-

  Eventually, the common room filled. Four members of the escorting party settled at the table next to Fallem. Then, someone new descended from upstairs. A shaman. Yu had not known the guild had other guests. How many more were there? So far, he had only seen the people he came with. But as the shaman came into view, that thought slipped from his mind. Yu had been wiping down the kitchen pass-through, methodical in his work. He had done so with his arms, since getting up onto a stool to use his talons would have been way too embarrassing. Now, his arms stilled. His breath did, too.

  The figure was tall and slim, even more so than Harrow. But that was where comparisons ended. There was no telling what the shaman had once been — what race, what gender, what life they had abandoned. As they transformed, shamans left such worldly distinctions and personal desires behind. With their metamorphosis came different bodies and lives.

  The shaman’s face bore the hallmark of their kind: a smooth, pale mask, featureless except for the faintest indentations where eyes should have been. But unlike any shaman Yu had heard of, this mask was faintly translucent, like a frozen lake in the dead of winter. There was movement though, something slow and shifting that lay submerged just beneath. Shadows, that pooled in the depths where the waters still ran.

  From the mask’s edges, thin, wispy strands of grey unfurled — not quite hair, not quite smoke. They curled and drifted in the air like breath in the cold. These strands covered the shaman’s head and cascaded down the back, shifting weightlessly as if caught in an unseen current, with tips that frayed and dissipated like mist.

  The shaman’s mask and hair were coloured in white or greys, and so was their body. It was draped in thousands of layered, scale-like folds, shifting in muted hues of ash. They were not scales in the way a beast might have them. No, these seemed softer and incredibly thin, curling at the edges like millions of petals that had begun to unfold. They rippled with every motion, as if they were breathing. Yu could not tell in how far inwards these scales reached, nor see the body beneath, with all the layers.

  All the shaman wore was a long, tattered cloak draped over their shoulders, woven from something that shimmered like moth wings but draped heavy, absorbing rather than reflecting the orange light of the fireplace and the orbs.

  The cloak covered most of the shaman’s arms, but their hands showed as they walked. Their fingers were long, tapering into fine, curved points — not quite claws, yet not meant for anything gentle either. The shaman’s feet were bare, the only part of them remotely beastlike. The layers of scales thickened at the ancles and then split subtly at the soles, like the roots of a plant seeking purchase in the stone.

  And they moved with certainty. The shaman passed through the common room not as a stranger, but as someone who belonged. Yet their presence unsettled the air itself. The firelight in the hearth flared and flickered, and the wood groaned under an unseen strain. Well, everyone saw the fire, but only Yu heard the wood.

  And then Yu realised that the shaman was walking towards him.

  They halted only a few steps away.

  Yu just stared.

  “Good evening, Shaman,” Bubs’ voice cut in.

  Yu flinched. He had not seen Bubs coming, had not even noticed him step onto the stool right beside him, just across the counter. The surprise made his feathers bristle, but no one reacted.

  The shaman gave a slight tilt of the head towards Bubs. An acknowledgment. “Good evening.”

  It was a voice that did not belong to sound but to sensation. It reached Yu both from outside and from within his head. It was not loud, yet carried through the entire room. It was gentle, yet he felt it in the marrow of his bones. And from there, it went straight into Yu’s ever-growing mental archive of unnatural voices.

  Yu had heard witches whisper and mountains sing. He had heard rivers, buildings, and things that did not exist. This now — this was ice. Not the sharp splinter of shattering frost. Not the brittle cracking of a frozen lake in the morning sun. No. This was the moment ice began to form. That first, imperceptible shift when the river was still water, but when you pushed your wing in and then pulled back, your feathers gleamed with the tiniest shards. Where ordinary water would roll away, these fragments sank between the barbs, melting only when they touched skin. That was when you felt them, when they were already right on your skin.

  The voice felt like those shards. It sounded like them. Too slim and light to be noticed at first, but lingering like an afterthought. And then —

  The shaman turned to him. “And good evening, Yu.”

  Startled, overwhelmed, and ripped from his observations, Yu struggled to function. His gaze flickered over the small pin affixed to the shaman’s chest. It was a miniature rendering of the coat of arms that adorned the wooden plaques throughout the building. The same insignia worn by every guild member. All but Deltingar and Estington wore it over their hearts, or at least where Yu assumed their hearts to be. The brothers, being shirtless, had larger versions affixed to their belts.

  As Yu’s eyes locked onto the pin, the he first thing that came to him slipped out before he could stop it: “Are you Terbert?”

  A brief pause.

  Then — laughter.

  Not from the shaman.

  From outside.

  A bellowing, guttural roar, rolling through the storm, crashing against the walls, so forceful that it rattled the air inside. Estington or Deltingar. Howling.

  Every conversation in the common room stopped. Heads turned. Some towards the door. Most towards Yu.

  Yu wanted the floor to swallow him whole. He knew he had fucked up the moment the words had left his mouth. Sometimes, shit just came out. He was exhausted, overworked, hungry, not thinking clearly since the moment he arrived.

  The shaman did not show any amusement or reaction, which did absolutely nothing to make this better.

  “I am the shaman of this guild.”

  The words seemed whole. Yet if you listened closely, if you reached out to touch them, you found them shattered — a million shards of fractured sound, just at the brink of merging.

  Yu snapped out of it. “Sorry, I mean, I thought you were a guard … Sorry. Never mind.”

  “She is a guard,” said Bubs.

  “I am a former guard-to-be,” said the shaman. “This is most likely my last day at the guild. Until the ceremony.”

  Yu latched onto that. “What ceremony?”

  “The Relief of Duty. A ceremony for farewell.” The shaman’s tone did not change. “I have spent eight months here. Now, I return to my settlement of wanderers. Shamans are not meant to remain in one place. Even after our pathfinder walkabout. As for the ceremony … You will see.”

  She left it at that.

  Yu hesitated. He was wary now. After his exchange with Fallem, he did not have the stomach for another cutting down. But was she dismissing him? She had stopped, yes, but was she withholding information on purpose? It felt like it, yet at the same time, this did not seem like an attempt to denigrate or insult him. Shamans were known for their neutrality, were they not? For their detachment —

  The shaman tilted her head towards him. “Let it surprise you,” she said.

  “Oh, um. Yes,” Yu’s reply came awkwardly. He had no idea how else to reply, especially because whichever ulbatan was outside was still howling with laughter and, from the sound of it, possibly crying as well.

  As Yu desperately searched for something else to say, anything at all to make him seem normal, somewhere, from the back of his mind, a faint scrap of etiquette surfaced.

  “I’m Yu. A new guard —” He stopped.

  She knew that.

  She knew his name.

  She had greeted him by name.

  She also knew he was a guard.

  She had spoken of the ceremony as if it concerned him — which, if it was a guard’s farewell, it likely did only because he was, or, at least, was to become, a guard.

  OH GOD.

  Why the fuck

  was he

  SO. DAMN.

  STUPID?

  “So I heard,” she said. “I assume you expect me to say my name. Is that right?”

  Yu hesitated. The bluntness threw him. “Yes?”

  He had not thought that far ahead. He had not thought at all, really, but at this point, he would say anything to shift this conversation away from himself.

  “I cannot give you that,” the shaman said. “Over the course of the Enfolding, we relinquish our names. Shedding our original identity is part of the transformation. We become shamans and are known as such. For now, I am the shaman of this guild. After the Relief of Duty, I will be a wanderer, a returner. After that, where I settle will determine my new name.”

  “I thought shamans didn’t fight?” asked Yu. “Not even … witches and orks?” His voice lowered instinctively as the remaining four members of the escorting party filtered in, taking seats at the long tables. “I mean, because you were — are a guard?”

  “That is true. And for eight months, I have remained neutral, unbethought of the conflicts that rose.”

  Before Yu could think of a reply, Bubs interrupted. “Yu, finish up here. It is time for dinner.” Then, turning. “Shaman, will you be eating with us?”

  “I will. Thank you.” With a nod, she left them for the guild entrance. She stepped outside. Cold rushed in. The door closed behind her.

  Yu still heard her.

  “Good evening Tirran. Estingar.”

  “Good evening, Shaman”, said Tirran.

  “Hullo Terbert,” said Estingar.

  Yu died three times over.

  -

  Dinner was served at six o’clock, sharp. Hunger had made everyone flock in long before that, and so had the rich, steaming scent of wapa. The contrast between the cold air upstairs and the thick, clinging warmth within the common room was enough to make one lightheaded.

  Yu was starving. And yet, the only reason he had been called into the kitchen was to carry out food — for everyone but himself. It was the first time Bubs had permitted him inside his domain.

  Yu stepped through the threshold, his gaze darting across the space, taking in the room that opened up to him. The kitchen was a place of contradictions: practical, rugged, yet layered with unsettling details. It was carved deep into the stone foundations of the guildhall, its smooth grey walls polished to a sheen. Their surfaces were punctuated with iron hooks that bore hanging utensils, cast-iron skillets, and bundles of dried herbs that Yu could not distinguish. Their sharp, earthy scents mingled with the tang of smoke and the thick, metallic stench of blood. Over all of it, the bubbling aroma of stew filled the air, something dark and rich simmering in two massive iron pots over the open hearth.

  Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

  At the heart of the room stood two large oak tables. Their surfaces were etched with knife marks, burns and wear. Their edges gleamed with steel reinforcements, as did the heavy stools surrounding them. They were built from the same dark wood and had legs fortified with iron brackets to withstand weight and strain.

  Yu’s gaze drifted to the floor. Grooves. Thin, deliberate channels carved into the rock, running toward unseen drains before vanishing beneath the stonework. Concealed passageways, meant for water — or blood.

  The kitchen is a means of retreat. Tirran’s words echoed in his mind. If Bubs ever lets you in, pay attention to the defences. It had been an offhand remark, spoken that morning as the omira came and went through the entrance, heading for his post outside. Yu had barely registered it at the time.

  Now, he understood. The entire room was a fortress masquerading as a kitchen, as much battlefield as hearth. Some defences were subtle — the steel-braced tables and cabinets, the iron grating over the narrow window. Others were not. In one corner stood a double-tiered rack of weapons, things obviously not meant for cooking; knives, blades and two spears. A crossbow hung just above, quarrels lined beside it. How had he not seen it immediately? What other weapons were here, possibly hidden within all these locked cupboards? Yu’s stomach twisted. Was all of this necessary?

  The decoration was no less unsettling. Sparse but … distinct. Above the blackened stone fireplace hung a large painted canvas. It absolutely dominated the wall. Yu had seen plenty of paintings before — but this was something else. A storm-lashed seascape, waves rising like clawed hands. A ship breaking apart in the maelstrom. And there, rising from the depths, dark, coiling shapes, serpent-like, monstrous, their forms barely distinguishable from the shadows of the storm, writhing between wave and abyss. It was grotesque. Full of dread. It was a disturbing clash; the dark hues and violent imagery brought to life by the flickering orange warmth of the fire below. And yet, despite himself, Yu could not look away, staring with equal parts revulsion and confusion.

  WHY?

  It was the first thought that surfaced.

  Why THIS?

  Why would you bring this ugly, horrible — this horribly ugly thing here? Why not something beautiful? Why not something bright, something to uplift your desperate days in Albweiss, to allow you a bit of daydreaming on an otherwise unbearable day of endless toil and isolation? The paintings in the common room were one thing. But this? Of all the things to hang in a kitchen – a place where warmth, food, and comfort should be found – why bring in something so soul?crushing? If Yu —

  “Take them out. Serve the shaman first.”

  Bubs.

  The cook stood at the counter beside the deep stone sink, knife flashing in precise, rhythmic movements. Thick slabs of meat fell beneath the blade, each slice landing with a dull, wet thud against the cutting board. He did not look at Yu as he spoke, just jabbed the knife in the general direction of the steaming pots. A tray sat ready before them, bowls already filled to the brim with stew.

  Yu’s stomach churned. The moment his focus shifted from horror to hunger, the scent hit him full force, thick and intoxicating, rich with marrow and spice. His beak watered. His hunger sharpened to pain. He swallowed hard and shuffled forward, just to stop again after the first three steps, as the heat from the fire wrapped around him. He could feel the relief seeping into his skin, just from standing so close. A moment of warmth. A moment of want.

  “What are you waiting for?” Bubs snapped, breaking the spell.

  Yu stiffened, blinking hard.

  He had no answer.

  His thoughts were sluggish, his body heavy with exhaustion. He was just not all there anymore.

  He shuffled forward, attempting to grasp the tray. His wings did not fit through the wooden side handles, which were meant to be grabbed by fingers, but the raised frame offered enough surface for him to press his wings against the tray’s sides. What remained of his lower arms did not suffice, so he bent both wings and locked the tray between the sharp Vs that his upper and lower arms formed around his elbows. It was heavy. Six full bowls. Yu needed to squeeze hard to lock and hold it in place. He struggled to keep it balanced. His wings ached from all the scrubbing.

  Still, tray in wings, he turned from the hearth to the door, took a first step — and screamed.

  A swarm of monstrous arachnids spilled from the ceiling, grotesque limbs unravelling as they lunged toward him.

  Instinct seized him. He staggered back and threw up his wings. The tray slammed into his chest. Bowls overturned. Scalding stew poured down his front, soaking into his clothes, burning straight through to his skin. His back hit the left iron pot, a sickening hiss of flesh against metal. White-hot agony erupted through him, a shockwave of pain. Yu reeled and his left wing jerked against the burning surface, which was the only thing that kept him from falling backwards into the flames. The heavy iron pot wobbled and tipped, sloshing a wave of boiling broth over its rim.

  Pain.

  Blinding, raw, senseless pain.

  The liquid soaked into his feathers, scalding deep into his skin. The stench of burning flesh exploded into the air. Yu shoved forward to escape —

  And for the briefest of seconds, he saw himself. Not from within. From across the kitchen. Stumbling. Falling, his voice tearing from his throat as he crashed to the ground. He barely heard the scream before he was the one screaming again, before he collapsed onto the floor.

  Above him, they loomed. Twisting, writhing limbs. Pincers. Hulking, multi-limbed forms descending —

  Yu choked on terror. Panic, as intense as all the pain, forced him to look. But there were no monsters, no beasts, no arachnids. Nothing. Nothing but a painting, a massive canvas mounted above the cabinets.

  A battlefield drowned in horror. Humanoid figures, clawing and twisting, their forms devoured beneath a horde of grotesque, many-limbed creatures — grand, distorted arachnids. The brushstrokes were too vivid, too excruciatingly lifelike. In his half-starved haze, they had seemed to spill from the wall.

  Yu writhed on the floor, gasping, choking on pain.

  The monsters were not real. They had never moved.

  But for a moment, they had.

  “You spast!” Bubs’ roared. “Do you have any idea how much food you’ve wasted? How much meat?”

  A fist twisted into Yu’s scorched clothes. Pain exploded through him as Bubs hauled him up, dragging him like dead weight. Cursing, the mianid shoved and kicked him through the kitchen door and through the common room. Yu stumbled, screaming, crying, then —

  Cold. Freezing air slamming against raw, blistered flesh.

  Yu collapsed where Bubs dropped him, snow crunching beneath his trembling body. His breath hitched, caught in his throat.

  Bubs loomed in the doorway, the orb-light casting his small frame into a jagged silhouette. “Don’t just stand there, man!” His voice dripped venom. “Cool down in the snow, or should I just hack off that wing and toss it in the stew instead?”

  Yu barely heard him. His world was burning. His world was freezing.

  Bubs stepped forward and piled snow onto Yu’s back.

  Finally, Yu complied. He pressed his burned wing into the snow, then used the other to shove more against his chest, his stomach and his side. Anything. Anything to numb the pain.

  But there was no relief, only pain battling cold, two kinds of suffering tearing him apart.

  “That’s enough,” Bubs yanked at him, but let go when Estingar stepped in. And then Bubs was gone.

  By the time Estingar guided him back inside, Yu was soaked. His feathers clung to his body in wet, brittle patches, charred where the metal had scorched them. He barely registered the heat of the common room, but he was awfully aware of all the stares.

  Estingar grabbed a towel from a rack next to the entrance, but did not pass it onto Yu.

  Bubs emerged from the kitchen. “Upstairs,” he said. “Change. Before you make even more of a mess.”

  If not all eyes had been on Yu before, they were now.

  With Estingar in tow, Yu dragged himself up the stairs. His body ached, his burns throbbed, and every inch of him was coated in a mix of soot and melted snow. Somehow, Yu made it to the first floor.

  “Back soon,” Estingar did not follow but continued upstairs.

  By the time Yu made it to the communal bathroom, his mind was a whirlwind of anger and humiliation. He slammed the door shut. His thoughts flickered dark. More venomous than anything Bubs could ever spit.

  A knock.

  “Hey, Yu!”

  One of the two ulbatans. Yu still could not tell them apart, but guessed that it was the same one who had just trailed him up the stairs.

  Estingar opened, a slim bag in his hand. “Use these.” From it, he pulled out a tin of salve, compresses, and woollen bandages, which he arranged on the bathroom sink. Last, he put down the towel. “Do you want help?”

  “No.”

  “All right, then I’m back outside.”

  What?

  The exchange was brief. No pity. No patronising. No pressure. No further questions. It was all but what Yu had expected. Estingar actually headed back down. For real.

  And Yu remained alone, staring at his reflection in the mirror, then down at the supplies.

  -

  So … he was left on his own.

  How the fuck was he supposed to do this?

  Carefully, Yu turned to his left and right in front of the mirror, assessing the damage. His clothes clung like a second skin, soaked and freezing, but where he had made contact with the pot, the fabric had fused to his side and back. The singed and several blackened feathers bit into raw, blistered flesh beneath.

  With one talon, Yu dragged the small wooden stool from under the sink and sat down. His scarf had caught a great portion of the stew, stiff and reeking. He wriggled it off and let it drop.

  Deep breath.

  With his beak and claws, he began to peel his shirt away. As the first major patch of cloth ripped free, he tore a chunk of charred skin with it. Blood welled sluggishly from the exposed wound. More pain welled with it. Yu doubled over, throwing his wings onto the washbasin to steady himself.

  Yu had never been burned before.

  He had no idea how to treat this.

  His gaze darted around the room, indecisive. Then, finally, it landed on the wooden tub in the corner. Water. It smelled faintly of lye and damp stone, but it was water.

  Yu fumbled for the long-handled ladle that rested beside the tub. First, he tried to lift it with his arms — failed. Then he got up and tried with his claw — fell over. Then he just shoved his left wing straight into the tub. Yu gasped, as the water flooded over the burns and frostbite. For a moment, the relief was profound — then came the sting, a thousand fire-tipped needles beneath his flesh. His breath hitched, body spasming from the shock, but eventually, the pain dulled to a raw, distant throb.

  With his wing submerged, he used his beak to pull out the first of the burnt feathers. Then the next. And then another. It was horrible. His feathers were thick and strong, deeply rooted. He needed to dig deep into the skin to really get the shaft out. The embedded feathers were the worst. Blackened and twisted, they had fused to his skin. The water made it somewhat easier, but not really.

  He worked through his whole wing, then used it to slosh water over his chest and side, to continue there. Given that he had at least half of a fina’s flexibility, he reached what he could of his lower back.

  Grasp a feather. Squeeze. Twist. Pluck. Pain. Repeat.

  It became mechanical, just like preening.

  Yu did not care how long it took.

  It was not like anyone was waiting for him.

  It was not like he ever wanted to go back down again.

  Not after they had treated and thrown him out like garbage.

  Eventually, there were no more feathers left to pull. Nothing left to do but treat the burns. Yu slathered the salve over his arm first. The scent was sharp and herbal. It was cool but far from soothing, though after a few minutes, when he was still working it into the wounds on his side, Yu believed that the pain in his wing started to dull.

  Now what?

  Bandages.

  Yu eyed the woollen strips. There was no way he could wrap them around his own torso. He did not even attempt to. He needed all his focus to keep his frustration and anger in check just for handling his left wing. He was on his third try, and still the damn thing refused to stay in place —

  ?Hey, who’s eating silling on the toilet?“

  The bathroom door swung open. A gust of cold air from the hallway swept in.

  Yu froze, half-naked, hunched by the washbasin, cloth and feathers scattered around him, a mess of unrolled bandages in his lap.

  “Ah, it’s you,” Deltington, or Estingar, grinned, his eyes flicking over Yu’s exposed torso. “So it’s fina, not silling. My bad.”

  Heat rose to Yu’s face despite the chill in the air. He had forgotten to lock the door.

  “Please leave.”

  “I’m just kidding, I know it was you.”

  “Please leave.”

  “So, do you live here now? On the toilet?”

  “You already asked me that. Are you out of stupid jokes already?”

  “Ha! What? Nah, I didn’t see you all morning. Heard you, though. That must have been Estingar! So we have the same jokes, huh?”

  “Leave. I swear —”

  “If you were an omira, I’d be convinced that you pretty much marked the room as your territory. After yesterday.”

  “Leave. I mean it.”

  Deltingar leaned against the doorframe. “Shit looks bad. What happened?”

  “Nothing. Now go away.”

  “Man, you really are shiny.”

  “For fuck’s sake, piss off already!” Yu’s feathers bristled. Not that shit joke again.

  Deltington just shrugged, still grinning like he owned the place. But, finally, he turned on his heel. “Alright, alright, fine.” He threw a casual wave over his shoulder. Then, the door clicked shut.

  Yu sat there, burning with humiliation.

  For a split second, he almost called him back. Just to fix the damn bandage.

  But his beak refused to open.

  And then Deltington was already downstairs.

  Yu slumped forwards, rested his elbows on his knees and pressed his forehead against the cool edge of the washbasin. And then he just wallowed in his own misery.

  Until voices drifted to him.

  “… cannot see!” A deep, guttural voice, rough like stones grinding together.

  “No! They will notice from my eyes!” A young female. Strained. Exhausted. Tairan?

  “Maybe when they look! Maybe not!” The first voice again. A borman, judging from the heavy accent, the deep timbre. “Maybe frostbite?”

  Yu stiffened. Without meaning to, he had shut out the guild when he had shut himself in — and opened his senses for the voices beyond the storm. The words reached him clearly, as if spoken right beside him. He knew they were not. Voices from the distance had a strange quality. Hollow yet sharp. Real yet displaced. They were in his head.

  More voices joined.

  “They will be competent enough to distinguish her, regardless of the markings!” This was a new voice with an odd sort of echo, as if two people were saying the exact same, overlapping.

  They were shouting at each other. They must be travellers, outside, likely sheltered were they were at least somewhat protected from the winds.

  “They will sense her! They will smell her!” This one was harsher, rough-edged. Most likely male. Beastkin. “We will appeal and deal! Some places fear witches too much to reject them!”

  Yu’s head shot up.

  -

  -

  Dear Travellers,

  thank you for reading.