“I got freedom. I got a lady. I got a cause I'd die for.”
Biography
As mercurial as he is charming, Rakan is an infamous vastayan troublemaker and the greatest battle-dancer in Lhotlan tribal history. To the humans of the Ionian highlands, his name had long been synonymous with wild festivals, uncontrollable parties, and anarchic music. But this energetic, traveling showman has left his old life behind, dedicating himself to the cause of his lover, the rebel Xayah. Together, they seek to free Ionia’s wild magic, restoring the vastaya’s birthright.
The Lhotlan vastaya once lived on the ancient, mystical borders of Ionia’s deep forests, on the eastern island of Qaelin. It was a place where magic was breathed like air, and time had little meaning. To these chimeric creatures, the lands of mortals were an unforgiving desert, virtually devoid of magic—and over the centuries, that desert only grew, encroaching on the vastaya’s territories.
Rakan was born into a tribe in decline, yet he never gave up hope.
Like his brethren, Rakan watched as human settlements continued to expand, damming the flow of Ionia’s wild, chaotic magic for their own safety. Many tribes sent emissaries to negotiate with them, securing treaties to protect the mystical energy the vastaya needed to thrive. Yet over and over again, these promises were broken.
Disillusioned, most vastaya became increasingly isolationist as they clung to their remaining lands. But young Rakan advocated a different path. The battle-dancer believed that mortals could be convinced to let wild magic run free if they could only appreciate its beauty, and he boasted that he was the one to make them see it. For this, he was labeled mu’takl—distrusted as a human sympathizer, and collaborator.
Rakan left the Lhotlan tribe, determined to spread the song of his people across Ionia. He was an entertaining rogue, a welcome performer at any tavern or village carnival, but over the years he realized that was all he was to mortals—no matter how many dances and songs he performed, no matter how much he enthralled the crowds, he merely provided diversion to drunken revelers.
Rakan grew restless, finding himself without purpose... until he had a chance encounter with Xayah, a fellow Lhotlan, at the harvest festival in Vlonqo.
Seeing her in the crowd, Rakan sang one of his old songs, entrancing the entire town with his gleaming plumage. Though countless human and vastayan women had fallen for him in the past, this violet raven seemed immune to his charms, though not uninterested.
How could she see him and yet choose not to follow him? It was a puzzle with no easy answer.
Intrigued, the battle-dancer approached Xayah and asked after the welfare of their tribe. When she told him that the Lhotlan had lost the last of their lands, Rakan howled with rage. This finally seemed to impress Xayah, and she assured him that there was still hope: she was part of something greater, a rebellion of sorts, to take back what the vastaya had lost. Not just for the Lhotlan, but for all tribes.
Rakan was thunderstruck. Here was a chance for him to redeem his people, a cause he was willing to die for. He implored Xayah to let him accompany her, and she agreed—as long as he carried his weight.
And, as Xayah would soon learn, Rakan’s dances were as impressive in battle as they were on stage. He called himself the greatest battle-dancer in Lhotlan history, a boast that none could refute. His grand entrances and dazzling acrobatics distracted and befuddled enemies, before Xayah felled them with her razor-sharp quills. In any dangerous situation, they fought together with uncanny harmony.
During their travels, Rakan became fascinated by how Xayah interacted with the world. She seemed always prepared, aloof, and focused... whereas he was absent-minded, affable, and lacking seriousness. Although Rakan would often forget her carefully laid plans, he made up for it with his ability to read the emotions of others, using charisma and insight to persuade them. The two vastaya were so different, and yet they achieved great feats, each one’s strengths complementing the other’s weaknesses.
Soon enough, Rakan couldn’t imagine life without Xayah, and it was clear that she felt the same for him. The pair pledged themselves to each other in the midst of a raucous tavern brawl.
Yet they did not see eye to eye in all things. Where she viewed the world as black and white, with mortals always the enemy, he had more compassion, and believed some of them were redeemable. Despite this difference, Rakan was certain that his and Xayah’s love for each other would bear them through the storms that lay ahead.
Through Xayah, Rakan has found purpose. Inspired by his partner’s singular drive, Rakan has made her crusade his own, and together they will fight to reclaim the First Lands for the vastaya.
Nothing Rhymes With Tubebow by Odin Austin Shafer
“Two paths lead to the monastery fortress from the villages below it,” Xayah begins.
I follow her eyes and see a pair of golden stairways that stretch down from the mountain temple to the farmhouses below. Each wood-woven home probably has a whole family inside it. There, mortals are born, die, and—most importantly—create new songs.
Probably with harps and drums. Maybe flutes? I should make a reed flute later. First, I need to fluff my cloak. Did I remember to clean my feathers? The town below must have an inn. A bottle of wine would be great right now.
“Rakan…” Xayah says.
Crap. She was telling me the plan. I focus back on her face, on her crooked smile. The sunset’s last rays reflect in her eyes. I love her eyelashes. I want to—
“Repeat it back to me.”
Something in the monastery. She was… Uh…
“I rendezvous with you at…” I say, but I’ve already lost the thread. I pull at one of the feathers on my head, hoping to pluck the idea from it.
A tiny shimmer of light glistens from her scrumptious bottom lip. Are her lips purple today? They were violet yesterday.
“They will kill me if they catch me,” she says.
The shock of the thought takes my breath. I feel my face twist into a snarl. “Who?!” I demand.
“The guards,” she replies. ”It’s always guards.”
“Then I’ll distract them! When?”
She points to the sky. “Look for a green flash before the sun sets. Then draw the guards away from the western walls while I run along the ramparts to the cells.”
“I put on a show the moment the sun sets,” I say. “Where do we meet?”
“At the gate. I’ll throw a golden blade into the sky. But you have to be there in ten breaths,” Xayah says, plucking a feather from my cloak.
“I will be at that gate the moment you throw the blade,” I say. Nothing in my life is more certain than that.
“I know.”
She nods, and begins telling me the safest path to take. She plans things, which is why I know she will be okay. Wow, the sky is gorgeous right now. That cloud is shaped like an eggplant. I saw a dog once…
I do not like these steps. I do not like them. The gold leaf covering the stone is almost the same color as my feathers. It’s infuriating. I consider changing their hue, but it would take some magic. Damn, I can’t be tired when she needs me. Xayah probably sent me this way knowing my plumage would blend in here. A red cape would look better against these steps. Maybe indigo? What’s around this corner?
More steps. Only humans would cut stone into flat shapes to make a mountain boring! I should climb the cliff. Xayah said to take the steps… I’m pretty sure.
I pick up some pebbles and begin to juggle them. I hear the magic writhing north of me, within the twisting roots of the Lhradi Forest.
The forest’s song finds its way into my head, and I begin to sing it.
“What was that?” a voice echoes from above.
An entry way! A human guard appears. His clothing is dark as shadow.
“Who are you?” he demands.
“I am Rakan!” I reply. How can anyone not know that?
“Who?”
I don’t like him. I hate him more than steps.
“I am Rakan! The battle-dancer of the Lhotlan tribe. I am the song of the morning. I am the dance of the midnight moon. I am the charm that—”
“It’s that vastayan entertainer,” another guard interrupts. He too wears boring clothing—clothes I haven’t seen in this area before.
The first guard wears a shiny golden amulet on his chest. I snatch it from him.
“Hey!”
“What’s this?” I ask. He doesn’t deserve this. Whatever this is.
He grasps for it, but I flip it around my hand while still juggling the pebbles in the other.
“Give me that!”
I flick each stone into his face.
“No,” I say. Then, as innocently as I can, I ask, “Is it important?”
He draws a pair of hook-swords. I take one away from him before he can raise them.
“Open the gate, I’ll give you back this… uh… shiny thing,” I offer as I twirl his amulet in my palm, and then send it spinning up my arm.
Instead, the rude fool swings at me! I flip over his attack, and land behind him. He turns to slash again. I dive under his blade, using my rear to knock him off balance. He falls down the steps with a scream.
The other guard watches his friend tumbling away, then looks back to me. I shake my head at him.
“Honestly, how could anyone not know who I am?”
This one stabs at me with his spear. I twist past him, allowing my feathered cloak to envelop him for a moment. Blinded, he stumbles and trips over himself. He falls onto his shield and shoots down the stairway with a clack-clack-clacking sound. Well, until he crashes into his friend on the first landing.
The impact sends them both sprawling. I laugh. Now I get steps.
“You are terrible dancers,” I say as I check my cloak for dirt.
The two people stumble to their feet, glaring up at me.
“You okay?” I ask, thankful for the amusement.
They roar as they rush up the steps. Ungrateful bastards.
I leap away from them and ask, “Wanna know the difference between a party and a fight?”
They slash at me with their weapons again and again.
“One is an entertaining day,” I say as I send them back down the stairs. “The other is… shorter.”
A deafening gong sounds behind me. I smile. The fun part begins.
“You gotta do better than that!” I yell, taunting my pursuers as I run. I do need to get out of here, though. There are twenty guards now. Okay, maybe thirty? More than lots.
Running through their sleeping chambers was a bad idea. However, it did give me a chance to freshen up.
Some of the men have those strange crossbows. They use fire from a tube. They had a name. I’m gonna call ’em tubebows. Their shots explode around me, eating holes into the wall as I dive out of the room.
I slide into the courtyard, performing a full twist to give it some flair. The gate is open. I could run for it, but Xayah needs me.
Hidden in an alcove, a guard swings at me with a large tubebow. Or is bowtube better? He pulls at the trigger. I leap toward him, diving over his shot.
“What’s a good rhyme for tubebow?” I ask out loud.
I kick the guard up in the air. As he falls, I spin and introduce my hand to his cheek. The sound is louder than his weapon.
“Oh, slap!” I say, mimicking its intensity. The human rolls to his feet, pulling a short sword. “How are you not getting the message?!”
I wonder if I can find a kitchen. That’s where the chocolate would be.
The light in the sky is changing. I leap back into the air to check the sun’s location again. It disappears behind the hills, and an orb of green light flashes above it.
“Party time!” I scream. Now, the entire castle is chasing me.
“Surrender yourself!” a guard in a metal hat yells.
“No! I am distracting you!” I reply. He looks at me confused. I’m gonna slap him next.
A hail of arrows launches from the opposite wall. I swerve through them, enjoying the whistle they make as their fletching passes me.
Would I look good in that metal hat?
The golden blade hangs in the air for a second before falling. Xayah is ready to go.
I take my first breath. She said I had ten, but four breaths is much too long. I need to know she’s safe.
“Wanna see some sweet moves?” I ask the nearest human.
He doesn’t seem enthused. I roll through the group and appear behind him. He turns just in time to meet my cloak halfway. My feathers spin him up into the air like a top. Twelve spins is my record, but that was on a hill.
Second breath. The human slams into the ground after nine rotations. Damn. I don’t have time to try again.
Third breath. I have to make it back to where she needs me, back to Xayah.
I leap up the rampart, then bound off its roof toward the gate.
I take the fourth breath in midair.
Xayah runs toward the gate with some fancy juloahs—they are hairy where we have colored feathers. They must be from the Sodjoko tribe. Too formal looking, but I do like the thick ridge of hair that flows along the back of their forearms. I should make my feathers do that. The eldest one’s sarong seems like a terrible idea.
“We’ll never make it,” he cries. “They have rifles!”
“You mean the tubebows?” I ask.
Akunir stares at me blankly.
“Those are out of ammo,” I explain. “The Xini longbows too.”
“What?! How?”
“I am Rakan,” I explain. I expect this from humans, but my own kind?
“All of you, run for the tree line,” Xayah says.
A dozen men, covered in flour and chocolate, run out from the guardhouse. Mixed with eggs, they would make a thing called ‘cake.’ Pies are better though…
“Run!” Xayah yells. When the old juloah fails to move, I pull him along.
Coll kneels beside her guard’s body. She and Xayah pray that his spirit finds our lands. One of his horns is broken, blood pools in the leaves around him. Coll removes the last arrow from his corpse. He carried her all the way here, even after the humans wounded him.
This juloah should not have died. Someone loved him. They will sing his songs. But only silence will answer.
My eyes well with tears. Softly, I sing for his loss, and his family’s.
Xayah stands with her fist clenched. She won’t grieve now. Instead, the pain will find her tonight when she thinks I’m asleep. That is her way. I will kiss away her sorrow then.
The consul is named Akunir. He might have been a battle-dancer when he was young. He and Xayah begin arguing about politics.
Coll kisses the forehead of her guard. Her jaw is tight. She holds an anger stronger than Xayah’s. She glares at her husband Akunir. She has been waiting for him to listen for far too long.
“I will go back north, Akunir,” Coll says as she rises. “I will tell them what was done to us.” Her arms are as tight as branches, rigid against her sides.
“Coll, no,” Akunir protests.
“I will bear word of Jurelv’s fate to his kin, and mourn with them,” she says. That must have been the guard’s name. Perhaps he was kind. I like the smile lines on the side of his face. “Then, I will muster arms and prepare the tribe to fight.”
“You cannot do that!” the consul yells.
“I forsake my claim to you. I forsake your claim to me,” she speaks coldly.
Akunir looks as if he’s been stabbed. He did not see this running down the hillside? Or in the forest? Or beside the dead guard? It was decided long ago. Moons ago.
“Coll… please.”
“No,” she states simply. He moves to grab her. I block him.
“I will speak with my mate,” he says.
I can feel his breath on my chin. He ate guloo fruit recently. My nose nearly touches his forehead. He glares up at me.
I simply shake my head and shrug. I don’t need words. For this, silence is better.
His remaining two guards tense. They don’t want to dance with me. I am Rakan. They know my name. They glance nervously to Xayah holding her blades. They know her name too.
“Thank you, Xayah,” Coll says before limping away.
Akunir and his guards watch her go. Wordlessly, they set off to the south, leaving us alone.
I move close to Xayah. I feel her sadness for Jurelv, Coll, and for Akunir. I’ll drink wine tonight. Then I’ll sing rude songs.
“Promise me nothing will come between us like that, mieli,” she says.
“We’re not like them, miella. We’ll never be like them,” I reply. I can feel her worry. She’s smarter than me about so many things, but foolish about love sometimes.
“Where to now, Xayah?”
“Let’s just stay here a moment longer.”
I wrap my cloak and arms around her. I will tickle her later. We will laugh and drink. She will plan and I will sing. I feel her cheek on my chest. I’m glad that Xayah needs me now.
“Repeat it back to me,” she says.
“We are not like them,” I say again. “We are not like them.”
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