Chapter 4

Watching Narreen pat a rather jaded turtle as she sat on a now cramped coracle, while
they followed a rare salamander guiding them through a river inside glowing cave, was such a
bizarre occurrence that it produced an incredulous smile on Nero’s face.
Narreen caught the gesture for she looked at him and asked, “Care to share the
humour?”
Nero regarded her inquisitively and questioned, “Aren’t you afraid that we might die
here, in the belly of the world?” The Yakamouz swam gingerly ahead, it’s shimmering body
visible beneath the dark water.
Narreen observed him calmly before responding, “No.”
Nero’s face must have shown how sceptical he was of her answer because she coolly
added, “Are you?”
He wanted to tell her he was terrified, that he secretly doubted his choice to follow the
Glimmer into what could easily turn into their tomb. He wanted to confess that since they’d left
the Clan, he’d often been afraid he was living his last day on earth. Instead, he chose his words
carefully, “It doesn’t really matter, does it? When death comes, how can you run from it? You
cannot.”
That seemed to satisfy her for she soon returned to idly petting the animal.
Nero’s attention returned to their surroundings; they crouched rigidly across each other;
their gear placed between them as if demarcating a barrier neither could cross. Nero had been
surprised to discover Narreen’s things placed inside his boat when they’d left the Yakamouz’s
birthing cave. Had she intended join him all along? It was far more likely she’d been planning to
steal it after stabbing him inside the chamber. She’d promised him twice the punishment of
Root Mother, after all.
Nero was unsure of how long they’d been in the water; they’d had little choice other
than to surrender to the river’s current. The water carved through the rock, as if forming a
secret pathway known only to the ancients. The air had grown colder, and he couldn’t shake
the impression that the further the coracle went, the more they were at the mercy of Tunric.
 Above their heads the rocks retained their eerie glow. They provided a blanket of relief
for despite the light of the Yakamouz being sufficient for them to see their way, the twinkles
above them meant there was a map to refer to should something happen to their ‘guide’.
Narreen had insisted they light a torch as well, “We might need it.” There was no arguing with
her.
Nero’s thoughts focused on the animal they were following; something in the Yakamouz
tugged at him. It was as if since it’s mother’s death, he he’d been left choiceless but to place his
leg on the creatures…what? Tail?
Once again, a smile formed on his face.
“Full of private humour, are we?” It crossed his mind that she must have been staring at
him the entire time. Her tone made her disdain very clear.
He ignored her and began to check on his gear for what may have been the seventh
time. Why had he felt almost obligated to let her come? She’d been as sullen as ever, sitting
there petting that ridiculous little creature, with barely a word out of her mouth. Why had she
wanted to come at all?
She spoke again, but this time there was an unusual softness in her voice, “Sometimes
one has no choice and a journey like this becomes their destiny.”
Nero stopped abruptly. Her words had caught him so off guard, he’d failed to wonder if
he’d spoken out loud. He regarded her coolly; the swirls so perpetual to her eyes seemed a little
calmer, gentler.
“What’s your pets name?” He asked, pointedly.
The petting instantly stopped, then casually resumed before she coolly replied, “Turtle is
not a pet. It’s food. For later, in case I am facing starvation or perhaps need to trade it.”
“You named your turtle, Turtle?” He meant mock and she knew it.
“I don’t need to be good at naming things. I have other skills. Deadly ones.” It was said
as a threat but the tiny smile on her face told him that perhaps this journey would be bearable
after all.
They continued silently in the coracle, each engrossed in their own thoughts. Nero
glanced at the two oars between them and part of him wondered how long it would be before
they might need them to save their lives. The Coracle moved in tranquillity; the pace set by the
river soothing enough to lull anyone to sleep. Still, something tugged at him; a rapid rhythm
that prohibited his heart to settle. He looked over the rim of the boat at the Yakamouz. There it
was, swimming in slow and languid movements. He’s legs were tucked against his torso, the
tail flapping from side to side, while it made winding movements with his whole body. Its
shimmer illuminated the water around him, the sparkles allowing Nero to see the cave rocks
that lay lined the bottom of the river.
“Nero,” Narreen called too casually to make him believe she hadn’t been pondering on
what she would say next. “What is it like to be an effete?”
At first, he thought she’d meant to offend him, but her open face told him otherwise.
Nero regarded her before slowly replying, “It’s lonely.”
A silence ensued and memories of living with the left hand stronger than the right one
swirled in Nero’s head.
“Narreen,” he probed as gently as he could, “What’s it like to see in the dark?”
She showed no surprise at the question, as if she’d been aware that he’s known all
along.
“Lonely.”
This time they simply stared at each other. Nero had the impression that there was
something inquisitive in her gaze. Before he could look away, she asked, “Back at the other
cave, the one where you found the Yakamouz. I attacked you. You fought back.” He waited for
what he knew would come next, “Why?”
Nero and Narreen had engaged in many squabbles in the past, most of them being
physical, and although he’d always tried to protect his body, he’d never, essentially, raised his
strength against her.
Narreen’s stare continued to bore into him, expectantly, before she answered her own
question.
“I think,” she kindly offered, “I’d be just as brave if I had someone to care about.”
 “You’re just as much an orphan as I am,” Nero retorted sounding angrier than what he’d
intended. Who was she to remind him of just how alone he’d been in the world? “Anyhow,” he
added, “bravery is indistinguishable from rebellion.”
“Sounds like something Root Mother would say.”
“Why do you despise her so much?”
“There’s something,” she hesitated, “well, wrong with her.”
“That’s what she says about you.”
Narreen scoffed at that and curled her lips while staring at him. Nero wondered how
they’d lost their brief truce.
“Are you hungry?” He tried for peace, “I have enough to share.”
Before she could answer, he reached for his satchel and hastily searched for the closest
morsels of food he could find. They ate the dried berries in silence, each lost in an their own pit
of thoughts. It wasn’t long before Narreen drifted off, the tranquillity of her dreams apparent
on her serene face. Nero, on the other hand, fought to remain awake. He thought of Root
Mother, the Yakamouz, the young woman in the boat and the journey they were on.
“Tunric,” he whispered, “How perfect you are. You have placed this coracle at our
service, you are capable, and we are not, and to you is the final destiny.”
Nero glanced once more at the Yakamouz and was surprised to note it’d vanished.
Abruptly he stood and the coracle rolled from side to side. With his arms outstretched he
brought the balance back to the vehicle as he inched closer to the boats edge. He leaned over
the coracle’s brink and stared into the water.
He saw nothing but darkness.
Nero reached for the torch and brought it lower, as close to the water as he could.
There was something there. A shadow. It appeared to be surfacing from the depths. A moment
later his eyebrows slowly rose, his mouth stretched and stiffened. Nero stared in horror at a
pale Narreen, her face limp and the swirls of her eyes dead, blankly staring above his head.
Then she smiled, a grotesque, sinister smile while her eyes focused on his.
“Nero,” she seemed to speak in his head, “Why did you break my heart until it opened?”
 Nero, in sheer terror, shrank back into the boat, nearly dropping the torch on the
vessel’s deck. He felt his chest compress, his breath caught in his throat. What had he done?
Had he pushed her over? His leg was on her leg; he had to help her.
Slowly, almost as if his body was weighed down by mount their valley’s mountains, Nero
dragged his body back to the boats edge. He resettled the torch and grabbed one of the oars,
slowly placing it atop the water, above the spot where she’d been. He didn’t dare look, hoping
Narreen would take the hint and grab onto the lifeline he’d given her.
When some time had passed and she’d made no attempt to grab the oar, Nero
cautiously looked into the water again. The Yakamouz swam as gingerly as before, as if it had
been there all along. He looked back into the boat and at once, hope and gratitude filling his
heart as he sighed in relief; Narreen slept on as effortlessly as blowing seeds off a dandelion.
I was dreaming again. He mused. These dreams are getting strange.
He was about to check on their gear once more when he noticed the Turtle lying near its
keeper, its carapace on the floor and its legs helplessly in the air. It must have slipped from her
hands as she slept; he mused. He crawled cautiously to her side, his hand reached for the
animal, and he held it on his palm, slowly observing the creature.
He marvelled at the it’s spectral assortment of green blotches. They created a luminous
colour, one that might have been better off if they belonged to a flower. Somehow, it made him
think the Turtle was happy. He glanced at its face and surprisingly, he noticed what looked like
a smirk.
“You’re full of yourself,” Nero muttered, “It makes sense the two of you match so well.”
“It’s a pity the same can’t be said about you,” it retorted. “Only one of us can fit in her
satchel.”
Nero shrieked as he threw the animal into the air. It landed perfectly on Narreen lap just
as his body went over the boat’s rim and splashed into the water. He began to sink. A vague
memory of how to swim came to him but he couldn’t quite grasp it. He’s lungs were running
out of air, and he couldn’t keep the panic at bay. It hurt. It was ugly. He began to scream,
“NAREEN, NAREEN”, but above the water there wasn’t any noise beside the river, the silent
killer, entering his lungs.
 This is my last day of life on earth, the realization greeted him just as he surrendered,
and peace came to him. To his left there was the Yakamouz, radiant and brilliant as ever. It
swam up to his shoulder and began to nudge it, persistently. He reached out, his left hand
needing to touch that light, and bring it closer.
“One more touch and I’ll slit your throat.”
Nero eyes flew open to a furious Narreen. Her face was inches from his own and his
hand placed at the back of her neck. He dropped it abruptly as he felt the heat rise on his face.
He sensed her blade at his throat, the pressure giving him a slight tingle.
“I’m the one who was asleep. What are you doing this close?”
She seemed embarrassed and it dawned on Nero that this was the first time he’d ever
associated modesty with Narreen.
“You were shaking,” she spoke with feigned casualty as she moved away from his body.
“You started to choke. Then you went still and a smiled. You’d stopped breathing.”
Nero sat up and flinched when a sharp pain entered his chest. His lungs felt full, as if
they’d burst at any moment. There was a heady, rich and floral scent in the air with an intensity
of a scorching summer. What is that smell, he wondered.
“I wasn’t sure you were asleep.” She continued, sincerely.
“How is that even possible?”
“Well, you kept screaming my name.” She retorted hotly. “Nareen, Nareen,” she
mimicked him. “It woke me up. I answered but you started the chocking and then the breathing
stopped – well, I came closer to you. I needed to… you know? Oh, never mind.”
She was clearly annoyed.
Nero stared at her, and she rolled her stormy eyes to the heavens. Her arms crossed on
her chest. She looked angry, but something in her posture made him think it was mostly an act.
“I apologise,” he said, “thank you for trying to help me.”
“Was it a nightmare?” She asked, tentatively.
“It was worse,” Nero began. He’d meant to tell her everything but the image of a dead,
floating Narreen returned to him, making him hesitate. “Let’s just say I am glad you woke me.”
 He smiled at her, appreciatively, and for a fleeting moment her modesty returned and
she shyly looked away.
“Well, no need to make a sun out of it.” She scoffed, hiding her unease. He searched his
mind for something else to say but she hastily began to check on her gear. Her movements
were sharp, irritated, clearly indicating their conversation was over.
Nero stood and lazily stretched, his eyes looking for the Yakamouz. There it swam,
slowly and smoothly making Nero worry a little that perhaps he’d never left the dream at all. He
pulled on one of his braids and the dull ache on his skull assured him he was awake.
“By the way,” he asked, “Can you smell flowers or herbs?”
But Narreen ignored him as her body tensed at the water splashing harder against the
coracle. The boat was moving faster. This was a different river; one that had been asleep and
was now awake, pressed to arrive at a destination. Nero grabbed one of the oars and handed it
over to Narreen.
He grabbed the other and moved to the edge of the rim.
“We need to work together,” he told her. “This thing can go in circles if we’re not
careful.”
She was about to retort when she noticed his face; this was one time in which his
cowardice was not unmerited.
She grabbed her oar and moved to the spot opposite his. She held it firmly in her hands,
her eyes mirroring the worry found in his.
Nero nodded at her, and they both placed their blades in the water. Narreen’s body
staunch, ready for the river.
“Relax your hands,” Nero said, “Rest them lightly on your oar. You need your body to be
calm, to be balanced. It won’t be as rough as you think; just concentrate on loosening your
grip.”
Narreen glanced at him, doubt evident on her face.
“You have to trust me,” Nero gently coached her, “We can’t afford to tire quickly. We’re
not sure what’s coming or how long it’s going to last.”
 The river slowly grew enraged, as if awakened to the presence of foreign visitors on its
waters that were unwelcome and had to be destroyed. It’s gentle humming gradually
transformed into a ferocious bellow as it rampaged swiftly, dominating everything in its path.
The coracle moved ever more rapidly as it battled the stampede of water that stirred around it.
This is my last day on earth, was the thought that entered Narreen’s mind. Her mouth
was dry and salty, and she thought she could smell blood. Her hands trembled and she nearly
lost her grip on the oar. Narreen calmed her breath and fought the rising terror, she focused on
the paddle; This is my weapon, she coached herself, this river is my prey.
“Keep your strokes short.” Nero yelled, “We must stick to the center. I think that will be
safer.” He stared ahead and looked downstream, as he read the water. As often as he could,
he’d would set up the coracle in the direction he wished it to go. It seemed to Nareen that he
was barely paddling at all. Nero’s face was grim yet determined, and it dawned on her that his
openness was beautiful.
They rowed as the river quickly transformed into a web of rapids; a giant network of
traps intended to kill them. Nareen braced her feet against the edge of the coracle and her
arms tightened as she tried her best to help to stir the boat. She had always been brawny,
almost unfailingly strong, but it was clear to her that to survive this current she would need
finesse, not muscle. Her entire body ached, and her muscles had stiffened, resisting most of the
commands she gave them. She pulled her oar back into the boat and bent her body over as she
wrenched nothing more than bitter, salty bile.
Nero glanced at her, the annoyance on his face quickly replaced with concern. He gave
her a brief nod, as if to indicate he understood, and returned to stirring the boat.
The cave walls swung by Narreen; the ceiling eerily illuminated by that strange canopy
of tiny virescent lights. She sat as far from Nero as she could, hugged her legs to her body and
placed her head on her knees. Her vision had blurred, and her body quivered; she felt as if ants
were chewing up her brain.
Her mind returned to her father, and she searched her memories for a supplication he
would chant. Anything to keep her mind from going into a spasm. In the very least, she wanted
to be awake to witness her own death. Tunric, she recalled, You’re the only one worthy of
worship. You’re the one we return to. Deliver us, the transgressors.
The river roared on and the coracle rocked in the furious water, just as a leaf swings in
the arms of a raging wind. There were moments in which the river would suddenly slow and
appear to sing with the thrills and gurgles of a nightingale. Then it would suddenly transform,
and the charging bull would return. Narreen’s head remained tucked, as her body swayed with
boat. Nero persisted with his oar, occasionally dropping his paddle to rest. His movements were
slow, deliberate. It is magic, Narreen thought, our fate is not yet destroyed.
Their bodies were drenched, and a bitter cold had begun to seep into their skin. Their
torch had long been soaked and they relied heavily on the cave’s little lights. The Yakamouz had
not been seen and Narreen could not think of how long, precisely, they had been chasing the
end of the cave.
“Where do you think it will lead us too?” Nareen asked Nero as another nightingale
moment embraced them on the river.
Nero sighed, visibly exhausted.
“I think,” he said tentatively, “That we need to face it together. Whatever it may be.”
The charging bull of a river had transformed into gurgling old man, serene and content
as it rested upon its achievements. Nero had checked twice now but had been unable to spot
the Yakamouz. Nonetheless, the hope of survival made him believe the animal was alright and
would eventually make himself known once more.
They remained seated in the boat, each surrendering to the hope that it was all over,
when the shadows of a fire begun to creep onto the cave’s walls. They rose in union and
peeked above the coracle’s rim. A fire appeared by the river’s shore; the orange glow shining
low and casting the dancing silhouettes around them. The sight, so unexpected, prevented
them from spotting the shadows that had gradually sneaked up to them.
Until they heard the voices.
“Do you see this? A basket emerged from the mountain’s treacherous den,” said a deep,
guttural voice. Except that Nero and Narreen did not fully comprehend the words, bar a few.
“Bring it in. I see it contains treasure.”
 The Coracle was instantly surrounded by several lightweight water vessels. They were
narrow with a pointed end on each side. Two men knelt in each and they propelled the boats
by using a single-bladed paddle each.
Nero stared; his mouth completely aghast. He’d never encountered any people outside
of the Clan. These humans resembled himself and Narreen, yet something in them was
different. It went beyond the hardness of their faces, lined with markings in vivid colors. It was
the coldness of their eyes; They were eyes that had only a single color that remained
unchanging. Some were brown, others blue, and few had a green hue to them. But they were
all dull, lifeless.
Nero counted two heptads of pairs altogether, ogling, sizing them up and down.
Narreen casually placed her hand on her knife, her eyes dead, mirroring the ones of the men on
those strange looking boats.
The deep voice boomed again, “Say, strangers, from where have you come?”
To the two travelers on the basket, it sounded as if the man had said, Blurt, outsiders,
from what much do you come?
Nero could see the confusion that had briefly appeared on Narreen’s face. They
remained silent; their attention focused on the man. He was large, perhaps the largest of all the
men present. Although he knelt on the boat, it was easy to see that when standing, he would
tower above them all. His head was hairless and glistening like a tiny moon while his hands
were calloused, covered with fine hair that seemed oddly misplaced.
He smiled at Narreen, but the gleam that flickered within his dead eyes bolstered the
fear in Nero.
“Pahasha,” a milder voice inquired, “Do you think they’re here for the –”
“By the Guarded Divinations mind your tongue, please.” he hissed at a man in a vessel
besides his own, “No one comes here without my authority.” Returning his attention to the
captured travelers he probed, “where do you come from?”
Nero began to formulate some form of a reply when Narreen’s voice interjected
arrogantly, “We have been looking for you. Where have YOU been?”
 Her ability to lie so blatantly took Nero by surprise. He was not alone, by the shock
plastered on the man’s face, it was clear he had not been expecting such a response.
“Pahasha,” the milder voice spoke once more, “She sounds just like a –“
“SHUT UP” the so-called Pahasha cut him off then continued, “So the scum has sent an
Ancient to spy on me? Seems like a bit of a waste.”
“Correction,” Narreen retorted, “The Scum has sent two.”
Nero wished Narreen would indeed ‘shut up’, as the man had said it. He had never
heard the expression before, but it was easy to deduce what it meant. In fact, most of what the
strangers said was barely comprehensible. How could Narreen dialogue with them as if they
spoke the same tongue? How could she understand so easily? Or was it just a pretense?
Pahasha was speaking, “His Grace gave me his seal.” He held up what looked like a disk
that hung around his neck. “I have all the authority I need. I can make all the decisions I desire.
You fall under my command, or you are my prisoners.” Nero was barely following; something
about a Lord or a leader. There was a bit about being in charge and had the man mentioned
slaves?
Narreen did not skip a beat, “His Grace,” she said menacingly, “Promised I could eat
your liver if you misstep. We’re here to watch.”
There was a moment of hesitation on the man’s face. Then he rapidly spoke to the
others in a tongue Nero could not comprehend at all, and to his relief, neither could Narreen
although she pretended to follow every word.
Pahasha turned to Narreen and gruffly instructed, “You will care for yourselves. I am not
a nurse maid,” and brusquely began rowing to the shore, his boat heading directly to the fire.
Nero turned to Narreen, intent on questioning her when he noticed the icy, stone look
on her face. She grabbed her oar and cautiously followed the others at a respectable distance.
Nero sighed, grabbed his own and helped her keep the boat steady. He noticed the only other
man who’d spoken during the exchange had chosen to follow them, taking the last place.
As the boats reached the sand the men placed their lengths parallel to the shore. In
each vessel, one man would jump into the water and hold the boat firm, before the other
paddler would walk forward and exit as well. They then dragged the vehicles onto the shore
and secured them on the banks. They grabbed sacks from the boat’s decks and headed to the
wall of the cave. The men where fast, efficient. It made Nero think that they’d done this
multiple times in the past.
Once he and Narreen secured the coracle on the riverbank, Nero scanned the water,
looking for the Yakamouz. He couldn’t see it, but he sensed the creature was not far, that it was
watching them, somehow. He turned his attention back to the men; some had climbed onto
ladders, reaching high up the cave walls while the others remained below, securing them in
place. The men at the top had attached the sacks onto their belts while they used a knife to pull
out the little glittering lights from the walls. Their twinkle would immediately seize the moment
it was removed from the rock. Each man then placed the now dark object into the sack before
reaching for another one. Narreen moved towards the boats, eager to inspect them.
“What are they doing?” Nero asked no one in particular.
To his surprise a voice responded, mild and soft, as if it was coated with honey and
eucalyptus tea.
“They’re harvesting Glowworms,” it said melodically, “It’s dangerous and illegal. Not to
mention highly poisonous. Halama outlawed their use several septules ago. Although you can
petition for a special license and farm them yourself.” She sighed, although she carried the
weight of the world on her shoulders.
Nero searched for the source of the words and saw a girl, petite and harmless, sitting
with her body leaning against the cave wall. Her eyes were shut, her face peaceful.
“What’s Halama?” he asked?
“Dome City.” The girl replied as if he’d asked an obvious question.
When he continued to stare at her blankly, she continued, “The City of Descent?”
She was about to say something more when Nero cried, “Tunric be praised,” he said
incredulously, “I understood everything you said.”
She frowned slightly before opening her eyes to look at him.
“Are you not meant to?” She asked, her curiosity sounding very sincere.
Nero was unsure of how to respond, so he decided to study the girl instead. She was
small in stature, and her sitting position made her appear to be even more so. Her hair was as
black as charcoal and hung straight to her shoulders save for a small portion that covered the
top half of her face. Her eyes were either very big or her head was very small because they
were as large as snails’ shells as they stared back at him. They were brown like the earth was
after a day of heavy rain and they were kind.
Nero’s affection for her was immediate.
“Are you an Eald Believer?” she asked, her voice filled with intrigue.
What?
“You must be with the clothes you’re wearing,” she concluded, satisfied.
Nero dropped his gaze to his clothes and at first, he couldn’t detect what had made her
speak as if his skin was covered in Yakamouz shimmer. Then he gradually noticed their
differences; he, as well as Narreen, were dressed in the leather of the animals they had hunted.
She, on the other hand, wore something Nero had never seen before; it appeared soft and
somewhat woven. It covered her entire body and draped elaborately around her frame. He
could see that it was dirty and torn in many places, yet that didn’t detract from what he could
only assume had once been a vivid violet garment.
“What is that?” he asked, perplexed?
“It’s my ceremonial dress.” She responded proudly, “I am only supposed to wear it for
special events, although I can’t remember what my special event was.”
“Who’s your friend?” Narreen’s voice questioned him, quietly joining them. She starred
at the girl, quietly evaluating her and Nero could almost hear the thought floating around
Narreen’s head? What person is she?
He was about to reply when it dawned on Nero that he was a clueless as she was. He
turned to the girl and asked, “What are you called?”
She smiled, a quirky gesture that made him think that perhaps he’d said something
strange before she replied dryly, “I don’t know.”
Narreen snorted, a movement that was not missed by the mysterious girl. She hurriedly
explained, “I mean, I cannot remember it. I have been trying to – remember it, that is, but it’s
been really, really hard. I can see that you do not believe me, but I speak the truth. The harder I
try, the more it escapes; it’s like trying to contain smoke in one place.” The girl continued to
babble, yet Nero and Narreen ignored her. They stared at each other clearly perplexed.
“She speaks our tongue.” Narreen exclaimed, bewildered.
“Do you see what she’s wearing?” Nero asked her at the same time.
They were both silent as they considered what the other had said. Narreen stared
suspiciously at the garment the girl wore. She grabbed her knife and reached out for the girl
who immediately stopped her chatter. Narreen grabbed some of the cloth and cut it off. She
rubbed it between her fingers and sniffed it.
“Feels better than it smells,” she remarked as she tossed it to Nero.
Nero caught it, pressed it between his fingers and decided not to bring it close to his
nose. The fabric was light, tender, and smooth. It somehow made him think of his mother, like
it was something she would have enjoyed wearing.
Narreen knelt in front of the girl and plastered a mocking smile on her face. She
returned the knife to her belt and addressed her gently, “I’ll cut the rope off your feet if you
answer all of our questions.”
Nero noticed for the first time that the girl’s feet were bound. Why would such a
harmless little creature need to be held as a prisoner?
“Begin by telling us who these men are and what they are doing here.”
“And how do you speak our tongue?” Nero suggested.
“It doesn’t matter,” Narreen’s smile resembled a serpent, “This little mouse can’t harm
us. Those hyenas on the other hand?” She gestured to the men before continuing to press the
girl, “What is happening here?”
The girl was clearly terrified, but she kept her composure and spoke, barely above a
whisper.
“They’re mining Glowworms. I am not sure why. It has been outlawed. Wild Glowworm
mining, that is, by Halama. It’s illegal. The punishment is…well, I can’t remember what it is.
Nonetheless, we’re not supposed to take them out of these caves. They are nearly extinct, you
see. This is the only place where you can still find some in nature. There are many Glow farms in
Halama, but you need a license to operate one of those. If this gets back to the Queen.” She
shuddered, then continued, “I think she might know, though. I mean, they said His Grace sent
them, and you saw the seal. I think it’s legitimate. The seal, I mean. It’s too dangerous to move
about with a fabricated seal, especially one from His Grace. Anyhow, it’s illegal – ”
Nareen cut her off, “What do they need the Glowworms for?”
The girl appeared to think for a moment before she responded, “Well, I am not quite
certain. I think once, before they were outlawed, they were used in Knowledge Incantations.
Was that why people got so greedy and nearly exhausted the supplies? It doesn’t matter. All of
that is over. Knowledge has almost been completely abandoned now, except by the Ancients,
the real Ancients – not the pretentious ones that putter about in the palace. But those haven’t
been seen in septules. Some say they are more extinct than The Glowworms – or that they
never existed in the first place. That they are fables, you know?” Nero and Narreen were having
a difficult time following her, yet their fascination was such they allowed her to continue.
“The Eald Believers still dabble in Knowledge. I know this because I saw it myself,
although I have difficulty remembering where.” There were those words again, Eald Believers.
“They say His Grace is deeply embedded in it. In Knowledge, I mean. It makes sense, or how
else would he weave the Queen to his will? Although, if one ponders and reflects enough, the
Queen is probably the only remaining expert in Knowledge in Halama, she is an Ancient, after
all. Unless one considers her advisors. Anyway, they might all need these Glowworms, you
know, to improve their incantations. Or perhaps, they are destined for the Temples and the
Fetish houses being equally valuable to both. Which is odd, because once, before The Great
Rift, all everyone valued was the Yakamouz. Apparently –”
“What did you just say?” In an instant Nero was shaking her shoulders. “Repeat what
you just said.” He was struggling not to shout.
The girl’s shoulders were shaking violently, and her head bounced around like an infant
on its mother’s knees.
“You’ll harm her.” Narreen grumbled him pulling him off the girl’s body. She turned to
her and gently queried, “I think we heard you mention the word, Yakamouz?”
The girl, who now looked even more frightened than before, was about to reply when a
loud commotion came from where some of the men had been standing. A frustrated yell arose
from one of them as he stood angrily near the fire. He furiously rubbed something away from
his body. Lightening appeared to shoot out of the flames. A loud crack followed before what
felt like a powerful wind and thunder of Tunric himself pushed everyone in the cave into
different directions. Nero’s head hit the cold, hard rock of the cave floor, and just as he
wondered why there were so many drums playing near his head, his mind went numb.