The occasional trill delivered by the resident tree cricket in Anandil Homa’s farm cottage was a comforting sound in contrast to the racket of the cicada acapella going on outside in the heat of a summer night. This ceaseless rhythm, accented by the hooting of a barn owl, was the only thing keeping the former Abbess in her senses.  

The smell of wood smoke from the brick oven in the adjacent room, where she had made some ox bone soup earlier, pervaded the thick air of her chamber. Dim red and violet underlights in the walls of her room kept the shadows at bay. 

A rundown redwood table, replete with old devices, a convolution of wires, a broken mirror, and an idol of Lady Awynyth, occupied one corner of the room. This table and a plank bed were the only furniture that kept her company. She glared at the idol of her goddess. The deity taunted her. Carrying the babe Kyrytth in her arms. Kyrytth the Deceiver. Just like me. An outcast.

The gold script at the base of the idol of the goddess shone under the light of a glowchime that she had recently relumed. “The seed of hope lies in the heart of discord. Only the courageous seek to nurture it and create harmony.” 

Fiddling with a string of beads in her hand, she sat cross-legged on her bed, biting her lip, and humming the tune of a doleful hymn. 

Her reverie was disturbed when she heard the lowing of cattle. Mercy, the farm’s newest calf, had recently found her voice and had been quite chatty all day, boasting her newfound moo. But it was too late in the night for any of the cows to be gossiping.

Uncoiling herself from the hard bed, she picked up a glowchime and headed out through the backdoor of the cottage where she was greeted by the unpleasant cacophony of cicadas. Subduing her temper, she made her way to the barn, cautiously stepping over dew-covered stone tiles. 

There was a moo again as the Abbess approached the shed. 

‘What is it, baby girl?’ she petted Mercy over the pen fence. Mercy’s back was supported by a hover-barrow due to a twisted pelvic abnormality and missing hind legs. A deep red mane lined her back all the way to her face, where it covered her deformed left eye. 

Teres, the mother, was not asleep. Ruminating noiselessly on her grassy bed, she looked up and gave Anandil a great nod. ‘What troubles you two?’ 

The former Abbess had inherited this little farm from her mother. While Anandil had been away on clerical duty, she had hired farm hands to continue milking her herd of pygmy cows, and harvesting eggs from the pheasant coop — not for pecuniary reasons, but more out of a need to continue her family traditions. They even had an old giant swamp pig with webbed feet who was more of a pet than anything else.

Opening the gate to the pen, Anandil grabbed a handful of hay and delivered it to Mercy, who gladly accepted the midnight snack. Teres stood up and decided to lick the latch of the gate in an attempt to open it. 

‘Where do you think you’re going, missy?’ Anandil barked, to which the cow responded by stepping back and shaking her head; her long ears flapping comically. 

This was very strange behaviour indeed, Anandil thought. Walking up to the restless mother cow, she petted her, coaxing her backwards, away from the gate, ‘Alright, alright. I'll go check it out.’

The animals had definitely seen or heard something in the meadows — probably a hungry saw-toothed lynx heading for the coop on the other side of the farm. Or a silver fox. 

Heading back to the cottage, she armed herself with a hunting rifle — she would never harm a wild beast, but it was always good to keep a weapon for self-defence. She strode out through the front yard, braving the hot breeze that buffeted freely over the meadows. The western horizon was aglow with the moonlight reflecting off Lake Na’mel. 

Sweating profusely, Anandil had crossed only half the distance to the coop when she came to an abrupt stop… she sensed something. An eerie perception of being watched. Only then did she realise that the sound of cicadas had faded into complete silence. No owls. No crickets. No breeze.

The moonlight began to fade even though there were no clouds to veil it. Spinning around awkwardly in the growing darkness, Anandil hurriedly unlocked the safety of her gun. At the darkest moment, she realised it for what it was — a dense cloud of Autoichorium. 

‘What is this madness?’ she demanded aloud. 

‘Where is your goddess now?’ came the reply. The voice was not raspy, but calm and reassuring. Another Sentinel? Surely not this far away from Neva’ar Drift! 

‘I have nothing you want!’ she said hurriedly. ‘I have nothing to do with your kind anymore!’ 

‘Answer me!’ came the harsh reply. ‘Where is your Goddess Zov’ha? Where is she buried?’ 

‘What…?’

The silence that followed almost made Adandil Homa pull the trigger — shooting at anything, anywhere. 

But then the cloud dissipated. 

He was standing rigidly in front of her, with his pale skin and his bright blue eyes. Aekis’ glare bore through her as she mechanically fell to her knees and bowed low in reverence. 

‘It cannot be!’ Anandil whispered. She dropped her rifle that fell noiselessly on the soft grass. ‘It cannot be! It cannot be…’ 

‘Rise, Disciple,’ Aekis commanded and she did, but she did not look at him, her head still bowed in deference. ‘Tell me, where is Zov’ha buried?’

‘Buried?’ Anandil mumbled, taken aback. ‘She’s not dead!’ 

‘I witnessed Zov’ha fall. What makes you claim otherwise?’

‘She lives,’ Anandil’s voice quivered, afraid to contradict her god’s viewpoint. ‘But barely…’ 

How is this possible? 

Aekis was no longer looking at her. His sight was set on Orbita Cygnus. He had mourned through the week — a feeling he was not familiar with. Absolutely distraught and lost, he had wandered across Neva, feeding on whatever little information he heard from travellers. The news about Anandil Homa’s discharge from the Order had made him seek her out — the only one who could guide him to Zov’ha’s grave. 

After that, his plan was to set out alone, to find Qiva — the Astraleid who had been like a mother to him, who had gifted him the Frost Ash sword. He was supposed to be Qiva’s “eyes and ears — a wolf in the snow.” And so he had decided to look for her. But you disappeared without a trace. What sort of wolf would I be without a pack? 

What he learnt about Zov’ha now gave him… hope? He wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Orbita Cygnus sure never gave him any hope. But Zov’ha did. 

Rather than seeking answers, he now had more questions. 

‘What is your wish, my lord?’ Anandil quivered. 

‘We must save Zov’ha,’ Aekis said, still looking at the tiny speck in the sky that was shaped like a crescent. ‘And I will help.’  

The toast flew out of the toaster with such alacrity that it frightened Marana, bringing her thoughts back to the present. Crumbs everywhere, the toast on the floor, she almost decided to go right back to bed. 

‘That’s it!’ Sinovan said vociferously, startling her for the second time while she was stooped over cleaning up the mess. He had come in noiselessly, and Marana hadn’t expected anyone to be in the wardroom this late. 

‘Sin! Ya scared the livin’ Mecha juice outta me,’ she scowled, rubbing the human part of her chest to calm herself down. ‘Ya lookin’ for a midnight snack?’ 

‘I can’t sleep knowing Zov’ha could… kick the bucket… any moment. Listen,’ Sinovan was serious. Hobbling over he gazed at her intently. ‘If we unlock Zov’ha’s life-support capsule pod, putting it into hover mode, we can brute force our way out with Subeya at the lead. We head straight for the Gloomhog and drive off!’ 

‘Sin, there’s guards everywhere!’ Marana rebuked him with a loud whisper, flapping her hands, gesturing to lower his voice. ‘Gloomy’s down by the sluice! How’re we gonna shimmy Zov downtown without bein’ caught?’ 

‘Ay!’ Subeya walked in boisterously, startling Marana yet again. 

‘Will yaw’ll stop being so loud!’ 

‘What’s got you two up and about at this time?’ Subeya rubbed her sleepy eyes ignoring Marana’s petulant attitude and hints to lower her voice. She bellowed a great yawn. 

‘Will ya cut it out, woman!’ Marana leaned to peep outside. The wardroom had just one exit that led to their dormitory and then to an open walkway. Seeing that there was no one, except Mr Murderclawz who was asleep on her bed, she turned back to the others. ‘Sin’s proposin’ we steal Zov n’ hightail outta here… but we’re surrounded by monks and I’m starvin’!’ 

‘Haul the capsule out without starting a fight?’ Subeya said, her face crumpling in deep thought. ‘Not possible unless we create a distraction.’ 

‘A distraction!’ Marana jumped, and then cupped her mouth realising she was too loud. She continued in a whisper, ‘Yes, a distraction is what we need. And I think I know how!’ She swung around to look up to Subeya’s gentle face. ‘Do ya know how ta crack Zov’s capsule ‘n activate hover mode?’

‘Kick it?’ 

‘There’s a lever!’ Sinovan took over seeing Marana’s eyelids droop with frustration. ‘It’s behind the right-hand-side switchboard. There’s just one. It’s got red lighting. You can’t miss it!’

‘Why me?’ Subeya protested. ‘Where will you guys be?’ 

‘We’ll be the distraction,’ Marana tapped Subeya’s arm hurriedly. ‘You’re gonna shove the capsule through the pigeon hole. Slip ‘n slide down the roof… and swoof! you’re in the courtyard!’ She made a swishing noise with her mouth and motioned her hand gliding downwards. ‘It’ll slide like butter on hot toast, no kiddin’!’ 

‘By “pigeon hole” she means “the balcony”,’ Sinovan interjected. 

‘And how are you two going to create the distraction?’ Subeya was not completely convinced. 

‘Leave that to me n’ Sin, ay?’ Marana seemed a little excited now as the plan formed in her mind. ‘Hold on, I think I’m gonna dance with joy!’ 

‘Now, let’s start packing,’ Sinovan urged. ‘We’ll formulate the rest of the plan as we go. Be ready before the sun rises.’