The Way We Fall

Chapter 20 (Roche)

Roche remained carefully limp as she was dragged through the tunnels behind the wall. She couldn't see anything, save for a few flickers of moonlight peeking through cracks in the stone. Those flashes of light revealed jagged stone and the hulking, feathered shadow of whatever was holding her captive. Her mind raced. She didn't know what to do except feign unconsciousness.

"I know you are awake, young Ala." the creature spoke through her inkblood again, its voice somehow vibrating up her veins. The sensation was uncomfortable, and she shivered against it. Then the words registered.

"My name is Roche, not Ala." she replied before she could realise that she was hanging from this creature's mouth. The creature made a wheezy sort of roar sound, and Roche flinched. She whimpered, "Please don't eat me."

"Eat you? Ala, I do not feast on human flesh." the creature hummed. The moonlight had disappeared now, and the ground had sloped. As the creature walked, Roche heard its nails scraping against the rocky ground. The sound was familiar.

"So it's you. You're the one who's been scratching at the library walls."

The beast paused, tilting its head in acknowledgement. The ground flattened out again, and Roche was gently deposited to the ground. Something soft was around her. There was a blinding glow, like two hot coals smoldering in the dark. Roche yelped, pressing back against the rocky wall before she realised it was the creature's eyes. Her inkblood roared in response, like attracting to like. Roche pressed a hand to her chest as a blue orb of light lit up the space, allowing her to see.

"You... you used inkblood." she murmured faintly. Again, the beast tilted its head in agreement. Roche looked down. The soft substance she was on was a large nest of hay, tucked in the corner of the room. The space seemed to actually be a cave that was empty of objects, save for a few melted candles and fuzzy objects that looked like a mix between hairballs and cat toys. There were also large wooden sticks speared into the circular walls, like rungs of a ladder. The wood was heavily marked, like claws had recently rested upon them.

Roche swallowed as she turned to the owner of those claws. The creature was large, filling up a large portion of the dry cave. It had two large, razor sharp chestnut claws that gleamed like they'd been polished. The claws extended into reedy but surprisingly thick legs supporting a large, bird body that was easily ten times Roche's height. The bird-like creature had a dark, onyx plumage. Each feather seemed to glow and shift. Roche closed her eyes, her inkblood tentatively stretching out. She could feel its presence in every damn feather on that bird's body. It vibrated with power. She opened her eyes, squinting. She could see shifting words and runes carved onto each feather. Roche gaped at it.

"Your feathers... they're made of inkblood." she said quietly, drawing her gaze up to the creature's face. It stared back at her, face rimmed with the same feathers that coated the rest of its body. They thinned towards the center of the face, revealing two fiery orange eyes and a flat beak. It tilted its head.

"Astute observation, young one." it tilted its head again, meeting Roche's scrutiny with its own. After several moments, Roche risked inching closer.

"You're beautiful." she murmured, "Why have you hidden yourself in these walls?"

The creature's eyes turned sad. "I am Circe, one of the last Striga. Anywhere else is a danger to me."

"Striga?" Roche repeated. Circe opened their wings, inkblood feathers ruffling lazily. Roche could see that the ends of the wings curled forward reflexively, like fingers might.

"The Strigae were a clan of inkblood beasts, guardians of language. We were the bearers of every tongue, every word and every meaning that connects you humans." Circe snapped their wings closed, creating a breeze so strong that Roche was nearly flattened, "Alas, we were hunted."