Chapter 5

Yaro had trouble finding sleep since she’d left. Tossing and turning did not bring back the memories consumed. The feelings were there, the drive, but the reason wasn’t there. How could she chase something without reason?

Sleep always did catch her, eventually. It may take a few days, but her physical exhaustion proved to be a fine reason for sleep to slip by her worries and capture her.

This was one of those nights where dreams tried to claw at her. Before they could drag her into a fantasy, a thump and whimpering brought her fully back. Attack was imminent.

She held still, her cloak covering her in a heap next to some trash. Three humi stood in darkness, auras beleaguered with inebriants and anger.

There was a fourth person, a serpent, the one who wept and hissed in anguish, a pain of body and mind.

Yaro gained her bearings, nestling under a bridge in yet another city she didn’t know the name of. The people here spoke a kind of mixture between the common Lald and something breathy. Most of what the drunkards spat made coherent sense..

“You’re about to be more snake than humi,” one laughed. “just a few more hacks and you’ll look right.”

They surrounded the serpent, leaning over them while they coiled close against the bridge’s glistening wet wall. They were the fox ready to eat the rabbit.

“You should just skip town. Go back to your home. Go eat some rats in a cave like the rest.”

Scared words eked from the serpent, “the baker says he needs me. P-please, leave me alone.”

A blood-curdling wet thwack came as the center humi drove some kind of blade down. Yaro didn’t have an angle to see properly, she couldn’t risk exposing herself.

“Shut up, wretch. Keep talking and you won’t be able to catch anything but rats!” They laughed hysterically, bending backwards with so irksome exaggeration. They stumbled back, catching themselves before they fell onto Yaro.

She took the opportunity and jumped at the stumbling humi. She drove her claws into the squishy arm flesh, eliciting a gasp of pain and surprise.

She took the moment of confusion as an opportunity to better assess the situation. The humi she grabbed felt limp, like they were ready to pass out and soil themselves. The other two took too long to turn and react. The serpent, a young gorgon, sat in a pool of rain-water-diluted blood, shimmering in the dim city light from either end of the alley.

Their actions, in the eyes of kexist law, was not illegal. Semi-intelligent creatures did not have the same rights as them. They had more rights than non-intelligent like dogs or phoenix, able to hold occupations, claim ownership, etc. But for hunting, they were just as fair game, though more frowned upon. Yaro gagged unintentionally.

The gorgon was missing one arm and several head-mouths. Blood poured from her remaining arm, tendons holding on by a thread while bone poked from either end. Quickly, act quickly, save her life if not her arm.

I need more time, more confusion. She shouted, echoing, “To Yon with you filth. Leave now, or face the righteous anger of a Tukk soldier.”

She took a gamble on their religious nature. Even if they weren’t the most righteous believers. I bet their drunkenness will make them more easily frightened, I bet they care about their souls.

They stared at her dumbly. A heavier chip than words was needed, it seemed. If they were going to leave, they'd do so in a hurry. So she let go of their companion and regrasped him with one arm around his neck. Her other hand now free, she called the burning in the pattern on her palm, summoning flames that lit the alley. The ground burned with the snapping of fire. “Leave! Or your friend dies.”

They looked at one another, wordless communication with their eyes. They turned and ran as cowards, screaming about a monster from Yon.

She had exposed herself, cloak billowing behind her like a tent in a storm. With ease, her captive hit the ground, hard. “Leave, if you want to keep your head.”

They vomited on the ground before scrambling up and after his companions, clenching tightly on his arm. It reeked of alcohol and shone with half-digested meat.

She ignored the bile and turned to the gorgon. Why am I getting closer? Why did I bother attacking those humi? It doesn’t make sense. She composed herself, not only letting them know she existed, but also revealing her form. Even before this creature, cowering and in agony, she kept her robe open and hood down. Shadows of crooked horns danced like a jester’s draconic crown.

Yaro should have left then, left the city and found a new one to find rest in. Instead, she crouched, looking the gorgon directly in their eye. The other eye had a patch over it, Yaro hadn’t noticed before. They trembled, staring not at Yaro but at what Yaro represented: their demise.

Yaro pitied the creature. Despite the end of the war bringing people together, humi, drake, and all other sophont creatures into a society of equals, the atrocities of the past were just passed on to the next victim. No longer were humi kept in servitude of drake monarchies of the south, nor drake creatures of amusement to the oligarchs of the north, but now all creatures not deemed fully intelligent were second class. A gorgon, though it could talk, it could feel, it could be hurt… The world simply tried to replace old hate with new hate. The carcass of the dead war still rotted with the miasma of hate.

“It will be hard to believe,” Yaro said in the softest voice she could manage, “but I will not hurt you.”

The gorgon stared, leaning down so her arm was in the least-painful position it could be in. Leaning down and as far as she could be from Yaro. It wept openly, tears running down their jaws and their aura like a weighty thundercloud.

Yaro emanated peace, repeating, “I won’t hurt you.”

Nothing Yaro could do would ease the tension. But she had to do something before they would lose their other arm or bleed out. She came down to one knee, close enough to the arm that she could reach it. Her mask  puffed to smoke, I hope the truth will ease her nerves. i doubt it, but there’s not much else I can do.

“I will paralyze you,” it said in many hushed voices. “I will paralyze you,” it said, waving its mouths slowly in display.

“I don’t believe that.” The wound smelled ripe the closer she got, her mouth opening and exposing her many fangs and stubs. Yaro pointed at her tongue. “My toxin heals instead.”

“I will paralyze you,” the gorgon repeated, less convincingly. The pitiful thing  winced as her involuntary movements pulled her arm from her body. “I will…”

“No, you won’t.” Yaro said. “You will remain still while I heal you.” She leaned towards the arm, all the while keeping eye contact and emanating peace. It was difficult to do, her nerves wanted to scream panic. Even if she would avoid the venom, it was only a matter of time before the local protectors would come for her. I don’t have the time to stay here.

“I will…” mumbled the gorgon, “stay still.” Her voice was a whisper in a storm. The sunflower yellow of her eyes waned in vibrance, glassy. Yaro didn’t have much time, nor patience for any further placating.

Yaro got to work.

She held the arm rigid with one hand and the opposite shoulder with the other. She gripped tightly, drawing blood from the shoulder only. The wound bore a horrid mess, tendons were ripped free from the bone, muscle brutally severed, blood drooling from so many vessels, skin shaggy and scales pulverized in.

Yaro opened her mouth, ready for putridity to encase her smell and taste.

The gorgon was delicious.

Yaro had had gorgon meat before, stolen from the table of some well-to-do with Natrai and the others. They feasted on things they would never have been otherwise be able to, the heist taking a hold to savor it. With ample time of the villa owners attending a gala that night, they had things like sugar bread, roasted gorgon flank, renua-rice, and so much more. The carnivores enjoyed the other ghrepul shoulder, phoenix wings, and unicorn kebab -which used the creature's actual horn shaved into a skewer.

Yaro’s mouth trembled at the memory-taste she currently had in her mouth. Fancy people cooked things, but the tastiest and healthiest were raw. Like the gorgon she ate.

No. This was not eating, this was healing. Every lick, every salty, metallic, and flavor-rich stroke sealed those muscles, tendons, vessels, and lipid-stores. Was it so bad that she got something out of it? Even if she didn’t gain enough sustenance to actually feed her, she was able to experience a flavor she may never again.

It was familiar, too. This was not the first time she did this, healing someone alive. And like now, she knew it tasted wonderful. It was a taste she could not bring back the memory of, a taste like the gorgon’s but more citric.

She let her mind roam as she did like when healing herself. She had little else to do, paying attention to anything quickly lost meaning as the energy every look took stacked on her. It tired her, more so than healing herself. With her own wounds, she could return some of the energy spent back into her system. With this gorgon, all was lost to the repair.

She licked and licked more. If someone were to come, they would think she was teasing her prey and leave her alone. It was not wrong to eat semi-intellignet creatures like a gorgon, so the common law said. But it still felt vile to her, like cheating a relative. But she was a special case that probably led to higher empathy.

Why was she here healing this gorgon in the first place? Why was she expending energy to the point she knew she would pass out to bring back this creature who’d already suffered such trauma? Would it not have been more right of her to end it's pitiful existence? And then, to consume the flesh, a payment for her services?

That choice was already passed as the bruising arm jolted in her grasp. Must have repaired an important nerve. Can’t stop now.

The zuyg and its stars, blood red from passing its dim light through the sea of fire, fell behind the buildings, out of sight. The stars of the zuyg vanished as the sayk band colored the sky an unsaturated red of the early morning. Yaro wished the stars stayed, that one might have fallen and whisked her away to the sky never to be seen again. Stars did not fall often, nor did they have intelligence to take her anywhere.

With a lick to seal the skin, she’d finished.

Yaro pulled her cloak up and sat on the filthy ground. The cold and exhaustion partook in beating her, trying to force her into sleep. If the protectorate came for her, so be it, she hadn’t much to live for in the first place.

She looked to the gorgon, to see if they were even still alive. With that sunflower eye, it gazed back, radiating excitement and gratitude. They were awake?

The wound, though healed, still would need to take a lot of energy to become fully scarred over. Passively, she felt her leg, the bones slowly going back into place where she’d missed. It wasn’t perfect, and the gorgon would surely be tired as it healed too.

Instead, the gorgon seemed to have more energy than the drunkards from the night before. It trumpeted a noise Yaro assumed meant thank you. Then, it said in the common tongue, “Please, come with me to the baker, she will take care of you.”

Yaro was not about to go anywhere, not that she could anyway. Blinking slowly, sleep pulling at her eyes, she used what little strength she had to crawl back into her hiding spot, don her mask, and wrap herself in her cloak. Sleep would come one way or another, might as well be comfortable.

Her eyes closed only for a few seconds. She found herself in bed.

The room had a hominess to it, wooden beams stretching across the ceiling before arching lightly into the outside-posed wall. The window let in golden morning light, casting the off-white walls in an other-worldy amber. THat delusion only lasted a breath before Yaro snorted at the plaster walls, makeshift from a larger room of the white building meant to section something off. It’s always sad to see. 

Typically, this occurred in porter areas that wanted to make the most of what they had. If Yaro could build in the city, she’d fully utilize the space of the bones, recreating the elegance of their original purposes from that long-dead civilization. It was pretty simple to surmise what happened: the gorgon got the baker, they took her to their house and laid her in a bed. The Tukk-guided soft-hearts. 

Yaro didn’t have time to make nice and have a drink with strangers. She had a mission. She had to leave.

The linen smelled clean and was so comfortable under her. Her clock covered her, but her mask was put at a bedside stand. They’d seen her and still carried her and let her sleep in a bed. The urge to leave weighed heavy, but also to stay, just for a while to savour the comfort.

Fresh bread wafted in the air, newly baked and more still baking. It stirred something in her, something lost, something consumed. Egra, the witch, what had she taken from her that the scent of bread elicited? Something the ring pointed her to: answers.

Next to her mask sat cooked eggs on a plate with sausage and a small loaf of golden bread with a red cranation-like flower. The food disappeared down her throat like the falling of the syk, there was no way to be sure if anyone would come and take it away from her. The spices in the sausage were wonderful, a sweetness underlying hot pepper. It did not compare to the gorgon’s flesh. The flower remained on the plate, tempting Yaro to engage in peaceful thought. Is this the gorgon’s way of saying thank you? The flower in hand, Yaro smelled it, taking in the light aroma and heat of a renua flower. It filled her with determination.

She didn’t need to eat it quickly. If they were going to do anything to her, they would have done so while she slept. Or, at least, not put her in a place she was supposed to feel safe in. This has to be some sort of trick. But why can’t I shake the feeling that they’re just repaying me for saving her life?

Mask on and robe clasped, she snuck out of the window of the room, careful not to draw any attention to her. If she stayed much longer, she may have to explain her behaviour. Or worse, stay for a while.

The musty smell of the streets guided her out of the city. While making her way, she was sure to pilfer a few fuur for later. She wasn’t hungry, this was just preparation for that inevitability. If only she didn’t have to eat so often, or at all.

The gorgon, why had she saved her? The way the humi were acting, this was a long standing animosity towards them. They couldn’t survive for much longer if they had such animosity. So why did it stay? Was it bound to the baker in some way? Why not just find a new town? It didn’t matter. In the end, Yaro would never see them again, just like everyone in her life.

Did she prolong the gorgon’s suffering? Should she have done a different kind of kindness, one so morbid and natural? More words of wisdom of Natrai came to her…

Yaro had skimmed some fuur from the zealot after their most recent heist. He would not miss five fuur, and he deserved to have less. He almost compromised them by getting too drunk off of the meal’s wine.

Natrai, when going over what they retrieved to split it evenly, found the five missing. Everyone accused Yaro, of course. They had no way to prove she’d done anything.

Natrai opened Yaro’s palm, revealing the five fuur under the flames of her tattoos.

The zealot came at her with his pole, striking her across her face. Her nose cracked and blood dripped from a swiftly swelling cheek. Everyone knew she’d heal. So he struck her again, sending her sprawling. The point was made and she dragged herself to her room.

She cried that night, not for the first time. Crying didn’t come often, it was pointless. When she did, she had to keep away from everyone, lest they abuse her weakness. Natrai came in and sat next to her. 

She explained how Yaro got what was coming to her. You do not steal from your family. But the zealot did go a little too far and has been justly punished himself.

Natrai provided another lesson, “the people most trodden upon must look out for each other, because no one else will. Yaro, you should never steal from someone who needs to steal to live.”

Natrai then storied an anecdote of a homeless boy she found stealing from her. She had noticed him, of course, he was young and inexperienced. He thought he was successful, only for her to follow him back to his hollow in an abandoned building in the worst part of the city. His room was in worse than squalor: mold, rotten things, and filth made his beadfellows. He himself was caked in dirt, his ribs showing, and many welts and scars all over his body. The boy was terrified when he noticed her, and tried to run away. "do you know who that was?" That boy was the zealot. "The people who have it the worst deserve your best."

Natrai brought out the five fuur and offered it, palm outstretched.

The person Yaro tracked, would they do the same? Would they have helped that boy, the zealot? She knew nothing about them. All she had was the words of Egra, her ring, and a deep longing.

Maybe I shouldn’t have burned the witch's home. I could have still used her, at least to learn what she stole from me. Why am I always so stupid?

Who even are they? Why did i sacrifice years of my life just to find them? Why do I even do anything? I had no reason to help the gorgon, yet here I am. I have no reason to live, yet here I am.

Might as well continue, I guess, just to see this kak to the end. I just wish my heart didn’t tell me I needed to find that person.

Would they even be looking for me?

Maybe someone kidnaped them? The yon-bound Tuumon Kova, that person knew what it was, that’s some valuable information. But I know what it is too… Why can’t I just remember?

She took out her ring. It gleamed with her aura, green bubbles with red glowing cracks. But within those cracks, those peculiar violet spikes with white bone-like tips. Those were this person’s…

I really am stupid. I should have spent time with that gorgon, at least to get supplies. I’m so sure they would have given me some, since they carried me and let me sleep there. Since they saw me. I might have even gotten a blanket.

She left the city with only herself, mask, cloak, ring, and five fuur. Her mistakes were the past. 

I need to keep moving forward.