Eifre Quest

“Tophem,” you try, holding your maxillary palps still to not give away the lie.

You can’t tell if the reply is a cough or a laugh. “Like that children’s story character? Are you fucking with me? If so, don’t.”

“Fine, fine. My name is…” You consider giving another fake name, Tikka maybe, but if she lives, she might find out. “I’m Eifre.”

“Eifre… Exotic. I wonder where she picked it up.”

“I’ll be…”‍ ‍—‍ you glance back where you came‍ ‍—‍ “going. You said you wanted me to tell my mom..?”

“Yes, yes, leave the vile defect to her fate. Go quickly now, if you think being a vesperbane is about saving people… well, you will save some tonight.”

You turn away from the wounded, lymph‍-​drenched mantis. You remember everything they’ve told you about defects. And yet, this mantis is present before you in a way the facts, vividly remembered or not, are just echoed words in your head.

Shaking your head, you start down the path back to Shatalek. You want to go the other way, follow the little bird to her cabin‍ ‍—‍ but she’s a defect, you can’t help her, it’s wrong. And you should tell your mom what she said.

Maybe afterward, you can come back, and…

You decide to focus on the task before you, as little as there is to focus on. You remember the way back, but anyone would; the path only forked once more after the first time, and it was sloughing off a tiny trail of trampled leaves and snapped‍-​off shrub‍-​branches. You only noticed it coming back.

Coming again by the crack where you had thought you saw the strange shadow, you walk a little ways off the path just to give the crack a wider berth‍ ‍—‍ as if something might have slideintothe crack. Maybe it’s silly. But maybe you’re allowed silly caution.

You hear an owl hoot somewhere in the branches above, and a legged snake darting through the leaves. You shiver, and pick up your pace through the late evening woods.

It’s at the intersection that you pause again. There are many sounds in the ambiance of the woods, but you almost swear you hear… voices? And a skittering step.

You’re on edge, you’re introspective enough to notice as much, your raptorials still shaking. You realize this is really happening, actual mantids getting seriously hurt.

And it might be you, next.You don’t want to take any risks. The sound might have been coming from up the central path (the rightward onenow, as you’re now returning down what formerly was the rightward path).

You’re not sure you want to find out what other surprises the ambrosia woods have for you.

By the time you’re near in sight of the plains again, you’re practically running to escape.

And then a mantid figure comes into view.

They’re coming around the bend, from the woods’ opening, and they’re wielding a torch in one raptorial. You throw yourself to a halt, almost tripping in your haste. The figure stops walking too, but with more surety, like they’d already been on guard. Their antennae are flexed tall.

They lift a long thin object and point it at you. You can’t see in the darkness and the shadow, but you’re sure it’s a musket, a midleg tarsus holding it steady and a raptorial’s dactyl on the trigger. You’re sure a kilogram of pressure could end your life right now.

But the mantis soon lowers the musket, and folds their antennae. They aren’t at ease, but there is less threat to them now. “Eifre?”

“It’s me.”

“Your mother was looking for you after you disappeared. Come here, we’ll keep you safe.”

The guard‍ ‍—‍ she must be a guard‍ ‍—‍ slings the musket around their back, letting it rest it on their abdomen, and holds out their (folded) raptorials, as if to hug.

You run toward her, and decide to let her hug you. She squeezes you tight, and for a moment, you feel safe. And then she releases you, and with a nudge, you’re following them out of the woods, and down the path back home.

At this distance, you can see half a dozen mantises with torches ranging the streets. Two are starting toward the roach farmlands, and one searches the copse of trees where the nymphs sometimes play.

And you can see a certain figure already stalking toward the ambrosia woods, with that distinctive three‍-​legged gait. Your mother comes toward the woods, anxiously followed after by a guard. They’re talking‍ ‍—‍ arguing?‍ ‍—‍ but their voices carry only enough for you to determine that much.

They’re a little ways out of the village, and moving faster than you, so the two parties meet near the study rock where this all began. Close enough for you to see that your scrolls are gone, carried away somewhere.

Neither of you have even stopped moving before you hear your mother’s steely voice. “You! We were looking all over for you. I knocked on the door of each one of your friends, I crawled in your little cave, and checked all of your other hiding places. The guards told me they had seen you scamper off into the ambrosia woods, but Iknewmy daughter wasn’t sostupidas to do such a thing.” She paused, and looks you up and down, like she’d just met you. “Clearly she was not. What possessed you to do such a thing?”

“The ambrosia witch—”

And that’s all it takes. Your mother interrupts suddenly, antennae snapping up. “Go.” She’s looking between the two guards. “Thank you for finding my daughter. I’m sorry for waking you up. You can get your sleep now, goodbye.”

The guard following behind your mother slumps and starts to turn. The one who’d found you looks confusedly between you and her for a moment, but just nods and starts to leave also. Though before she leaves, she reaches out and pats you on the head.

Mother watches them go. Turning back to, she says, “You met Maune? Describe her.”

You tell her of what the bird led you to, the sight you saw.

She sighs, reaching and pulling you closer in a one‍-​foreleg hug. A moment, and her embrace slackens enough to let you look up, and looking down at you, say asks, “What did she have to say?”

You remember and divulge each relevant detail, including those cryptic lines which mean nothing to you.

Tlista recieves it all with a severe calmness. You always had excellent composure (the only flaw in it was it always cracked around your mother), and right now, it’s clear where you got it from. But she’s had years to hone what is mere placidity in you into what she wields as a formidable poise.

She nods when you finish. “I see.” And she mumbles to herself, you still held close enough to hear, “I hope this isn’t just her paranoia again. Not with my daughter.” Your mother withdraws her foreleg. “Regardless, go home, dear. Your dinner is cold but I left it on your desk. Stay in your room and do nothing more tonight.”

Your mother steps past you, down the path back into the ambrosia woods. But she stops after a few steps, and you know she’s watching you from the fringe of her compound eyes, waiting for you to obey and amble back home.

There’s not much you can do but go home. But will you return for long‍-​awaited dinner a much‍-​needed (if sure to be troubled) night rest? Or will you return plotting something more tonight?