Kunas
The moment that the four of them stepped into the cave, the smell hit.
“Breaker’s balls,” choked Captain Hunt as he covered his face with his hand. “What is that?”
It was like being splashed in the face with sulfur, and Kunas nearly gagged.
“Chovathi,” Ohlez said, his words muffled by a cloth shemagh he’d put over his mouth and nose. “Awful things. Don’t bathe much.”
Kunas wasn’t sure that hygiene had anything to do with the overpowering stench that filled the cave; he thought it had more to do with how many Chovathi were gathered inside. Before he could voice his opinion, though, their guide growled at them from up ahead.
“Quiet,” Khaz said. “No talk. Follow.”
Though the sunlight waned outside, being inside the cave made it seem as if night had fallen hours ago. It was as dark as a Gwarái’s scales, and Khaz was leading them deeper into the heart of the nest, only stopping when they lagged behind. Once, Captain Hunt had mumbled something about not wanting to be there, and Khaz had rumbled a second warning about being quiet. The rest of the way was spent in silence.
Khaz
Zhala had been in his mind ever since they’d set foot in the cave, and he could feel her distrust of the humans. The two of them had been conversing back and forth in his mind, and he had found himself having to quiet the humans at least twice now. He couldn’t pay attention to them and Zhala at the same time, and it would just be easier to make them be quiet.
I do not like them being here, Khaz, his matriarch said. The nest is sacred. No one from the outside has ever seen it—never should see it.
Need to show trust, Khaz retorted, and humans can help us.
He felt Zhala agree, but the feeling of her discomfort did not change. There were still strangers in her home, and she was unlikely to change her opinion of them anytime soon. So he kept walking, kept moving toward the center of their cave where the heart of the brood lay.
Theirs, the Xua’al, was large by most standards: Zhala, their brood matriarch, controlled the six broodmothers, who in turn controlled hundreds of broodlings beneath them, warriors and scouts alike. It was the broodmothers that were the real strength of the Chovathi race: they were the ones who could be torn limb from limb to make new, viable Chovathi whenever they were needed. Any other Chovathi created from the sundered limbs of another would not live more than a day—long enough to be useful in escaping combat, but they would simply wither and return to the earth before long. It was the Chovathi born of the broodmothers that had lives of their own. So, while warriors like Khaz had their roles, it was the broodmothers that helped the clan thrive and the matriarch who kept them alive. Neither he nor Zhala knew if the humans knew that, but he did share his matriarch’s concern for the clan just from letting them in. But if it came down to it, Khaz knew that the secret he held inside of him would keep his clan safe, or at least ensure their survival. As long as one of them remained, the Xua’al would live on.
Yet, as they walked into the expansive heart at the center of their cave, he only felt Zhala’s unease grow. Each of them could sense that there was danger, but there was simply no way to tell where it was coming from—or when.
Kunas
The deeper in they got, the stronger the smell became; it seemed to thrive in the darkness somehow. Hunt had already stopped to retch twice on the way in, and was now doubled over to share some of the contents of his stomach with the cave’s floor. Ohlez had tightened his shemagh again, and both Jerol and Kunas had tied cloths to their faces to try to block the smell.
“I can’t take this anymore,” a frustrated Hunt said as he wiped his mouth.
“Then do something about it,” said Jerol, motioning to the cloth that hung down below his armor. “You’ve got a knife.”
“I’d rather plunge it into my neck at this point,” Hunt said, doing his best not to choke again.
Khaz was a good deal ahead of them, and Kunas wondered why he wasn’t immediately chastising them for talking again.
Then he saw it.
The Chovathi had stopped at the end of a corridor ahead of them, his outline barely visible in the darkness of the cave. On either side of him were stalagmites jutting up from the floor, getting taller as they moved away. As Kunas got closer, he could see that there were stalactites on the ceiling high above that did the same. It was almost as if they were a set of giant jaws, large enough to swallow an entire army of men in a single bite. He paused to consider that that was just what it might have been, and he stopped walking as a hollow feeling grew inside of him. The firm hand of Captain Ohlez broke him out of his trance.
“The faster we get there,” the G’henni said, “the faster we can leave.”
Kunas couldn’t argue with the logic. He didn’t like being around the Chovathi any more than he had to, especially enclosed in a cave with no easy exit. He walked on to join their Chovathi guide, standing on a ledge that jutted out from the cave wall, opening into a vast, rocky chamber.
The chamber was dimly lit by phosphorescent plants, giving off an eerie blue glow and allowing Kunas to see around. Looking up, he suddenly wished that were not the case, because nothing could have prepared him for the sight before him when he stepped into the heart of the nest.
For there, on the far wall of the cave, was an impossibly huge Chovathi.
A Chovathi that seemed to be growing out of the rock itself.