“Man’s occultations birth Secrets, but Mysteries lay themselves bare. Secrets must be cared for and conserved, the Arts being their most exalted form. We too are cared for and conserved by Secrets – yet Mysteries show no concern for us. They want nothing, keep nothing, give nothing. So spoke the Sikasya. They, who also spoke Hecau.” – On Mystics and Secrecers Among the Four Children, Sannah Kirosh

  The street pulsed with overlapping rhythms and varied tempos, both mechanical and pedestrian. Trams screeched against their tracks at the nearby station while cars pressed their horns in sharp, impatient bursts. Hundreds of shoes beat unevenly on the pavement beneath waves of rising chatter. A tangle of street performers added their own racket to the day. One busker hammered his guitar in uneven chords, another beat a dented drum, while further off a pair of students puffed into brass for the cause of some charity. None of it blended, but the scene pressed together into a single, ceaseless hum. Loud, teeming, Eisenstadt.

  Harun heard none of it. He arrived early, with time enough to adjust his collar plenty, roll and unroll his sleeves, and smooth the knit of his sweater until it began leaving grey fibers on his palms. A good deal of his attention was consumed by the worry that he looked too formal, like a man on his way to lecture hall rather than a date. He shifted weight from one foot to the other, fidgeting, scanning every face drawing closer. Then he saw her. Kira disentangled from the crowd spilling from the station, walking with a light pace. She wore a sleeveless knit over a blouse and a skirt underneath, her usual glasses traded for a thicker-framed, blue pair. She spotted him soon after and waved.

  “Sorry if I kept you waiting,” she said, voice pleasant but betraying her own uncertainty. “Getting ready took longer than I expected.”

  “I was prepared for khakis again. This works too – still studious.”

  “Thanks.” She tugged at her bag strap with one hand, tilting her head. “You’re looking very teacherly today. It’s nice.”

  Thank you, Ettie. “Should we go in?” he asked.

  Kira nodded and they started. “I haven’t been to the Zoological Gardens in a long while,” she said. “Looks like a long wait at the ticket booth. We should get in line.”

  Harun smirked, presenting two folded slips from his pocket. “Already taken care of.” When Kira reached for the wallet in her bag, he raised his hand in playful protest. Thank you, Diana. The two tickets were collected by the attendant at the gate, and they were swept through with the next clump of visitors. The interior was well-peopled. Paved lanes split into narrower paths, leafy rose trellises overhead, kiosks and benches cluttered most corners. They walked leisurely for a while, avoiding the worst of the congestion.

  “So…,” she leaned in closer. “What really happened in the end? You solve it?”

  Harun’s stride faltered for just a moment, then settled again. “The SI found the location, an underground laboratory or something. They had one of the animals, but it slipped out before they could secure it.”

  “And the SI? I heard he got injured.”

  “He got flushed out into a mud pile while pursuing a suspect. Not sure why, plenty of police were around and it’s not his job to chase people. Anyway, they found him ‘asleep.’ He was fine by the time Lowry and I got there. Just stank badly.”

  “I know, quite a strange situation… Especially after what happened later.” Her voice was flat and focused.

  Harun turned away. “Yeah… I don’t–”

  “I read about it and immediately thought of you. By the end of the day, everyone around me was talking about it. It was horrible, even if they were criminals. Although everyone in the Institute was mostly theorizing how the arcanids could have been so synchronized. Or how they received the command. Was the command dormant in them? I mean, sure, it was the fault of the police for transporting them together. But apparently it happened elsewhere as well, at the exact same time…” She looked at him bright-eyed and almost excited. “Don’t you find that interesting?”

  “I don’t know anything more than you, Kira. I’d rather not talk about that stuff now.”

  “You’re right.” She hesitated. “I’m sorry. We came to have fun.”

  They walked on without speaking, pausing now and then before an enclosure. Their observations and comments resulted more from obligation than shared wonder. The deer rested idly in the shade, seemingly tangled with the roots. Further along, shaggy boars dozed and wallowed in shallow mud. After that, they lingered at a mesh behind which a lounging lynx indifferent to the thin line of visitors expecting more from it.

  Finally, they reached a gray and stony enclosure, where a trio of adult tundra wolves paced over the sparse grass. The ground was worn to dirt along the fence line, a path carved by their endless circling, but farther back a cluster of firs gave the illusion of cover. “Our pups are growing fast,” said Kira as one of the wolves stalked closer. “Almost the same size as they are.”

  “What happens to them after this? Does the Institute keep them indefinitely?”

  “We wouldn’t mind. They merit further study and aren’t troublesome.” Then her voice dipped lower and she gestured for him to come closer. “Rumor is,” she whispered, “Rinnshal Lehr has been inquiring about them. She might want to adopt one. Or two. Might be good for us.”

  “Wait. Rinni? The actress? Since when does the Institute sell off its stock?”

  Kira kept her clandestine tone. “It’s not technically selling. Just a simple rehousing. The Institute would retain legal ownership. She’d keep it until she tires of it, then it comes back to us. That’s how it usually goes with these things. Besides, she’s donated more than anyone else in her circle. The big seats want to keep her happy. That’s how it works.”

  “I see,” he whispered. The path ahead forked, one way toward the reptiles, the other marked with a sign painted in playful block letters: Primates. The air from that direction smelled faintly of fruit peel and straw. “Shall we?”

  The habitat was closed off by glass, shaded by tall mesh and scattered with ropes and tires. A single simian sat restfully on a wooden beam, its reddish coat glinting from the water it had splashed. It had draped one long arm across its knees, the other scratching absently at its ribs. The way it slouched, its gaze drifting lazily over the observers, created an uncanny presence. Harun and Kira slowed, drawn to the sorrowful serenity of the manlike animal. A child pressed against the glass, knocking to get its attention. The simian barely shifted its gaze, before sagely dismissing the noise.

  “It feels wrong, keeping them here,” said Kira penitently. “They’re so much like us. Fed and safe, yes –but unfulfilled. They’re smarter than most of the kids running around, and we still deny them all rights. It feels like exploitation.”

  “Before we settled the Continent,” said Harun, “our anaha thought as much. In the oldest strains of our traditions, they were seen as equals. Wisemen of the forest, not wild animals. Some acharyas even called them more virtuous than us, due to their peaceful lives and frugivore diet.”

  A smaller, coppery figure swung out from behind a tire and padded over to the simian’s side to give it a quick jab. With a high-pitched chirrup, the juvenile darted off, gangly limbs flailing. For a moment the mother stayed motionless, then rolled forward with grace and climbed down the beam after it.

  Kira exhaled. “And yet here we are, watching them like curiosities.”

  “Their Art is inborn, their sins inconsequent,” quoted Harun. “Yet who suffers more at the hands of the unlearned?”

  “One of Akor’s?” He nodded and they moved along. “Do you agree with the acharyas, and Akor? That they’re more virtuous than us?”

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “In a way, yes,” he said uncertainly, organizing his thoughts. “All animals and plants, even spirits, do nothing without a natural cause. They don’t wound for amusement, don’t hoard for vanity. Their lives are dictated by necessity. In that sense, they are more benevolent than us. And yet worse because they can’t choose. We can. We cultivate ourselves, not only in the arcane sense, but in everything: understanding, compassion, restraint. The ability to surpass our own fears and desires, that’s what makes us better. Without that effort, we’re crueler than any beast imaginable.”

  “I agree. It’s a shame that people forget that. They look down on animals, especially the arcane varieties. Arcofauna are treated like either abominations or curiosities. But they’re no less children of Mystery. They partake in Era’s Elements just as we do, regardless of whether they evolved over millennia or evoked in some sanctum yesterday.”

  Harun tilted his head, genuinely curious. “Then what about primates? Do you believe they’re Converging, lagging behind us, and that maybe one day they’ll replace us? Or are they arcofauna themselves? Incomplete imitations, set here long ago to resemble humanity without ever reaching it? Or something else entirely?”

  “Most likely, they are also Converging toward the anthropomorph. It’s the simplest conclusion. But primates are still a diverse bunch, not a single species. Some could be in the process of forming their own anahas, separate from the rest. Or perhaps they are already one anaha, and it proves our own ancestors were never a single, uniform species but a whole web of related life.” She paused, weighing his interest. “Though it could just be coincidence. Evolution has plenty of those. Even unlikely odds repeat.”

  “What about mandragora?” he asked curiously. “They could be examples of plants slowly pressing toward the anthropomorph. Very early-stage Convergence, don’t you think?”

  “Could be, like the Vanaha. Not animals losing instincts and acquiring intellect, but members of a whole other kingdom uprooting themselves and beginning anew.”

  “Exactly. Maybe mandragora are their failed or unfinished cousins. That, or just too shy.”

  “What about us, then?” she giggled. “Do you think ancestry makes any real difference – or is it just superficial?”

  “Besides the good looks, you mean? I think so. Our bones are lighter and still slightly hollow in places. And apparently, we have the highest rates of anemia in Eisenstadt.” He flexed his wrist and showed his forearm to her. The clay-red skin bore a small, faded white scar. “I broke my radius as a kid, falling off a bunk bed. It wasn’t even that high, but enough to do damage. My mother fainted when she saw it. Illustrates both points.” He lowered his sleeve. “Does it matter to you?”

  “Not really. Sometimes, I dream about flying, but plenty of non-Soshanaha do as well. And when I was little, I used to collect bones I found in parks and fields. Bird skulls, small jaws, all kinds of teeth. That was just my interest, though. I don’t think any of my grandparents nursed the Flame.”

  Harun shrugged. “That’s alright, I don’t even like bone broth.”

  “Right, you’re vegetarian.” She blinked, then chuckled again. “Earlier, what did you mean when you said something else? Are you implying there is a third option, not just Convergence and evolution?”

  “Ah, that. There are stories that the animals we now call primates were once fully human but regressed back into a wilder state. Some say as punishment. Others, as reward. The same could be true for the mandragora.”

  Kira raised her brows, amused. “That’s a new one.”

  “Not that I believe it – but it’s an interesting possibility, isn’t it?”

  “It is. Thank you for sharing it with me. I’m learning, without complaints.”

  Harun smiled at his own words repeated to him. Thank you, dad. They left the primate section for one full of people. The air around the park smelled of fried dough, roasted nuts and candy. Droves of food carts and hordes of hungry customers bunched around the entrance but their numbers thinned further in. They bought soft drinks and went to find a bench to rest. Kira, minding the smoke of Harun’s cigarette, distanced herself to study a map of the Gardens. When she seemed fully immersed in it, he opened his phone and brought it closer. She answered right away.

  “Yea, it’s me… Good, even great… Of course she had to ask… No, she’s looking at the map… Uh-huh, I know… No, not yet… Also no. When the time’s right.” He shifted the phone to his left side, holding it in place with his shoulder, throwing the cigarette butt into a nearby ashtray and lighting another. “Yea, of course I trust you Diana… But listen – Oh, say hello to him… You’re a good friend, but terrible sister… No… Oke… I’m sorry… I’ll get you something on the way back… And Ettie? Alright, I owe her one too… Oke, thanks and sorry again. Gotta go.” He put the phone down as Kira ran over, aglow with astonishment.

  “Harun, you’re not going to believe this...”

  He extinguished the second cigarette. “Believe what?”

  “Come,” she demanded and grabbed his sleeve. “I’ve never seen one in person and they’re nearby.”

  Kira led him to the other end of the park, past ponds, sandpits and more vendors. The destination was a quiet pool fenced with stone and iron rails. Almost no one was around to witness it. Bending over the railing, her eyes searched the clean water. “There,” she blurted. Her hand was already fishing out a small notebook from her bag. “Damn… I didn’t bring it…”

  Harun peered down beside her. Something rippled through the pond: sleek, small and dark, with a strange flat snout, webbed feet and a broad tail. Part mammal, part something else entirely. Ridiculous, but oddly endearing. He looked sideways at Kira, her face intent on her flip phone, fingers tapping furiously. The sight made him smirk adoringly. He didn’t interrupt, until she closed the phone with a decisive snap.

  “It’s called a platypus,” she declared, turning to him. “One of the oldest and most controversial examples of successful arcofauna. Venomous spurs, lays eggs, fur like an otter, a bill like a bird… contradictions stacked into one body. No ordinary animal could come out like this. It had to be shaped, either by some lunatic Master or a mischievous Apprentice in a forgotten Age.”

  “And it survived so long?” He reconsidered it.

  “That’s the real Mystery. Not that it was made, but that it endured until now. They’re also remarkably adaptable. Another sign of Kainomancy. They belong at our Institute, not at a zoo.”

  “Sounds like an arcanist’s idea of a joke. Where do they usually live?”

  “Not a joke,” she said firmly. “A frustrating enigma, more like it. Naturalists call it an anomalous mammal. Arcanists call it an achievement. Their habitat is south of the Isles of the Naranaha. And yet here it is, paddling along innocently, refusing to settle the argument.”

  “So it’s something like Homay’s blackbird?” His hand almost drifted toward his side, where his Bureau badge usually hung, the engraved bird etched into its brass.

  “That one’s uncertain. Most likely a myth. No actual Secrets have ever been found in their plumage.”

  Harun gave her a stern look, scoffing at her skepticism. “Yeah, because they’re Secrets. Not scrawled on paper for everyone to read. Hidden, encoded. Homay was one of the greatest Soshanaha arcanists. You should give him more credit than that.”

  “Or maybe the story is true, and his Secret did end up in their feathers – but it’s all degraded into gibberish by now. They’re still intimidating and impressive birds, I’ll grant that.”

  “Fair enough.” He let the corner of his mouth lift and turned toward a nearby sign marked with a painted silhouette of wings. “Speaking of which… ready to see the aviaries?”

  Kira turned around, saw the sign and bowed her head in approval.

  The walk-ins smelled of damp earth and the sweet tropical plants. Small birds moved freely among the visitors, slipping between low branches with feeders and shallow pools. Sparrows and finches darted in quick flashes above their heads, while brighter parakeets clung upside-down to the wire and chattered noisily until they were startled into flight. Harun and Kira moved more slowly than the others, following the flares of sudden movement. She pointed to a cluster of pale waxwings perched on a protruding vent, their crests rising as if in alarm. In turn, he murmured a comment about starlings plucking seeds from the floor. Then they saw it: a heavy, marked door of weathered timber, almost hidden behind a curtain of hanging vines. It was slightly ajar. A cooler, drier breeze snaked through the gap, carrying a scent of dust and rock. Kira glanced at Harun, who gave a single, slight nod. The world on the other side was sky and stone. They stepped out onto a wide, graveled platform overlooking a vast, soaring canyon of artificial, slanting rockface enclosed only by wires so fine they shimmered and disappeared when they looked up. The last traces of cheerful chatter from the indoor aviary were gone.

  There, on the highest crag, perched the presence of a vulture. The ossifrage was larger than either of them expected, with dark wings spanning wider than a man’s outstretched arms. The feathers along its body were rusty and creamy, while its head bore the harsher pattern of soot-black around the red-rimmed eyes and the ragged tuft beneath the beak. When it shifted, the movement was slow, deliberate, and its gaze carried outward past the dome and its other inhabitants. A discerning, amber gleam that seemed to recognize them across the distance.

  Kira rested her right hand against the cold, metallic railing, while Harun folded his arms across his chest. “Our closest kinsman,” he said after a few moments of shared reverence. “And closest likeness we’ll ever have of our own ancestry.” She made a faint, nasal sound of agreement without adjusting her pose. Harun went on, glancing back at her profile between sentences. “Their diet is almost nothing but bones. Almost complete osteophages. People slander them, accuse them of child-snatching, death-heralding and so on. But they’re Era’s most diligent winged scavengers and plague-preventers. They break down what no one else can.” His lips curved slightly as a thought came. “Sometimes I wonder why more of our people don’t take up Necromancy. Seems we’d be better suited to it than the Toranaha. Maybe the pups have some ossifrage in them, with all that acid in them...”

  When he turned, expecting at least a smirk, he found Kira unchanged and transfixed on the ossifrage, her expression almost wistful. The bird shifted, taking flight from its perch. As it swept across the dome, its call broke not as a screech but a subdued, flutelike whistle, echoing melancholy. Kira turned to him at last, her voice equally hushed. “Why did you stop? It sounded interesting.”

  Harun opened his mouth slightly, thought, and closed it again. Too many people worked to get you here, Harun Rivash. You have no right to be a chicken now. He reached for her hand, lifted it from the cold railing and warmed it in his own. Kira gave him a smile and nodded. She turned again towards the rockworks with him. They watched and followed in silence until another sounded its response.

  Chilled Delights. I am also drafting some short stories, including one about Homay and his blackbirds.

  Chilled Delights will be Agn-related, dealing with the Mystery of Identity and the Secret of Eidomancy. The official investigation will be led by DL Fran Adamari. Expect much more of her, as well as Arthur Dressler, Sacha Barre, and Isidor Fernwald. There will also be further insight into Stravinsky’s personal life. A new Bureau employee, Dr. Stalk, will be introduced.

  Pia Mater whispers to her wall of ears.

  Comments appreciated, questions welcome.