himself.
With all the convicts chipped, Ulfat sent them outside. To Kyr's surprise there were three Kyyreni waiting there – Lord Bjol, and a pair of females. All three wore lose, well-worn clothes and tall working boots. While one female hovered slightly apart in the manner of a waiting servant, the other talked energetically with the Lord of Gronahl. The speaker was tall for a Kyyreni, but what made her unmistakable was her snow-white fur and harsh red eyes. The albino sensed the approaching children and snapped her head towards them, prompting Lord Bjol to do likewise in a far less energised fashion. “Ah, all finished with the surgeon? Dearest, meet your new charges.”
Dearest stepped forward, looking over the group in a glass-eyed fashion that made Kyr suspect she was visually impaired, if not outright blind; she was doubtless relying on thermal sense for her inspection. “You're not wearing boots, are you?” she asked.
“Boots are in the truck, Dearest.” Bjol pointed to the nearby vehicle. It was a cherry-red open topped truck, an old model with four bulbous off-road tyres and a cramped driver's cabin. A metal storage rack had been bolted on top of the cabin for extra capacity, though the rear bay seemed ample to Kyr.
“So they are! Okay, kiddies, everyone find a pair that fit! They don't have to be perfect for now, we can get you something that fits better later on. We're just trying to spare you from muddy toes for now.”
The booting up was painless enough, and once done Dearest clapped her paws and called out, “Alright, everyone aboard! A couple can jump in the cabin if you like, but everyone else is riding outside!” Dearest didn't wait around to check if her new charges obeyed, instead heading straight for the driver's door. Kyr glanced at the cabin and felt a flicker of worry at the idea of a legally-blind female driving them anywhere, but then he noticed the servant had already climbed into the driver's seat. As he watched, Dearest vaulted up onto the narrow boarding step under the driver's door and hooked an arm under the cargo rack on the roof.
“Get a move on, young man!” Kyr jumped at the chastisement from Lord Bjol and hurried to the truck's tail gate. The Lord lifted him up to join his colleagues, and as his feet touched metal he saw the tips of a pair of ears poking up from the passenger side of the cabin. He weaved through his colleagues to the front and saw Sel clinging to the vehicle much as Dearest was, a manic grin on the cub's muzzle. She couldn't reach the cargo rack, but the passenger side window was open, allowing the girl to cling to the door itself.
“Are you mad?” Kyr asked in disbelief.
Before Sel could answer, Dearest shouted, “Hold tight!” and banged on the driver's window. The truck jolted forward, prompting a gleeful squeal from Sel and a much more frightened one from Kyr, who desperately clung to the cargo bars to stay standing.
The truck wound down the hill and found a stretch of bitumen where the driver could open up the throttle. Kyr hunkered down against the rising wind resistance while the rejuves behind him all clung to whatever handholds they could find. but the increased speed seemed to utterly delight the brown-furred cub hanging off the side of the vehicle. In fact, she even began to sing – well, shout – in an up-beat tempo.
“Onwards, ever on-wards, up into the sky!
The world I leave behind me's to dull a place for I!
Faster, ever fas-ter, to the starry sky!
If I'm to fast for the Shep' to catch then I shall never die!”
“I'm glad you're having fun, but you'd be badly hurt if you fall!” Kyr chastised her.
To his surprise, Dearest barked a reprimand at him from her perch on the opposite side of the cab. “Oi! Stop being a sourball! Let the girl have a little excitement!” No sooner had the words left her lips did Dearest's foot slip from the step, causing a heart-stopping lurch as she briefly dropped from sight before pulling herself back up to a standing position. The driver rolled down her window to check on Dearest, who barked something vague and dismissive in reply.
Apparently encouraged by Dearest's words, Rhyd pulled himself upright alongside Kyr to ride tall down the road. He glanced at the former doctor and said, “seems our new master is a bit lax on rules. Fuck it!”
Kyr stood open-mouthed as Rhyd pulled himself up onto the cargo bars. He knelt on the spaced metal frame, both paws closed over the front bar. Dearest put a paw on his ankle, “you'll go head over heels if we brake sharply!”
“But hanging off a moving vehicle's allowed?” Kyr challenged in disbelief.
Dearest laughed in reply. “Why not? A little danger gets the blood pumping!”
Soon – though not soon enough for Kyr's taste – the truck came to a halt at another set of country buildings. These were single story brick structures like so many others he had seen, but the new addition here was a large tight-mesh fence. It was approximately eight feet tall and was sixty or seventy metres long at least, with a single gate close to the buildings. Dearest hopped off the vehicle while it was still moving, albeit slowly, and urged her dozen new charges to follow around the back of one of the structures. Kyr fell into step beside Sel, who was so giddy from the trip she seemed about to float away. He didn't need to speak to her; the mad grin said it all.
Behind the building was a paved area. Under a retractable awning was a folding table and a pair of large cooking pots on portable heaters. An Aspatrian in beige overalls and black rubber boots manned the pots, which judging by the array of opened cans contained a mixture of meats, beans and some form of red-brown sauce. “Aiden! Is the food ready yet?” The Aspatrian glanced over, but did not reply until Dearest rubbed her stomach.
“Yes. Food.” Aiden said in an awkward, broken cadence. He was mostly red-furred, save for his black ears and a white splotch that began at the lower lip and ran down under his collar. The Aspatrian's clothes had a black chain pattern sewn around the collar, wrists and ankles.
“You'll have to use borrowed spoons for now, little ones! Bowls are there, help yourselves to as much as you want!” Dearest urged them on, though it took very little to convince the hungry cubs to eat. It was a badly-made meal from a culinary perspective as the meats and sauce clashed. Thankfully, a selection of condiments were arrayed at the far corner of the folding table, which made the meal both colourful and more palatable. Everyone of the rejuves had seconds, and between Aiden, Van, Rhyd and Leyl having thirds both pots were scraped clean.
Dearest held off putting the rejuves to work until they'd hydrated and their stomachs had settled. The group was ordered off toward the fenced off area by way of a nearby storehouse, where she picked four rejuves seemingly at random to do the heavy lifting. Her instructions served to heighten Kyr's suspicions about her vision. “You, you, you and you can grab the feed. It's in tubs. You want the...” she began clicking her fingers next to her ear in a rapid, irritated fashion. “Green! Green tubs. Or they might be yellow, but I'm certain they're green.” She was staring directly at a stack of said tubs.
Sel was one of the unlucky ones chosen to do manual labour. Dearest ushered them ahead of everyone else and through the gate, urging them to move swiftly so the juuduu didn't escape. Kyr had never seen a live juuduu before. Once through the gate and into the grassy field, he saw far more than he'd expected to.
At first, the lizards were skittish. He saw flickers of movement in the long grass, or sensed a vague patch of warmth that swiftly cooled as they scurried away. Dearest sent the feed-carriers toward a shelter nearby and had barely closed the gate when one of the lizards darted from the grass, onto the winding path leading to the shelter. The lizard was thirteen inches long, twice that if the thick tail was included. It looked directly at Sel, who was the nearest Kyyreni to it, and let out a little warbling call. Then it charged, and moments later a whole army of lizards exploded from concealment.
Sel let out a shriek as they swarmed her, jumping up onto their hind legs with their fat, clawless forehands scrabbling at her. They waved their heads back and forth, emitting loud hoots from toothless mouths. “Get them off!” Sel wailed, dropping her feed bucket. The lizards scattered, only to move all their focus to the bucket. The lid had stayed on, much to their disappointment, and Dearest hurried over to retrieve it before an enterprising reptile could pop the top.
“Oh stop being such a baby!” Dearest chastised. “They're just hungry!”
The other feed-bearers were now the centre of similar attention. Dearest, unimpressed with their reaction to being swarmed, took Sel's bucket over to the nearest feeder, opened the lid, and began to pour. The roar of falling seeds and grains caused the juuduu to snap around and swarm the metal feeder, their long grey tongues lapping in and out of the tiny ports around the base to scoop as much out as they could. “Hurry up and start filling the others!” she shouted before handing the bucket back to Sel. “Don't let them stick their heads in the bucket either! Little buggers are greedy like that! Okay, next job. Wait here while I get the egg boxes, and try not to step on anything.”
The brief pause gave Kyr and the others time to get accustomed to the lizards, although in truth they cared little for the Kyyreni once the feed was out. A few hopefuls climbed into the empty buckets and licked the insides, but quickly got bored and returned to the feeders. The buckets still containing food had to be vigilantly defended. “They seem friendly enough,” Kyr said as he took a small handful of black seeds from the top of the closest feeder. He spread them across his paw and knelt down to offer them to the nearest juuduu. It was a sandy amber colour, and its smaller size suggested it was still young. The lizard's tongue tickled his paw as it lapped up the feed, drawing a giggle from the rejuve. “I wonder if you have a name?” he asked the juuduu, who after a few more curious licks decided to jump up at Kyr, licking his face and chest. The boy burst out laughing at the sudden friendliness of the animal, but as quickly as it happened the reptile bounded away again, licking the air as it wound toward the feeder and wrestled its head into the scrum.
“I hate to break it to you, but the little lizards don't care about you – they just want food,” Dearest said as she returned with a stack of egg boxes under arm. “Everyone grab a container each and we'll find our eggs. They have a lot of nests along the fence here, but there's a whole bunch more hidden in the grass as well. Juuduu won't lay if the nests are clustered too tightly together, daft things! Come look at these ones so you know what to watch for.”
The juuduu nests were messy clumps of straw and fresh grass held together with dry mud. “If there's a mother inside she might be grumpy, so be ready to be nipped,” Dearest warned as she reached into the nest. “Oh! Speaking of!” she pulled a large, fat juuduu out and perched it on her left shoulder, pinning it there with a paw while using the other to fish out the blue-white eggs. “Four today, you've been a busy girl!” She let the lizard go, which promptly darted back into the nest. “She'll have a bit of a sulk now, but they forgive and forget quick enough. Alright, time for you all to have a go! I want to see at least sixty eggs here, chop-chop!”
Kyr naturally gravitated to working with Sel, who still appeared flustered by her first encounter with the juuduu. Together, they went in search of wild nests in the grass, striding through the uneven earth and looking for any clues as to where eggs might lurk. Heat sense proved key, as the mounds were subtly warmer than the surrounding grass. Kyr took the lead and reached in through the muddy gap near the base, feeling something warm and soft-scaled within. The nesting lizard promptly bit him on the finger.
“Ow!” Kyr pulled his paw out sharply to inspect the damage. The lizard hadn't broken the skin, but it had stung.
“Stop be such a baby!” Sel chided in a passable imitation of Dearest's mannerisms. The mocking brought a smile to Kyr's muzzle.
“You do it then, if you're such a big girl,” he shot back.
Sel shook her head frantically, “oh no! I had to carry that heavy bucket, and now I have to carry this reeeaaaally heavy cardboard!”
The boy was still snickering when he risked the nest again. This time he took hold of the lizard, bites be damned, and with some difficulty wrestled it out of the nest. He kept it pinned to the ground between his knees so he could reach in properly. “Got one!” he announced, withdrawing the little blue egg.
“Any more in there?”
He reached around again, probing every nook and cranny he could find while the juuduu beneath him honked and chomped the air. “Nothing but mud,” he said.
“You hope it's mud!” Sel answered.
The comment made Kyr pause. He stood up and examined the dirt on his paw. He sniffed it carefully, wrinkled his nose and let out a cry of disgust. When Sel burst out laughing he wiped his fingers on her nose, turning her joy to horror. “Relax, it's just mud!” he assured her as she staggered back, frantically trying to wipe her nose clean with the back of her paw.
“You bastard!” she shot back, though the anger seemed short lived. “I was going to offer to do the next one, but I think you should do them all now!”
By the time Dearest summoned all the rejuves to her, Kyr and Sel had found four nests, landing eleven eggs. Between them, the other ten rejuves had found forty-six, which combined with Dearest's four brought them just over the goal. The albino female seemed delighted with their work, praising them as she steered her flock back towards the gate and out of the lizard enclosure. “We'll leave these eggs in the store here for later collection. Our little friends need feeding three times a day: at sunrise, midday, and sunset. You need to collect the eggs as well, obviously. Most days you would have other chores to do in between, but I think we can leave those for now. Everyone wait over there-” she gave a vague wave toward the building they had eaten at earlier, “-and let me sort the eggs.”
When finished, Dearest led them inside. The building was single-floored, but had there been an internal ceiling there would have been room for a spacious attic. It almost entirely open plan, with only the latrine and shower being separated from the main chamber. There were basic kitchen and dining facilities, a washing machine for clothes, and a well-used corner couch placed in the centre of the building. As the rejuves stepped into the central space, Dearest pointed out a nook above the entrance accessed by ladder. “Up there has been claimed by Aiden. He's not all that sociable, so stay out of there. There's storage downstairs, steps are through that door. If memory serves there's a big pile of hammocks down there, assuming they aren't still set up outside. Might be a few camping beds as well you can set up. Ask Aiden if you need something, but speak slowly and clearly.”
“Ma'am?” Kyr called out, which earned him a sharp scowl.
“I am not a ma'am! Call me Dearest, everyone else does.”
“I'm sorry. Dearest, where are we supposed to set up our beds?”
“Wherever you're comfortable, love.”
Left to figure things out for themselves, the rejuves put the drilled discipline of Iron Gaol to good use. They picked the longest, barest wall as a place to line their beds. A box of inflatable mattresses and an ancient electric pump provided for some of the group, with the rest hanging an eclectic mix of hammocks wherever space and anchor points allowed. Though it took several rejuves working together to move the heavy anchor poles around or to securely fasten a hammock to a wall or support strut, the group soon had their new living arrangements readied and with no supervision they began to let curiosity take over.
The couch, it turned out, was placed facing a wall they had first believed simply adorned with a cheap canvas print of a famous landscape painting, but a mysterious button caused it to roll upward and revealed a large screen. It took only seconds for arguments to break out over what they were watching, with sports winning out. A new Kingsball season had started and to their collective surprise the sports channel declared eight teams were playing this year. It took mere minutes for factional rivalries to form.
Kyr was dragged away from the screen by a tug on his sleeve. Sel, grinning shyly, jerked a thumb towards the air mattress she'd claimed. “Want to help me take that outside?” The boy nodded and with only a little struggle Sel's bed was soon outside, slowly inflating thanks to the heavy electric pump. The girl fetched a selection of rocks to weigh down the rim flaps in case of wind before settling down. Kyr lay beside her, gazing up at the cloudy sky.
“Are you planning to sleep out here?” he asked.
“Maybe if the weather's nice. Wouldn't say no to seeing my stars again.”
Kyr let his tail flick playfully over Sel's thigh. “How many have you visited?”
“Nowhere near enough,” the girl's own tail brushed playfully against Kyr's side. “But the way I feel right now I could almost believe our Lord will let me go back up there!”
The girl's excitement brought a grin to the former doctor's muzzle. He glanced sidelong at her, studying the lines of her face and how her eyes shined as they tried to spy past the blue-grey sky to the infinite black beyond. His warm, pleasant comfort of being close to her lurched sharply into a pang of guilt as a memory of his family resurfaced, forcing him to turn away. He pulled himself up into a sitting posture, letting his eyes wander along the fence that marked the juuduu pen as the wind carried the scents of the lizards and faint whispers of their calls. “When she returns, I am going to ask Dearest if I can see my wife again,” he announced to the world.
Sel shuffled behind him. The boy tensed, expecting some form of confrontation, but was instead gifted a gentle paw upon his back. That soft contact became a caring embrace as Sel's body pressed against his own and her head came to rest upon his shoulder. “I know you want to go back to her one day. I'm okay with that, so long as I can have you in the meantime.”
The pleasant moment was interrupted by the emergence of a tall, broad-shouldered Dawnsider in the attire of a ceremonial guard. “Are you Kyr?” he asked, and Kyr nodded. “Lord Bjol has asked for you. Come along, don't keep him waiting.”
With a whispered apology, Kyr pulled away from Sel's embrace and followed, riding on the back of a skimmer-bike to reach the main buildings of the House far faster than they'd left it earlier in the day. He was guided to the Lord's study without comment, save for a brief snippet of advice: “you have one chance to impress him. Don't waste it.”
Lord Bjol was stood with his back to the door, seemingly lost in whatever he was reading. He was still dressed in common, weathered clothes rather than the expected noble finery. A Daysider female sat nearby, a child like Kyr with a rune tattooed into the back of her paw marking her as a Penitatas. The Penny's role seemed to be nothing more than holding a porcelain bottle while her master read. She glanced at Kyr, but said nothing.
“Lord? You sent for me?” Kyr broke the silence as politely as he could manage.
The noble leaned a cup towards the slave girl, who dutifully topped it up with an almost-clear liquid. “Thank you. The rest of the evening is yours, child.” She left hastily, so much so that it made Kyr anxious as to what fate might await him. Yet even when he was alone with his new lord and master, Bjol seemed completely uninterested in him. He continued to read, occasionally sipping his drink, and not so much as turning to face the waiting boy.
“Lord?” Kyr spoke up again, a little louder and bolder this time as youthful impatience got the better of him.
Now, at last, Bjol began to speak, raising his voice so that it would reflect clearly from the opposite wall. “We are to believe the Guilds exist to regulate and ensure proper conduct in all manners of industry, commerce, and trade. This is fiction spread to the masses; the nature of the fiction is made obvious when one reflects upon the existence of Guild Companies, which amount to self-regulating businesses. No self-employed individual, nor privately owned company can compete with those companies that are owned by the Guilds themselves, for the Guild Company has no need to pay dues to obtain and maintain certification, nor pay any fee or tithe that may be levied against all other respected operators of their trade. These boons a Guild can and will provide to itself at no expense, thereby ensuring it can forever undercut and undermine all competition within its industry. The purpose of the Guild system then is not to ensure fairness and quality, but to create a privileged minority within the Thrall class, and in so doing turn the ire of the common man onto the unfairness the Guilds represent and exploit as a distraction; for so long as the common man rages at the Guild that picks his pockets he will surely never notice they mug him at the behest of the nobility.” His speech made, Bjol at last turned to Kyr. “Who spoke those words?”
He need not have asked, for Kyr's submissive, frightened posture was answer enough. “I-I did, Lord. I know now that I was foolish to think such things and I am truly, deeply sorry!”
“Are you sorry, or is this apology merely a desperate attempt to appease me with what you think I wish to hear? Don't answer that, I can tell from your cowering it is the latter. For future reference, I would prefer you to be honest than cowardly; the truth might hurt in the short term, but lies cause longer harm. You may sit down, if you'd like to.”
Kyr eased himself into the chair just recently vacated by the Daysider girl while Lord Bjol let the nearby table take his weight. The boy found himself fixed with a most unwelcome stare; the Lord's eyes were glassy black with a faint green glow inside, clearly false and quite unnerving. It made Kyr's imagination run away with the notion he wasn't talking to a Kyyreni at all, but some fantastically advanced android. “I'm curious, Kyr; how did you become an activist on behalf of the Republican movement?”
The question was delivered softly, but it bored into Kyr's hindbrain like a missile. Submissive reflexes kicked in at once, making his fur flatten, ears fold and chin tilt back, all an automatic reaction to signal he was no threat. The corner of Lord Bjol's mouth curled up just a hint, though he made no further comment. Kyr took a long, shaking breath to regain command of his childish body. “I suppose I was primed from an early age to be so inclined,” he answered in as professional a tone as he could find. “My parents were from Tzajii, as you are doubtless aware. Technically, I was born there myself, though I recall nothing of the homeworld.”
“That's not a technicality, Kyr. That is a statement of fact.”
Another shudder ran through his body. “I... I learned quickly that it is sometimes better to deny any link to Tzajii, Lord. There is a great deal of animosity towards my ancestral home.”
“A fair observation, but it is an animosity I do not share. Please continue.”
Kyr accepted the assurance with a nod. “I became a doctor because I wished to help people, and from there it's not a great leap to want to provide more than healing to the sick and injured. Some harms go beyond physical malady; there are many who suffer because society itself has failed them, who once relied on charities that have now folded, or shelters that have shut their doors. These people have no means to make their voices heard, thus I began to seek those who saw as I did the unfairness of the system.”
There was a pause before Lord Bjol replied, just long enough to make Kyr confident that his words were being listened to and genuinely considered. “The people do have means to seek restitution, however; this is the duty of the Houses.”
“Houses are often inapproachable, my Lord,” Kyr countered, his confidence growing as he felt there was space for genuine debate. “Houses deal primarily with the Guilds as their point of contact with the populace, and... well, you have just recited my own opinions back to me on that front.”
“But how would a republic change that? The ruling senate would be made up of Houses and Guilds, not members of the common masses.”
“The condcordants of Tzajii can in fact come from anywhere, and it is not uncommon for community figureheads to be nominated. A petition system exists whereby membership is granted via proof of popular support.”
The Lord smiled, a genuine smile it seemed. “You do not see the irony, do you? The word 'concordant' means to be in harmonious agreement; a word derived from the fact that the concordants exist to simply agree with their betters, to take the judgements of the nobility and disseminate them among the masses, not to challenge them.”
“And yet they gained the right to challenge,” Kyr protested.
“Not universally.”
“No, that is true. The Houses and the High Praetor granted themselves the right to bar the concordants from votes, but doing so quickly turns public opinion against the nobility.”
Bjol shrugged off the complaint. “What does that matter? Thralls are forever bemoaning their betters, and always shall. No matter who rules, no matter how wise or beneficent their leader, no matter the means by which they gain power, there shall always be dissent against them. The truth, I believe, is that the unworthy resent their unworthiness; those who should never be entrusted with power demand it, and when rightly kept from power they see it as injustice. Allow the ordinary Thrall to have a say in how the world is governed, and he shall declare that any debate he loses was not done fairly. Like a cub seeking its mother's teat, the commoner believes that the only fair result is the one where his immediate desires are satiated.”
Kyr blanched at the Lord's appraisal of the masses, “I think you do the common man a gross disservice, Lord.”
“You were in an elite position as a doctor; do you think it right that the majority were denied the right to share that title with you?”
“That's completely-” Kyr stopped himself from protesting, though not because he feared Bjol's reaction. “You are arguing that leadership is a profession one must be trained for. I am willing to accept that... but I was not groomed from birth to become a doctor, Lord. Most of us are not. Even within the Guild Company itself the majority of our surgeons and specialists are drawn from outside of Guild families, and a full third at least have no family history of practising medicine. How many Lords are there who were not born into noble families, or at least within a House?”
“Then your primary issue what you perceive as hereditary rule?” Bjol asked, his eyebrow raising subtly as if caught off-guard by Kyr's reaction to his challenges.
“I suppose it is, Lord.”
A low chuckle escaped Bjol's throat. “Yet you genuflect to me as if my right to rule you is divine.”
The boy grimaced at the comment. “I am a slave, Lord. It is not wise for someone in my position to challenge my betters.”
“I suppose you begrudge the institution of slavery as well?”
“I do now that I wear the chain,” Kyr's blunt reply bore no small trace of bitterness. “In truth I never stopped to consider it. I suppose I convinced myself that the slaves I knew were treated fairly, that their lack of freedom was the cost of opportunities they would otherwise be denied, much as I had to promise service to the Guild Company to receive the education required to become a doctor. Now I'm beginning to think that was a lie I told myself so as to make ignoring the truth that much easier.”
With a grunt, Bjol pushed off of the table. “It would seem to me that you have received all that you desired; you are a Thrall-born elevated to membership of a Noble House, one of considerable influence if I say so myself. Your position in this House is low, that is true, but I have invited you to sit with me and debate, which you have done. How many of your peers, past or present, can claim to have spoken so freely with a man of my station?”
“None, Lord,” Kyr answered.
“None indeed. Do you presume I have done this out of simple courtesy? Do you expect that I shall invite all your criminal friends to sit and speak with me?”
“I don't, Lord. I'm beginning to suspect that you have something planned for me, specifically.”
Bjol clasped his paws together, “Quite right! I plan to give you exactly what you desire, Kyr son of Ozra. I wish for you to speak and to write, to share your views and ideas with me. I will challenge those ideas, but only because worthiness is found through the overcoming of challenge. Like you, I see a need for change; you can help me make this happen.”
Kyr's eyes widened. “Are you a Republican as well?”
A barking laugh answered him, “Oh my dear boy, no! I see that there is rot within our foundations and I know how it should be expunged; by the sword, as High Law demands. Yet I cannot ignore the fact that this corruption runs deep. So deep, in fact, that House Tavik itself was subverted by cultists. Cultists who, like you and your ilk, claimed emphatically to be working to build a better world for us all. No, save your little protest. I am not accusing you of being Blighted or otherwise a traitor. I will settle for calling you foolhardy, or perhaps just unlucky. High Law failed to protect us from this subversion, and it seems to me that a wise Lord should therefore question how and why the system failed, and what must be done to ensure no such failure occurs again. Perhaps there is some rightness in your arguments; Tzajii once dealt with the Blighted Cult, after all, and we had long believed their taint expunged from the stars. So I say again that I wish you to speak and to write and to present to me whatever ideas, visions and rhetoric you would normally deliver in your secretive meetings to fellow Republicans. I shall listen, read, and consider. I make no promises to act on anything you give me, however. Do you find this reasonable?”
“I do, Lord. I... thank you.” Kyr bowed for good measure, much to the Lord's amusement.
Bjol's tone was almost fatherly as he approached the rejuve. “You and I are kin of sorts now, Kyr. We are both of House Gronahl, and as such our first and foremost duty is to act, always, for the good of the House. In turn the House, through me and my appointed champions, acts always for the good of Taviksaad. I may have to ask you set aside your pride and labour unremarked in the shadows, but know that if your labour produces something of worth, something that changes Taviksaad for the better, all of House Gronahl will know that. Now, I think you should go back to your little commune.”
Kyr accepted the instruction with a nod. The boy hopped from his chair, bowed once more, and headed for the door. Yet as his paw touched the knob Lord Bjol called out to him, “Kyr! One last matter.” He turned and saw the Lord's face had lost much of its warmth. “I find your relationship with Sel to be unseemly, given your physical ages. Do pass along to your peers that you are children, and I would prefer you act like it.”
The boy turned his eyes to the floor in embarrassment. How did he know about us? he asked himself, but spoke aloud a meek, “Understood, my Lord,” before exiting as quickly as propriety allowed.
The adrenalin high of meeting Lord Bjol faded quickly. By the time he had been shuttled back to his new residence, Kyr had been rocked to the brink of slumber by the rolling motions of the ground car. Sel's bed was still outside, but the girl herself was nowhere to be seen. The low building offering little light from inside bar a soft glow coming from the vent window of Aiden's living space. He thanked the driver for her service and crept inside, noting most of his companions were fast asleep already. The broadcast screen reeled through the key events of the week at a whisper, watched by no-one. Kyr turned off the screen and found Sel curled up on the couch, snoring gently. The Lord's warning lingered in his thoughts, but he saw no harm in settling in beside her for the night.
The ex-convicts rose earlier than Aiden did, though not as early as whoever left a stack of provisions at their front door. Atop the boxes of food was a smaller package with Kyr's name upon it. Inside was an offline tablet, a booklet of blank, lined paper, and assorted writing implements. At the bottom was an envelope that contained a typed copy of the speech Bjol had recited.
There were no protests when Kyr told his companions he was going to write for their master – they all recognised he was the reason for their present good fortune. The tablet had been preloaded with a variety of works that Kyr scrolled through, noting a few to read immediately and taking shorthand notes as he went. He wasn't sure what he was going to do yet, but Bjol's choice of loaded literature strongly suggested he wanted the Republican boy to be well-versed in High Law and the philosophies that nobility claimed to adhere to. Before long, Sel invited herself to join him, bearing a bowl of warm, meaty porridge as an offering. “So, what's the word from on high?”
The question made Kyr blush. “Lord Bjol is aware that we have an... arrangement. He was quite clear he did not approve.”
“Why not?”
“He didn't give a reason. I suspect he doesn't feel the need to justify his decisions to any of us. We are all to 'act our age' from now on when it comes to relationships.”
The Kyyreni girl's muzzle creased at the explanation, but she held her tongue on the matter. “Don't let your breakfast get cold. The brain works slower when starved.”
Kyr chuckled at the girl's comments. “Really? Amazing how I, a doctor, remained oblivious to that!”
“Well fuck you then!” Sel blurted out with a rude poke of the tongue. The pair laughed together, a simple act that warmed Kyr's morning more than hot porridge ever would.
He spent the morning reading, making notes and drafting his first work. It was harder than he remembered; the laser-focus that had carried him through his medical studies and political activism seemed to have diminished greatly, causing his attention to wander and force him to will it back to the task at hand. Despite this, by midday he had made useful notes on where he might begin probing later, and the noisy announcements of planned meals was a welcome excuse to rejoin his fellows. Elik, a Nightsider girl had taken over the kitchen through a combination of loud demands and inventive application of a masher, and now the seven-year-old was eagerly assessing their options. Aiden offered his assistance, although the language barrier was something of an issue.
It took no time at all for Sel to appear back at his elbow. “Let's head outside while food's getting ready. You've missed out on all sorts!”
“Oh?” Kyr was genuinely curious given the girl's merry tone.
“Well it takes no time at all to do our chores and nobody's given us anything else to do so...” her mischievous grin said far more than words could. As the pair stepped outside, Sel pointed along the fence to the end of the juuduu enclosure where Van and someone else were roaming in the tall grasses, dipping in and out of sight. Nearby, someone had built a camping fire and was heating a much-abused metal pot. As the two approached, Van emerged once more with a short, dark nettle clutched carefully in oversized gloves. He slipped it into the pot, stirred it a little, then called for more sticks to heat it further.
Closer to the house, four of the rejuves had found a leather ball to play with. Their game was loud and rough, so much so that Kyr almost cried out for them to stop. He bit his tongue when he remembered there were no Watchmen here to punish them for rowdiness – in fact, there was no-one resembling an authority figure save Aiden, and he clearly had no interest in the role!
As the pair drew close to the cooking pot, Van returned to tend the fire and shared an eager grin. “We're going to have something special here later!”
“What is it you're cooking?” Kyr asked.
“Black Nettle Tea.”
The ex-doctor rolled his eyes. “Of course it is. Did you not think that brewing up a hallucinogenic might not be the wisest use of your free time?”
Van looked around theatrically. “Nobody seems to mind!”
The boy glanced to Sel, whose grin hardened. He sighed once more and shrugged, “I guess you're right. I'm going to have to keep a clear head, so I won't be joining you.”
“You're going to write more?” Sel asked.
“I likely should. It's my work that is keeping us all here.”
The answer seemed to meet with Van's approval, judging by his smile and slow nod. “Can't argue with that. You've set us up with a good life here, doctor. I sure won't forget that in a hurry.”
Sel dragged Kyr away into the long grass, and the pair explored a while together. It was a pleasant experience to roam through the wild land, paws together and tails wagging gently as they strolled. It was a dry day, but they pushed through enough grass that the few stray flecks of dew soon left their clothes damp. The living quarters vanished far behind them as their aimless footpaws took them through the grass, which by subtle degrees became shorter and more yellowed, before they finally dipped into a subtle depression akin to a shallow, dry river bed. The far side was steeper and rockier than their trivial descent, yet he long grass couldn't conquer the cold, dark stone and thus the land beyond the cut in the earth was bare dirt, sand and ankle-high vegetation. The barrier was natural as far as they could tell, but it was hardly insurmountable; a brief climb revealed more stretches of unclaimed land beyond, with only occasional islands of water or trees to break up the gently undulating plains. Kyr stood and took it in, letting his gaze lazily follow the horizon and take in the untouched, seemingly newborn world before him.
A tight squeeze of his paw snapped Kyr's attention round to Sel. “You were miles away there. Or were you just ignoring me?”
“Sorry, I didn't mean to shut you out. I was just admiring the landscape.”
“Sure,” Sel responded, though her tone suggested she'd noticed something in the boy's tone. “You're thinking about your family, aren't you?”
Kyr sighed. “Yes. I don't suppose I will ever be able to go back to the life I had. Not that it was on the cards before, but...” he grunted as an unwelcome stab of childish emotion surged within him. It took a great deal of willpower to push it aside. “I suppose I'll never truly accept that part of my life is gone. It's not that I'm ungrateful for you, Sel. In fact, I value your affections. You have helped me through some of the worst days of my life...”
The boy stroked his companion's chin with a careful, tender motion. “I'll try to be better.”
His words and touch made the girl giggle, a playful blush forming beneath the fur of her muzzle. “It's okay, I understand. It took me a long time to accept my family was gone too. I can wait for you, Kyr. Come to terms with this, and I'll be there when you do.”
Kyr grinned at her kind words, and to the girl's joy he dared to kiss her. Just a kiss, but one that lasted long enough to hint that more might follow. When he broke, the rejuve boy jerked a thumb back toward the long grass. “We really should get back before someone comes looking for us.”
The pair returned without incident or comment just as food was being bowled up and shared around. Dearest had arrived in their absence and came bearing gifts. “Ah, the runaways are back!” she cackled before handing them both a brown leather belt-pouch. “Here you are! Rushed them through just for you!”
Inside the pouch was a hard plastic case, polished and finished to look like mahogany wood. A metal disc bearing the symbol of House Gronahl was fixed to the front of the case with a simple nameplate below. Kyr's thumb ran across the runes and he smiled at the unexpected thoughtfulness. He popped the container open and examined the cutlery inside: stainless steel. Nothing fancy, but good quality nonetheless.
Dearest was already elsewhere, her attention drawn to the young chef. A dining table had been created by draping a large cloth over a selection of smaller folding tables, and as Kyr and Sel took their places Aiden brought them each a bowl of thick, meaty stew with a tightly packed ball of rice-like grains floating in the centre. Elik has outdone herself, Kyr thought as he and the others tucked in. Aiden took his bowl elsewhere, choosing to eat alone.
After the meal, Kyr volunteered to help tend to the juuduu. Elik was excused from the task as she had cooked a fine meal for everyone, and Van volunteered himself to help her clean up. It didn't take a great deal of imagination to guess he had another motive, but Kyr kept that to himself. Dearest supervised as the lizards were fed but took no part herself. The albino Kyyreni seemed genuinely proud of how quickly her young wards had taken to the duties of feeding and egg-finding, hollering praise in her energetic fashion as the bounty came in. Though Dearest had insisted the lizards cared nothing for their keepers, Kyr felt determined to bond with at least one; he found a female with a fairly distinctive blemish on her snout and coaxed her over with a handful of seeds, letting her eat from his paw. He would build on this work tomorrow, and the day after, until he had himself a pet.
With chores done and Dearest departed once more, Kyr allowed himself a time to be childish before turning back to his writing. Simple games of tag, wrestling or ball-games took little to no prompting to break out, and being free to play was liberating after his time in Iron Gaol. He and his fellow convicts played until they were tired, though it was not the bone-deep tired born of hard labour, and then he made his excuses and rested in his chair to read, think, and take notes.
For some time his only company was Elik, and even then she was distant. The girl was taking her kitchen duties seriously, though he paid only fleeting attention to what she did. The others all stayed outside for the most part. Rhyd broke Kyr's solitude close to sundown. “Kyr! Elik! We need you out here, Van's gone missing!”
The pair both followed the Daysider outside. The other rejuves were gathered at Van's cooking spot, the fire having been suffocated with several handfuls of dirt. As Kyr approached the stench of the pot made his eyes water. “It was boiled dry,” Ban explained.
Kyr took a moment to survey the scene. “Whatever he was boiling it wasn't black nettles.”
“Maybe he wanted to give it a little more kick?” Rhyd offered. “Can't you get high by eating mushrooms?”
Rhyd's question sent a shiver down Kyr's spine. “Nightcrowns! Flat, black-topped mushrooms! They have a similar toxin to black nettles, but it's far more potent! If Van was mixing those in he could easily have overdosed!” Several of the rejuves sprang into action, eager to begin the search. Kyr hastily grabbed Ban's sleeve. “We need to get in touch with the House Surgeon immediately. We'll need his assistance in treating Van, but he can also use the implanted tracker to help find him if we're still out searching. Aiden must have some way to raise the main building so try with him. Do you understand what to tell them?”
Ban nodded eagerly. “Van overdosed on something, maybe nightcrown mushrooms mixed with black nettles, and now he's missing.”
“Good. We'll all look for Van.”
With Rhyd at his side, Kyr darted out into the long grass. He tried to scan the ground for clues, be it paw prints or crushed stems, but he was no tracker and the grass kept its secrets. Rhyd and others resorted to the obvious, bellowing out Van's name over and over as loudly as they could. The deeper into the grass they went the more distant the other voices became, and Kyr feared their teams could walk right past Van without realising. “We should have formed a line,” he chided himself, but immediately saw the same problem – they hadn't enough bodies to cover the entire grassy field end to end.
As the boy ran, head turning back and forth for signs of life, the ground beneath him vanished. Kyr shrieked as he tumbled over face-first into a pool of dark water, smacking the surface and kicking up a swarm of insects. He broke the surface again and flailed about, but after a few seconds of panic he planted his feet in the mud blow him and stood upright, his head comfortably above the surface. “You okay?” Rhyd called.
“Yes!” Kyr called back through chattering teeth. He scanned the water's surface, but his motions had turned it a thick, cloudy brown.
“Do you think he fell in?” the Daysider added anxiously.
Kyr waded back to the bank, water sloughing off him as he rose. “I don't think so. I hope not. We should keep looking.”
They circled the pond, both boys watching the surface for any hint of a body below. Instead they saw a small clump of pale stubs in the shadow of a damp stone. Kyr knelt down to examine them. “Mushroom stems, I think. This could be where Van got the damn things.”
Rhyd poked Kyr between the shoulder blades urgently. “Kyr! That's his shirt!”
The ex-doctor hopped up as Rhyd darted into the grass. Sure enough he scooped up a muddy shirt and waved it triumphantly. “He must have come this way! Everyone! Over here!”
Kyr wasn't going to wait for the others. He pressed on, Rhyd falling in behind, striking out directly away from the pond. They reached a stream that was little more than a trickle and saw their quarry at last; a Kyyreni boy, bare-furred and covered in mud lay on his side further up the river, rolling back and forth on the ground.
The two rushed over to Van, who whined and yelped constantly as he squirmed in the dirt. Kyr tried to steady him, but he refused to keep still. “Van, can you hear me? Do you know who I am?”
“T-there under m-m-my skin!” Van yelped. His eyes were unnervingly wide, his lower lip bloody where he'd bitten into it.
“Van, listen to me! Did you eat any mushrooms? Did you put them in your tea?”
“T!” was all that came from the boy's clenched jaws. The flesh beneath his fur was turning an unnatural blue before Kyr's eyes.
“Okay. Van, open your mouth for me. Rhyd, hold his jaws open! He's not going to like this!” as Rhyd gripped the whining youth, Kyr shoved his fingers into Van's throat. He held them until Van began to wretch, then pulled away so he could hawk up at least some of the poisonous liquids he'd downed. “That's good, Van. Bring it all up.”
A flash of light pierced the darkening sky, followed by the roar of an engine as a flat-back skimmer shrieked down on top of the trio. The House Surgeon hopped from the back of his ride, wobbling as he left the bubble of the grav-harness. “Move aside!” he shouted over the lowering scream of the engines as they eased into idle.
“We think he's consumed nightcrowns! We don't know how many!” Kyr called out, but the surgeon seemed to ignore him. He produced a needle from his back and injected it into Van's neck.
“Believe it or not, he isn't the first child to do this. Where did he find them?”
“By a pond. We think.”
The surgeon met Kyr's eye. “Was he trying to kill himself?”
Kyr shook his head urgently. “No! He just wanted to get high.”
That at least drew a chuckle from the older male. “I'll leave that detail out. As far as anyone's concerned your friend here decided to try eating wild mushrooms and didn't realise some of them are deadly. I will have a private little chat about his inclinations when he's well enough. You go gather your friends back up!” With that, the surgeon lifted Van onto the skimmer, climbed in beside him, and told the pilot to rush them away.
Van was confirmed to be alive and on the mend the next morning. The consequences came later.
Kyr knew he'd be summoned, and he dreaded it for two days before it happened. The Lord Governor chose to see him after dark, having returned from some other engagement and still wearing formal dress. What made the meeting surreal, at least for Kyr, was that he was called to the Lord's bed chambers.
“I wished to ask about your friend. The one who decided to 'eat wild mushrooms' and nearly died for the stupidity,” Lord Bjol said as his attendant helped him out of his ludicrously over-layered formal dress. Unbinding the elaborate silk tail wrappings was proving to be a time consuming process. “I cannot help but feel key details have been left out.”
Kyr was glad Bjol had his back to him, else he might have given the game away. “I don't know what you've been told, my Lord.”
“Do you consider those convicts your friends?”
“Yes, Lord.”
“Then know that their presence in my House depends on you. Specifically, on your honesty.” Now, at last, Bjol turned to face the boy. His replacement eyes were cold, his scowl utterly devoid of patience or understanding. “You will speak only truth to me, do you understand?” Kyr nodded slowly. “Good. Was your friend merely stupid, or was he deliberately creating some kind of narcotic mixture?”
Kyr clenched his eyes shut, fearful of what would follow if he snitched on Van. “I truly don't know the details of what happened, Lord. I only know that he was making black nettle tea at one point.”
“So he was making narcotics. He will suffer for that.”
“Lord, please!” Kyr snapped his eyes open and raised his paws toward his master. “He almost died! Isn't that punishment enough?”
Bjol snarled at the attempted defence. “You and your ilk are convicted criminals! Are you labouring under the impression that you are able to do as you wish?”
Kyr's paws curled into fists as an unexpected anger boiled in his gut. “Van has been a prisoner for years in Iron Gaol, forced to perform physically exhausting, yet utterly pointless tasks every single day! He has had no freedom, no release from the toil and the drudgery! No hope! Yes, he is still bound to you, but what he has now is as good as true freedom from his perspective! I won't defend his actions, but I can at least understand why he would do it; he wished to indulge himself in that which he had been denied for so long. Can you honestly say you'd have done different in his place?”
The Lord gave a soft chuckle. His tail was now free, and he took the opportunity to be rid his tights. “Your loyalty to them is commendable, if misplaced. Perhaps you have all been given far more freedoms than you deserve.”
“No wonder you need me to sway hearts and minds for you; it is something you have no idea how to do yourself!” Kyr spat the words with far less courage than his tone suggested. It was a gamble, perhaps a stupid one, but he rolled the dice regardless.
Bjol did not rise to it. If anything could be read into the stare of his glassy black eyes it was disappointment. “That was a rather sad effort, Kyr, and it takes far more than sub-par reverse psychology to sway me from my chosen course. You and your friends will not set a single toe beyond the tended boundaries of your accommodations, save to perform your chores or when you are summoned here. There are no exceptions to that. Am I understood?”
The rejuve boy lowered his muzzle. “Yes, Lord.”
“Good. Make sure your friends all understand this as well. Perhaps, in time, you may earn back a little more freedom.” Bjol shed the last of his formal attire and took a well-worn robe from its hook, wrapping himself in the dark red cotton with a contented sigh. “You will return here first thing tomorrow with your work thus far. I hope you will have something of value.”
“No, Lord.”
The two simple words drew the puzzled attention of both Lord Bjol and his attendant. “I beg your pardon?”
“I regret that I will have nothing to offer you, Lord.” The boy had to fight to keep a tremble from his voice.
Lord Bjol rolled his artificial eyes. “Oh spare me this sad theatrical performance!”
“You need me, Lord!” Kyr pressed on into the jaws of Hell, his voice finding confidence as he crossed far beyond the point of no return. “You need me to be a rabble-rouser! You need my ideas and my passions! You cannot take these things from me by force!”
The Lord snorted, “I would rather think that being hard done by me would spur plenty of Republican rhetoric from you.”
“Oh you can make me hate you, Lord. That you most assuredly can do. I imagine you can force me to say or write any combination of words you desire, but what you cannot draw from me is passion; the spark that turns mere words into inspiring calls to action. Those who you would sway with my words will see right through your compelled dictations and dismiss them for the hollow things they are! If you are dead to me, Lord, then that which I write for you is equally dead. You need my cooperation to give the words life, and right now I have no desire to do that! I would rather spend the rest of eternity in Iron Gaol!”
“Very well,” Bjol shrugged. “I will arrange your return at my earliest convenience. Good night, Kyr. You are dismissed.”
Kyr stood in confused silence for several long moments, but he could read no sign of a bluff in Bjol's words. “I realise you are not familiar with the functioning of a House, but when the Lord dismisses a subordinate they typically exit the room.”
“You are really sending us back to Iron Gaol?” Kyr asked, a childish tremble in his voice.
“No, just you. The others we will keep. They knew I favoured you, and seeing that I am willing to punish you so harshly for their actions will keep them all in line for fear of being next. Dismissed, boy.”
The rejuve forced a huffing snarl from his maw, and in mockery of his Lord's earlier words he huffed, “I admit your acting is far better than mine, Lord, but we both know I'm not going anywhere. You can't afford to have me talk of your treasonous conspiring!”
“True. Then I will have to have you killed.”
That send a shudder through Kyr's heart, but he rallied almost instantly. “As if you would kill one of Dearest's beloved little cubs! She'd never forgive you, and I'm willing to bet my life that if there's one thing you cannot afford to lose it's her affections!”
As if summoned by his challenge, the door creaked open. “Oh, what's the lad doing here?” Dearest asked. Kyr glanced toward her, noting her lack of clothing and a faint smell of bath salts that wafted into the room with her.
“Young Kyr and I were discussing his friend, the boy who inadvertently poisoned himself. I will be back with you shortly, Dearest. I will see our guest out first.”
Kyr flashed Dearest a smile as he followed his Lord out and through the building. Both man and boy were silent until they stepped into the cool, crisp night air. A car was waiting, but the driver paid them no mind. Bjol glanced up at the stars above and allowed the narrowest of smiles to form upon his lips. “Well done,” he whispered.
“Was all of that some form of test, Lord?” Kyr asked.
Bjol laughed, but gave no clear answer. He simply gestured to the waiting car. “You'll be picked up tomorrow morning, bright and early. I don't expect you to have penned some grand oratory speech already; I simply want to see what you've come up with, perhaps to pick at a few of your presumptions or grind the blade at a few choice points. No doubt you'll want some missive or another sent to the City as well, a letter to your wife and children? Perhaps some other contacts? I'll review any messages myself before they are sent. Free and open communications with the outside world are a boon you've yet to earn.”
“What of my friends? Are we forbidden from moving beyond-”
“They say you should not interrupt your opponent when he is making a mistake. I shall, this once, disregard that particular pearl of wisdom.” Bjol again pointed to the car. “Good night, young man.”
This time, the boy took the hint. Lord Bjol was going to be an interesting rival, that much was certain.
