Voice Of The Ilk

— Chapter 1 —

In a room, in a house, on the back of a giant, lives a Verido whose name is a mix of two good things: Lu, for the sky, and Pin, a type of winged beetle. “Come on Lupin, keep at it. Keep searching.” Lupin said, busy upturning all objects in the house. While proud of this name, Lupin did not choose it. Verido are unique in the way that their names and lineage appear on their skin a few years after they’re grown. The names take on the appearance of lines and swirls, and when interpreted by a skilled Reader, they’re translated into the Common Tongue, the language spoken by all habitants of the Soronan Desert.

Lupin could never remember where things were. Worse yet, was that Lupin also liked to borrow things. All Verido borrowed from one another. If they saw something they liked in the house of another, they would take it without asking. Objects had a way of making the rounds and somehow always ended up back where they’d started, that is, unless Lupin was the borrower. Many objects from homes around the city never returned to their point of origin. Everyone knew who to blame, yet no one came to claim anything back, having found joy in having fewer things.

Residents of Ilk cities lived in tall, narrow houses, designed to twist and bend without breaking. Each structure was built around a central pillar positionned in the centre, with each floor permitting a fair amount of swaying. When Vol, the Ilk that carries the city of Volare, would sway to the right, the first floor of the houses would also move that way, but the second floor would move left, and the third to the right, and so on. This wobbling effect, builders realized, would keep the structure of a house intact. After this discovery, Verido people no longer had to worry about their houses crumbling.

All Verido slept in hammocks, rocked by the gentle, and predictable gait of the Great Carrier. In Lupin’s home, overlooking the hammock was a gap in the ceiling, a window equipped with a heavy storm shutter. With a clearing like this, Lupin could sleep with the skyrocks. Those lights in the night sky, unlike objects in Verido houses, were impossible to borrow, the young Volarian liked to pretend though, with fingers obscuring the edges and narrowing down into a pinch.

It was common for the kitchen to be on the bottom floor. When cooking, the smell would rise up, alerting all upper-floor occupants that the food would soon be ready. The kitchen had a pantry, a fire bowl and a cold pot. The fire bowl, like many other objects in the house, was made from molded carapace shavings, a tough material endemic to Vol. The bowl had ashes from yesterday’s cooking. The cold pot had another pot inside it, with its outer wall covered in sand. In the innermost pot lay fresh bibiskiss, a flowery purple herb. Then, there was the pantry, two long poles fixed to the floor with braided isilk baskets hanging in-between. Lupin kept a variety of herbs and root vegetables in these baskets, favorites like looma roots and plumpkins. On the ground lay a box with a sack of woodgeon berries, next to it was a jar with a bubbly brown mixture bearing the label “Henbi”. Lupin stopped baking when Levi died, in favor of simpler meals, but never stopped feeding Henbi, the family smellydough starter.

Bottles of tea were steeping on the doorstep, warmed by the sun. Momentarily forgetting about the scarf, Lupin stepped out and put a nose to a bottle of licky root tea. “Yep, it’s ready” Lupin said, carrying the bottle inside. The drink was syrupy and sweet. The dark circular roots of the plant, heavy with liquid, lay at the bottom of the bottle. Licky root was grown here in the village, Lupin walked to the base of Vol’s nape everyday to harvest it. Few plants could thrive up here, the altitude did not permit much, although shroos and small garden herbs were plentiful.

Lupin sighed when seeing the state of the house. The floor of the main room had many objects, pieces of unfinished projects, attempts at honing a skill—any skill. Lupin had tried to learn to knit a hat, but the result was too horrid to wear. “Why would you make a hat with so many large holes?” A neighbor had asked. The hat had then become the head of a mop, which to this day never mopped up anything. Lupin had seen Levi knit many times, the motions were familiar but these dumb hands could not replicate them. All in the village had a skill, but this young Verido feared to have none—that is, unless the art of cluttering spaces could be artful in some way. Lupin was short, and possessed little body strength, but could beat anyone in a dumpling eating contest—again, not an ability that could benefit others. This was the truth behind the compulsive borrowing, born out of Lupin’s desire to discover a worthwhile passion.

“LOOK AT YOU! All dressed up and fancy-like!”

Lupin spun right around to look at who was there. It was Rosmus, a friend and resident of Volare. Rosmus was taller and older than Lupin, with hair standing on end, higher than anyone in the village.

“I am fancy aren’t I?” Lupin was wearing traditional ceremonial wear, a set only worn on special occasions, such as Green or Leaping Days. Lupin also wore a necklace of blue thread cascading down over a bare chest. From these hips, hung a patterned knee-long cloth, superimposed with a woven isilk mat. “I spent all of last night looking for each piece. Now if only I could find my scarf.”

“Your hair looks nice blue!” Rosmus said, impressed with the work. Lupin’s hair was short on the sides and long at the top, where it slumped forward and dipped partially over the forehead. “Your face paint though is um, well… it’s unique is what it is!”

During special events, Verido dyed their sandy hair and faces blue using the crushed pigments of the fruit of the loobery plant. “I ran out of looberries about halfway into it.” Lupin admitted. When applied correctly, the blue paint covered all from the bridge of the nose to the top of the head. Lupin had covered up most areas but the paint was too thin, leaving visible broad pale streaks of skin.

“Doesn’t show,” Rosmus lied, “OH! I got you a gift!” The visitor held a basket of trumpet flower sprouts. “Thought we could hang around here and plant these! In a few months they’ll start flowering! Thoughtful of me don’t you think? No one else tends to your need for intoxicants like I do.”

Your need you mean, you just want to use up my space cause you’ve used up all of yours.” Lupin said, “anyway, I can’t, it’s naming day today.”

“I know, but we’re not going.” Rosmus said.

Lupin laughed. “I’m not gonna sit here with you waiting for these plants to grow.”

“No no, don’t be silly. That’ll take ages. We’ll stay here and drink kabacho! It’s been steeping for a year and it is going to be real strong.” There was a bottle strapped to Rosmus’s belt, full of red liquid with a wrinkly fruit floating inside it.

“They’re expecting me Roz, the whole town is. As much as I’d like to just sit around and drink with you all day I’ve got to go! I don’t have a choice, you know that.”

“You do have a choice.” Rosmus corrected. “You think you don’t, but you can do whatever you want. Come on, don’t you think it’d be more fun to do this instead?”

“Ceremony’s more important I think.”

“Who cares!” Rosmus said. “Why go at all? I mean, you already know you won’t be named Voice so… why bother?”


“Right. Don’t you think it unfair though? To be part of a contest with a predetermined result? Mago’s family has always been Voice, since Volare’s time and that’s not about to change. When you think about it, there’s really no point in you being there at all! If I were you I’d stay here. Come on, give me a mug that I can fill.”

“It’s just like you to say something like that.” Lupin said, busy upturning the place, lifting every book. Lupin did find other things thought to be lost, but these stayed in their spot, to be forgotten and rediscovered again at a later more convenient time. “I’ve got to be there. Don’t ask me again.”

Rosmus, lacking a mug, took a sip of kabacho from the bottle instead. “Oh! That is strong! My lips are numb!” Rosmus struggled for a moment, trying to finish a thought, having much trouble getting the lips and tongue to cooperate. “So you’re alright with pretending you can win this?”

“I’m not pretending! AH It doesn’t matter! I’m fine with it is what I’m saying.” Lupin moved to the other side of the room to look behind a table. “AH! It’s here! I’ve found it!” The long blue scarf had been hiding there this whole time, wedged between a table and a wall. Lupin put the scarf on, coiling it tight. “I wouldn’t make a good Voice, I’ve got no skills. Mago can climb a building one-handed, did you know that?”

Rosmus resisted the urge to comment that last statement with an eyeroll. “Did you ever think that maybe you’re always under-performing because you know you can’t win? That whatever you do won’t change the outcome, so you know, why try?” These lips had turned a bright red color then, another effect of the kabacho.

“I’ll find something else I’m good at. I’ll see it more clearly when this thing is over, I know it.”

Rosmus set the kabacho on the ground, then found an amusing hat and decided to keep it. Roz then picked up a koutra from the floor and tried to play it, a hand holding the neck and the other stringing the isilk threads. “Hm. Bit out of tune. Won’t be impressing anyone with an out of tune koutra.”

“Yea. It did sound terrible.” Lupin said with a sigh, eyeing the stringed instrument. “Look. I’ve got to go.” The Verido began to move toward the door, stepping in clearings between objects to get to it. Then, came up to the bottle of kabacho and decided to take a sip. “For my nerves.” Lupin said.

“Hey! What if you actually did become Voice?” Rosmus yelled. “Imagine! We could go drink at The Ear all day! Best view in Volare! No one would bother us up there!”

“Now that would be sacrilegious!” Lupin said with a laugh, before breaking into a run. The town centre was near but the sun was high, any moment now the ceremony would start.

Mago was standing before the Volare town hall, an imposing edifice on the lowermost area of the Ilk’s nape. There were villagers everywhere, busy wrapping ribbons around poles and hanging wreaths on every door. Everyone waved at Mago, smiling and saying things like: “Good luck in there!” or, “You were born to do it!” Mago wondered if they said these things to cousin Lupin too…

Mago had short, pale sandy hair heavy with decorative beads, a strong upper torso and legs, and was taller than most. Mago liked to climb, and did well enough in most sports, many envied the Verido’s ability to do well in everything. Today, Mago appeared less confident than usual. The young Verido looked up at the Ilk’s head, hands fidgeting with the ceremonial necklace.

“Mago!” Armyn called out, waving a hand to try and get Mago’s attention. Armyn was bound to a push-chair. A younger Verido was there to push the centenarian around. “Mago!” Armyn called again. “Anyone in there?” Armyn said. “Answer me sprout.”

Mago groaned. “I don’t have to say yes yes at every word! You know I’m listening mapa…”

“Well I want to hear you say it.”

“I’m nervous okay. You know I am!”

“Yes, but you forget that I went through the same with cousin Levi, and my mapa went through it too with cousin Laggra. I’m here, right now, telling you that you have nothing to worry about! Our family line is strong.” Armyn smiled up at Mago, admiring the blue face paint that Mago had applied so perfectly. “It happened ages ago, but looking at you now, it’s strange… like being on the wrong side of a mirror.”

“Cousin Levi was really good. I heard the stories.”

“Yes, that’s true. Levi would have done many more great things, but we can’t think about what could have been, we’ve got to focus on what is! Lupin is good, but lacks your focus my love. I have to go, I’ll see you in there!” the Verido helper wheeled Armyn away, both disappeared into the town hall, passing under a banner with the words “Voice of Volare naming ceremony”.

A small leafling stood near the banner, trying to sound the words written on it in ilken with little success.

“That doesn’t sound right at all.” The leafling whined.

Mago joined the child under the banner. “You almost got it you know! Watch me.” Hands moved into place, cupping the mouth in the right way, then came a collection of whistles. The sounds varied in pitch and rhythm. The sound was otherworldly, melodious. Mago whistled it a second time, to make sure the leafling had heard it right. “See? Voice-of-Volare. You try it! Watch your the pitch on the vowels.”

Eyes wide, the leafling positioned both hands and lips in the same way, and tried again with much success. “Do you really talk to the Ilk?”

Mago smiled. “No. Not yet, but if I’m Voice then yea, we’ll talk everyday!”

“WOW!” Stars appeared in the young leafling’s eyes, at the thought of conversing with The Great Carrier.

Volare villagers were setting up a small stage near the town hall. They would be playing music here tonight, songs in ilken by way of plucked instruments like the traditional donmol, or the humble koutra. Mago loved the sounds of these instruments. All younglings in Volare were raised with music at their lips and fingers.

Lupin arrived then, taking Mago’s side. “Well! If it isn’t the tongue wart of the Ilk!”

Mago grabbed Lupin’s left ear and twisted it with a pull. "Think that if I keep your ear like this for a week that it’ll shrivel up and fall off?

“OW! OW! I’ll tell everyone you tried to cripple me before the big reveal!”

“They’ll think you did it to yourself! You DO hurt yourself more often than anyone else in the village.” Mago said, twisting it harder.

“OW! Not on purpose!”

“Why are your lips red?” Mago said, releasing Lupin’s ear. “Wait, you smell like kabacho!”

“No I don’t.” Lupin said with a sly grin, while trying to get some feeling back in that pained ear. “As if you could hold it like THAT for a week.”

“Oh I totally could and would.” Mago said, trying to reach for cousin Lupin’s ear again, but then stopped, noticing the scarf. “I’m happy to see you’re wearing your freaky scarf!”

“It’s not freaky. Long isn’t freaky.” Lupin protested.

“I love it. Coiled around like that, makes it look like you have no neck. Why did Levi make it so long anyway?” Mago asked, grabbing the end of the long, long blue scarf.

Lupin shrugged. “Lev just kept adding lengths to it without stopping, saying I would need it long. Never really gave me a straight answer when I asked why. That was near the end anyway, one of many strange things Lev did. Though I can’t imagine how long it would have been if I hadn’t hidden those last skeins.” A long pause. “How’s Armyn doing?”

Mago shrugged. “Mostly fine, health has deteriorated fast this week though.” A week ago, Armyn was able to walk, but now the shroo infection had moved into the lungs. “Hasn’t gone up to The Ear in weeks.”

Lupin put a hand to Mago’s shoulder then. “So, when’s The Leap?” Both would be without mapas soon, but at least they had each other.

“Soon.” Mago said.

“Well, I’ll be there for Armyn and for you.” Lupin said, with a reassuring smile.

A large crowd encircled them at the town hall then, the suns were about to set, it was time. Everyone around lowered their voices, and watched as the doors to the town hall opened. Lupin gulped. Even a funny-looking scarf wouldn’t be enough to calm Mago’s nerves now. But Lupin always knew what to say in such times. “Let’s go inside, OH Venerable Nose Hair of the Ilk!”

“Hey don’t say that too loud!” Mago chuckled as both entered the building. The crowd cheered, waving flags of blue and shouting their names.

In Volare, there were no mansions or grand palaces. The town hall was an important building, but was modest in size. The walls bore painted murals, images of the Ilk as well as a depiction of their founder and great leader Volare. An embroidered isilk cloth lay over the long table, the one sitting the village’s council members. The cloth bore stylized relief images of clouds and suns. The two cousins now stood before a row of 6 council members. Armyn was sitting on the far left, the elder smiled and waved at them.

“Happy you could join us. Today, our Armyn is retiring from being Voice, after many years of service,” Ence said aloud, smiling at the two Voice candidates. Ence was the appointed speaker for the council.

Armyn bowed a head forward. “I will miss being at The Ear, but my body gave me clear signs that it’s time to let someone else delight in this experience. I’ve learned much of the world through Vol, our Ilk. I’ve no doubt that the new Voice will do grand things. I will be preparing to Leap from the Ilk’s snout in the coming week, I will want to speak to each of you before I go, you, whom I love.” Saying these last words, Armyn’s open hand turned into a fist. “I will take this love with me to my death.”

“We will all bear witness to it, a Leap is a grand thing.” Ence said.

Armyn smiled at this, as did Mago. Lupin remembered when Levi made a Leap off The Snout. The villagers all gathered round to watch, though they remained at the base of The Neck, as the head was reserved for family. After The Leap, Lupin climbed down and was given a seed to sow.

Then, Ence, the councillor began to whistle, and all others in the room chimed in. The song was a re-telling of the history of this city and of its founders. Lupin liked to hear of the moment when the 3 founders, Otora, Balandri and Volare first encountered the Ilks, the three giants were gathered at the foot of a mountain, grazing. Their leader Volare stepped up first, sure-footed, bowing at the hoof of the Ilk they now know as Vol. The story was famous amongst the residents of Volare, but Lupin would listen to it again, and again without tiring of it.

The singing came to a full stop. All in the room quieted. Councillor Ence motioned for Lupin to continue the song in ilken. The candidates always performed the last chorus alone, as proof of their mastery of the language. Lupin did well enough, despite missing a few notes, while Mago’s performance was pitch perfect. There were other tests, which included recitations and improvised verses, again, Mago triumphed. Lupin’s improvisations were noteworthy too, no one else could perform verses on the many ways to cook looma roots.

Then, came the last trial, or rather, a tradition, which consisted of a public reading of their full family tree by the city’s appointed Reader. Every Verido’s skin bore patterns, a series of lines and dots, etched in deep, like veins on a leaf. Few could read them, here in Volare there was Pumra and Rosmus.

“Disrobe please,” Pumra said, standing up and approaching Lupin first. The councillor was short, and had long wispy brows, it was hard to resist reaching forward to tie them up together in a bow. It was likely that Mago had that same thought, a smile danced on both of their mouths. Pumra’s finger traced along Lupin’s body, following the blue lines. “Forgive my Lupin, these hands tremble a great deal more than I’d like,” the elder said in a whisper. “I am troubled. I can’t bear the thought of Pattern Reading being lost to the world. How else will we know to read the names of future younglings?”

“I’ll speak to Rosmus.” Lupin said.

Pumra was relieved to hear this, and gave a light nod to show thanks. The councillor returned to reading, muttering names and words in a hushed voice for some time. “Lupin, Levi, Laggra and Lunav. sproutlings of Volare, same klorea coursing through your veins. Very good.”

Then came Mago’s turn, Pumra followed the patterns, mumbling. The set of wrinkled hands then touched a patch of rough skin, a burn. Pumra looked dismayed. “I cannot read you.” The finger lay on an old wound, carved there, on Mago’s backside. Armyn recalled the event that caused it. Years ago, the Ilk stepped into a deep crevice. The violence of the motion made the city on the creature’s back tremble. Armyn, a hot kettle in hand, lost control and the scalding liquid left a lasting mark on Mago.

“But you know my family! We’ve been at the Ilk’s ear for three generations!” Mago explained, red-faced. “What does it matter if you can’t read it? I speak perfect ilken!”

The other councillors shook their heads, disapprovingly. All present in the room knew the family, as did everyone else in the city. The Verido counsellors were superstitious, and tradition was tradition. Appointing someone with a muddy pattern, they said, would offend the Ilk. At these words, Mago froze. These words shocked Lupin too. Armyn said nothing while the rest argued, they said “muddy” often. Every mention of the word hurt Mago.

Then the council came to an agreement. Pumra spoke up, “Lupin,” Mago’s eyes fell to the floor, avoiding Armyn’s gaze, “you will be the bridge between us and the Ilk.”

Both had undergone the same teachings, but there was never any doubt that Mago would get the role. Can I refuse to be Voice? Lupin wondered. No. Mago would never think of being Voice now, not after what they said. There was nothing to do. The festivities were already beginning. Ence was outside announcing the good news. As per tradition, a ceremonial wreath made of braided isilk hairs was placed upon Lupin’s head, along with the robe worn by all Voices. Lupin wasn’t happy, and could sense the same in Armyn. In an instant, a tiny defect robbed Mago of all purpose.

Pumra led Lupin outside to face the multitude, hands threw fistfuls of curled ribbons in the air and all began to sing. Rosmus stood in the crowd, still in plain clothes, laughing hard, and waving a bottle of half-drunk kabacho.Should have stayed home. Lupin thought.

All in Volare chanted, repeating Lupin’s name like a mantra. The next hour was a blur, a mess of people amassing close and saying kind things. The eldest of each family added a single bead to the wreath, after a while the weight of it was giving Lupin neck pains.

“You speak for us all when you’re up there! We trust in you. May your presence at The Ear grant us many more years on the Ilk’s back.” Pumra said, adding yet another bead to the wreath.

These celebrations were overwhelming for Lupin, but would not last, as it was tradition for the Voice to climb to the Ilk’s ear during the day’s festivities. The people would sing, dance and play games while awaiting Lupin’s return the next morning. Wreath and all, the Voice climbed up to the ear alone, pushing through the tall tangles of hair on Vol’s spine.

After a long climb, the Voice arrived at The Ear. It was a calm day, no wind, all Lupin could hear was the faint noise of music of the happenings in Volare, this and the sound of the Ilk’s breathing. Even after being told many times what to do, or say to the Ilk, standing here now Lupin seemed to have forgotten it all. Before the Voice could say anything, the Ilk spoke. Lupin could hear wind circulating from within its body, and felt it coming up the throat before it pushed out of its mouth. Paying close attention to the length and pitch of each sound, Lupin understood.

“No wind.” The Voice said in ilken, smiling. “I’m sorry. I’m a little nervous.”

Another rush of wind. Vol’s cheeks filled with air and Lupin listened carefully once again, expecting The Great Carrier to say something of meaning, but what Vol did say was this: “The previous voice vomited the first time.”

Lupin laughed long, and hard, but then felt bad. “Sorry, it isn’t nice to make fun. Hey, want to hear a song I wrote?”

Vol’s ear twitched at these words, listening closely. Lupin smiled and pulled out a tiny instrument, it looked like a comb with flexible prongs. The Voice began to play a song with it, the Ilk seemed to enjoy it, its ears twisted at every second note.

They continued speaking after that, as time passed Lupin became more comfortable. The Ilk spoke little of itself, it gave infrequent notice of changes in the weather or the terrain. Lupin spent hours listening to the whistled conversations between it, and the others of its kin. The other Ilks were far away, but wind carried the sound over long distances. There were two other giants in existence, the Ilk of Otora and the Ilk of Balandri, two cities with Verido people.

The morning after the festivities were over Lupin visited Mago’s house, but couldn’t get past the front door. Armyn let no one inside.

Lupin went to see Rosmus instead. The tall-haired Verido was busy putting a pot together, grinding carapace shavings into a fine powder with a giant mortar and pestle. “How was it?”

Lupin smiled. “Amazing. Could have spent ages up there, but um…I’m not feeling too good. I’m worried about Mago.”

“Mago needs time, that’s all.”

“Did you know about the burn?”

Rosmus did not look at Lupin, and continued to pulverize some more shavings, “No. It’s silly isn’t it? This whole thing? Muddy! What nonsense. Mago’s lineage was clear as day.” Rosmus mixed a handful of powder with the juice of a looma root, and began to massage it into shape, gradually adding more water or more powder as needed. “You know, I’m thinking of becoming a travelling potter. I heard Finiku love Verido pottery!”

“You want to leave the Ilk? I thought you were learning how to be a Reader? It’s a dying art Ros, it’ll die with you if you leave.”

“Land-dwellers name themselves, did you know this? Pattern Reading, as it is now, has become a matter of superstition. Vol doesn’t care about patterns or klorealines. We do. We rely on half-baked rituals because we are afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” Lupin asked, but in truth, did not want to know the answer.

“That our future is not certain, and that your presence at The Ear doesn’t guarantee a thing.” While talking, Rosmus had already shaped the ball into a recipient, and was about to start carving shapes onto the outer sides of the bowl, but decided instead to reach into a bag for an object, which was then placed onto Lupin’s lap. “Here, I made you a tea cup.” A braid of isilk was coiled around its handle. “You can tie it to your belt with it, carry it around, maybe have a cup at The Ear. Tea is good for thinking.”

“I already have a tea cup.”

“Yea. I’ve seen it. This one is better.” Rosmus grabbed the cup again, and set it atop Lupin’s head. “It’s a thinking cup. Forces you to look at the world, makes you question everything. If you need to have a long think, fill it with tea and set it atop your head. It works, you’ll see.”

“I don’t need a cup of tea on my head to think,” the Verido said, removing the cup from its perch. “I’ll look ridiculous.”

“No, you’ll appear pensive, which from the outside will make you look smart.” Rosmus said, continuing to crush more powder, amassing enough material for a dozen more thinking cups.

Everyday, Lupin climbed to The Ear. Everyday, with a new joke to tell. This was a challenge that resulted in many sleepless nights, Lupin was busy, hard at work composing jokes suitable for an Ilk. It was possible that they did not have a sense of humour, although some years ago Armyn had mentioned something Vol had said about a grain of sand and a mudbear at a snack bar. Ever since then, the cousins agonized over whether or not it was an attempt at a joke. Thinking about such times made Lupin miss their friendship, they hadn’t spoken in weeks.

“We don’t want to see anyone.” Armyn had said, dishevelled. After the ceremony both went home, and had not been out since. The only person who had dared to visit was Lupin.

“That can’t be what Mago wants.”

“I don’t like what you’re implying,” Armyn said, eyes narrowing down, “you can’t come here everyday.”

“If you’d just let us talk, I’m sure I could help.”

Armyn was upset. “You saying I can’t help my own? A curse has befallen our family and you’re making things worse with your accusations!” The centenarian pushed forward and whispered, “it’s the Ilk.” Armyn said through closed teeth, “it meant for us to fail. Don’t you see? It shook the ground and made me harm Mago! OH! I will die with this pain in my flesh.”

Lupin wanted to cry. Armyn was not well and it was likely that Mago was worse. Was this the end of their friendship? Insisting further at this point would only cause them more harm, Lupin loved them and didn’t want that, leaving was hard but necessary. The Voice thought it was a good time to go to the Ilk’s ear again, Vol had centuries of experience, maybe it could offer some advice.

Every night Mago had dreams about pushing Lupin off the Ilk’s head, the body falling into pieces as it fell. Mago would wake, feeling nauseous and guilty, no amount of positive thinking could chase those horrible images away. Lupin was a friend, getting rid of this rage was more important than grieving. There was no telling how such thoughts could affect Mago’s mind. Already there was an itch there, a dark sludgy patch that was hard at work assimilating Mago’s remaining good thoughts. The only way to get rid of the sludgy patch, was to find Lupin, and to apologize for disappearing. Mago had been a bad friend. It was time to move on, there were plenty of things to do on the Ilk, in fact Lupin had hoped to become a Hand of the Ilk after the ceremony.

That’s right, I could be Hand," Mago thought.

Mago finally left the house but did not find Lupin home. There was a lot of wind that day, it rushed between the buildings, sounding like a long wailing cry, escaping from the mouth of a creature no mortal could appease. Mago gazed up at the Ilk’s head, most of it already engulfed in a thick cloud of dust and concluded that this is where Lupin was.

That morning there had been talk of a desert storm coming this way. People in the city closed their shutters and wrapped scarves around their faces. Mago did not care to prepare, and wanted to talk to Lupin. At the nape of the neck, the Mago tied one end of a braided isil rope around the waist, and the other to a security line. This line ran along Vol’s spine, people used it to make their way up there. The Hands made use of these safety lines often. In recent years, The Voice always carried a device on their backs up to The Ear. This device would serve to protect them, should they fall. It consisted of an extendable crossbar frame attached to a large fabric canopy with four straps running from the ends of the rods to a waist belt.

And so began the long, arduous climb to the head. The wind was stronger going up, but this wasn’t Mago’s first climb in such conditions, and the line system was safe enough. The Verido pushed through angry tangles of Ilk hair, the central line ran right through it. While providing shelter, the hairs gave the climber something else to grab onto. No sand made it in here, though looking up one could see bits of grains whizzing by. Then finally, Mago pushed through the last section of hair and arrived to the top of the head. Lupin stood next to The Ear, although from here, the ear looked like a giant fuzzy plant. It was dark on the outside and pink on the inside. Once in a while the ear would twist, the Voice caressed it, in an attempt to calm the giant. There was little shelter on the head, nothing to keep the sand from grinding you down. Lupin’s head had a scarf, and the shoulders a thick cloak, this of course did not rival the Ilk’s natural physiological adaptations. The beast eyes were cloudy, a third eyelid drew across them and acted as a protective curtain. A lot of particles lay trapped in the beast’s eyelashes too, they too did a good job of keeping the vision clear. The tiny specks looked like insects trapped in a web. Their thick coats insulated them from the intense heat radiated from desert sand, and their gait and wide feet help them to walk without sinking.

The Voice was too busy scanning the horizon for disturbances to notice anyone else was there. Mago was waiting for the right time to step forward, but couldn’t gather the courage to do it. Also, dark thoughts crept into this Verido’s mind. How easy it would be to undo Lupin’s tether, and the wind would take care of the rest!. Mago chased the thought away, horrified. What’s wrong with me?

Finally, their eyes met. Lupin’s yellow eyes showed through small openings in the blue scarf. Mago was anxious, as if somehow Lupin knew about the dream.

Lupin turned round, back to the wind, and moved a bit of scarf away to reveal the smile underneath. This smile was enough for Mago to build up the confidence to make that dreaded, but necessary apology. “I’m sorry I didn’t congratulate you, and that I avoided you.”

“You should be Voice Mago, not me.”

“Please don’t say that.”

“I mean it. Vol keeps correcting my ilken. It’s embarrassing.”

Mago smirked at this, but did not feel worthy of Lupin’s kindness.

“We’re still friends right?” Lupin asked.

They couldn’t continue their conversation. The Ilk let out a groan to warn them of an incoming gust. Both Verido braced themselves for impact, but the wind came fast and strong. Sand swept Lupin up into the air, as a flurry of yellow grain swallowed up the world. Mago stayed put, belly on the ground with hands holding onto the main security line. When the wind died enough to stand up again, Mago hurried and grabbed Lupin’s tether, the air was still thick with sand and made it hard to see. “Hold on!” Mago screamed, but there was a problem, the line was too light, like there was no weight on the other end.

“No, no, no! This can’t be real. It can’t be. They’ll blame me for it, they’ll think I did it!” Mago felt dizzy, and continued to pull. “This can’t be real.” Then came the end of the line, and Lupin was not attached to it. Tears welled up in Mago’s eyes. “LUPIN!”

Continue to Chapter 2