Ankyra Sound one thing on my mind

keeping vaguey

the to’lang’s bones pointed north. 

she stopped often to recast the bones, at last coming to a bay sectioned by intimidating cliffs. 

they walked through an old forest; the trees here reminding qiao of her home. there was power in this forest — she felt its lifeblood run like a current from the rich earth to her claws to the sea. 

she consulted the to’lang once more. she studied the bones, frowning — their faces oriented in conflicting signals that made the obscura’s message difficult to decipher. one signal spoke of danger — but the other signal seemed to suggest a haven. qiao looked about her, trying to sort from the thousand lifetime’s worth of sigilreading what the bones could possibly mean.

the sound had many visitors of late. sobeille disliked it.

she first caught scent of qiao when she was digging in the moss for a worm — following the scant odor, she came across the woman encircled by ancient sequoia. the sun dappled the forest floor, illuminating the woman in an arc of gold.

the objects at her feet drew sobeille’s attention. was this another moonwoman?

she watched her for several minutes, but after lengthy consult with the scattered bones, the woman simply stood still — boring!

sobeille flicked her tail upwards and strode forward, unafraid. who be you?

a child.

qiao’s meditation ended, the communicative thread with the overworld she’d been mentally balancing upon withering to nothing.

qiao was aware of the girl before she ever spoke; it was the arrogant pulse of her blood, the stir of the trees as she passed. the forest betrayed her presence long before she did.

perhaps the forest was the danger.

qiao. the crone answered, resting her sharp eyes upon the girl. and you?

coming close, sobeille realized this woman was far older than she looked from the treeline. the closer sobeille looked, the more disfigurement she saw — while the eyes were lively, the space beneath them was withered and sunken. this woman’s face was almost as skeletal the skull fastened to the woman’s greenbrier. 

some of her boldness drained. without exception this crone was the oldest thing sobeille had ever encountered. the longer she looked, the more she became aware that in her peripherals, the crone’s face almost seemed writhing. yet staring head on, these marks went away. 

but she had so many questions! what were the bones? what was she doing with them? who was she really? sobeille sensed the drone wouldn’t tolerate much prying — so she would have to get on her good side. i’m sobeille. the girl answered, struggling to find a chipper note in her voice that suddenly, sounded very timid. who dat be? she pointed to the skull, unable to behold the woman’s shifting face any longer.

who dat be?

a knowing smile graced the crone’s lips. few asked of the man whose soul now tethered her to’lang.

an old friend. and while it was true once, did the girl know? could she sense the concentric thrum in his teeth, how the evil he’d sowed now hung his soul like a noose?

this girl could stare! qiao collected the bones at her feet, reassembling them in the travel-worn pouch.

would you like a reading, sobeille? she thought of the lily-white girl who had fled; qiao could have helped her, once.

unlike the woman, the skull’s face did not shift. its hollow eyes stared back at sobeille.

anguish.

she didn’t know why that sense came to her, but it did — and suddenly, she realized the skull acted as totem; was that where this witch drew ritual power?

yes.

a thousand other questions hung on sobeille’s tongue, but as she looked to the formidable skull and the small thing that entombed his soul, sobeille understood that like a wish, her questions were limited.

did you kill him?

did you kill him?

she was sharp! qiao was initially irritated by this girl — but now, she was intrigued.

she knowingly smiled to herself as she collected the artefacts; the girl would have to earn that answer.

 it did no good to speak of him. each mention stirred a sleeping power within him, and manifested dormant memories to life. let his memory die as his soul did — siphoned mercilessly until there was nothing left. 

she cast the first bone. the second. the third.

a breeze picked up, rattling the dewy leaves of the ancient sequoia. their voices joined the ensouling.

the fourth bone clattered to a stop and qiao turned to see the girl’s eyes tracking the movement. not with awe or apprehension, as was usual for most — but a species of scrutiny that spoke to qiao.

she saw.

she knew.

what do you see?

the witch threw her wares one by one; this was different than how moonwoman did it, and different from what sobeille learned. 

the first bone sobeille did not understand. it was rounded, and old — in the shape of no bone she’d ever seen. 

a the second and third were vertebrae. 

the fourth was black. sobeille did not know the word for a fossil, but she heard the way it clattered heavier than all the others. 

she looked up to see qiao’s eyes upon her. there was something in that gaze that seemed predatory — sobeille did not like it. 

you ‘ave weird bones. sobeille motioned to them, her expression souring. i don’t know what dey say.

they are not weird, they are objects of power. qiao corrected, patience thinning as she studied them one last time before setting them back in their pouchskin.

you have the face of a bone-reader. do not mistake any old bone as a totem. only some — very few — hold any meaningful power.

a crooked smile flashed as she patted the skull. when you collect the artefacts of your to’lang, you must ensoul them to you. it comes at a cost. if you do not offer a bloodprice, it will come from you.

she looked upon the girl pointedly.

the bones — this to’lang — say you have something that is of tremendous use to me.

cost? ensouling? these were things she had not learned yet — if it was true..

her stomach jolted — for how many times had she cast her bones, with no offering first? what great cost did this have upon her — and moreover, how had this woman cast hers without —

her eyes widened; first in shock, then growing anger as she realized. her bones were weak, the cost was small — but this woman and her ‘to’lang’ were very different. had qiao siphoned sobeille’s lifeblood as the ritual-cost?

boneflower. the golden pearl. sobeille thought of her small collection and knew these were trinkets to this woman.

but there was one bone, thrumming at the edge of sobeille’s mind. i don’t ‘ave it. she set back, as if putting space between them would ensure her safety.

but i know where it be.

well, don’t just stand there child! show me. qiao snapped, her motherly mein withering. the veil lifted back, the hungering face of a viper poised —

qiao recollected her demeanor with a hiss, smoothing over her quilled fur as she shouldered the to’lang.

if this child did not show her, and her patience ran its course…

sobeille was a bold child, but even she flinched as the woman’s face lost its thin veneer of politeness, replaced by a shriveling depravity that she had never seen.

the crone was quick to recollect her composure, but now sobeille was certain she knew what she saw.

and she knew what she must do.

follow me, den. her tone was sulky as she turned, threading qiao through the tall spire of trees.

they came to the shadowed tree line and she squinted from the glare of the beach. the witch was silent, but sobeille could sense a withering anger writhing around her; it was black and twisting, like a beheaded snake. only, she had the good sense to believe it was best to not become ensnared.

it’s in dat cave. she expected qiao to scuttle off, but the crone insisted she go first.

sobeille ducked her head as she stepped into the cold air of grotto, feeling the jaws of fate close its fangs around her.

qiao stood before the cave, sensing the sussurration of deep earth stir the fur along her back. a belch of icy air lifted from the subterranean tunnels, dying on the threshold of the cave’s mouth. 

she followed the girl in. wily girl. untrustworthy girl. her eyes bored into sobeille’s back. 

the to’lang clattered at her chest. the floor was slick stone, worn by the tread of a thousand feet. but the air that flailed around the flowstone was stale and impossibly old. 

sobeille’s form dropped from view; qiao stood at the bank in which an enormous cavern opened. 

at its center was a rounded pool, its edges glowing a phosphorescent blue. 

qiao realized this was not a home. 

it was a crypt.

it’s in dere, sobeille motioned to the moonstone circle, where the water thrummed with blue mist. 

she could not will herself closer. once she had been trapped in that pit. as she clawed desperately along the slick stone, she’d felt something thin beneath the water, wedged within the stone. 

it had quite possibly saved her life. she’d placed her hind feet upon it and jumped, clawing her way from the water that sang for her grave. 

the memory sent a long chill raking down her flesh. 

she looked to qiao, eyes sullen. i t’ink it be a rib bone. it’s wedged in dere.

the crone would have to fetch it herself.

the girl directed her attention to the glistening waters. the to’lang came to life against her chest, the torc’s weight seeming to lift as energy warbled between them.

yes yes yes! they were close. the chipmunk skull in her pouch chattered.

qiao did not trust the girl, but she noticed the fearful way sobeille hung back. there was a relationship here she only got a thimbleful of context for; something had happened.

she inched close. the water seemed to sense her presence, sending blue ripples along the bank’s edge. the entire cave was illuminated by these dancing caustic networks, which flowed across the cavern’s roof like undersea clouds.

hardly two feet under the water’s rippling surface, qiao saw a shape. it was thin, and white — a blade wedged deep into the stone.

she reached for it, the contents of her to’lang brushing the water’s edge as she leaned down.

sobeille saw her moment, and she acted quick. 

while qiao hovered precariously over the moonpool’s lip, sobeille burst forward. 

she thrust her sharp shoulder to the crone’s upended hip, shoving with so much force a grunt escaped her body. 

she seized the skull, her canines hooked between the flaring crest of both occipital bones. the greenbrier torc split with a pronounced snap —

suddenly, the skull was ripped from her teeth by qiao’s body snagging the length of rope. no no no! a sickening snap sounded as her right canine was forced loose.

the headsplitting pain nearly doubled her over.

flares of blue illuminated the cave walls. the witch’s body sent a surge of water over the moonpool’s bank, the sound of seawater pattering down on coldstone. her ears pinned as screams in a foreign tongue split from the small chasm, furiously chasing her as she fled down the tunnels. 

a dark stain of blood trickled from her jaws. sobeille escaped the cave, feeling her body’s urgent answer to the growing terror in her heart.

bitch! thief! the witch pulled herself from the pool, sopping wet.  a fresh ropeburn stung her throat, and salt choked her senses as she levied a thousand curses at the girl. 

her legs could not outrun haka. 

qiao seethed as she collected her displaced wares, threading the broken end through the skull’s eyes. stupid, stupid girl. she murmured, her pelt dripping with saltwater that splattered the floor. 

an incandescent shine caught her attention. the crone squinted and shuffled over, bending down to see a perfectly clean tooth. 

she collected it with a grin. storing it in her cache, qiao turned back to the pool and its stubborn occupant. 

she would figure out its secret later. there was a fang to ensoul, tethering sobeille’s energy to the to’lang. 

qiao would not let this slight pass without judgment.

she ran, she ran, she ran --

up the stony face of dragoncrest, her heart hammering --

up past scree and rubble, where stubborn trees established their wiry existence against the cliff face --

up past where the great bear had once killed her kin, past the graves of her granmere and great granmere --

up until the footing leveled, and her sides and heart hurt so much they felt torn from her body --

she looked back down, and the grotto's mouth was a tiny blot of black between a sea of murky sand and red.

a shiver rent her recovering body. sobeille did not linger, afraid that the voice of the witch might take corporeal form and wind scouring tendrils of black around her legs and drag her back to the grotto.