As we make our way to Shaman's Tree, Aunt Mahara nudges my arm, pressing something into my hands.

"Thank the Firstborn," I breathe, inhaling the rich scent of kavfe.

"Thank me!" Aunt Mahara laughs, batting at me with feigned indignation as I uncork the flask to sip at its fragrant, steaming contents. This is something I never feel too sick for.

Aunt Ula trails along just behind us, maintaining a stony silence. Hunter Guard escorts take up the front and rear of our little procession, their bonechrys speartips catching the sunlight and sending it dancing over our shoulders and faces in multicolored shards.

I drink in the sights as we go, thirsty for them. Once I leave, I might not see this place again for years-and I'll miss it every day until then.

Before long the clinging village with its moss-covered rooftops grows sparse, though the carved likenesses of sacred beasts still look out from every platform post and bridge pillar. Troughs filled with earth line the walkway, allowing lush greenery to flourish, while others contain water and fish. But these too give way before long, replaced by a railing drenched in hanging moss and vines.

The forest of Ancients stretches almost to the horizon to all sides but the north, terminated by the peaks of snowy mountains rising blue and far away to the east and west. Far ahead of us, the expanse of trees gives way in places to the brighter green of the sub-canopy, and occasionally to lakes of open water that reflect the brilliant blue of the sky.

Finally we come to Volkua's southernmost edge and turn to begin our descent down a smaller trunk's spiraling stair. Beneath the leafy sub canopy, the world is washed in green. The houses and great platforms are all gone, so there's little to distract from the massive trunks of the Ancients and the tangle of watertrees growing up between them. Birds flit about like fish in a viridian sea, weaving a chaotic tapestry of color and song. Aunt Maharah's fenfox akhana eyes the little delicacies appraisingly, but doesn't stray.

We step off the stair and onto the island at the tree's base, and there's only one more bridge between us and our destination. Like all of the Ancients, the Shaman's Tree grows around a rocky outcropping that rises above the flooded forest floor. It takes a moment for me to make out the house built around its base. It's almost completely camouflaged by mulch and moss. The Hunter Guards stationed there part for us as we cross onto the island, inclining their heads to my aunts as they pass.

If the shaman weren't already at the door waiting for us, I probably wouldn't have been able to spot the house's entrance at all. He closes the door behind him and trots forward, reaching out in welcome with friendly crinkles in his eyes.

An old man with skin that looks as though it's carved of burnished wood, he sports a silver beard woven with bone charms and piercing amber-brown eyes. They're hard to look away from, but when I do I can't help but feel a bit of envy when I notice the faint tracery of tattoos that cover his skin. He's my great uncle, but I've never met him before today. I don't even know his name. No one knows a shaman's true name but themselves.

"Welcome, nieces, Welcome!" He pats my shoulder before clasping first Aunt Ula's hand and then Mahara's in greeting. He frowns at the sight of Ula's leaf-wrapped arm before looking over Hesti the fenfox, nodding with approval to find her well cared for.

"Where's that little owl of yours?" He inquires of Ula, leading her off into a pool of deeper shadow. Obligingly, she slides her hood back to reveal Tekmi, who blinks unevenly and issues a soft hoot before shuffling backward to hide beneath her shining black curls.

The shaman smiles, grunting his approval before turning back to me.

"Are you ready, niece?"

I clutch the pouch hanging from my belt and nod.

"Alright then. Off we get!" With that, he turns and marches away. I follow him with Maharah, Ula, and the guards trailing close behind.

Several bridges lead away from the shaman's home island to the ones surrounding it. As we cross the first, I slow, looking down to the flooded forest floor far below. Sinuous shapes glide through the water, and here and there a finned tail glints in the dappled light before disappearing among tangled roots. Aunt Ula presses a hand to my shoulder as we pass.

"We're not here for a mukshark familiar, Nikka. Pick up your pace"

The first island we come to is home to yet another massive tree. Lightning's burned away its heart, leaving it a dead and empty tower. The shaman beckons us forward and through, into the darkness beyond the arch-shaped opening at the front. It's rank with the distinct smell of bird. The velvety black interior drinks up the light, but I can just make out several long branches affixed to the charred wood overhead. Round eyes flutter open and wings ruffle.

Tiny bones and shells crunch beneath my feet as I step into the center of the tree's interior. Reaching into my belt pouch, I pluck out the olin fruit. Pale green and half the size of my palm, it looks unremarkable aside from the faintly glimmering fuzz that coats its surface. Looking at it, you'd never guess I'd spent the last ten years of my life carefully cultivating the tree that grew it, feeding it my blood and nail trimmings every week. All for this one, single fruit.

I raise up my offering, staying as still as I can.

The owls blink down at me. Nothing whatsoever happens.

"We have our answer there! Come along, come along, on to the next one!" The shaman calls from the entrance, an amused glint in his eye.

The next island is home to a tambik tree, its many trunks and hanging roots creating a half circle roofed in broad leaves and draping vine. The treecats dwelling there show the same degree of interest in my olin fruit as the owls had. So, on we all go to the next island-my stomach twisting itself into knots the whole way.

My breath quickens as I catch sight of the outcropping where the fenfoxes are housed. There are few trees growing there, and its small, vulpine residents bask in the sunlight on mossy hillocks of stone. Semi-aquatic foxes with greenish-copper scales glinting on their sides, they've always been my favorite of the sacred beasts. But the handsome young acolyte tending to them smiles at me with a bit too much sympathy as we depart, still unchosen.

None of the fruitbats want me, nor any of the jeweled vipers or kingfishers or snowy white kestrels. The slinky little blackstoats are playful and curious—but show not the slightest interest in my offering.

At last, we come to an island that's low enough and small enough to be mostly shaded by the watertrees growing around it.

I cross the pillowy moss into the clearing at the island's heart, where lithe silver figures graze in the sunlight. They raise their delicate heads at my approach, black eyes wide and glassy. My stomach feels like a sinkhole. This is my last chance.

If none of them choose me and I'm forced to return without an Akhana, I'll never be a proper Vishkan. Never fully complete, doomed to live out my life as a singular, limited creature.

Standing back in the shadows, My aunts clutch each other.

With one shaking hand, I proffer the olin fruit.