The shaman rose. The motion was seamless, with no shift of weight and no pause between stillness and height. It was unnatural, like water flowing upward. Her shadow grew with her, tall and broken across the wall, with distorted edges that blurred in the orange glare. And then it moved. It followed, drifting just behind her body as the shaman came around the cot. A faint hiss came with her, as she moved towards Yu. It came from the floor. The sound broke Yu’s frozen stare. He looked down but found that her cloak hung quiet. The fabric did not swing or trail. It hardly stirred. The sound did not come from her. Yu realised he heard the stone speak.
His feathers rose. They scraped the wall behind him. The touch startled him. He had stepped back, without knowing. Now there was nowhere left. He was pinned in the corner, furthest from the exit, the last cot hemming him in against the back wall.
The shaman followed. The bone-white mask never broke from him.
“What did you hear, Yu?”
His beak opened. No words came.
The mask tilted, listening to the silence of his fear.
On the middle cot, the selder stirred. It was just a weak sort of squeak, more breath than voice. Yet, it was more than silence. The faint sound rippled across the room, thin as a pebble skimming over a frozen lake. But it did not break through.
The shaman did not turn. She closed the distance and halted in front of Yu.
Yu’s feathers never settled. They stood up straight, every last one. He could not stop it. His head was now directly beneath the hidden maw.
“There was something you wanted to share with us,” she said. “Just before the poor girl woke.”
Yu stared. His beak broke open. Dry air scraped through.
“What?” His voice cracked.
“You spoke of something the Shaira did.”
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