Steely

OFFSPRING
those who still live and prosper

I.
She looked at the shifting colors in the bottle. Slowly, the seeds sank from the top to bottom. The scent was warm, hinted with vinegar.
It had been three days since she’d been allowed outside. During that time, she mixed and measured, poured and pulped a dazzling array of herbs.
This one for headaches… she thought. And these, for scale-rot.
At last the door to her hut creaked open. It was Rhifa, standing there in a slant of red light. The sun was setting.
Rhifa leaned forward. “So. Do you believe you passed the test?”
“Hm? Oh, I know I did.” Steely batted her eyelashes. “The ambrosial elixir is on the floor to your left.”
Rhifa frowned and took the bottle. The dragon took a long, slow sip, then nodded. “I’m…impressed, to say the least.”
“Oh?” Steely’s heart beat faster. She tried to hide her excitement by looking through another bottle.
“Yes.” Rhifa breathed out. “That’s all. You’re the alchemist for our clan.”


II.
In those days, the clan lived in the iciest of lands. Howling gales, razor winds, and starless nights made existence a struggle for even the hardiest of dragons.
Still, Niwi and Rhifa worked together to keep their clan alive. A sense of order battled against the elements. Hunting, cooking, and gathering were all strictly regulated, and kept in time by paying attention to the celestial calendar.
As a result, life here was hard, but good. Steely was the first of a generation who could become something other than miners, carvers, or hunters. She was thankful that her clan had flourished enough to allow this—and as a result, was ready to pledge herself to the betterment of Niwi’s clan.
But Niwi’s clan has never quite been free of trouble.
Some say the wandering Fae was born beneath an evil star, one that always caused problems. He and Rhifa have been chased from clan to clan, trying to find the perfect space…
This time was no different.


III.
One summertide evening—when the sun never truly set, but cast the snowy lands in faint peach—Steely was bent over her wooden alchemy station on a hilltop.
It was sometimes difficult to find herbs growing among the arctic scrub. She often wandered to far out places, like these caves, to gather lichen. And the stillness helped her concentrate.
But Xiuh had followed her and set up next to her to polish his gemstones, whistling.
Her eyes kept stealing over to him. He was a handsome Coatl who seemed perfectly suited to these lands. Bold, strange white markings glowed on his wings.
He looked at her.
She looked away and blushed.
Suddenly, one of the guard-Fae came flying through the snow, sending puffs of white up behind him. His blood leaked shocking red onto the white.
“We’re under attack!” he shrilled, then fell lifeless to the ground.
Then Steely saw them: a flock of black arrows whizzed like bees through the air, coating the orange sky with black.
Steely froze, horrified.
Xiuh grabbed her shoulders and dragged her into a nearby cave, whispering “Shhhh. We’ll be safe here.”
It was dark inside, and cold. But Xiuh kept her warm.
His body was pressed tightly against hers. So many conflicting desires rose inside of her.
But all of them were overrun by terror. The sounds of battle came clearly through the cave. The shouts of battle; the wails of the dying. Steely squeezed her eyes shut, her talons digging into Xiuh’s arms.
At last, the noises faded.
Xiuh lit a torch. He’d been saving it for them to find their way out.
Steely looked on his face, saw how grim it was, and burst into tears—looking at him revealed just how serious the battle had been.
He dried her warm tears with his wing, which felt like satin.
Then he whispered, “There will be time for tears, love, but not yet. First, we must get to work.”


IV.
Many of the clan were dead, but many more were injured.
As the new chief alchemist, it was Steely’s job to tend to all of them.
It became a blur of snow, blood, bitter medicine, whimpers and mews. Xiuh worked steadily beside her, building fires to boil dressings, tying tourniquets and so on.
At last, Steely wavered on her feet. Xiuh’s words rang in her mind: the time for tears is now now.
Someone was waiting with a cup of hot soup for her. Her eyes focused.
Xiuh again.
She took it.


V.
Worse than the healing was listening to Niwi give up.
Or no—not give up. It was a matter of pragmatism.
With so many dead, the clan could no longer sustain itself in the frozen lands.
Still, the sun would not sink beneath the arctic’s rim. The wild white plains were dotted by bodies.
Xiuh, who had been sitting beside her for a long while and listening to the talks, nudged her.
“The time for tears would be now.”
She slowly shook her head.
No. Not yet. She would pledge her fate to Niwi, follow him wherever her fate led, follow her path as an alchemist.