Chapter 208

"You have very little time to answer before our response. You have already trespassed the Samutelia, and we would love to offer your flesh and blood to the nard'ul. They have fattened themselves already this day, but the Bloodsoaked Mother's children are always ready to glut themselves."

The creature that spoke, what I assumed to be a female, was a petite, almost animalian human. She was under five feet tall, and was dressed all in pure black leather and furs. Wait, no… She was naked except for a loincloth, her breasts pronounced enough that, with her voice, I pegged her as a female. And, instead of a full outfit of black leather and furs, I realized that her "clothing" was in fact pure black leathery skin paired with long, dark hair growing down from the top of her head all down the spine. Her arms were longer than a human of her size would have been, even longer than my own, I suspected, and her fingers were disgustingly long as well. With the length of her arms and fingers combined, several of her knuckles dragged along the ground even while mostly curled.

Calling her fingers long was like calling a keelish a lizard. Sure, the idea was communicated, but only in the broadest sense of the word, and beyond that, it couldn't emphasize the size and impression given by them. Each finger ranged in length from half a foot, to longer than twice that, and each one was obviously built for a different, violent function. Her thumb and index finger were the shortest, only twice the length of a normal human's finger, but the middle finger was where things continued past mere unnatural length and into uncomfortably .

Her middle fingers were the second longest on her hand, just a little bit shorter than a full foot, but combined with how they were capped with shining, sharp nails that protruded another inch, the fingers were a foot long. All her fingers had an extra joint and were obviously meant to be used as a stabbing weapon of some sort. The fourth finger was the longest, over a foot, and capped with a club-like protuberance. The final finger was permanently curved into a long, cruel sickle shape, and I had the sneaking suspicion that it could function like one if given the chance. 

Both of the unnamed creature's middle fingers were pointed threateningly at the four humans, and I got the feeling that if she'd wanted to, she could put the eyes out of at least one head before any of the humans could react. Every one of my instincts screamed danger when I looked at her, and my [Tremorsense] told me that she could balance on the balls of her feet without any extraneous movement. She was more dangerous than Wisterl, more trained and prepared for combat, not just fighting. Thinking of my old mentor, I imagined I could still hear her cries of agony as she'd lunged to stave off the assault of these Speakers. 

I swallowed down the emotions that threatened to overwhelm me. If we survived, I could grieve. Until then, I needed to be aware, strong, and ready. I refocused on the furry woman, and as I sized her up, the humans finally answered. A man, by the sound of his voice. He carried a well-tended longbow, so the Windspeaker, then. "Of course we aren't here to trespass upon the face of the Wilds, but simply seek to avenge the slaughter of our own upon those beasts before you. We ask for your permission."

"It seems to me," the furry stranger's voice cracked like thunder and the humans recoiled at her vehemence, "that the 'beasts' before me are not beasts at all but thinking creatures. Is that so?"

After a brief pause, the person from the "Wilds" repeated herself as she turned her gaze to me, "Is that so?"

I startled as I realized what she was asking, and, in my faltering, stilted human tongue, I answered, "Yes. We think. We not beasts. We people." I worked my jaw, uncomfortable. 

"There it isss," the woman continued, deliberately drawing out the word "is", "And you seem to have avenged yourselves plenty. The blood of the saharliard has sated the thirst of the Nard'ul, and you have not seemed to pay a blood price in kind." She flicked her hand, obviously dismissing the Speakers with a threat. "You are not welcome in the Wilds. Return from whence you came, warlocks." Her voice's smug derision swelled, and I began to suspect she was relishing the opportunity to spit defiance in the faces of our pursuers.

"What is happening? I can not understand them. They are talking too fast." Sybil hissed at me, our situation unclear to anyone but me. I raised a hand to her, silencing any further questions as I tried to figure that out myself.

A new voice rang out from the humans, disregarding the Windspeaker as he tried to respond. "They murdered my wife in that river! I will slaughter every last one of them and allow her soul to rest well in Vataal Sam! You cannot interfere with this!" This was a woman, one of the Flamespeakers. Both hands had been messily bitten off almost up to the elbow, and she was in no state to effectuate any noteworthy Calling as her barely cauterized wounds wept pus onto the ground.

"So, Night-profaner, do I hear that you wish to incur a blood-debt?" The stranger's voice's tone became grim, heavy, and indescribably… reverent, almost like when someone was speaking the Words of Power of Nievtala. As she spoke, my eyes were drawn from the humans to finally, for the first time, truly look her in the face. Her face had what could almost be called a snout, but her eyes… her eyes were much too large for her head by human standards, the sclera nearly invisible around the huge sky-blue irises that dominated all but the very corners of her eyes. I knew there was much more to take in of this possible ally, but her eyes drew mine in in an irresistible, nearly painful fashion. Sybil's quiet questions and commands faded to nothing as I lost myself in the mystical, magical eyes.

The human Flamespeaker's voice stumbled to a halt as the Windspeaker quietly but obviously reprimanded her. The woman from the forest spoke up again and I could finally tear my attention away from her eyes and became more aware of the presence of not just the couple individuals Foire had pointed out to me. Instead, a couple dozen more of the Wilds' people began melding out of the forest and into the light of the riverbanks. Some held spears and bows, but most sported the same empty, dangerous hands that their spokesperson did.

"Profaners of the night. Warlocks. Killers of innocents, prisoners, and children alike, I ask you again in my authority as Bloodpriestess–do you wish to incur a blood-debt?"