Saturday, May 28, 2022 Aqrabuamelu compound; Flushing, Queens, New York, United States

Davcina was distracted and Zaidu was chewing her out. Her groupings were a mess and eventually Zaidu just sent her off for whatever brutal calisthenics he could think of.

Ella only caught a bit of it, she was focused. Thus far she had been using conventional weapons and was decent with them. But she needed to start working her magic and so she was trying to alternate rifle shots with focused magical bursts of energy. Most of them disappeared far too soon and the ones that didn’t were often uncontrolled and messy.

After training, it was locker room talk. Apparently Adra’s date had gone well. And Davcina’s girlfriend was on her way to New York which was why she was distracted. Ella had been dutifully supporting Adra since the cultural clash could be pretty extreme.

Especially with how open Aqrabuamelu were about sex. Ella put the brakes on that sort of gossip and hauled her prudish ass out of there. On her way out, someone haled her.

“Blessed Innana, Blessed Inanna…” it was Tabir, the quartermaster. He had a large suitcase with him.

“I have a ton of armored civilian wear here. And your stipend.”

“Stipend?” Ella said dumbly. Her costs were about zero right now. She either slept and Charlie’s or the Aqrabuamelu compound and most of the time ate at the mess hall.

“Yes. Arcsa said you and the others should get a stipend since you can’t take on mercenary contracts like the rest.”

Ella raised her eyebrows in amusement, did every deity get an allowance? But she had to check something before she could accept it.

“Is this the standard amount that is also going to the others?”

She’d be damned if she was going to fleece the Aqrabuamelu like a damn televangelist.

“To the penny,” assured Tabir.

The Killing Gardens

After they left the village, Akhlys and Ekerri wandered the various paths. The gardens were well tended and many of the Keres were no longer invisible although Ekerri could not feel them through magic.

The gardens were each breathtaking. Akhlys talked about the scent designs, but orcs were notorious for their lack of smell, and he could not get anything besides the barest hint of it. He spent much of his time trying to sense the various Keres around him, but he could not pick up much of anything beyond a general presence, even when there were ten or more standing next to him.

Eventually they went to an open amphitheater where one of the Keres was plucking on something remarkably similar to a grand harp. The music was exquisitely performed, perfect but not mechanical.

Everything was obsessively perfect. Ekerri sent his magic deep into one of the paving stones underneath him. It was precisely even, had been chiseled by hand, and fit exactly into the next stone which was identical. And then he noticed that the filagree he had noticed on the housing was also present on the tile, but even more fine, it would be invisible without a very close examination and not even tactile.

“Would you take me to see where the stonework is made? I notice that there is a very fine pattern laid on it.”

“Of course. Would you like some wine first?”

Ekerri could not refuse. Even if these Keres had transformed from their ancestors, who had been ruthless hunters, the value in their craft alone seemed immeasurable.

They made their way into the forest and took the winding, branching path for hours. Akhlys was content to walk at a sedate pace, never rushing. The day continued and Ekerri noted that the sun had barely moved despite him having been here for at least ten hours.

They came to another village, styled somewhat differently than the first, but no less beautiful.

“This way, we can meet one of the Makers here.”

These houses had shutters in bright colors that contrasted against the white stone.

“Are these patterns significant?”

“Of course.”

“What do they mean?”

“I shall explain once we meet the Maker.”

Akhlys took him to a door, and like all the doors, it was made of heavy wood but so perfectly balanced it swung open at a touch.

Ekerri had let down his cloud of magic and thus was entirely unprepared for what he found inside.

Another Keres was chained to a chair, its skin raw and weeping, her wings having been crudely cut off and still oozing blood. She was naked, without the form fitting leathers that the other wore, and she was focused singularly on the table in front of him. Ekerri noted that her left leg was scarred brutally.

She looked up and said, “No! It isn’t time yet! I will get this one perfect. You will see!”

Akhlys tsked, and spoke, “No, it is not time. This one, named Ekerri, wished to meet a Maker.”

The chained Keres did not even look at Ekerri, it went back to the table where it was working on a stone. A stone that was similar to the ones they had walked here on. It had a fine brush in its hand, with a single strand of hair, and it was gently going over the tile.

No, realized Ekerri, it was adding the filagree using a single hair.

Akhlys looked again at the stone, “This stone will not be satisfactory.”

The Keres at the table looked up and moaned, “I can fix it! Please, I can fix it!”

“Of course not. It must always have been right. You should start again.”

The creature let out a keening.

Ekerri let his magic flood the stone and he saw it, the most minute of variances in one of the lines. One line that was slightly askew to the others. The Keres could have easily widened it and it would have been the same as the others.

The chained Keres reached to the side and took out another rock and began brushing at it with a slightly more full brush. Shaping it without chisel or other tools. It’s strokes were exact and even.

Akhlys motioned to Ekerri and took him outside.

“Did you enjoy meeting a Maker?” she asked him.

Ekerri decided to forego answering, “How does one become a Maker?”

“One fails in the Hunt, of course.”

“And what happens when they succeed in making a ‘satisfactory’ stone?”

“They will be allowed to die.”

And Ekerri looked at the path he had walked, thousands upon thousands of stones, each representing a failed Keres Hunter.

“And the Makers of the houses and roof tiles? The furniture and gardens? The wine?”

“Much the same.”

And Ekerri exulted. The Keres had become strange during the millennia, but were still brutal and maybe what he needed now.

“I would like to speak to your Queen again.”

“Of course.”