“That’s our kethel,” Stone said after a moment.
Moon had had time to spot the kilt and the braided hair. He suppressed the urge to shift. They couldn’t do it here, not in front of this shocked and reeling town. He started for the road. “It’s not ours, I don’t want a kethel.”
But by the time they reached the ramp up to the elevated road, the kethel had vanished. Moon balanced on the nearest pylon, staring into the sandy hills and the tall fringed trees, alert for any sign of movement.
“Moon, come here.” Stone was looking at something on the road’s weather beaten surface. Reluctantly, Moon stepped down and went to join him.
It was an arrow, scratched into the dust of the pavement, pointing south.
Moon and Stone flew the rest of the day, crossing low hills dotted with large serene umbrella trees, shading little colonies of what Moon had first thought were small mammals. When they landed at dusk, the little creatures turned out to be plants, able to uproot themselves and walk slowly away from the Raksuran intruders. Between the trees were small ponds and streams, lit by iridescent water grass, and Moon was able to catch a few fish.
While Stone was eating, Moon stood in the shallows of a stream, staring at the glowing grass between his foot claws, lost in thought, until the walking plants decided he was harmless and returned. He missed his clutch so much it felt like a physical ache.
Then he felt something change, something different in the shadows under the tall umbrella trees. His spines lifted and he tilted his head to listen. Behind him, Stone was suddenly on his feet.
Then Moon caught the scent and swallowed a growl. Stone stepped up beside him and snarled, then said, “Come out of there.”
There was a silent pause, then Moon sensed something moving in the shadows. The kethel stepped out of the dark onto the iridescent grass near the stream.
Moon hissed. “Stop following us, or we’ll kill you.”
It said, “If I didn’t follow you, you’d be dead in the flying trees.”
It had a point, which just made Moon that much more frustrated. Stone took a casual step toward it. It ducked its head and looked at the ground, but didn’t back away. “What do you want?” Stone said, frustration under the growl in his voice.
“I told you, to help you,” it said. In the dimming light, it was hard to read its expression. Reading a Fell ruler’s expression was useless, since Moon thought it was rare that they used facial expressions to communicate with each other. Mostly they used them to fool and entrap groundlings. The kethel, which didn’t interact with groundlings, might be different, but with the shadows concealing its deep-set eyes, it was hard to tell.
Stone hissed out a breath and said, “Where are the others?”
The kethel said, “No others. I sent the dakti back to her long ago. To tell her that I followed you.”
“Her” had to be the half-Fell queen. Moon asked, “Where is she?”
The kethel turned its face up to the sunset sky, and Moon had a moment of trepidation that it was about to say “here.” The kethel said, “With the others. On the plain, nearer to the sea.”
Stone eyed him thoughtfully. “But what is she doing now? Why did she send you ahead?”
The kethel looked down, its lips pursing stubbornly.
“The rulers won’t let you tell us,” Moon said.
It made a noise of contempt. “Rulers.”
Moon turned to look incredulously at Stone and found Stone looking incredulously at him. Moon said, “I know your flight has rulers. I saw them at the island.”
“The rulers are young. She—” It faced them suddenly. Moon hissed and flinched back. Stone’s growl made the tree beside them tremble and release a shower of puffy white seed pods.
The kethel took a hasty step back. It said, “She killed the progenitor.”
The half-Fell queen had said that too, and Moon believed it. He just wasn’t certain he could believe this kethel was operating under its own will, with nothing to tell it what to do but its own judgment. “There’s no voice in your head. Nothing making you talk.”
The kethel said only, “No,” but something in its voice suggested controlled irritation.
“Since when?” Stone said, “When did she kill the progenitor?”
“Long ago.” The kethel watched them, as if trying to gauge their reaction. It took all of Moon’s concentration not to let his scales twitch uncontrollably. Stone was staring at it with a concentrated intensity that finally made the kethel look away. Then it said, “You tell stories?”
Moon let himself twitch. It was a relief. Stone cocked his head and said, “What?”
The kethel slid a careful glance at him. “The other consort told stories.”
Stone hissed out a breath, and Moon belatedly realized what the kethel meant. He snarled, “We don’t want to hear about how the consort your flight captured and forced to mate with your progenitor passed the time while being tortured.”
The kethel looked away again. If it had been a Raksura, Moon would have said it was disappointed. “I just thought you have stories.”
Stone considered it for a long time. Then he said, “Tell us your story, and we’ll tell you a story.”
Moon’s jaw tightened. He said to Stone, “By we, you mean you.”
Stone ignored him. “Tell us about her, your Queen.”
The kethel seemed to struggle with itself, the emotion almost hidden under what must be a deliberate effort at expressional stoicism. Moon had thought it might be young, though he had no idea how kethel aged. Now he was certain it was young. It said, reluctantly, “I was too small. But she wouldn’t let the others kill me. I was hers. There was us, and the dakti that were born with her. Some other dakti that were too small, or too different. And our consort. He called her Consolation.”
“He named her,” Stone said, his voice giving away nothing. Moon felt his spines ripple uneasily.
The kethel hesitated, as if uncertain how to react, then it continued, “Then our consort died and she said that some time she would be big enough to kill the progenitor. The progenitor didn’t fear her. The rulers were there, they protect the progenitor. But the progenitor forgot me, and I grew big too. I killed the rulers, and she killed the progenitor. Our dakti helped.”
Moon looked away, watching the sparkling water weeds move with the current. Stone said, “What about the others?”
“We killed some, but the others are friends now.” The kethel added, “Now you tell a story.” It tilted its head toward them, clearly hopeful.
Stone rubbed his face. Then he turned and took a couple of paces away to sit down on a thick tree root.
The kethel threw a wary look at Moon, then sat where it was on the iridescent grass. Moon moved a few paces down the stream, where he would be in a good position to attack if the kethel flung itself at Stone. As he sat on his heels on the bank, Stone began, “This is a story of Solace and Sable, when they went to trade with cloud people in the far east valleys . . .”
Later, Moon and Stone went to rest in the curving bowl-shape of a parasol tree’s crown. It was high and difficult to reach, so a predator would be unable to approach without shaking the whole tree.
They were both in their groundling forms, sheltered by the inward-curving leaves. Moon curled up and tucked himself in under Stone’s arm, and Stone didn’t comment. His face pressed against Stone’s ribcage, Moon said, “We can’t believe anything it says. That’s not a half-Fell. That’s a shitting kethel.”
Stone made a noise of agreement. After a time, he said, “That’s the third Fell flight we’ve heard of that was destroyed because it made Fell-Raksuran crossbreeds. Plus a couple more, if you count the flights that were destroyed because another flight made Fell-Raksuran crossbreeds.”