#ismara

Returning home was never very high on Kireía's list of priorities.

Though she loved her homeland, though she missed the sweet song with which Nature spoke to her on the island, and though she longed for the familiarity of home, returning home meant she had to face her mother, her tribe.

And so far, she had barely achieved anything of her goals in setting out.

Kireía stood before the twisted trees that marked the entryway to the large settlement the Rachdhan had built, exhaling slowly and shaking out her new feathers in anxiety. Nobody had ever told her that wearing clothing over feathers was so uncomfortable - but then, nobody had ever really been around as she had been coming into her feathers, and that was more her fault than theirs.

Kireia was the second daughter and oldest surviving child of Kiron Nightshade and Reiana Wolfsong. Reiana was what they called “wolfkin”, a person born of the wolf tribe. She had been sent to the Rachdhan, or Birdfolk tribe to try and help convert them to the main beliefs the other Ainmhi, wildlings of Ismara, had converted to. The story of Kiron’s love for Reiana and his rise to power in the name of that love was almost legendary among the tribe even though for most it was still in living memory.

Kiron had been killed in battle alongside his eldest son when Kireia had been 12, and she had witnessed this. The male that had done it, sadly, was Reiana’s brother, and Kiron’s brother-in-law, who had come to the tribe with a group of others who believed Reiana had been kidnapped or even killed. Despite the death and invasion, the Birdfolk wanted no more fighting to come as a result, and the wolves, upon learning they’d slain family for no reason, were only too happy to oblige.

Kireia, however, had wanted revenge. Realising that the treaty between the tribes kept vengeance from her reach, she left the Rachdhan, disappearing into the forests of the island.

It had been ten years. She had let them believe her dead for several years, but eventually fate had demanded she return and show her face to them. In the years following, she had remained alone, keeping to her wanderer life among the Ismaran forests. She would occasionally return, but this past year had been the longest that she’d been gone for - and she had never even told anybody when she had left the island.

Kireia crossed the threshold into the settlement, and the sounds of the outside forest seemed to fade away as the magical shielding of the village came into effect around her. Kireía inhaled through her nose, her mind processing all the information her senses offered - the smell of someone making seed cakes, the soft chirruping of several nestlings contrasted against the joyful screeches of older nestlings, the feeling of the soft fern leaves scattered over freshly-churned dirt beneath her feet. Travelling with the other Ismarans, she had reluctantly adopted the custom of wearing boots, but since boarding the ship that had brought her home, she had gone barefoot - it just felt more natural to her.

The return journey had been one full of anxiety. Things in Vantacor had been becoming more dangerous of late, and she had begun to fear for her tribe, so had decided it would be time to return. The sun had passed its zenith before she had reached her tribe’s village from the docks, and as she walked through the outer ring of the homes, Kireia felt herself beginning to relax. These people were her own. She didn’t have to hide her feathers or talons here, didn’t have to contort her mouth to form foreign sounds, words, sentences, and best of all, she didn’t have to communicate only in words - the other Rachdhan could identify what a simple chirp or screech meant. Shedding her fur vest, she shook out her new feathers again, picking a few stray pieces of fur from them. In the centre of the village, they would be preparing a fire for the evening meal, but she had no desire to make her return known just yet. She closed her eyes, feeling as her muscles continued to relax, knowing exactly where her steps needed to go without needing to see her surrounds.

"Kireía?"

The voice was soft, unmistakable, and Kireía opened her eyes, almost startled out of her peace as a tall woman stood in the middle of the pathway, staring at her. Her wolf ears were pricked forward, eyes bright as she stared at Kireia, as if seeing her for the first time.

For her part, Kireia simply stopped in her tracks, staring at the Wolfkin in front of her. Though the troubles of the years showed in her face, Reiana Wolfsong was still beautiful by many standards, a beauty that Kireia had always somewhat resented her for in her own younger years.

“Kireia, am I seeing things, or are you really here?” Reiana asked softly. Tentatively, she stepped forward, and for a moment, Kireia realised that her mother was regarding her as though she were a spirit.

"Chaírbhadhna, Inati," Kireía replied carefully, making sure to inflect the greeting with the right tone. It was the formal greeting offered to the priestess of the tribe, one that Kireia had always used in private to defy her mother’s insistence of using it in public.

The tension between the two women seemed to break suddenly, and Reiana swept forward. Kireia flinched, expecting a slap or rebuke, but was instead engulfed in her mother’s embrace. It took her a moment longer to realise that Reiana was shaking.

Something was wrong.

“Mother?” Kireia asked, reaching up to touch Reiana’s shoulder, “What is it? You’re shaking, are you okay?”

“I thought you were dead,” Reiana admitted, her words choked with tears. “Aiidhen saw you in a large battle, he said you were cut down--”

Of course. Kireia realised her mother was unaware of the supposed divine blessing offered to the “heroes” of Solendium. She returned her mother’s tight embrace reassuringly.

It was part of the curse of living half-human, Kireia had learned. Humans experienced involuntary bodily actions, orcs experienced involuntary surges of anger, and Rachdhan experienced involuntary moments of bird behaviour. There was nothing she could do but watch herself, in abject horror, as she attacked a foe much larger and stronger than herself, or leapt from a height she knew she couldn’t land.

So when she sensed the “bird-brain” kick in prior to reaching the gem fields, she knew it would be an interesting adventure, at the very least.

The gems, they had been told, would only have value if they matched the colour chosen by a specific being that was held captive-- and that was all Kireia had heard before the bird-brain took hold. It went for the shining round objects, collecting as many of them as she could and stuffing them into the hands of her companions to hold and carry. Once they had established a base, though, that was when the truly awkward part happened.

Rachdhan were more human than avian in the way they carried and birthed their young. Nestlings - young Birdfolk - were born, not hatched from eggs. But birds certainly laid eggs, and to the bird-brain that had hold of Kireia on this occasion, the sparkling gems looked very much like eggs.

“Are you nesting?” Roan asked, as Kireia sat crouched over the collection of gems, sword drawn, her human brain more than aware of how ridiculous she must have looked, but the bird-brain determined to protect the “eggs” she had claimed. Resigned to her fate, Kireia nodded.

She hovered above the gems for a while, the bird-brain forcing her to get aggressive when anybody got too close - even her allies. Like any mother bird, she was determined to protect the things - with her own life, if she had to.

And then, she was waking up on the ground, well away from the nest she had, in her bird-brain moments, begun to build.

It took Kireia a few dizzying moments to realise what had happened - the bird-brain’s oath to protect her “eggs” with her own life had been tested and proven true. She had died, and was reawakening, as happened often. She didn’t bother questioning Nature for the details of that time before her death - she had no need to know who had slain her, or why. The gems held value - it was a simple enough reason.

It wasn't that she couldn't speak; it was more the fact that nobody else could understand her.

Except for Evrin, of course. Evrin was a cousin; she could understand Kireia when they spoke in their shared language. But Roan still had trouble understanding her.

"Can anybody tell me what's going on?" Roan had asked, the last to join them at the beacon tower they were supposed to be protecting. Kireia had already tried speaking to the two leaders of the two separate groups, who seemed to have struck a deal with each other and were allies. She knew it wasn't technically her place, as Roan was usually in charge when Raven or Milenko were away, but he had been away and although she liked Evrin and Maeve, she didn't trust them to broker any sort of alliances, temporary or not.

She had moved forward, ready to stumble over the clumsy words of the Common Speech in order to communicate to Roan what he had missed, but the look he gave her as soon as she volunteered herself was one that she was all too familiar with.

The look of disdain she often received from the Common Speakers was wearing thin on her patience by now. She had been trying to learn their words, but their language had so many sounds that were so ridiculously foreign, and they used six sounds for a single symbol - or a single sound had four different ways of being written. She knew Rachana, Inati, and Vangor already - but of all the languages she'd learnt, Common was by far the most difficult. It also didn't help when people kept misleading her when she had at first asked for help, which was the primary reason she now chose to learn by watching and listening and mimicking, the way she had learned it at first. She was trying, but it was difficult.

And yet, still they gave her that look.

She could handle the look. She had learned early on that although looks hurt, they were physically harmless. So Roan's disdain wasn't enough to perturb her - he had asked for a description of events, and she was willing to offer one.

"Someone else? You can't speak Common."

If the look didn't hurt, the words did.

Kireia paused, waiting for the laugh or grin that usually accompanied one of the Strangers’ "jokes", but it was clear very quickly that none would be forthcoming. She closed her mouth as Roan continued searching out someone to explain, completely overlooking her. And all at once, she felt that searing pain that she'd known since her days as a nestling, the familiar feeling of isolation.

Here she was, surrounded by allies, yet separated from them because of the words that she couldn't speak.

The speech that Nature had clarified for her blurred into a background noise, and she backed away, brows knitting together as she tried to focus, tried to separate the sounds and make sense. Although she'd been gifted, she still needed concentration to understand the words the Strangers would say. But all that she could hear, ringing through her mind over and over, was Roan's statement.

You can't speak Common.

She found herself moving away from the beacon, away from the people. She turned her back, looking away from the group and instead settling her gaze on the distant hills, trying to focus on those and let her thoughts calm themselves. There was no sense in getting angry - they were simple Strangers, after all. They didn't understand things they didn't know, and they didn't know her, her abilities, her skills. He probably hadn't even realised she could understand his words.

Yet, all the excuses she kept making for them did nothing to ease the hurt.

She looked back at the group, who were simply milling around the beacon, waiting for something to happen. Roan was talking to Evrin, and the way they kept looking at her was enough indication that she, Kireia, was the topic of their discussion. Evrin would likely come and try to explain to her, and Roan would probably come over as well, but she didn't want to talk to either of them. How could she communicate, to either of them, that the reason for her upset was more than the words he had said so carelessly? How could she explain, in words he would understand, that his statement had been a reminder of the chasm that still separated her from those she now travelled and fought alongside?

She couldn't. Because she couldn't speak Common.

Chilodh, her cousins of other Wildling blood, struggled to understand Rachana. Strangers - the Ismarans, the Vikings, and everyone else they found themselves allied with - would never be able to understand. Rachana was her first language, her native tongue, and she spoke in it so elegantly that any other speakers would easily recognise her as a princess and diplomat. A female born of high rank, high status, and high intelligence - all of which were true. She was, among her people, one of the highest bloods save for her older brother.

Yet in Common, she was treated like one with less wisdom than a nestling, looked down upon because she simply struggled to speak the right words.

As expected, Evrin came to check on her, and Roan followed, trying to explain why he had said what he'd said, but she had already decided that the best course of action was to pretend to ignore him. She turned her back to him, folding her arms, scowling at the distance. So, of course, he made another one of his hunting jokes.

These Strangers, they treated her like an unintelligent mound of feathers and flesh, and yet they were the ones that made such barbaric insults. It was infuriating - if she were to introduce Roan to her world, her people, he would feel as isolated and stupid as she was made to feel among the Strangers, yet he would still refuse to accept that he was in a world he didn't know. It was the way with all Strangers - their way was, supposedly, the only way.

"They complain I do not understand them," she told Evrin as she reluctantly rejoined the others, "But it is they who do not understand us."

Reiana was a young wolfkin who had studied her entire life under the tutelage of the High Priestess, and worshipped the gods more devoutly than any other. She was selected, both out of jealousy and hope, to be sent to the secluded Rachdhan community, to try and help the wild Birdfolk conform to the norms of their so-called cousins. She was nervous upon arrival, being still young, but was devoted to her task and believed that her gods would protect her from the supposed harm the Birdfolk inflicted on outsiders.

From the moment she arrived, Kiron Nightshade was besotted with her. Unfortunately for Kiron, he was a mere hunter of the clan, and only the clan's Rechs was allowed to partner the Mother, if she accepted him. As a hunter, Kiron was barred from ever reaching the level of Rechs, the greatest of the clan's warriors, and thus his dream of pairing with Reiana lay just beyond his reach, denied to him by the corvid blood he had once boasted of so proudly.

The old Rechs recognised the desire in Kiron, having seen many young men fall victim to it before. Knowing the danger it posed not only to the young hunter, but also to the other dansas of the clan - those of the warrior classes - he gave Kiron a task. Every day for a year, Kiron had to climb to the tip of the Beak, collect a firestone, and bring it back. He must complete this task alone.

As a hunter, Kiron had never been told to climb the Beak before - only ever the Wing of the great mountain. He accepted the challenge however, knowing the peril he'd face, and set off on his task. He was gone for so long that nobody believed he would return, but return he did, carrying one of the precious firestones in his scarf as it was too hot to hold with his hands.

The next day, he returned with another, and the day after, he brought back another. And thus, he continued for four hundred and fifty days, longer than the year length of the original task he had been set. Every single one of the stones, after being accepted as suitable by the Rechs, Kiron would offer to Reiana as a gift, and every single one of them, she would accept, not knowing their true value yet appreciating them for the effort he put himself through.

The Rechs was reluctant to accept Kiron's victory over the Beak, but the hundreds of firestones that kept the young wolfkin warm in her small dwelling was a testament to the young hunter's success. So, the Rechs reluctantly allowed Kiron to be recognised as a dansa, one of the warrior class. When the time came, he joined with the other dansas in the Games, a competition between all dansas, with the victor claiming the title of Rechs for the clan.

Kiron had been bet against by many of his former friends, and even Reiana feared for his loss, because she knew that his eagerness sparked a fear in the other dansas, enough that they may intentionally hurt him more than the games permitted. Much to everyone's surprise, however, Kiron came through the competition with relative ease, knocking down his opponents and drawing first blood with seemingly little effort. When he reached the final competition, however, he was faced with the Rechs, who was unwilling to give up his position. Kiron could sense the Rechs was injured from an earlier fight and was not eager to face a wounded opponent. The Rechs called him many foul names and insulted his lineage, to a point where he disgraced himself, but Kiron refused to rise to the bait - he would not begin a fight with a wounded man, no matter how much he desired victory.

The Rechs, enraged at Kiron's inaction against him, charged, tripped on a loose tree root, and fell on his face. The rest of the clan seized the opportunity and collected the man, before outcasting him for his display of jealousy and aggression against someone who had stayed true to their morality. The Rechs was deposed, and for enduring the criticism he had and the torment of the older man, Kiron was offered the position. He accepted, and immediately turned to Reiana, but before he even had a chance to ask, she said yes.

The storm had finally found a lull, but the brief moments of peace that enveloped the camp were shattered all too soon by an indignant screech.

Inside the hafod of the Mother, several figures pressed around the exhausted woman, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the small, shrieking baby that was being hastily bundled into warm furs. Already, one of the birthmaids bore several small scratches along her forearm, a testament to the newborn’s indignation at the sudden cold it had been exposed to. The elder of the pair waved away several of the more curious young women as she lifted the child to the Mother’s chest, gently manipulating the woman’s arms to wrap around the bundle that bore her second child.

“Girl,” she stated simply, breaking the silence that was said to be sacred to the first moments of a newborn’s life.

As if in answer to the birthmaid’s simple statement, the storm renewed again, the calm of the eye having passed. Wind whipped the flames of the torches about, casting almost terrifying shadows across the faces of the near-humans in the room.

The Mother peered down at the scowling face that was blinking blearily up at her, black eyes scanning the features as if committing them to memory. She was too exhausted to do anything but smile, and gazed at her first daughter.

The first daughter of the Mother was said to bring good luck. A child born at the height of the moon’s arc was said to be fair of skin, hair, and eyes. A girl born under a storm was said to be gifted with the movement of the wind.

Within her very first week, it was clear to all that Kireia Stormsong was none of these things.

Birdlike screeches would sound intermittently from the Mother’s hafod, loud enough to startle nearby wildlife into flight. It was clear even before the nestling’s ear feathers began to come in, that she had taken after her father in blood - the Mother had the ears and tail of a wolf, while her father was one of the Birdfolk.

As she grew, the toddler began to follow her father about, trying to learn the speech that the High Priestess had demanded they learn to be in line with their land cousins - but even then, it was clear that she stumbled on even the most basic words and sounds of the language.

It was a common problem for many nestlings. The Birdfolk had lived with the same language and customs for generations, ever since their grounding, and that knowledge was passed through blood. Forced to learn the common Wildling language from birth, many of them would struggle - but young Kireia’s struggles seemed to be greater than most.

So her father abandoned the demands of the High Priestess and the wishes of the Mother, and began to teach the nestling Birdspeech, the ancient dialect that had been preserved by their people for generations. To the Mother’s surprise, Kireia took to it with greater skill than she had demonstrated in any other linguistic learnings - of course, none of the Birdfolk were surprised.