The Tears of Kas̆dael

His words seemed to wake the dorēsah out of our stupor, and a shudder ran down her body before she looked up. “This place was supposed to be the last bastion for our people, a place safe from your kind. Why are you here?” Her words carried a hint of aggression that hadn't been there before, and a manic light shone in her eyes.

Trying to calm her down, he raised his hands placatingly, and repeated his words, “Like I told you, we’re just trying to find a friend that got lost here."

“And why was this ‘friend’ here? How many have they awoken? Did you come to kill us all?” Her words grew increasingly high in pitch, ending in what almost sounded like the snarl of a wounded mountain lion.

“Woah,” Jasper took a step back. “We're not here to kill you. Believe me, I really don't want to. I don’t know exactly why our mage came here,” - he opted for a half-truth, wisely judging that the correct response was not, ‘she’s here to plunder your goods to fund her wedding,' - “but she’s not here to kill your people either.”

“You lie!” She hissed, as a mad light danced in her eyes. “I saw their bodies! You are here to wipe us out.”

“They attacked us,” he insisted. “All we did was look in the room. It woke up and started attacking us, and when it did, it emitted a scream that woke more of you up - including you, I think. But we had no choice - it was killed or be killed.”

Her body tensed, her muscles coiled with the promise of violence, and Jasper felt certain they were going to have to fight her off. Hiding his hand out of sight, he’d already begun to summon a spell when the madness in her eyes began to diffuse.

She shook her head dully, as if coming out of a fugue. “We woke up too early,” she muttered. “Ilmas̆ku’s curse has not run its course.”

“Are you alright,” Jasper asked cautiously. “You seemed…a little out of it a moment ago.”

A weary smile flitted across her lips as she pointed at her missing wing. “Do I look fine to you?”

“Well, uh,” he stalled out, glancing at the others for help, but the dorēsah was the one that came to his rescue.

“I know what you meant. And no, I’m not fine. After Ilmas̆ku’s treachery, none of us were ever fine again, but we had hoped that, given enough time, what he'd wrought could be undone.”

Not interested in a history lesson, Jasper tried to get the conversation back on topic. “So, uh, can you get us through this door? We’re hoping our friend might be on the other side.”

The dorēsah’s sharp features gathered in a frown. “You woke me from my slumber, killed my friends, and pillaged our chambers, and you ask for a favor?”

“Well, you were supposed to have been dead for a few thousand years…” Seeing thunderclouds gather on her brow, he quickly cut off that line of thought. “Is there something we could do for you in turn? Trade a favor for a favor”

The dorēsah scrunched her slightly longer than usual neck tight against her chest and looked down, like a bird huddled for warmth. “You said our people's history is all but forgotten?”

He nodded. “I’m not really the best person to ask about that, but that’s my understanding. Gūla might be able to tell you more.”

The Djinn piped up. “Our priests have salvaged thousands of your crystals, but no one knows how to use them. We've kept them just in case somebody can figure it out.”

“No, I suppose you could not.” With her face buried in her plumage, the woman's reply was muffled. “They are not magic in the sense you think of it, but relics of a much older age; they can only be unlocked by our blood.”

"But I agree to your proposal, and I know the price I shall ask.”

Jasper waited for her to continue, but only silence followed as a vacant expression clouded her eyes again. “Crap.” He waved his hand in front of her face, but there was no response.

He nearly jumped out of his skin as a thunderclap echoed behind him. Tsia studiously avoided his eyes as he turned on her. “What the hell was that?” He asked incredulously. “Are you trying to wake up the rest of these wannabe zombies?”

“I will open the door for you." As if unaware of her lapse into silence, the dorēsah started speaking again, and he put his conversation with Tsia on pause. “As long as you agree to write down the history of my people’s fall. We do not deserve to be forgotten.”

The four shared a look. “You want us to write a book about it?” Ihra asked.

“I have neither the knowledge nor the patience to dictate a book,” the bird woman sighed. “But I can provide you a short account.”

“I guess we can agree to those terms,” Jasper replied slowly. “I’m not much of a scribe, but once we get out of here, I’m sure we can find someone to write it all down for you.”

“No,” the dorēsah shook her head. “You must record it now. Only then will I open the chamber for you.”

“Couldn’t we wait to do it,” he objected. “Our friend may be hurt-”

“Do it now,” the woman reiterated, and a spark of mania ignited in her eyes again. Maybe she fears she’ll lose her sanity.

With a sigh, Gūla pulled a small notebook out of her bag and plopped down on the ground. “Let’s just get this over with then. The sooner we do what she wants, the sooner we find Sels̆arrat.”

Mollified by her response, the bird woman tucked her head against her chest and, once again, fell into silence.

“So, uh, you mentioned Ilmas̆ku’s treachery.” Jasper tried to get the ball rolling. “Is that the god who caused your people’s transformation?”

“He is no god.” Her feathers ruffled angrily as she peeked back up at them. “Do you know how the war began?”

“It started as a civil war between the Djinn,” Gūla replied promptly. “The reason that your people got involved in our war has been lost to time, but you backed the losing side. When the rightful heir reestablished his throne, he demanded you make restitution for your part in the war, but your people refused.”

“That is correct as far as it goes,” the bird woman confirmed. “When the two brothers went to war, the elders of our people chose to back the youngest. He had taken one of our own as a spouse and I believe they foolishly thought that if he had won, they would be able to manipulate him.”

“The Djinn, however, are people bound by tradition, and the eldest had the strongest claim to the throne. While the youngest met with some initial success, once the eldest, Lord Kimil-S̆amas̆, began to fight back, it was not long before your nobles rallied to his cause. And when he won, Kimil-S̆amas̆ demanded that our elders submit themselves for punishment for daring to break the centuries-long truce between our peoples. If they had only agreed, that would have been the end of it - but it was not to be.”

“I was only a fledgling shaman then, so I was not privy to whatever madness consumed our elders then, but they refused to accede to Kimil-S̆amas̆'s request. If they had simply set aside their pride, a few lives would have been lost, but our people would have been preserved. Instead…” Sorrow pooled in her eyes and the dorēsah took a few beats to continue.

“When the elders refused, Kimil-S̆amas̆ declared war. From the very start, it was an uneven conflict, for the Djinn were both stronger and more numerous than we were. Still, our people fought with determination, dragging the conflict out for enough years that I had achieved full status as a mage by the time the war’s final days approached.”

“By then, there were those who would listen to my words. Our defeat was written in stone, and I begged the elders to put aside their pride and submit. Even though the Djinn were full of wrath, I still believe that even though they would have granted us mercy and that our fate could have been turned aside, but the elders, were still unwilling to humble themselves. Desperate to avoid punishment, they searched for any other way out of our predicament - and they found one.”

“Our ennigû - our priests,” she explained, seeing the incomprehension on their faces, “told us that a new god had offered us salvation - a way to fight back against the Djinn and overwhelm them with our numbers.”

“And that was Ilmas̆ku, I’m guessing?”

Annoyance flickered across her face, accompanied by just a hint of madness, though it quickly dissipated. “I already told you, Ilmas̆ku is no god. If we had listened to the ennigû, perhaps our people would not have fallen, or perhaps this new god of theirs would have proven just as treacherous. But our priests were not the only ones to offer a solution.”

“Unlike the Djinn, our flock’s magic was not especially strong, but there were a few among us who had gathered enough strength to be worthy of the title shaman. Ilmas̆ku was one of the youngest of our shamans, but it was he who came up with the plan that the elders agreed to.”

“Why would your elders listen to such an inexperienced mage?”

“I didn’t say he was inexperienced,” the woman retorted. “All of us were forged in the fires of war, and Ilmas̆ku was undoubtedly the greatest of us, even more so than I,” she added bitterly. “We were born in the same hatching, but Ilmas̆ku’s rapid rise to power was unparalleled. In another generation, I would have been adored as a rare talent, but next to him, I was naught but an awkward fledgling.”

Gūla leaned forward with interest. “Was he a demigod?”

“Perhaps,” the dorēsah admitted after a long pause. “Or so he claimed. Our people believed that we were descendants of Manikkūrub, the great celestial beast who hollowed out this vale between the mountains to serve as his nest. The direct line of Manikkūrub had long since died out amongst our clans, but Ilmas̆ku dared to claim that he was one of them. I don’t know what evidence he produced of this claim, but our elders believed him.”

“At that time, I rejected the possibility, but now, I must admit it may be true. I can feel him even now, clawing at the recesses of my mind - a weak, pitiable existence, but an existence nonetheless. If he has survived these eons, he cannot have been a simple mortal.”

“Wait, you’re saying this demigod is still around?” Jasper interrupted, but the bird woman ignored his question.

“In any case, Ilmas̆ku told the elders that he had discovered how to tap into the bloodline of his ancestor. Because it explained how he had ascended so quickly, it was easy enough to believe, but his second claim required more faith. Ilmas̆ku claimed he was able to extend his power to all of us through a hidden ritual Manikkūrub had revealed to him. Ilmas̆ku’s plan required no devotion to an unknown god and no groveling before the Djinn, so the elders chose it rather than the plan of our ennigû.”