Pak

　　When I awake in my prison cell, the air is bright with the glowing dust they call spoli. It seems almost like they have faces. This close, I watch them form intricate spirals and dips in the air. Their movement is deliberate. It`s beautiful&

　　BHUM BHUM BHUM

　　The door shakes. It seems they`ve been waiting for me to wake up. I glance to the slat, where the old stranger was watching me before. Someone else is there now, eyes pale and yellow like winter jasmine.

　　A small door cut out of the bottom of this one scrapes open. My captor pushes a collar and leash through the opening, then shuts it. They still watch me through the slat, waiting for me to don my restraint. I don`t really have a choice. I thread the end through the loop and fix it around my neck, leaving two fingers of space to breathe. The door scrapes inward just slightly. They reach through, beckoning for the leash. I pass them the end, and the door opens all the way, revealing another dark tunnel and two more guards, all dressed in thick leathers. One of them holds out a set of black manacles. They tug my collar. I give them my wrists obediently.

　　With the spoli`s light, I can see their skin clearer than before. They all share a deep greenish hue, like wet, moss-covered stones, and their hair varies as wildly as the flora that lights this place - bright red, pale green, muted beige.

　　*******

　　We emerge into the basin where I fainted before. I breathe heavily through the cloth stuck to my face and keep my head down. They lead me to one of their squat buildings, into a narrow, featureless hall. Nothing decorates the walls. Glowing ivy runs the length of the ceiling, but otherwise the building is as dull inside as it is outside. We stop in front of a solid door, and one of my captors knocks gently. A short phrase later, the door opens from inside.

　　A long table takes up most of the small, windowless room. A single chair with restraints affixed to its arms heads one end of the table, with three regular chairs facing it from the opposite side. I`ve never seen anything like the greenish, spongy wood that makes this furniture, each one a single piece, carved rather than constructed. I keep my head down as we pass the man who answered the door, and he takes his seat in the centermost chair on the other side of the table. The leash-handler leads me to the lone chair and attaches my leash to a loop on the wall, then removes my manacles. The other two guards stay outside. Two new people enter, wearing high-collared, pressed cloth uniforms. The woman carries a board and a strange, spindly pen that looks like a giant spider`s leg. The other carries a plate and a mug, which they set in front of me. They both take their places on either side of the man.

　　Upon the plate rests a single egg, surrounded by a ring of charred hair. My stomach hisses. The man says a foreign word, gesturing at the egg.

　　Eat.

　　The leash-handler unstraps the mask from my face. Thankfully, this egg`s insides don`t crunch in the way the magpie`s did. It has the same texture as any hard-boiled egg. I drain the dirt-flavored water in the mug, and they fasten the mask back onto my face and strap my wrists to the chair`s restraints. The familiar sizzling works its way through my chest, my sinuses and my throat, until I feel my tongue buzzing, and my ears await the secrets of their language.

　　"If you can understand me, nod your head."

　　I keep my eyes fixed on the plate and nod my head.

　　"Excellent."

　　The spider-pen scratches against the board. The muggy air squeezes my skin.

　　"Do you know where you are?" he asks. Goosebumps shimmy up my spine. This man speaks with cold precision, nothing at all like the old stranger`s sad sincerity.

　　"Sort of," I say, my voice gravelly and dry. The spider pen scribbles and scratches.

　　"Elaborate," he says. I steal a quick glance. His face barely moves, like I`m speaking to a stone front.

　　"I`m in the Obsidian," I say. "In an outpost. That`s all I really know."

　　The scribbling and scratching sounds like mice in a wall.

　　"Where did you come from?"

　　"The surface."

　　"Clearly."

　　"Do you think I`m a spy or something?"

　　I wince. Why do I speak without thinking&?

　　Because idiots don`t think.

　　"I have no idea what you are," the man says. "Be more specific. Where did you come from?"

　　"I`m from Iridan." My words thud against the mask. "It`s a big city. I`m not going back."

　　"And why is that?"

　　They hate you, there&

　　"I hate it there," I say. "They wouldn`t let me back in, anyway. They think I`m a spy, too."

　　I flex my wrists, pained by the tight restraints. The interrogator steeples his fingers.

　　"What`s your name, son?"

　　"Why would you call me son`?" I spit, flushing hot. He narrows his eyes.

　　"It`s a term of endearment," he says. "Please answer my question."

　　I look down, feeling the frustrating pressure of building tears.

　　"Pak," I mumble. They share a look. The woman with the pen quirks her eyebrow, whispering something I can`t make out.

　　"Can you repeat that?" the man asks.

　　"Pak."

　　She scrawls furiously. The man scratches his head.

　　"Your full name?"

　　I stay silent. The mask contains my breath, so I`m constantly smelling it, and talking makes it worse. I haven`t brushed my teeth in months.

　　"Tell me your full name, son."

　　"Don`t call me that," I bark. "And that is my full name. Grandmother never told anyone my family name, so I don`t have one."

　　He shifts his gaze towards the transcriber. She mutters something and shrugs.

　　"&Okay," he says. "What brought you to the Obsidian?"

　　"I walked here."

　　"That`s not what I asked."

　　"What do you mean, that`s not what you asked?"

　　I`m scared&

　　I twitch, resisting the voice`s lure. The interrogator sighs.

　　They`re going to kill you, you know.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

　　"I asked why you came to the Obsidian," he says.

　　"No you didn`t. You asked what brought me here. That`s not the same thing."

　　Why don`t you put a stop to it?

　　I whimper. The man sucks his teeth.

　　"Are you being difficult on purpose?" he says, leaning back.

　　"No..."

　　It always goes like this. It doesn`t matter who I`m talking to or where I am. People tell me I`m being difficult when they`re the ones who don`t make any sense.

　　The transcriber whispers something in his ear. He nods, though the stamp of irritation remains on his face. I`m suddenly aware of the collar on my neck. Even though I left two inches of space, it still feels like it`s choking me.

　　"Then let`s try this again. Why did you come to the Obsidian?"

　　"I`m looking for someone."

　　"Ah," he says with a small smirk. "Now we`re getting somewhere. Who are you looking for, son?"

　　"Don`t call me that!" I snap.

　　You look crazy.

　　I grimace, pretending I don`t hear the cold voice`s taunt.

　　"&Right. My apologies," the interrogator says, then clears his throat. He drums his fingers on the table, regarding me closely. The transcriber keeps writing. The third one just watches without saying a thing.

　　"I don`t feel good&"

　　My stomach gurgles loudly, bubbling into my throat. The egg stinks on my breath, and I can`t stop breathing it in.

　　"That is unfortunate," he says. "We can address that after you`ve answered my questions."

　　"I don`t know anything," I say. I belch and groan. It`s becoming too much.

　　"You don`t know who you`re looking for?"

　　Just tell him you`re looking for your dad&

　　"No&"

　　The interrogator folds his hands together.

　　"I really don`t want to escalate our tactics," he says, leaning forward, "but we will extract this information from you, one way or another-"

　　"I don`t care," I say, my head drooping. "Do whatever you want. I`ve been through worse. I don`t know anything useful, anyway, so you`ll just be wasting your time-"

　　I heave, cutting myself off, but nothing comes up besides the aftertaste of nefizzet egg.

　　"You know something," he says. "We`re not fools, child."

　　"I`m not a child&"

　　You sure cry like one.

　　I jerk forward, heaving again, and the collar catches my neck.

　　"T-take this thing off me," I beg. "Please!"

　　My captors share nervous glances. My cheeks puff out as I will the sickness to stay in my stomach. The interrogator nods at the leash-handler, and he frees my face from the mask. It falls to my lap just as spit seeps from my lips, and something chunky splutters in the back of my throat.

　　"Miago, get the boy something to eat," the third person barks. "He won`t be any use to us if he can`t keep the egg down."

　　The interrogator glares to his side, but nods, gesturing at the leash-handler, who promptly disappears through the door. I breathe deeply, swaying, hot.

　　A few minutes later, Miago reemerges with a bowl of soup and a spoon. My mouth gushes. I surge towards it, scooting the chair an inch, but the restraints stop my wrists.

　　"Release his hand."

　　He unstraps me. I bypass the spoon and bring the bowl straight to my lips. The soup is flavorless and cold, but the relief is immediate, like I`ve scratched an itch I haven`t been able to reach for centuries.

　　"All better?" the interrogator says once I`ve drained the bowl. I give a pitiable nod. Miago re-fastens the strap on my arm, but he leaves the mask off.

　　"Excellent," the interrogator says. "I suppose we ought to speed this up, given how much time we`ve lost already. No telling how long that spell will last." He digs into his breast pocket, procuring a folded up paper. My eyes go wide.

　　"Can you read it?" I blurt, gripping the arms of the chair. "What does it say?"

　　They share another perturbed look. The man squints.

　　"I don`t have anyone in my employ who can translate surface Elvish-"

　　"So it looks normal to you? It`s not shimmery or moving around or anything?"

　　He pauses. "Are you suggesting it`s enchanted?"

　　"I`m not suggesting it`s enchanted, it`s obviously enchanted-"

　　You sound ridiculous.

　　"SHUT UP!" I shout at the voice on my right. Miago jumps and backs away. My cheeks flush, ears burning. "The letters shift when you look at them," I say, staring into the empty bowl, reduced to meek babbling. "It`s a secret& It has to be some kind of secret&"

　　The interrogator slowly unsticks his eyes from me and unfolds the letter, inspecting it closely. He tilts it up and down, side to side, then passes it to the others, who do the same. When they`re done, he folds it up and puts it back in his pocket, offering a tight-lipped smile.

　　"How about this, then?" he says. "I`ll have my people reproduce the symbols they can see, and we`ll give you a copy to read, on the condition that you do so aloud, in front of myself and my assistant. Does that seem fair?"

　　I sway left to right, my feet bobbing on the ground.

　　"Okay&"

　　He nods and stands. "Take him back to his cell."

　　Miago unstraps me, unhooks the leash from the wall, and leads me away, flanked by the other two guards. In my cold, rocky cell, I lay and watch the spoli dance, but I`m far too excited to nap. I get to read my mother`s letter. I`ll finally hear her voice...

　　Kano & Cabbage

　　 I am eggshells in your breakfast

　　sticky stains on your clean floor

　　I`m your favorite broken necklace

　　kept around but never worn

　　I`m the wilting rose

　　The dirty water in the vase

　　I`m the door that doesn`t close

　　I let the chill into this place

　　*******

　　Kano sat huddled up in the corner of a small cavern, reading by the light of the sputtering flame on his thumb. It was all he could muster. After weeks spent in the Obsidian, where food was scarcer and more disgusting than in the Wilds, his spirit had diminished to nearly nothing. He scratched at his arms repetitively, compulsively, until tiny beads of blood broke through where his skin had thinned.

　　"Proooh," Cabbage advised, watching the half-human with his ears cocked to the sides. The light vanished. Kano deflated, clutching the poetry book to his chest.

　　"Are we almost there?" he whimpered, eyes shining in the dark.

　　Cabbage huffed, feathers bristling. He knew that the mortal was deteriorating, and it wouldn`t be much longer before he broke down entirely. The soothing power of his purring and licking and kneading seemed to have reached a point of diminishing returns. Kano even brushed him away at times, as if annoyed by his tactics. And though he could keep him alive with mushrooms and trickles of water, it wouldn`t do them any good if he didn`t want to be alive. So to tell him the truth - that they weren`t almost there at all, not by a long shot - would only suffocate the weak glimmer of magic the half-human had remaining. And once the magic was gone, his life wouldn`t be far behind.

　　"C-Cabbage?" Kano said, his voice simmering with panic.

　　"Proooh," Cabbage replied, doing his best not to sound defeated.

　　"Are we almost there?" he repeated. "Um& lick once for yes, twice for no, p-please?"

　　Cabbage shut his eyes. He hated to lie, but perhaps it was a blessing that the half-human couldn`t see the hesitation in his face. He took a hop closer, hovered over Kano`s hand, and gave one solid lick, smacking his lips after to clear the dirt from his tongue. As Kano`s shoulders relaxed, Cabbage saw the dim sparkle of his innate magic brighten ever-so-slightly - a temporary solution, but it was better than nothing.

　　"Mrrrooh?" Cabbage said, tugging lightly on Kano`s sleeve. Kano grunted, but nodded, groping for his guitar case so he could tuck the book away.

　　The two continued down the winding caverns, following Cabbage`s lead. Thankfully, the cat-owl could navigate by the light of all the living things that made up the Obsidian`s ecosystem. Following traces of magic was easy for a creature native to the Dream. All life exuded it, and Cabbage`s eyes were fine-tuned to see the whorls of light and color invisible to most mortals.

　　Kano had to stumble in near-total darkness, following the sounds of his little friend`s feet pattering on the ground. The caves occasionally graced his eyes with swatches of glowing fungi, but it was never enough to travel by. It only reminded him that he was not blind, and that the world did still have beauty for him to behold.