Healing magic was a wonderful thing as she’d come to find out during the past few days. Homer had gone from bleeding out on the ground to merely shivering with a fever caused by some infection that the magic couldn’t fully heal, turning in his bed with a grumble as Maia very carefully wiped his brow with a warm, wet towel.

  “One day they’ll invent healing magic that bances your humors while stuffing all that blood back in…”

  His voice was as gravely as always, but it cked that bombastic quality it had when he’d saved their lives in the arena. She must admit she’d almost died of a heart attack when the old mountain crumpled after he’d won, and if she’d been alone in healing him she’d definitely be burying him right now instead of treating him… But to her surprise, harpies had rushed in to drag both Oxaca and him away to get healed.

  Harpy healing magic was a little different from what humans practiced, focusing more on maniputing inner energies of the body through pressure point redirection using needles- Homer was alike a hedgehog for the first day- but her staff had been a huge help in actually stitching up many of the stretches of torn skin. No need for a needle when the skin just unpeeled itself through the power of the crystal attached to her staff.

  “You’ll be fine soon enough. One or two days more and we can start heading down the mountain. The harpies promised to help us descend to the other side, so we’ll be ahead of schedule.”

  Which meant that they’d likely arrive at the Godsblooded capital a week or two early. Good. They’d be facing a problem that needed solving: how could they secure an actual audience with the gods? While the celebration was open to all, commoners had no chance of speaking with the gods. Only the priesthood and nobility could. Even if she revealed her state to an important priest, there was a chance she’d just be pced under censure.

  Well, there was no use worrying about that at this juncture. They’d been granted use of Umana’s second floor until Homer was well enough to leave. Oxaca had been out cold for a full day before waking up, and she’d arrived earlier today to congratute Homer on the victory. While her grasp on their nguage was a little more cking than both Umana’s and Aymanah’s, she had been verbose enough to show that she considered their enmity moot…

  For now.

  She did request that Homer would return ter to do battle again, weapon in hand. Her honor couldn’t handle a flightless being knocking her off her feet like that. He’d barked a ugh and made it a promise, with Maia smiling sadly in the background.

  A promise he knows he cannot keep.

  Aymanah enters from the hole on the floor, wings fpping as they perch to hang from the ceiling to watch. Maia still hasn’t fully breached the topic of their sister with them, but it’s never felt like the right time. Just as she opens her mouth to maybe speak on the topic more, they grunt and speak first.

  “I’ll be coming with you.”

  “... To help us down the mountain, you mean?”

  “No, even beyond. To this ‘godsblooded capital’ that you talked about. I wish to learn more about the world away from this mountain; if only so that I can understand why my ancestors decided to turn away from it.” Their wings fp a few times, as if affirming their words.

  A harpy descending down the mountain with them would be attention grabbing at least, in good and bad… They’d likely stick out like a sore thumb. But who was she to tell them not to? Who was she to quell their curiosity? Maia’s eventual soft smile seems to reassure them, a bored gaze wandering over to the huffing and puffing Homer.

  “You overdid it.”

  “Shut up, you scrawny parrot-”

  “I was scared you were going to punch Oxaca’s head off.”

  “... Alright, I’ll admit I overdid it there. Any harder and I just might’ve. Did you see the flips she did?”

  “I did. I still think about it sometimes. That was pretty cool. You’re a cool old man.”

  Homer huffs and turns on his other side. Hard to tell whether he’s annoyed or bashful. Maia just has a quiet ugh between the two of them as Umana hops up onto the second floor as well.

  “We’ve finished preparing the way down for you. It took a bit of thinking and reminding us of the old ways, but back when our tribe still interacted with man in ages long before our age, there was a system where harpies would move humans up and down the mountain through a system of baskets designed to be carried by us… There’s checkpoints along the mountain for it. The cabin we used to capture you was one of these checkpoints.”

  That made sense. They’d been high up in the air when they came here, but the st few days Maia had had the chance to freely walk around the vilge to examine it more closely, and there really was no way for humans to go down. Harpies could just fly, but the vilge was built on a ft mountaintop with no natural exit points on foot.

  For a while she’d been scared they would have to try and climb down the steep side until they hit the mountain path again.

  “We’ll be taking you down until you can hit the road again. Accounting for your travel time before, you’ll be ahead of schedule. I tried to convince them to take you down to the very base, but nobody wanted to volunteer for a trip that long besides Aymanah, and they’re intent on leaving to begin with.”

  Aymanah fps their wing again.

  “And we’ll procure you some supplies so you don’t have to start foraging for food the moment you’ve nded. Enough to at least make it off the mountain range. We’ll pass word to the other tribes to let you pass.”

  So there were other tribes, just as Maia had surmised.

  “Beyond that… Well. Some still argue that we’re giving you too much help. Few voices, far and away from the majority, but our policy is to try and let every voice be heard. We are far too small a tribe for self-righteous decisions and dictatorial leaders. And many agree that while your crimes are forgiven, you have still committed them… Complete acceptance will take time.”

  Maia can see that Umana is scraping her talons on the floor again. Frustration- she’s not sure whether it’s directed at Maia and Homer or the other harpies- but she decides to not prod. They’ve done her a great kindness as it stands.

  And so, another day passes… And then another. Homer’s recovery takes a little longer than expected due to a mistake in applying of the needles, but Maia doesn’t mind the extra bedrest. She’s exhausted- although worried as well. While no harpies have started to drop dead, the mountain flowers Aymanah has been growing around their house had begun to droop- necessitating her to avoid coming over for the rest of the visit so that they’d recover.

  A grim reminder of her goal and mission.

  Homer, Maia and Aymanah stand at the very edge of the vilge, a rge gate erected to lead into the nothingness of the vast open skies; here brave young harpies take their first dive into the deep blue sea of the sky and soar. It is also here where their mode of transportation has been set: a hastily woven, yet clearly sturdy basket rge enough to carry Maia and Homer, alongside a complicated rope structure that should allow for the harpies to ferry them downward.

  It feels like the whole vilge is here to see them off, harpies chittering and crowding around them, some flying above, others perched on the gate. Oxaca stands to the nest, arms folded as her imposing figure meets with Homer. The two exchange a stern handshake and a respectful nod. Umana is present and pats Maia on the shoulder, speaking quiet words of affirmation and comfort.

  “You will be fine, beloved of death.”

  Hearing someone affirm that was enough to almost bring her to tears. Maia ys her hands over Umana’s and promises that she will return, and then the duo enters the basket. The hasty weave creaks under Homer’s feet and makes the giant of a man flinch a little, but the harpies promise heaven and earth as their witnesses that it will hold his weight.

  Still, Homer is uncharacteristically squeamish as they huddle on the basket floor. He mumbles something about ‘rather dying fighting than dying falling’ before closing his eyes. Maia comfortingly rubs his shoulder before settling in herself, staff nestled between her legs. The harpies converge around them. The basket supports eight ropes in eight different directions. They’re well woven, and she can see Umana wandering around checking them again-

  perhaps magically enchanted? That’d make sense.All the harpies chosen are quite burly. Maia’s taken note: the harpies seem to mostly be split into three distinct bodytypes; Umana’s more hunched, almost vulture-like build, Aymanah’s fairly ordinary and lithe type and the muscur, impressive Oxaca types. She never caught onto whether there were actual heritage differences or not, but it was a neat observation.

  If she wished to ever be truly forgiven by these people, she had to try and understand them. With the ropes secured- the harpies all wear harnesses the rope is attached to- they all take flight at the same time. There’s a sudden lurch as the basket starts to drag against the ground, towards the gate. Maia turns and leans over the edge to wave to Umana and the rest of the harpies.

  “I’ll be back! Healthy and hale! I promise, everyone! Thank you so much, and I’m so, so sorry!”

  And then the drop happens. They’ve been dragged over the edge of the gate, and they start soaring down. It’s only some seconds before the ropes become taut and their descent is halted, but those few seconds scare her absolutely senseless.

  Aymanah isn’t actually helping with carrying the basket now that Maya is actually able to take a look at the skies around them. Instead they’re flying alongside the basket, doing idle flips and dives to make sure they don’t outpace the slower basket. Guess it makes sense with their scrawnier build; she couldn’t really imagine them contributing much to Homer’s bulk.

  Would the basket be fine, though…? She was afraid she’d rot the weave, but this should only take the better part of the day- surely the weave won’t rot. She still presses a palm against the bottom of the basket to feel the firmness just to be safe. Homer is even more nervous now that they’re actually in the air, and she has to reach over to pat his shoulder again.

  “Are you going to be alright?”

  “Don’t you start now, little miss… Let’s just be quiet until we’re at the bottom of the mountain.”

  Maia giggles and nods, huddling down. This would take most of the day… And even when they hit the checkpoints, there was little reason to exit the basket. They were just taking short breaks so that the harpies with them wouldn’t tire, after all. On one break they cracked open their new supplies and enjoyed delicious ftbread and mountain herbs on dried meat, with even Aymanah joining in. Maia thought it’d be a good chance to actually introduce them to the dynamic.

  As it turns out, Aymanah ate like a ravenous animal. Ftbread and meat disappeared down their gullet at such a pace that Homer had to zip up the supply sack and protectively hide it behind his rge frame, only to elicit a basic shrug from Aymanah as they then flew away.

  “That little vulture’s going to eat us to oblivion before we even touch the ground…”

  The old man’s grumblings just made Maia giggle again before she cuddled back into the basket. By the third lift the feeling of weightlessness had become routine, and she found herself drifting off to sweet, serene slumber.

  … It’s alright, Death.We made it.