“Is it tame?” The farmsteader asked. His youngest child was reaching her stubby arms towards Grae.

“It’s ah…” Oriole stuttered. Grae looked down at him.

“What is it?” The daughter asked, adjusting her spectacles. Her eyes were bright and intelligent behind the dusty glass.

“Don’t. Talk.” Oriole whispered. “It’s ah, a pigman. Very gentle species. Harmless as a little lamb.”

Grae could smell him sweating. The fear and the salt were overpowering. He stepped back and drew in a whiff of the dark, rich clay of the fields, the fertile mulch sown in among the vegetable beds, the honey in the trees. For a moment he drifted out of the conversation entirely as Oriole talked nervously.

But he was drawn back into the conversation by his favorite word.

“Can you show me some more magic?” The girl asked. Oriole paused.

For a split second he glanced back to Grae, and Grae nodded. “Yes, yes of course, Lena. After I’ve eaten.”

“You made a damn fine showing, Oriole. Three slaves back and this thing? He’s ferocious.” The farmer was looking him up and down, appraising Grae. “Your father’s gonna be shitting happy.”

There were long silver scars running down his muscled arms, stitching down the tan skin. Old wounds. His stance was vaguely militant, his shoulders high, his feet braced. There was a dagger in his boot.

The man was a fighter.

Finding a moment to look away while keeping his eyes fixed on the man, Grae whispered…

“Inspect.”

[ Heidrich Foreman ]

Yellow

Order

An old hand with a sword, and experienced hunter of monsters. Served the city of Tingate for over a decade and surrendered his fame for a quiet life in the country. Possesses three Constellations.

Three Constellations.

The fur on the back of Grae’s neck bristled.

“But what happened to the others?”

Oriole shifted uncomfortably in his boots. “They, ah, decided we weren’t making enough progress. They wanted to…”

He paused.

“Ransom me.”

Grae could feel the plan coming together in his head, the easy lie.

“Sell me back to my father. If the big one hadn’t gotten mad at them, I think they would’ve slit my throat.”

“Mm. Harmless as a little lamb, was he? And yet he killed seven men.” The man lifted an eyebrow. “Oriole, what did you do?”

“I may have…” Oriole squirmed, realizing his own position. The lie wasn’t believable; it was too clean a story, one where he was nothing but an innocent.

“I overworked them, a little.” Oriole accepted the humiliation with a queasy smile. “I may have, mm, pushed too hard. Gave them the impression their pay was on the line…”

"Mm. I won't lecture you. At the end of the day, seven bodies in the ground is seven bodies less to pay. But you have to know you were lucky to survive." He pushed the child into Oriole's arms. "Come inside, have yourself some wine. Leave the thing out here, Lena will want to play with it."

The man led Oriole in, Sarcer walking at his heels like a well trained dog.

Through the door Grae could just catch the sight of a room made of light, fresh timber. Strings of herbs hung from the walls and polished skulls decorated the tables. Coats and muddy shoes sat by the doorway.

It was a humble life, but a comfortable one.

“You.” The elder daughter was looking up at Grae. “You’ve got smart eyes, do you know that.”

Grae blinked and tried to look dull. He made a squeaking, piggish noise, a “Greh?”

“Don’t greh at me.” She snapped.

But there was no putting the rat back in the stew. The girl must have caught the way his eyes traveled, studying, searching for meanings…

Grae could stop himself from talking, but he still had none of the beaten-down, shoulders-hung air that Larktongue and the other slaves carried. He was a wild thing- he carried himself tall and upright.

I should have been more cautious. He reprimanded himself.

“Come here.” She said, turning away. “Oh and you two, go fetch me some berries.”

She spoke like she was a queen in her kingdom.

The kobolds glanced to Grae, who shrugged and nodded with the girl’s back turned, lumbering to follow her. She led him into the orchard, where thousands of bumblebees floated between the trees. Their crawling bodies were as bright as fireflies in the light of the night-star.

She pointed to a stump.

“Sit.”

Grae sat. The girl knelt down opposite him, taking a tin and a long brush out of an old wooden chest half-buried into the ground. She unrolled a strip of thick paper across the ground, and opened the tin to reveal colors.

The most spectacular colors Grae had ever seen. Rich, ruby reds, better than blood. Greens like the shells of opalescent beetles. Blues like the sky and the water.

She began to sketch with a nub of charcoal, drawing his outline. “Keep still.” She instructed, constantly adjusting her thick-lensed glasses as she looked up and down from the canvas, the wire frames skidding down her hawkish nose.

“I’ve never seen a thing like you…”

“But I am making a book.” She spoke officiously, like a teacher lecturing a student. “A book of all monsters. And even a pigman has to be in there somewhere.”

Grae made another bleating sound, hoping it would convince her she’d been wrong about his intelligence. He even tried to fidget more, shifting about, gnawing at the back of his hand. She looked up with fire in her eyes.

“Stop that, now.”

He continued to chew, stubbornly trying to prove his stupidity.

“Stop or…” He could see her young mind working furiously to finish the threat her mouth had started.

“Or I won’t read you a story.” She finally spat out. And realizing that was a weak threat, added, “And father won’t feed you, either.”

Grae stopped.

She had books, then. Human books.

“Ha.” She went back to scribbling. Grae sat still, bees landing on his fur. They were small, clever things. With their chitinous bodies they reminded Grae of tiny machines.

His gaze wandered to the hives. They were beautiful. Tiny hexagonal shapes of wax melded together into an unbroken pattern. But…

His old eyes squinted curiously.

There was something inside. Something round and dark, wedged into the core of each of the honeycomb palaces. Moving his lips as little as possible, he muttered…

“Inspect.”

[ Cloister Bees ]

Red

Order (Pure)

Dutiful makers of wax and honey, Cloister Bees are a breed raised by the hands of a goddess, her one companion in the cliff-side caves where she was imprisoned as a holy sacrifice. While she died each day, drowned by the tides, by night they would revive her with miraculous honeys. To this day they carry the power to purify the corrupted manas of Order.

How fascinating. The center of each hive was a…

Something.

Something containing mana to be purified?

“There!” The girl announced, lifting her stick of charcoal from the paper.