Lineage

For the first decade after the Merge, the planets and their inhabitants fought a bloody, brutal war. The Pyrithians had the advantage in natural defense and in technology. Their astronomical engineers had predicted Pyrith’s exit from the plane of its universe into the space occupied by a slightly smaller blue-green planet in a parallel universe and had been able to prepare for the intrusion, so while Pyrithian life losses had still been astronomical, they were almost incomparable to those suffered by the soft-bodied, oblivious humans when their planet was all but swallowed up. But the human survivors were ferocious in defending what was left of their species and their planet, and though their remaining weaponry was primitive, the humans themselves were quick and subversive and relentless. Pyrithian warriors returned to their camps on the surface with tales of human combatants underground who carried on fighting past the point when their weak, pulpy bodies should have expired from the damage they had taken. Nevertheless, the humans did always, eventually, succumb. Pyralith itself occasionally took its own victims as sinkholes opened in weakened crust. The tide of war turned inexorably toward Pyrithian victory. By the middle of the second decade, the humans were no more, and the Pyrithians began to rebuild.

“And now we are four generations strong, my sons.” M’rith brushed a strand of hair from Tag’s sweat-sticky cheek, careful to keep her jeweled claws from catching his skin. The low firelight flickering in the center pit reflected in her round, dark eyes as she gazed around the opulent sleeping chamber at her three offspring. “The Belikai line, reborn by the wrath of Pyrith and the tenacity of our people. Heirs to the new civilization.”

“Even the deformed freak,” Herrik said from the farthest pallet. Tag bristled and tried to sit up, ready to jump off his own mat and pound his eldest brother - or at least make a good try of it - but M’rith’s firm hand on his chest stayed him.

“Tag can’t help how he emerged,” Grath muttered sleepily from the pallet between them. “Leave him alone.”

“And none of you have reached the age of your scales,” M’rith reminded them. “All of you are as soft-bodied as the humans who thought they could hold ground against us. We may have lost that common enemy, but now you are vulnerable to the slavering clutches of the Pidari faction to the north. It is incumbent upon each of you - my warrior, my diplomat, my foreclaw - to protect his brothers, that our line may carry on.” She rose gracefully from the foot of Tag’s pallet, smoothing her light robes. “Sleep now, my sons.”

The door closed behind M’rith. Tag closed his eyes and snuggled into the embrace of his downy mattress, letting the soft crackle of the fire and the deepening of Grath’s breathing next to him lull him toward slumber.

A thump against the side of his mat jolted Tag conscious. Herrik crouched over him, limbs caging Tag’s much smaller body, clawed hands gripping Tag’s forelimbs, face looming close to his. Tag recoiled, but the mattress that had before seemed such a haven was now an unyielding pressure against his back.

“My age will be coming soon, and then you’d better be ready to protect yourself,” Herrik hissed through sharp teeth, his words spittle-flecked grenades that made Tag flinch and turn his head. “You are weak and unnatural. Maybe I will give you over to the Pidarii as a goodwill sacrifice. At least your death could be useful.”

“Get off me,” Tag whispered.

Herrik leaned closer. “What was that, creature?”

Tag was silent for a moment. Then he rolled his head to face Herrik again, and launched the glob of saliva he had let pool in his mouth.

Herrik reared back, letting go of Tag’s arms and wiping furiously at his eyes. “You little - !” he shouted, the rest of his words vanishing in a shriek of fury.

“What are you doing?” Grath was up and pulling the howling Herrik away from Tag, dumping him, hands still pressed to his face, onto the stone floor where he rolled back and forth in agony. Grath pressed a foot against Herrik’s neck, the place where even in full scales he would remain vulnerable, and Herrik stilled instantly, his cries cutting out like a snuffed flame.

“I have told you,” Grath said, soft and deadly, “to leave him alone. Do you understand me now?”

Herrik winced and grabbed at Grath’s hindlimb, and Tag guessed Grath had added a little more pressure to underscore his words. “Yes,” he choked out.

“On the rise, I will tell M’rith to give you your own chamber. You are the closest of us to your age and should have your privilege.” Grath lowered his foot and stepped back, allowing Herrik to roll over and stand. Tag and Grath watched as Herrik slunk back to his own pallet and threw himself down with his back to them. Then Grath turned to Tag. His round, black eyes were warm and concerned. “Are you well?” he asked quietly.

Tag nodded.

“Your forelimbs?”

He was rubbing at the tingling in them, Tag realized, and quickly dropped his hands. “They’re fine.”

Grath studied him for a moment longer, then nodded. “Get some sleep. He won’t come for you again.”

#

From then on, Herrik gave Tag a wide berth, especially when Grath was present, but his gaze on Tag remained as hard and hateful as ever. The relief Tag felt when Herrik’s scales finally erupted a few orbits later and M’rith sent him away to live and train with the rest of the empire’s warriors was the lifting of a burning Pyralithian boulder from his chest.

The despair he felt when Grath’s scales erupted less than an orbit later and he was sent away to join Herrik was nearly its equal.

“He will soon return,” M’rith said one day after Grath had been gone for several orbits. Tag, as had become custom when he wasn’t in his studies, was out on the balcony overlooking the training fields. The warriors were figurines in the mid distance, stepping through exercises in a sharp choreography that had become a routine backdrop since Tag’s earliest orbits. He looked up as M’rith joined him at the railing. “Within the orbit, his training will be complete.”

“And what of me?” Tag exclaimed. He spun away and began pacing the length of the balcony. “My age has been and passed. When am I to gain my scales and begin my own training?”

M’rith reached out and caught his tunic as he passed, and he jerked to a stop, head bowed, cheeks hot. A clawed finger touched him under the chin, and he swallowed and met her eyes.

“You are my most important son,” she murmured. “My foreclaw. The Pidarii grow ever more emboldened, and I need a son who will remain here to keep watch over our domain while my other sons are away. Your eldest brother will command my warriors. Your elder brother will lead my diplomatic corps. And you will lead our people.”

#

A shout launched him out of slumber into a scene of flames and chaos. Clouds of smoke boiled up to the ceiling, obscuring the view of the stars through the vent hole. The central fire in his chamber had jumped the pit and was tearing through the rugs and curtains, licking at the foot of his mat. Tag leapt out of his pallet, coughing, pulling the edge of his night tunic up over his face. A large figure, no more than a shadow through the smoky air, loomed in the doorway. Crouching, still choking, Tag ran toward it.

Herrik’s huge hand came down on Tag’s shoulder, nearly sending him entirely to the floor, but then hauled him up by his tunic and shoved him out into the hall. The air was clearer here, and Tag heaved it into his lungs. Elsewhere, not close enough to orient it, he could hear the crack of incendiary weapons striking stone and scales, the screams of Pyrithians.

   “What is happening?” he demanded, wheeling on Herrik. His eldest brother had grown massive in his orbits of service as commander of the Belikai warriors, but his expression was flat and abstracted.

“Pidarii,” he grunted. “Grath sent word too late. They managed to infiltrate our forces and gain access to our domain. M’rith is…”

“No.”

“We must leave. You cannot remain here.”

“No.” Tag was shaking his head, dizzy with smoke and shock. “No, I can’t leave, this is my domain. I am…I am tasked with keeping watch.”

Herrik’s laugh was the scrape of gravel against gravel. “Keeping watch over what?”

Tag was shivering now. “Grath will return.”

“Recall, Grath knew.” Herrik ran a hand over his face. His scales rippled across his body. “He also sent word of a place. We will meet him there. Come.”

Tag’s body felt loose and disconnected as he stumbled after Herrik, down through the escape tunnels. They emerged into a quiet darkness that was jarring for its lack of violence. Tag realized he had expected the fight to be continuing out here, but they crept into the rock fields with no alarm being raised.

They walked the rest of the night and through the next rise. As night closed its curtain around them again, Tag stumbled, tripped, and went sprawling. Herrik stopped and hauled him back up.

“I can’t,” Tag said. His voice was gravel and smoke. He was swaying lightly, leaning into Herrik’s grasp. Herrik grunted and swung Tag up onto his back. Somehow, Tag fell asleep, grief and exhaustion towing him under.

Something woke him some time later. He was lying on the ground now, but something else, some noise, maybe, had drawn him into consciousness. The new rise was just starting to wrap its sash around the horizon, and when Tag sat up, he could make out Herrik standing a distance away.

“Herrik?” he called. “Where is Grath?”

Then he heard again what had woken him. An ominous crack rent the air. Tag scrambled up to his knees, searching for the source.

“This is still quite an active area from the Merge,” Herrik called from behind him. “Sinkholes occur frequently.”

Another crack, and then a long, low groan, like the Earth buried underneath Pyralith’s weight was in agony. Small rocks ahead of him began to judder, and then disappeared as the ground yawned open underneath. Tag scrambled to get up, to run, but faster than he could gain ground, the hungry Earth reached out to him and swallowed him whole. The last thing he heard as he tumbled into the darkness was Herrik’s echo: At least your death will be useful.

#

He blinked his eyes open.

A pair of eyes blinked back at him.

They weren’t black. They weren’t large and round like any Pyrithian he had ever seen.

They looked like his own eyes, small and bright.

Tag startled violently, and the other face disappeared, then came back a moment later, cautious, wary. The mouth opened and sounds came out, but Tag didn’t understand. His head was throbbing and his face was wet on one side. He was crumpled on top of a pile of debris, dirt and rocks piled on and around him. He could feel his forelimbs, and he moved them, trying to dig himself out. The sounds from the other creature - another deformed Pyrithian? Cast out from his own family, as well? - increased in volume and pitch. Tag felt another set of hands working to help him, and after a few moments, he was free. Carefully, he tested his hindlimbs, then drew himself up slowly to lean against the fall of dirt and rocks.

The other deformed Pyrithian reached for him again. He took Tag’s hand, put a cloth into it, and gently lifted his hand to his own head where it felt wet. The wound stung, and Tag hissed but held the cloth. The other said something again, but Tag shook his head.

“I don’t understand you,” he said helplessly. The poor creature must have been exiled from his people from his earliest orbits.

The other’s eyes widened. “Pyrithian?” he said.

Tag nodded, sagging in relief. “Yes.”

“Not many can speak it. You must be a scout from another colony in the Under? Did you not realize this is a dangerous area? We’re both fortunate we weren’t killed.”

“Not many can speak Pyrithian?” Tag frowned. “Everyone speaks Pyrithian.”

The other frowned and took a step back. “Who…are you?”

“Tag Belika, of the Belikai line.”

The other took a step back, eyes wide. “Belikai? You were with Pyrithians?”

“Yes,” Tag said. “My brother betrayed me. He always believed me to be unnatural. Did your line…cast you out for your deformities?”

“Deformities?” The other laughed, and the sound was a little high but otherwise like Tag’s own, warm, not rough and scraped like his brothers’ or M’rith’s. He took another step away from Tag. “I’m not a deformed Pyrithian, I’m a human. And, looking at you, I’d say…so are you.”