12: FOUR BRANCHES

Kihrin showed Thurvishar a rude gesture.

Thurvishar chuckled. “Oh, it wasn’t that bad.”

“Easy for you to say; those weren’t your parents.”

(Kihrin’s story)

We reached a crossroads in the tunnel, four branches stretching out into darkness. The air smelled wet and musty; the temperature a steady balm compared to the heat above. It was still claustrophobic. I found myself glad the tunnels had been originally built to house large carriages; it kept me from curling into a little ball, screaming.

I don’t like enclosed spaces.

Teraeth turned to me. “Which way?”

I shrugged. “Like I know? I lost track when we didn’t take a left turn at Vol Karoth.”

“We could walk in circles if these tunnels connect the wrong way,” Janel said.

No one disagreed with her, but no one had any suggestions either.

“Do you think we’re far enough away for you to open a gate?” I asked Thurvishar.

“Do you want to take the risk if we’re not?” Thurvishar shook his head. “We don’t have anything to use as cover this time.”

Mentioning the sword-dropping chaos storm reminded me of the weapon I still carried. The metal now looked pitted and corroded.

“How long did you say these weapons would last?”

Janel shook her head. “I had thought a few days, but they seem to be degrading faster this time.”

While Janel and I spoke, Thurvishar walked to the crossroads and squatted down, putting a hand on the stone ground. He tilted his head to the side as though listening to something beyond normal hearing.

Thurvishar stood. “South is that direction.” He pointed down the right tunnel.

“How do you know that?” I asked.

Thurvishar gave me a look. “I’m half-dreth.”

“Oh, right.” I knew almost nothing about dreth except they lived underground, but it seemed reasonable they’d be sensitive to direction—a handy talent if one never saw the sky.

I was glad I wasn’t any amount dreth.¹

“We shouldn’t tarry.” Janel walked forward. We followed her, continuing what was starting to seem like an endless trek.

I wasn’t sure when we should stop. We had no way to judge day or night. We’d stop when we were tired.

“Question for you, Janel,” I said, mostly to make conversation.

“Yes?”

“Why is being an old woman a compliment to those morgage? I mean, you told that warrior you hoped he died an old woman and he just blushed at you, like you’d said he was cute.”

“I’m going to scout up ahead,” Teraeth announced.

I frowned at him, although at least Janel didn’t take the opportunity to point out he certainly hadn’t “consulted with the rest of us,” despite his lecture earlier. Teraeth jogged ahead into the dark tunnel.

“It’s a funny thing about morgage.” Janel scratched her chin. “Did you see any little girls back at the camp?”

“I wasn’t paying attention,” I answered. “And I’m not sure I could tell a baby girl morgage from a baby boy morgage.”

“You’ll never have to. Baby girl morgage don’t exist.”

I blinked. “I’m sorry. What was that?”

Janel nodded at my surprise. “Morgage babies are born male. Always. So all morgage children are boys. I know how odd that sounds. It threw me off too.”

Thurvishar cleared his throat. “I hate to be a pedant, but we’ve met morgage women. A new and novel experience for me, although I knew from Kihrin’s transcripts they existed. Bevrosa is undeniably female.”

“Yes,” Janel said, “but she wasn’t born female. No morgage is. All these morgage baby boys grow up into strapping young morgage men, expected to prove their bravery, protect the tribe, attack their enemies, and impregnate as many women as they can, whether said women are willing or not.” She made a face. “That last part isn’t a stellar commentary on morgage culture, lest you think we’ve horribly misjudged them all these years. After they’ve proven their worth and are covered in battle scars, they will settle down and become women. Literally become women. They physically change. And those women lead the tribes—because it’s assumed they have the most experience and wisdom—as well as have more baby boys, this time as mothers. I shudder to think what would happen if a morgage doesn’t want to perform their societal duties, but I shall assume that is also not a fantastic commentary on morgage culture.”

“What?” I actually stopped walking. “No, seriously. What?”

“I’m with Kihrin on this one.” Thurvishar too turned to face her. “What?”

Janel shrugged. “It’s not difficult to understand. Morgage have two biological sexes, but they experience them sequentially. They’re born male, and if they’re lucky, tough, and smart, in various combinations, they’ll die female. To them, this is perfectly normal. Thus, ‘May you die an old woman’—a morgage blessing.”

I blinked and shook my head.

“That’s amazing,” Thurvishar said. “No wonder the scholars at the Academy never deciphered morgage social structures. That’s … that’s stranger than any theory I’ve run across, including old Professor Dogal’s drone theory. Do you know if this trait is a morgage-specific mutation? Were the voramer like this as well?”

I stopped cold.

“You don’t think—” I racked my brain to remember if I’d ever met a male voramer. Not many voramer existed since they’d sacrificed their immortality for the Ritual of Night. Only two, as far as I knew: Thaena and Galava. Both were women. Sharanakal was male, but he was a dragon now. It probably didn’t count.

Thurvishar looked thoughtful. “I wonder how many generations it takes for that particular trait to breed out.”

I met his stare. Thaena had two children besides that dragon: Khaevatz and Teraeth, both half-vané and half-voramer. If being half-voramer was enough …²

I remembered the earlier conversation—okay, argument—between Teraeth and Janel. When she’d been explaining morgage women were always in charge and he’d retorted he knew perfectly well how voramer physiology worked. How angry he’d been and how little sense that had made.

“An auctioneer at the Octagon once offered to sell me a half-morgage girl…” I bit my lip. “But who knows if he was lying.”

“Perhaps it doesn’t always breed true,” Thurvishar suggested.

I swallowed. “You’re saying there’s a chance someday Teraeth is going to … change sex?”

Janel tilted her head toward us as she passed us. “Being female is no curse.”

A whistle sounded from up the tunnel.

“That’s Teraeth,” I said.

We all started running.