Chapter 6 - Part IV

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Then, she had let that seed of hope, of finding kinship grow unchecked. Now, as her cart dragged by the buttes of Mae'elt tau'chuik, she chided herself for that flight of fancy, that somehow she might meet up with her kinfolk, steal away to the Dutchy of Vem and find herself on a ferry to the Outer Crest. With no one to trust at her side, and an uncertain and barely communicable companion in Cedric, she could not hope to survive outside of her path. Gregor's intended destination for her was unavoidable.

Onion, Vren, knew nothing of the Risen Stone Capital, Pho (Capital City) Boteth (Crags), of Heilth. Try as she might, she could learn very little from Cedric in their pidgin conversations. It was not the first time since her encounter with Gregor's allies that this feeling of linguistic frustration would smolder like Toch'vik. Perhaps it was time to learn this mosquito-tongue.

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Gregor had lost his moody silence before Onion's lunch had disappeared from her tray, but he had forgotten nothing of his contempt for the mysterious, cloaked man.

"Stay clear from that thing, if you value a decent life. Nothing good can come from a gegleth." he cautioned, his tongue laced with bitter anger.

"What is this person, a gegleth? I am not familiar with that country." she struggled with the exotic sounding word.

Gregor appeared at a loss for words, as if he struggled to turn raw emotion already digested and accepted as fact in his mind, into some form of verbal communication. Better if he could construct some sort of articulate string of nouns and verbs, but perhaps that was expecting too much.

"Women...," he tried, "are not safe around them. They cannot remain themselves for long." he managed.

Onion sensed the underpinnings of his frustration, or at least she through she did, and she let out a brief, coy chuckle.

"I don't know of what you speak, but do not worry. I am a woman of experience. I can handle myself well enough around the opposite sex." she smiled, hoping to reassure him.

Gregor ceased his brooding as he contemplated the Nü before him. He realized how terribly young she truly was. Physically, she might not be much younger than himself, perhaps she had survived twenty or so high tide seasons. Had she been born in Lithen, and shared his own childhood experiences, she would likely have already brought several new souls to this world at her age.

But Vren was not a continental, as Gregor reminded himself. She still carried the sort of cynical naivety that only one certain of their adulthood could maintain. Even though he knew her hair, short brown and bound in two, was an indication among the Nü of a woman of age, it reminded him much of the little girls and boys he played with during his early years.

Gregor had heard of tales that the southern Nü had unnaturally long lifespans; stories of entire tribes where skilled hunters reached the ages of 80 or 90. Those accepted as elders could live as long as 120, using their long earned wisdom to guide the movements of their kin generations younger. Perhaps, he reasoned, because of this their childhoods were also prolonged.

Chapter 6 - Part III

"Cedric had been important to us for sometime, but we hadn't reached out to him before. We had to see if there would be any problems later on, so I went to him."

"Why?" Onion forced him to cease his monologue, having found interest in only one aspect of it.

"What?" Gregor's eyes re-focused on the brash Nü, as if realizing she was there for the first time.

"Why is Cedric important to you? Why did you help us?"

Gregor had looked taken aback, but he quickly sought refuge from the potentially dangerous question in the sudden appearance of Vaughn. At his side stood an enormous human figure whose cloak hid the entirety of his height.

With Gregor he had been brief, "The arrangements have been made?"

"Yes sir, they leave before nightfall." Gregor responded, his face darkening as he noticed the cloaked figure.

"Good, bring the girl to dress and ensure she is among their number before they depart."

"As you will.", he said curtly, his glare fixated not on his superior, but the man who accompanied him. "What is he doing here" Gregor hissed, his words launching from his lips with intent to pierce the mysterious figure.

A brief moment was all it took for Vaughn to note the object of the younger man's ire. "Do not be a fool boy," he spat, keeping his voice low but his tone intense. "You are bei'thal, not some selfish child. Recollect yourself!" While she was not able to understand his words, Onion was shocked and the power he put behind them. A mighty wave from the ocean, she reflected, smashing mutely upon the porous rocks of a lonely cliff.

"He has done his duty," Vaughn continued, easing his temper some, "and with great skill and honor. It is time for him to return home. He has earned his rest."

Vaughn left no room in his tone for continued discussion, yet Gregor was unable to contain his rage, "Yes, he has earned himself a great reward for his service, a mate." he muttered towards Vaughn, just over his breath to be heard. "And a chance for a brood of his own upon her. A man must satisfy his unholy cravings no matter the cost." The blond man's face flushed beet red with the excitement and the anger of the horde of the Keeper Vera herself. It was all he could do to keep his voice hushed in the back corner of the teahouse.

For his part, the cloaked man had said not a word and Onion never found out who he was. The exchange between Gregor and his superior went untranslated to the golden eyed Nü though the ferocity of the conversation unnerved her. In the short time she had come to know the younger bei'thal, she had not once suspected his heart to contain such poison.

"Yiren made her choice, you must live with that and move on. Put this prejudice behind you or you will be put behind. We've indulged enough of your Nüish obsessions. Understood?"

Beaten, suppressed, but never forgiving, Gregor nodded, muttering obscenities under his breath.
In the space between the the assassination of the conversation and its funeral, Vaughn and his mysterious guest departed as quietly as they had come. Gregor was left to brood in silence while Onion sat in curiosity. She understood nothing of what had transpired, but she had picked up a few words in the parade of sounds. "Nüish", "Yiren" stuck out to her like brilliant stars in the spaces of a confused and cloudy sky.

The name Yiren was a Nüish name, if somewhat out of fashion in the southern reaches of late. Her grandmother's sister had been called Yiren from her nameday until the days before her death, and she was a woman whose kindness had yet to be duplicated on the web of Vren. Perhaps there were those on the continent like herself and her brothers; perhaps other Nü whose restlessness begged a larger web. Perhaps she might find help and direction somewhere in this confused world.