Sundered

On the dying world THRA, in a time of Division, in the crystal desert of Skarith, there was once a little GELFLING girl named Zeyida, who never grew wings. That isn't to say that she was not a girl, nor even that there was anything particularly wrong with her body. Gelfling girls are most often born with Wings, which they can use to glide or even fly, as Swoothu and Skimmers do. In her culture at this time, it was believed that all Gelfling women grew wings by the time they reached adulthood. But we must not forget: though Culture is eternal—a line that stretches back into the murk before recorded history—each culture changes over time, twisting out new branches, shifting gradually or rapidly by changing circumstances, as much as by deliberate intention. A culture may even end, if either is cruel enough.

Gelfling are rather small, wide-eyed with short-snouted faces, slender little bodies, and long ears which stick up out of their hair in shapes of small, lopsided trumpets, or tube-curled feathers. In this time of divided peoples, they lived in seven Clans, each one native to a different region of Skarith. Each Clan was led by a woman called a Maudra, and all of them were led by an All-Maudra, hailing from the Vapran clan of the northern mountains. There was still sharing between these Clans, but the Gelfling as a people had become more distant from one another. The culture of Zeyida's own Clan, the Dousans, was full of beauty. They were quiet and humble, a spiritual people. Much of their time was spent meeting the needs of their bodies: protection from Thra's three Suns, maintenance of their desert-roving bonework skiffs, the gathering of food, and especially keeping thirst quenched. But even more of their time—if they could be said to have a passion, it was this spirituality: a relationship to the rhythms of Thra, other beings, the wind, the stone, the crystal; the ebb and wax of life and death. Death was of special interest to the Dousan, for the harsh Crystal Desert meant it was always close at hand, though to these Gelfling it was not quite considered an enemy. A part of a cycle: the silent sleep, and the Dousan love peaceful quiet. The Suns blazed, the sands continued their quiet march, and at night, life poked out from its crevices. Ever did the Dousan listen as they skated along this vast, unforgiving land.

That is not to say they were isolated; at least, not from one another. In their nomad tents in the heat of day, smaller groups called Xerics would share rituals, food and near-silent conversations; to save the mouth's water, the Dousan were able to communicate with small gestures and touches. But these were groups of no more than twenty; if there were ever to be gatherings of Dousan peoples, they would occur at one of the desert's rare water-sources: oases, the greatest of which was The Wellspring, where grew OSZAH-STABA, the Great guardian Tree. Here the Dousan, and travelers and even more permanent visitors not native to the desert, made a camp to last, with some structures harder than tents. Dousans did not exactly despise Gelfling from the other clans, but there was wariness between them and many of the others. The Sifan Clan of the coast and Sea to the West were the closest they had to allies; more like trade partners, really. Much of the rest of the world was cut-off from the Desert geographically by a towering spine of mountains to the East, a further ring of peaks surrounding the crystal sands in all directions, and seas beyond that, in all directions except the East and South. The southern gap held the worst dangers of all: the Shifting Pass, where sandstorms were especially common, and worse conditions which even Dousans did not fully understand. So there was not much travel between them and the Spriton Clan, who rode upon the southern Plains beyond. All that to say, at least some of their dismissal of outsiders could be attributed to physical distance. And these suspicions, as they were, were less so hateful and more quiet. Dousan were but content to go about their own affairs. Hatred does not stick well inside the heart of a Gelfling.

They still sent soldiers to aid in the War against the dreaded ARATHIM—powerful beasts alike to crabs or spiders, who all together shared one mind. The Dousan had been somewhat involved in driving these creatures from the caves within the mountains around them, back in a time when they were closer to the current Gelfling residents of those caves: the Grottan Clan. These days, many fearsome Dousan warriors were sent off to defend the far-off Old Forest of their eastern Stonewood cousins from the Arathim threat. The Gelflings of the Desert did not know much of the War, nor even of the groups their drafted children fought alongside; be they Gelfling of the Stonewood and the other supporting clans. They knew yet less of the mighty and ancient Lords of the Crystal, who ruled and dispensed wisdom from their Castle, to the East past the Spine: The Castle of THE CRYSTAL, which was known to be a locus of Thra's collected wisdom, its memory and pure truth. The Dousan knew the Crystal; in mountain-stone and the glimmering sands they tread, each Gelfling felt its quiet thrum. They were at peace with their lives in the Desert, their deaths; they had each other. The rest was out of their attention. They had lore for many other ancient beings: myths, perhaps, of other Guardian Trees, and one very ancient little knot of tree which walked the world under the name of MOTHER AUGHRA, and other kinds of beings wizened by age whose names were not known, or at least not present in the minds of most Gelfling. This was, of course, an Age of Division. Most peoples kept to themselves, and those with eyes for wider sights were calmly slumbering, or worse.

So enough about the rest of the world: Zeyida was Dousan, with tight ropes of dark hair cascading back off her head to then curl forwards, tan-green skin and dark blue-gray face paint adorned with symbols of her clan, and thin, ornate, protective garb befitting a life beneath unclouded Suns. Dousan Gelfling had much to do. She knew her place in the cycle: she'd lived a few years of the nomadic life, but in recent days she lived in the cave-and-tent city around the Wellspring. Her mother Jekhor was Sandmaster (that is, leader) of a smallish xeric, which still made journeys northeast to observe rituals and ferry goods to one mouth of the Grottan caves; the woman was often traveling. And her father Keyz'ri now had a place in the Cloister, a cavernous religious site which the Dousan carved into the Claw Mountains surrounding the Wellspring's greenery. There was worship to be done here, and Zeyida worked to help her father conduct the ceremonies.

The Cloister was also becoming a repository for the written knowledge of the Dousan, and of others; what tradition and history, songs and stories the clan wished to keep as dead words. Mostly it was for the other clans, Zeyida figured. The Grottan, and especially the high-dwelling Vaprans of the far northeast, had a love for written lore. Sifan passerby spoke of the Vaprans using the collected knowledge for "political leverage"—whatever that meant. The Dousan peoples were somewhat open to sharing regardless; a shared glance and quiet shrug the response when diplomats or merchants came espousing the eastern taste for "Desert Culture". Zeyida didn't mind, for she had a little secret: she loved to learn their foreign traditions, in speech and song, and the daily motions of their culture, their worship for Thra and its Crystal. There was something about the written word which excited her, that recorded ideas would last. She knew that traditions shifted slightly, over time, same as the wind shaped the dunes, and even the rocks over enough time. To freeze words, as the dew froze on nights of the coldest times; that excited her. To see as the ancients saw.

So it was that she spent more and more of her hours in what was becoming a very large repository of recorded knowledge, or (in the words of an older Vapran named Telora who was living in the Wellspring city, and called her profession back home "Librarian"): the Cloister's "archives". Zeyida wished to see the old words of her ancestors, to honor them, and see how similar they were (or weren't) to her. And she wanted to see what the other Clans got up to. A curious one, this child. Always her nose in dusty scrolls and tablets. She even started scratching down her own thoughts.

But Zeyida was not to be a child much longer. Each Gelfling comes into full maturity after a very short number of trine, and each Clan has their own way of signifying the event. For the Dousan it was the Night of the First Spiced Nectars, when the Gelfling boys and Girls mixed across xerics, shared stories and competed in feats of physical endurance, then marked the dying of their youth in song and dance around many great fires. The various beings of Thra are connected in many ways, but Gelfling are particularly attuned to a practice called Dreamfasting, in which two or more of them join hands (or… any other points of their skin) and are then connected to one another's minds; able to share memories in great sensory detail, and even visions of the future, at times. In the Night of the First Spiced Nectars, Dousans cresting the first ridge of adulthood often Dreamfasted for the first time, in groups of friends or with one or more very close partners.

But that was always the last rite of the holiday: one of the first, of those aforementioned physical trials, was a flight of the Gelfling girls. Flight, you see, with wings, which Zeyida did not have. And which nobody else, not even her parents, was fully aware she did not have. A Gelfling girl might have the first little wing-nubs from birth, to grow out later, or develop them wholesale starting somewhat later in childhood. Or, apparently, not at all, but as mentioned: this was not known of at this time. You may think it strange that even her parents did not know, but consider: Dousans were most often clothed, to keep the sun off their backs. And their hygiene practices do not involve much water, because that would be wasteful in the Desert. Health and cleanliness were considered personal matters starting at a rather young age, as these mostly-nomadic peoples valued a certain degree of independence, even as they cared for one another. And I say her father did not know, but he worked and lived with her more than anyone, took care of her when she caught the rare illness that required it; I suppose that he suspected, as will become clear. She'd been keeping the secret of her winglessness quite close for what felt like many trine, and her worries only worsened as the day she was to let childhood pass drew closer and closer, and no wings came. Then it was the night before, when in the evening she met a friend: a boy named Humsil, whom she hoped would be her partner in their mutual First Dreamfast. And whom, concerning the matter of her lack of wings: she had not told.

'Hu!' she cried. He was a caretaker of Oszah-Staba, the Wellspring's Great Tree, which sat in the very center of that crystalline oasis's still spring. He was disembarking from a special skiff which was designed to float on water—a rare sight, for these desert peoples—towards which Zeyida ran. She was not a Spring-Dipper, so it was blasphemous for her to touch the pure waters, so she ran to the edge of their wet, sandy banks and stood tip-toed (Gelfling have rather long toes, but Dousans wrap their feet most expertly against the sands and Suns) and called out to him once more: 'Hey! Humsil!'

With a long and elegantly carved push-pole the boy brought his skiff to the edge near her, and said back: 'Alright! I saw you! I saw you a while ago, Zeyida. I heard you even further back, that voice of yours…' He hoisted his little skiff up out of the water and set it under his arm. It was shaped like a long bowl, and not much wider or longer than he was.

'My voice?' she asked. 'It's strong, right?'

Humsil laid his pole over his shoulder. The Wellspring was mostly quite shallow; the pole, then, was fairly short: about twice his height. 'Sure, it's strong. Loud, I'd say. But on the upside, I'll hear you over the others when everyone's calling out in the races.' He smiled at her.

'Oh yeah, the races…' Zeyida kicked the sands as she and the boy started walking up the Wellspring's basin together. The moisture here hardened them, so that she kicked little clumps, rather than a dusty spray.

'Gah, you worry too much,' he said. 'You'll be fine.' Her being on the same side as his water-skiff, he leaned over the craft and whispered: 'how are your wings? Still feeling sore?'

This was, of course, the lie she'd made to hide the wings she didn't have. Close to the big Night, the girls would practice. Maybe girls in other Clans would boast and preen and hold smaller practice-competitions, but Dousan girls were quieter. They tended to practice alone, or only among their closest trusted friends. You could call it humility… or strategy. If no one knew your talents, the shape and size of your wings, it gave a competitive edge. Plus, there was the thrill of surprise. A Gelfling's wings tended not to match the colors of their skin or hair (or eyes or nails or… really any other part of their body) and so, many girls flying together was a stunning sight, an array of colors and, in some cases: sparkling luster. A dazzling surprise for onlookers, and a useful (or dangerous) distraction to the participants. Maybe he thinks I'm keeping mine extra secret, she thought. But no, he'd be hurt if he wasn't included. She tried to put these thoughts out of her mind. I trust him… I want to trust him… I just need to figure out the right way to tell him! Her story had started as "no wings yet," and then, a few months ago when the questions became too much to bear, she switched to: "yes they've come in," and shortly after: "argh, I've injured them in my practicing". But somehow she always knew (or maybe just: strongly worried) that they were never to come. 'Yeah,' she responded, 'I'm fine. They're… all fine for tomorrow.'

'Oh, that's great!' Humsil said. 'Y'know, I don't think people would mind if you weren't up for it. Sure, maybe your mom would be mad you "dishonored your xeric," but hey, all the other xerics sure wouldn't fault you. Not mine—Leg'hal would be thrilled!' She was another friend of theirs, a girl from his xeric. Zeyida hadn't seen her wings, but Humsil had. She wasn't jealous in that way; they grew up in the same xeric, so were more like siblings than anything else. But she couldn't help but envy that even Leg'hal, mere months ago, had gotten her wings too.

They reached the little tent where the Tree-Tenders' water skiffs were kept. Humsil stowed his skiff and pole, then returned to find a very distraught Zeyida. 'Hey,' he said, 'seriously. The race is just for fun. There are plenty of other ways to prove your womanhood before the Maudra, honor the Crystal and the ancestors. And we have our whole lives for flying.' He squeezed her shoulder gently. 'You sure you're okay?'

'She's Sandmaster,' Zeyida mumbled. 'I do have to fly in the race. They're all counting on me…'

'No, come on. You really aren't feeling it, huh… okay, let's tell them! You're mom's back in town, right, in your tents? C'mon, let's go give the truth. Better now than—'

'No!' Zeyida cried. She was taken aback by her own sudden outburst, much as Humsil was. 'No, I… I'm just scared, that… that it won't go right…'

Humsil met her eyes, smiling warmly, and made a gesture of support. 'It's okay, Zeyida,' he said. 'You could lose the race, or stay out of the race, or… or your wings could fall off at the starting line! No, sorry, I don't mean to disturb you, I just… it's okay. Your parents will understand. And I will too. I—' He looked around them; no one was too close.'I'm excited. To Dreamfast with you.'

Zeyida shivered. 'Humsil, do you really mean that, about—'

'Of course,' he said, 'I don't know how to describe it, Zedd, but it's like… you know how to make a boy feel safe. All these other girls are a little too arrogant for my liking, or, it's like… they just wanna find their way in. But you really listen, and I should know, with all the—'

'Oh—no, I don't mean—would you really still… would it really be okay, if my wings like… fell off?'

Humsil looked at her a bit spooked. 'I… huh? Wha—Zeyida… d—did they?'

She frowned. That's the perfect lie! But he looked so… frightened, and her parents, all the Sandmasters would be worried, and would ask questions, read the bones for it, and she'd be fussed over—no! She couldn't—there had to be another way out of this! She made up her mind then and there: dad will know what to do. Or maybe mom would know better, or they both—I have to tell them first. They have to know a way… the reason this is happening to me. She did trust Humsil, but there was too much… he was a boy, how could he understand? Her whole future was like a—how could she do what was expected of a woman without wings? 'No,' she said, 'I'm just worried. Sorry.' She started them walking further up the basin.

'Oh. Whew,' said Humsil as he followed. 'I mean… I'm glad, is all. That'd probably hurt, right? And… and what would you do then?'

Ahead of him and facing forwards, she set her jaw. One tear slipped free.

The two friends parted ways before the Cloister, with Humsil saying: 'See you tomorrow, Zeyida! One more night as young ones!'

She waved back to him with as much pleasant confidence as she could muster. With one deep breath she started determined into the curtained cavern entrance. Her father would be in the Cloister, and mother was returning tonight. But first she made for the archives, hoping to find the Vapran Telora there. That Gelfling woman was wise, and had even taken Zeyida under her wing as a sort of learner, or as she said: "apprentice". She had very light sand-colored hair, and was a bit older than her parents. Though not exactly "old old," Zeyida thought. She had the idea that maybe something like this—girls without wings—had happened in the Vapran lands or elsewhere, and so there'd be wisdom to find in their writings, or Telora's knowledge of them. So maybe she could investigate the matter more closely here, and enlist the woman's help. Without letting her know the truth, she thought.

She did find the woman, but her father was there as well. Pious, dutiful and kindly Keyz'ri, among the most respected Worshipmasters in the Cloister. He was speaking calmly with Telora, for even across the barrier of distant cultures, there had grown a deep respect between these two Gelfling. For this reason Zeyida suspected that her father was quite pleased with her own interest in writing, even as it took her time away from worshiping the Crystal and the cycles of Thra. He'd always ask about her activities with excitement.

'Ah, my child,' he said as Zeyida approached. 'To your duties so early? Surely you found time to speak with Huey today.' He smiled playfully at her.

'Oh, yes father. Everything is well with him.' Zeyida bowed before the Vapran woman. 'Miss Telora, how is everything going today?'

'Well for me,' the woman said, 'though, I think I'll have to see you later. Your father and I were just discussing a most exciting development.'

'Yes Zeyida,' Keyz'ri said, 'I'm here to catch you specifically. Your mother is on her way home right now. Her party will reach the Wellspring before Middle Sister reaches her apex, if the signals are accurate.' Thra has three moons, all called "Sisters". 'We must go ready things for her—and for you, of course. Tomorrow is your big Night!'

Zeyida cringed. 'Oh, okay. I'll meet you there? There are a few things—'

Keyz'ri shook his head gently. 'Come now Zeyida. Everything in its right time. Home must be readied now, then there'll be plenty of time for your studies.'

'Oh, alright,' the girl said. Her father nodded to Telora and turned to leave. Zeyida followed.

Telora called after her. She'd noticed the anxious look in the child's eyes: '—Zeyida! Is everything alright?'

'I'm fine,' she answered. 'I'll see you later, Miss Telora!' She waved, and forced the same smile as before.

The Wellspring came alive at night. Natural crystals sprung with Oszah-Staba out of the center of the pool and from the rising rocks around the basin, and these glowed pure, faint white in the cool night air. In the heat of the Desert, scorching daytime was for sleeping, while night was the time to move: to collect water and waking plants for food, or skate along the cooler moonlit sands. This clean rhythm smudged a bit in this island of moisture and shade, but most Dousan here, at the least, remained rather nocturnal. On any other night, evening would mark the beginning of Zeyida's time in the Cloister archives.

Where there had been quiet and setting Suns mere minutes ago, now there were bustling crowds. Fires, and candles and glowing creatures which flocked around the water. And more outsiders than usual, for while tonight was not an explicit holiday, everyone knew what the next night would bring. Apparently the other Clans did not welcome all their children into adulthood in quite the same way as the Dousan. Tonight there were more Sifan travelers than usual, and tourists from many other Clans, even of the Drenchen, who heralded from the swamps of the very far southeast. Zeyida knew something about their reasons for being here: Drenchen Gelfling had different ways of flying. Their thick swamp trees and abundant water probably made them, like the Sifan, adept at swimming, as much—if not more than flying. But no, she thought, their waters are thick with sand. No, wait, that's not right. She'd studied these distant lands, and knew the words: "dirt," for sand where dead things melted wetly into into it (rather than drying to bleached bone) which turned tan grains dark and rotty brown, and "mud," for dirt thick with water. She thought she'd found an example of this dirt in the wet and life-thick sands about the Wellspring, but Telora had said otherwise; apparently it wasn't dark enough brown. They had dirt in the mountains, too.

These visitors sought the novelty of dry air, and many colorfully-winged girls making a show in the clear moonlight. And, she supposed, the wonder of all the ceremonies. Such a beautiful sharing of cultures, she thought. And now… now I'm going to ruin it! She snapped back into thought of her own problems; looked up at her father. He, as she'd been, was gazing around the Wellspring basin, taking in the crowds and their building excitement. She didn't want to ruin his joy, but she had to tell him. Mother will be back later tonight. I have to tell them! So as they reached the edge of the crowded central bowl and wove through tents and merchant-stalls, she began to muster the courage.

Jekhor, Keyz'ri, Zeyida, and her younger brother Wimsoal's permanent home was still distinctly Dousan: the first room, where welcomes were made and feet relieved, was a thick tent leaning against a cliff face. But it was also a special privilege, for past this tent, the rest of the residence was dug into the sheer rock: a large central room for lounging on carpets and pillows, food storage, bedrooms, even stone stairs up to more bedrooms. Sheer silence surrounded them as they reached it; the winds were coming from the direction of the cliffs, and the Claw mountains beyond, and so did not reach this place. The only sound was the quiet crunchings of their soft-bound feet on the hard-packed sand. At last, when he breached the first tent flaps of their home's entrance, Zeyida tugged at Keyz'ri's sleeve. 'Father,' she said, 'there's something I have to tell you…'

He crouched down in the first room, wiped and re-wrapped his feet, and took a drink from a small, covered water-bowl. 'What is it, Zeyya? What's the matter?'

She did the same with her own feet, took a sip, eyed the outer walls of their tent. 'Let's just go inside,' she muttered.

In the cavernous center-room, bonewrought lamps were already brightly lit. A proud, smiling woman with special markings in her facepaint jumped to her feet as they entered, and extended her arms towards Keyz'ri. 'My Knife-Sizatch…'

Zeyida's father, shaken by joy, walked up and hugged the surprise arrival. 'Jekhor! Sweet Sandstorm, you're here early! You skarth-skimmer!'

'Mother!'

'Come here you, little Scaredy-Bat!' Jekhor cried happily. 'Or not so little, hmm? Not for much longer, I'd say.'

Zeyida ran up and hugged her mother, face into the woman's shoulder. Then she pushed away a bit and asked: 'Where's Wim?' Her younger brother had been traveling with mother, his first trek across the Desert as a skiff-runner. He was an older sort of child now, not far behind her towards adulthood.

'Bah, he's out with his own friends. He'll be back,' said Jekhor. 'Let the little sweetling have his fun, his gossip. He did well. He'll be a fine guardian someday.' She released her grip on these two members of her family. 'But there are bigger things to consider. We must talk,' she said, 'we must prepare, Zeyida. You've been practicing, right?'

Awkwardly, Zeyida rubbed the carpet beneath them with one foot. 'Well…'

'What?' her mother said, staring. 'Is something wrong? Has something happened?' She glanced at Keyz'ri, who shrugged and looked to their daughter with the same concern. 'What is it, my daughter?' she said again. 'Did you injure yourself? My healers can certainly work whatever magic is needed, especially by the blessing of this coming Night, the death of childhood, tell me what—'

'N—no, not injured,' Zeyida whispered, 'I just, I'm scared you'll—'

'Oh,' Jekhor said. 'Oh, look, I…' She looked to her husband again; he looked back at her and nodded at their daughter. 'Zeyida… maybe I don't say this often enough, but… it's not just about whether you win for the xeric, or whatever. I'm just proud to see you out there, skimming the winds; to see you try. And I was worried for you; you got your wings so late, but I couldn't possibly be disappointed on that Night, your Night, I—'

'No!' Zeyida cried. 'No, not that, it's…' She hung her head and began to sob.

Keyz'ri rushed over and hugged his daughter around the shoulders. 'Mother Wise… what's wrong, child?' he whispered, frightened.

Zeyida looked up into her mother's confused eyes, and somehow managed to wrench the stuck words out her own throat: 'I don't have wings, mother! I never… I just don't have wings!' She sobbed more heavily, collapsed to the floor.

Jekhor's jaw dropped. '…What!? Keyz'ri, what is she…'

The man was crouched on the floor beside his daughter, still holding her gently, but grave in the face.

'What is she talking about?' the woman said, aghast. 'Keyz'ri, she got injured and no one told me? She had to get them—'

Zeyida hid her face.

'…Never?' Jekhor lowered her head, frowning. 'Zeyida, I need the truth from you. Did—shush, husband, I'll get to you next. Child: did you ever have wings?'

Zeyida sniffed and averted her eyes. '…No.'

Jekhor grunted and clenched her fingers before her forehead, her eyes shut tight. 'So between yourself and I, a lie was sent.' She turned to her husband. 'Keyz'ri, you sent me the message that this child's wings had grown. Was the lie hers, or yours? Or am I to blame the signal keepers, as if they'd have a reason to lie about this.'

Keyz'ri stood. 'Mine,' he said flatly. His eyes were narrowed.

'What? Father, no, I told you the same—'

Jekhor scoffed. 'Well isn't this something. Two liars, apparently. Two who would break the holy cycle. But she's just a child; husband, perhaps my own memory is faulty. You always had the better mind for counting trine. This Night is her Night, correct? After tomorrow our eldest child will be an adult?'

'…yes,' he said.

'A man, then,' said Jekhor.

The other two looked at her in shock.

'What—are you both lying to yourselves as well!?' Jekhor cried.

Still wailing, Zeyida jumped to her feet and ran up the stairs towards her bedroom.

Keyz'ri grimaced. 'Dearest, you shouldn't—'

'Oh, don't you go telling me what I should or should not do with five months worth of lies! Longer, even; Keyz'ri, you know I wanted a daughter. So what, you just pretended… for all these trine? In all that time spent caring for her, sickness, body-rituals… surely you pieced together the signs, and still you didn't tell me? No wings!?'

Zeyida could hear them arguing as she desperately packed up her things. Climbing gear, skiff hooks, water sacks, she had some dry rations up here somewhere. And she'd have to fill up on water by the Wellspring, or—or somewhere!

'Jekhor, please listen to me! Back then I didn't know; many girls are born without them. She's already miserable, she knows that she's done wrong—we both have, myself especially, but—'

'She!? It's tomorrow, Keyz'ri, and our child has no wings! Everyone else expects him to fly around in the races; expects a girl, because I've lied to them too, for all these trine! Think of what you've done to my Xeric—to all our people's bonds!'

'What are you—she isa girl. It's as plain as the moons in the sky! How can you say such things about our daughter?'

'Don't give me that. You have eyes, Keyz'ri; you have a mind somewhere in your water-fattened head. Without wings, that's no daughter of—whah… Zeyida! Where are you going!?'

She was charging down the stairs towards the door. She dodged both parents, and out through the flaps she went. 'Anywhere but here!' she shouted back, choking on the words.

'Zeyida!' Keyz'ri cried.

Jekhor gasped, then set her brow low and shoved past her husband and out into the night. Her child was nowhere to be seen.

Keyz'ri rushed out to her side. 'Jekhor, what have you done!? Don't you see why she's had to lie? You've blundered in anger, and now our child's worst fears all are realized! She thinks you hate her!'

Jekhor's words were cold: 'What I've done? You kept this lie in the air. Filled his mind with false hopes—put falsehoods in everyone—and now it's crashed down all the heavier! A girl without wings!?'

He clawed at the front of her robes, his eyes wild. 'Don't you see!?' he cried. 'That was no lie! This is—the truth is somehow larger than we knew! I don't know what to say of this, but she is Dousan. She is our child, we must love her—we must listen, if this new truth is to lift our people!'

Jekhor shoved him off and frowned. 'No,' she said. 'We have to get the facts straight. That means accepting what he really is, and telling everyone. Giving whatever apologies we need to. You must undo all the lies you've made. Where has that child gotten off to—'

'The old words!' Keyz'ri cried in desperate excitement. 'The Cloister archive! If there are other girls like her, maybe they're rare, but maybe there are more elsewhere! That Vapran Librarian friend of hers, maybe she'd know—'

Jekhor eyed her husband.'Vapran? What Vapran?'

* * *

Zeyida rushed through the crowds, tears streaming behind her. She bumped into passing people, and to each she gave a rushed: 'Sorry,' but she hardly cared. Her mind was set on movement. Telora will know what to do. She has to!The girlcouldn't go back home. She just couldn't. Dad knew!? When I told him they'd grown in, he kept the lie… why didn't he say so, why didn't he—argh, why didn't I bring this up sooner! She'd lied to both her parents, and somehow her dad's quiet support made things worse. He knew, he helped me! Why did I have to punish him for it?

She reached the Cloister's cavernous entrance and hurried up into the stairs inside. The acolytes nodded to her pleasantly; she ignored them all, to their confusion. There were many rows of shelves up in this great third-story cave room, and a few other people browsing them. Newcomers from afar, and the same few Worship-keepers she knew; she waved to them as she hurried along the rows.

'Zeyida?' The voice was Telora's. Zeyida stopped short. 'By the All-Maudra, it is you! Why, that was quick… do you need something from here, to help set up for your mother's return? Surely you're not here to get back to your studies already.'

Zeyida followed the voice to its speaker, sheepishly. 'No, I…' She sighed. 'I just, um, need to stay here for a while. There's—there's something I need to research.'

'Hmm? Oh, okay, what is it?' Telora regarded her curiously.

'No, I… Miss Telora, something's went terribly wrong! I can't—' Her eyes darted around the room; she whispered: '—I can't go back home. I've ruined everything…'

'Can't go back…' Telora looked at all the extra bags strapped around the girl's body, the frazzled expression on her face. More anxious even than usual. 'What's happened? You have to go back home eventually… that big festival is tomorrow night! Zeyida, you're going to be a woman! Your family, your friends, that boy; they all want nothing more than to help you, to see you—'

Zeyida looked away. 'I just… it's a lot, I guess. I need to be here for a little while. To, um, hide here.' She smirked. 'And there's some strange things I want to research…'

'Hide?' Telora looked around the room; besides some newcomers from distant lands (and she'd met them all, they seemed decent enough people—knowledge-seekers, kindred spirits) there was nothing out-of-the-ordinary, no dangers. 'What sorts of "strange things" are you looking for?'

'I can't say,' Zeyida said. 'Just… let me know if my parents come, and don't tell them I'm here! I'm gonna go… into the older works.' She ventured deeper towards the far end of the room, down this row of shelves.

'What sort of—Zeyida!' The young girl turned to face the tan-haired woman. Telora caught up to her, walking slowly, carefully. 'Child, what's going on?'

'I just… Telora, what if… if there was something that'd never happened before, but—but everyone hated it, and… and I couldn't seem to change it—what should I…' She shook her head. I sound like an idiot!

'Something that…' Telora sighed. 'There may be rare things, special things, but Zeyida: you're Dousan! You should know better than anyone that Thra works on cycles; even if some are very long. I've found that there are few things which have "never happened before," even if it seems that way.'

'Yes! I… Miss Telora, how would I found out about these unusual occurrences? I mean, is there a scroll about strange things, about—' She cocked a knifelike ear towards this room's entrance. She thought she'd heard a familiar voice or two.

Telora followed her gaze curiously. 'Yes, it'd probably be in with the older works, or… hmm, row seven has tablets on rare happenings. And there are yet more back in my birthplace, in Ha'rar, but… hmm, the Crystal sees all truths. I suppose if you really wanted to know for sure, you'd have to ask the Crystal Lords, past the mountains to the East. They've seen much in their long lifespans. What exactly has gone wrong?'

'Oh yes, the Lords!' Zeyida said. The Dousan Clan had lore of them, but were not so especially close to the Lords of the Crystal Castle, for reasons stated previously. Telora had informed her that they visited Ha'rar rather often to share wisdom and goods. They are much older than any Gelfling, maybe even older than the oldest writings! If anyonewould know—

'Where is the Vapran named Telora!?' barked a frighteningly familiar voice from over by the archive's entrance. Zeyida cringed; her hunch was terribly correct. That was her mother's voice.

'Help me!' she hissed to Telora. 'I need to hide, or—'

'Jekhor, just listen, this isn't—' said her father from the entrance.

'Worshipmaster On'takal,' said the commanding voice of Maudra Ezlan, the leader of all the Dousan. 'My Sandmaster believes there is a peculiarity in your archives. A Gelfling without wings, which calls itself a girl. Have you seen Zeyida? Or the Vapran scholar Telora?'

'Telora!' Zeyida hissed again. The older woman was staring frightened in the same direction she was, and backing away slowly. 'Telora please, is there… there has to be another exit!'

She looked at the girl ruefully. 'I'm sorry, Zeyida,' she whispered. '"Strange things which ruin everything," I never meant to—'

'You knew also!?' Zeyida cried. 'Augh, I've been a fool; of course you knew! Mother hates that I don't have wings—she's calling me a boy! I don't know what they'll do with me!'

Telora's eyes went wide. 'Wait!' she said. 'You don't have wings?'

Surprise, confusion and fear hit Zeyida all at once. Telora didn't know; she'd just revealed her secret. 'What? What are you—'

'Zeyida!' Telora held the girl's hands. 'I'm so sorry. There's something I have to tell you!'

'Fan out,' said Maudra Ezlan, 'she was in one of these rows. Vapran!' Her voice was much closer now. 'Vapran, we know you're in here! Where is the child?'

Telora pushed the girl down the aisle. 'Go Zeyida, get out of here!' she said. 'There's a back exit that leads out to the South way, down there at the far corner of block five. Go!'

'But what about—'

'GO!' Telora turned her back on the Dousan girl and started towards the voices.

Zeyida ran. At the end of the row she swerved left, and nearly bowled an elderly Dousan lorekeeper over. 'Whoa!' this woman cried. 'Hey, aren't you…'

Zeyida kept running. She found the back exit: a rough tunnel hardly large enough to let an adult Gelfling through. She charged down it, stumbling and scraping her footwraps on the jagged stone. Luckily for her, there wasn't anyone else passing through.

She stumbled out of the tunnel into the starlit night. She was in the end of an alley in the tent-city south of the Wellspring, in the relative darkness. Go, she thought, I must go! Somewhere, anywhere else! The Lords—their castle is around the spine mountains! Ack, why didn't I grab a map! She hurried down this alley towards the South Way, a wide and well-trod road of gravelly sand that led out of the settlement. Towards where the pass to the Sifan lands split off to the West, and further South, a path seldom traveled: South, to the perilous Shifting Pass. She heard commotion behind her in the center of town, and knew enough. Mother had summoned the Maudra. Everyone knew her secret. She put on her head-cover and tried to hide her face from view.

She jumped in fright as someone grabbed her arm. 'Zeyida!' a boy's voice whispered loudly. She whirled; it was Humsil, and another friend of theirs: Theelis, from Zeyida's own xeric. The woman was one year older than them, and had been on her mother's recent expedition across the Desert. 'Zeyida, everyone's looking for you!' Humsil said. 'What's happening!?'

'Shh! I don't…' Zeyida shook her head. 'It's bad. I'm sorry, I just can't—'

'What did they do?' Theelis cried. 'Resting bones, what did you do? Wim said something about a Vapran interloper. Zeyida, tell us everything!'

'I have to go,' she said. 'I'm sorry, I just can't be here now. I lied for so long, now everything's on its head.' She began to creep away from them, to continue along the way.'I have to go away—there aren't any answers here, maybe not—'

Theelis grabbed her arm and held her back. 'Lied, what lies… Zeyida, we can figure this out! "Run away"—you're one of us! No matter what happened, your mother couldn't be mad at you forever. Please, we have to figure this out—you know we'd listen! You know we all care about you!'

Zeyida hung her head. 'I know… urgh, I knew it! She—something's wrong, impossibly wrong! She might not hate me, but she hates what I—'

Humsil sighed. He touched her arm gently. 'You don't have to explain anything to us, Zedd.' He reached behind his back and held out: more sacks of water, a map (a map!), and some more dry rations. He nudged Theelis, and she produced much the same. She even had one precious wet ration. They held these gifts out to Zeyida. 'But you don't have to go alone,' he said, 'we could come with you. Wherever you're going, we—'

'No.' Zeyida took the offerings. 'Thank you, both of you, but I don't want to do this to either of you. I have to figure this out on my own.'

Theelis sighed a guilty sigh, reached into the front of her neckline, and withdrew a necklace: a root-wrapped little bit of crystal tied to a simple string. A pendant of the guardians; Theelis was one of the younger ones who served their Xeric. 'Never alone,' she said. 'The Crystal Sands guide you: Zeyida, daughter of Jekhor and the Many-who-Rest.' Zeyida bowed, and the woman laid the crystal around her neck.

'We'll be waiting for you,' Humsil said, and he gazed into Zeyida's eyes,'and we'll see what we can do. C'mon Thees, let's go slow them down!' He led her running off; Theelis spared one last concerned glance back towards Zeyida as they made their way back up towards the Wellspring.

Zeyida started away once more. She fumbled the map open as she ran. They'll expect me to go where, the Sifan port city? Down through the Shifting Pass? She read what she could, and made for a tent which she knew held desert skiffs.

She'd driven one before, as part of her own trials through youth. Every Dousan needed to know how to work them. The skiffs were hewn of wood and bone, with crystals and bits of colored fabric adorning them, blessings from various drivers or prayers to Thra. These sorts of personalizing touches helped Zeyida, for she was able to find one she'd driven herself, which belonged to one of her mother's Seconds, a woman named Elishan. A lucky break. Stealing from one of the other xerics would be a heresy. Well, a worse heresy. She readied the craft and herself. They were made for traveling at night.

Aboard this sand-skiff she flew out of the storage tent and into the night, heading southeast. On her way out she dodged a little sleeping Slob, its back growing with crystalline spines. To the Lords of the Crystal, she thought, bitter and determined. They'll know what to do.

* * *

Zeyida traveled quickly and quietly South out of the Desert. A lone Dousan would be a strange sight, and other skiffs or passing Crystal Skimmers would likely ask questions: to her xeric, her family, what she was doing, and why alone. As the distance between the flanking mountain ranges thinned, she came to the southern Shifting Lands, which held worse danger than the rest of her homeland. She'd planned for this, with ropes and extra water, and climbing gear for scaling harsh terrain. She made for the Spine mountains to the East. There was an easterly way across them, but that was the way her people would expect; the shortest way to the Castle of the Crystal. And by the Maudra's leave, any searchers would have mighty Crystal Skimmers to fly over the mountains; they could travel much faster than she. Instead, she cut South along the lower parts of the mountains' western faces, where they were not so terribly steep. Late in the day, the larger Brother-Suns would bake her, as there was no growth here, in this land where sand and mountains met. But her clothing served her well enough, and she was used to the Brothers' harshness. She was Dousan. Was, she thought. There's no place for wingless girlsback there. She was angry.

Zeyida went through water quickly. Her feet ached, fingers blistered; her skin dried and cracked. After several days tracing mountain slopes, and with most of her rations gone, she descended from this perilous climb and into the drier portion of the Spriton plains. These lands were scrubby and thin-grown, with few travelers so far North. There was not much interaction between the clans of Spriton and Dousan, not at this time. So among those people, Zeyida figured she'd be a strangeness largely ignored. She stopped by a fresh-looking stream for a drink.But then, these grasslands are no so unlike the Desert, she thought, I'd be easy to see from great distances away—by my own people, Skimmer-borne. In the Desert she'd had no choice, but now, having enjoyed relative shade and obscurity by the feet of the Spine, she noted the greener spaces ahead of her to the East. For indeed, as the Spine gave way to foothills falling South, there sprouted a thin, young woodland, reaching partway up the southern side of its shortest peaks. She'd only ever heard of trees like these: tall, thin, with many tufts of wide, stubby leaves, or thinner leaves called needles. As she entered this forest, and the branches rose up around her, she found herself treading through a thick rot of leaf-cover. There were many woodland creatures around her, the likes of which she'd never seen. Fuzzy four-legged creatures with bulbous eyes, black worms wriggling through the detritus, and little green ones that looked like budding twigs with faces. The constant, living movement, and especially the dampness which these trees seemed to capture from the Suns; all of this strangeness gave her pause.

Only a little ways further, Zeyida told herself. It's said that the Castle of the Crystal is not far past the Spine's ending. There to truth, and perhaps a better place. I AM a girl; the Lords have the wisdom to aid me. "They are wise"—that's written everywhere! They'll prove girls don't need to have wings, and then my life can go back to normal. She smiled, determined, and carried on.