In the middle of the town was the church. The grey stone building was the oldest building in the town, its foundation, even. It was made of thick smooth cut stone walls, with a wide base and over a dozen metres tall. The entire structure was shaped like a pyramid, and on each of the four points stood a heavily engraved obelisk. No one could read what was on the obelisks, the best they had was scraps of written accounts; some theorised that they were the same as the ones Altus used on his weapons. Within was a bare space with a brazier tucked into each corner to heat the space and stone. Without further decoration the grey stone floor or the walls. On one side was a recess where the active armoury was kept and opposite from it a long term food storage. The floor was also engraved and where Hema stepped little flows of red energy matching her tattoos glowed around her feet.
Across the room from the entrance was a triangle, in which stood the three gods of the Itarus. Noturene, Mortagen and Chimeral, of the three of them only Noturene appeared as one figure. Her statue was made of black stone that consumed all colour. She took the shape of a woven Itarus without animal features, she was voluptuous with ripe breasts and broad child barring hips. Long silver locks of hair flowed around her in curls that defined gravity. Her skin was painted with layer upon layer of stars, nebulas and branches of galaxies. Her sphere was the night itself, she watched over them while they worked throughout the dark hours.
On another point of the triangle was Mortagen. Unlike Noturene, Mortagen had two statues in one spot. One was male and the other female, both heavily armoured in lamellar armor, each with a spear in one hand and a hammer in the other. They were joined at their backs, with their spears crossed behind them. Mortagen had a long face regardless of which sex was depicted, like Noturene Mortagen had white hair and rubies for eyes.
Lastly was Chimeral. Unlike the other two he did not have a preferred sex. Noturene was always female, Mortagen changed based on what she was doing, but he appeared as a rebis. Half male, half female with a man's face but lean and feminine. Like Noturene, Chimeral appeared nude, with white hair and red eyes.
Out of the three of them, Hema disliked Chimeral the most the Mantle at the back of her head always responded in a snarl at the sight of him. She could guess why a rebis was a perversion of the natural order. For a rebis was not a thing that could exist, to be a rebis was to be a person made through magic. All she knew was that Chimeral had been two people at one point, one ancient Itarus female and another male. Who had been cleaved in half and sewn together. It went against the both the Mantle of ?veni and her mate Herne. ?veni governed the wilds below and birth, while Herne governed the wilds above and fertility. Between the two of them they were the Incarnations of the natural order. Someone who flaunted them just because he could was of course their foe. However Chimeral was one of the big three, a proper God. ?veni and Herne were only Incarnations, thus not even playing on the same level of sheer power, time and belief behind them that a God held. If they had been proper Gods, Hema had a feeling at least one past ?veni would have tried to usurp Chimeral.
Out of pettiness Hema ignored his statue and set about shining one of Nyx’s feet instead. She set her bucket out of the way and sat on the edge of the pedestal. The church was made of thick grey stone with several brasiers equally placed throughout. Like most of the houses it was heated with a missionary heater and the stone held the heat all the better. It was one of the warmest buildings in the village, with the only other expectation being the bath house. At this late hour no priests or priestesses were around, they were probably out patrolling the edge of the towns territory. They were the village's best warriors, the ones that could call the power of the gods with the most reliable success.
The airlock opened and Venrel stepped in. He hung his coat on a rack, then removed his boots and trousers leaving only a base layer of linen against his skin. Hema was dressed in the same manner, with the temple being so warm you didn’t want to run the risk of sweating.
“Hello Venrel,” she said with a wave of her free hand.
“Hi Hema,-” As he walked over and stretched his brown-red wings. They almost filled the space twice over his own height when stretched to their apex. “-you’re early,” he said.
“Couldn’t sleep,” she said. Her mind was too full of magic lessons and wanting to explore more the below. That little trip she did with Stands-at-the-North-Wall was imprinted onto her mind and set a longing in stone.
“Too cold,” Venrel asked.
“Maybe, I thankfully don’t have to share my bed with my siblings but it can be a bit chilly at times.” Hema said.
“I get lonely sometimes, with these big things no one wants to sleep with me.” Venrel said and puffed his wings up. “But they do keep me warm.”
Hema had always liked his wings, they reminded her of the patterns of Herne’s fur. “More the fools them,” she said.
He blushed and said, “Takk. I’ll start on Mortagen.” With a few quick flaps he launched himself into the air and landed on the aforementioned deities arms. He fetched a rag out of the bucket he had slung on a belt and began to scrub at her helm.
Venrel was her age and they often had overlap in their jobs. As a bird woven he was to frail for many of the usual jobs that required great strength. Instead he did the less intensive manual labour of her size class. Together they gathered ice, swept chimneys, cleaned the church and worked the furs and wools used to make clothing. He was useful for many of these tasks as a little casual flight went a long way and he could do so while expending less energy then it took for Hema to float around as maple leaves.
“Corven is due, are you going to attend the birth?” Venrel asked.
“Probably,” Hema said. “My mother has been teaching me how to help. She’s had the most out of all the women in the village now and as her eldest it has been deemed that I need to learn how to deliver for when she is busy.”
“That’s an honour, but you don’t sound happy about it,” he said.
The mantle pricked the back of her mind. Through prayers ?veni had managed more births than any single nurse maid could ever hope to in her lifetime. Hema couldn’t hear the prayers yet, given that the mantle had only just awoken and an ?veni did not have access to all their gifts without Herne to aid in the process. Otherwise any old ?veni could well... pull a Cinder and murder half the female population on the planet. Locks and safeguards on the powers were only logical. Hema did not begrudge the mantle holding back most of its gifts till a much later date. Besides after the Cinder incident she was sure the general population would not like a young full powered ?veni without any restraints.
She scrubbed at the statue’s knee. Hema said, “it’s not that I’m not happy about it. I just want to do more, learn more and I’m learning more cellular control once I master that I’ll be able to heal anything that could go wrong.”
“Mastery can take decades though,” Venrel said. “And as a nurse maid you’ll have endless opportunities to improve.”
“Yes but I want to learn to be a surgeon or a doctor, not just a nurse maid,” Hema groused.
Venrel hummed as he kept on scrubbing. “Well you won’t learn such things here. Outside of getting lucky and talking a caravan doctor to leave it.”
“I know. I’ll have to go to the city,” Hema said. “I’m already making cheeses that I will trade for tea. I’ll need it for proper trading in the event I can travel.”
“When do you want to go?” Venrel asked.
Hema pursed her lips, she couldn’t outright say that she was waiting for Herne to appear. Her parents were the only two in the village that knew she was the next ?veni. Her eyes were a warm golden in the sunlight but such a sight almost never occurred. Instead she said, “Not for a few years at least. I need to finish growing and learning everything there is to learn here. Besides my combat abilities are uh lack lustre, to leave before they are better would be suicide.”
“Uh yeah, I hate combat practice. Give me a needle and thread any day,” he said.
Hema paused and looked up at him. “I’ve see you hit people with your wings so hard it cracked their ribs. And your wings were fine.”
“I’ve learned density manipulation,” Venrel said. “Or rather I am practicing it. Being casually breakable is annoying at best.” He puffed up his feathers and said, “Someday I shall be the sturdiest bird around.”
She smiled at that and said, “I hope you manage it. Maybe you will visit me in the city.”
“I would like that, with these wings I am sure I could get a better job then just minding chores. Not to disrespect the necessity of chores, it’s just. I can fly, it seems a shame not to use them,” Venrel said with a little flutter of his wings.
“Maybe after we are done polishing if there is time and no one has appeared we could spar?” Hema offered.
That had them finishing the their task with vigour. When done they set their buckets and rags aside before taking off their linens and hanging them with their coats. They both didn’t enjoy doing laundry and weren’t about to make more for themselves. It was much easier to clean themselves then it was to clean fabric.
Venrel lead the way to the armoury, it was a large square room filled with many different types of weapons. Primarily polearms, shields and hammers as they were the best for most Sorrow confrontations. Hema picked out a thrusting shield as wide as she was at her shoulders. It had narrow blades on either end, she felt the leather guards on those and made sure they were secure. Venrel picked out a poleaxe.
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Hema grimaced at the thought of having to block a hit from that. “Oww,” she grumbled.
“Oh come on, I need practice with these and you need practice taking a hit.”
“Assuming you hit me,” Hema said.
He cocked a brown brow at her.
Hema stuck her tongue out at him and lead the way back to the main room. She rotated her shoulders and stretched her neck. “Nothing to hard please,” she said.
“At least not on purpose,” he confirmed.
Hema shifted her shield onto her left side, the underside of the shield had a single long bar running its length. Her left hand went to the middle position while her right was towards the end of the bar on her right side. This position kept the shield diagonal across her front and her elbows safely behind it.
Across from her Venrel was doing the same careful positioning. His first weapon set had been a round shield and axe, thus wasn’t comfortable with the poleaxe yet. Hers had been the same but it was expected to master at least three weapon types by eighteen. Hema normally paired a spear with her thrusting shield but for ‘for fun’ practice like this she wanted to focus on improving her abilities with it.
Venrel flared his wings for a moment before he pulled them tight to his back. “Call it if you see me loosening them, I know it’s a bad habit I have.”
“You do beg to have them get stabbed sometimes,” Hema said. “Okay, I’m ready. Not to fast, I want to work on my form.”
“Sure, I should do the same.”
Like Hema, Venrel had left the leather cap on his weapon. She forced herself to relax but a tight knot of excitement coiled in her belly. He swung his poleaxe in and Hema neatly lifted her shield tidily and blocked. The impact rang her arms and she took a half step back and swung her shield up. Not that it mattered the pole-arm and his considerable height advantage had him only shift his shoulder back and out of the way.
They engaged again, building up speed and tempo. Hema forced herself to block and parry rather than step out of the way. Against a pole-arm her only advantage was her lack of height but that required proper positioning which she was not moving into in favour of practice. The usual ring of steel was muted by the leather protecting themselves and their weapons.
He feinted, throwing her off with a quick switch and pull of hand placement. Hema almost yipped and jumped back. “Drat!” she cursed.
“Your shield is always in front of you, you should have managed that,” Venrel said.
“You would have caught my edge,” she said. “Then throw me wide.”
“Yup, on your fluffy tail,” Venrel said.
She waved said fluffy tail. “And then I would make you brush it,” she said.
“Only if you do my feathers,” he countered.
“Deal, let’s go again.” Hema said. “No holds barred.”
He nodded and stretched his wings once before he pulled them back in. This time when he swung Hema shot forward he moved with her, and made her arms ache with the impact but she tossed her shield upward and ran down the length of the poleaxe. Venrel’s wings flared as he tossed himself backward with a single beat.
“No flying!” she called out as much as shouting wasn’t allowed but who would know? Hema swung the bladed point at him in an under hand strike. He parried on the reinforced shaft. With her two bladed points she had the advantage of surprise, she punched downward and Venrel had to yank his foot out of the way to avoid getting stabbed. Hema barely saw the shaft, but she pulled her shield to her left but the impact still sent her staggering.
Hema retreated, her arm was aching and she took the distance to switch to make her right arm dominant. She lost the distance advantage but needed the moment to adjust. Venrel came in after her, wings flared as he swung in.
“Wings,” she called out and moved her shield just in time to block.
Venrel snapped his wings back to his back. Their weapons met with a loud ring. Hema lunged forward, Venrel stepped back but she released the upper hold of her shield and shoved forward to strike his cheek. His tattoos that roamed over his chest and shoulders like her own were feathers that glowed a soft bronze as he healed the bruise. He swung down in an overhand chop.
Seeing as magic was on the table she dissolved into maple leaves.
“Hey!” Venrel pouted and swung his poleaxe back and forth through the cold. He huffed and moved his weapon to rest out of the way.
Hema pulled herself back together and swished her tail. “You started it.”
“Come on, once more properly you know how I hate sweating.”
They moved back to the centre of the church and Hema settled into a ready position. She let him open, and they had a quick exchange with bangs resounding back and forth as neither gave ground. Sweat clung to their skin and Hema ducked another wide swing but he pulled a quick reverse and she caught the back point of his weapon and her thrusting shield. She saw the bronze glow a moment too late and was tossed to the ground.
Venrel set his weapon over his shoulder to balance it and offered his free hand. “You should have won that,” he said.
Hema took it and he pulled her to her feet. “I forgot to pay attention to your tattoos for a second and the shield can block my view if I’m not careful.”
“Once in a caravan I saw a shield with a crystal section. It looked like it was made for someone considerably taller than you though,” he said.
“I don’t have the tea for such a purchase,” Hema said.
“But something to aspire too.”
“True, let’s put these away and go bath. And yes I will do your feathers,” Hema said.
“Muhahah!” He cackled and fluttered his massive wings.
Hema had a sudden sense of impending doom, there were many hundreds of feathers to work through after all. They put their weapons away, by then their skin had become cool and clammy. Rather than dress they grabbed their clothes. Walked into the airlock, braced themselves and charged out.
Screaming was taboo if the village, so Hema held back the shout as she ran for her all her worth. The freezing cold bit at her flesh but all Itarus save the unwoven had a natural resistance to it. Not enough to go around naked all the time but enough to bolt through the village. Venrel leapt into the air his wings beating hard as he soared through the air. Hema found it utterly unfair but her bare feet were great for keeping her balance. The dry cold sapped the sweat from her skin as she bolted, making her even more chilled. Around her the village was cast in a bright white as the moon and ring of the planet filled it with light.
A few other villagers saluted her with a fist to their chest as she raced by them. It was considered good battle practice to do this at least once a month. You never knew when Sorrow’s would attack and you had to be able to fight in any form of undress. She almost slipped on a bit of ice but her tail helped her recover as she scrambled. Outside the bathhouse were many lines of frozen laundry. The dry air and cold actually made for excellent drying of laundry. Venrel opened the bathhouse door as she came streaking around the corner and she charged straight inside only to be scooped by one of his wings as he spun on the spot to bleed off her momentum.
The bathhouse was hot and steaming. Her skin broke out into goosebumps as the two temperatures conflicted and it felt like it was burning. “Ow ow ow,” she whimpered and shoved her face into Venrel’s feathers.
Venrel swept her in and knelt on the ground. He brought her limbs in and hugged her tight, but virtue of male he produced more heat than her. He maximized their skin contact and kept his wings tight around around her. Between the steaming room and Venrel the pain quick ebbed as the cold was forced from her body. She rested her forehead against his neck as she came down from the high of the run and the pain of warming up again.
“I’m okay now,” she said.
The hawk man lowered his wings but held her enough to support her as she cautiously worked to stand on her own again. Pin and needles shot up her legs but the more she pressed down the more they waned. Venrel stood up but kept a hand on her waist in case she faulted. He said, “your toes are still a bit white.”
“Mhm,” she bit her lip to help manage the stabs of pain from them.
Another woman about fifty years Hema’s senior thus still in her youth added another cord of wood to a iron copper. “If you two are going to be in here, I am going to deliver some laundry.” she said as she grabbed a wooden round basket and left them.
Like the church the bathhouse was one of the oldest buildings in the village. Unlike the church it was the shape of an almond and ten metres long and five wide at it’s broadest point. It was built in two layers. A single massive masonry heater dominated the middle with an ornate branching system through the ceiling and floor that carried it’s heat through the whole building. The floor was made of stone with the same densely packed runes as the church, which also took on a soft glow matching the magic of the Itarus’ who was in contract with it. Between these skeletal branches were walls made out of round logs, densely packed together to absorb moisture. Outside of this was a thick layer of moss, shit and grass that made a hard well insulated outside. It was custom that the heater in the bathhouse never went out. In times of great cold, people would leave their houses and gather in the church and bathhouse.
Within it were several metre tall wash coppers in iron. With the underground farms, metal was extremely plentiful so they used iron instead of copper. There were large wooden tubs both for laundry washing and bathing. On the walls hung rags, brushes while shelves had bars of soap and other cleaning supplies.
Her toes were feeling better so she walked to a copper and with Venrel’s help began to pail out boiling water into a wood long tub. It was his preferred because he could sit at the front and extend his wings back for someone to comb. She studied what was left when they were done paling. “We’re going to have to go cut more ice tomorrow,” she said unhappily.
“Blaa,” Venrel grumbled and helped himself to a rag and soup block. “I hate leaving town.”
“Me too, but we’re not busy and father would say it’s good upper body exercise,” Hema said. Tentatively she stepped into the tub and it burned her feet so good, pain and the pleasure of the heat made her flinch but she mastered herself and sat cross-legged at the back of the tub.
Venrel sat at the other end and dropped his wings downward so they were horizontal then brought them in so Hema could start combing his feathers. This she enjoyed, his feathers were soft under the longer barbs. He washed his skin while she worked. With many years of practice under her belt, she worked through his lower wings quickly then moved up the tub to sit behind him. The feathers closer to his back were smaller and softer, so it took her more time to comb through them.
“Okay I’m finished. Pass the tail,” Venrel said.
Hema turned so her hip was against his back and swept her tail into his lap. She sagged in enjoyment as he began to gently brush her tail. They settled into mutual grooming, till breakfast approached and they had to return to their respective families to begin preparing for it.
