experienced. I was determined to learn from the best because, deep down, I had this feeling that… if my species was to die off, I could very well be the only one left to maybe… I don’t know, restart it, someday.”
“Whoa, stop there. So swamp witches can reproduce,” Raphael interjected, his eyebrows arched in surprise.
Lumi frowned at him. “Why wouldn’t we be capable of that?”
“No, I just… I just found it weird that you ladies didn’t have offspring, in general,” Raphael mumbled. Lumi had a tendency to intimidate, regardless of the size of her challenger.
“To tell the truth, becoming mothers was never really on our to-do list.” Lumi sighed. “It wasn’t on mine for a long time, as I continued to hope that the pixies would survive that population slump. When they didn’t, I understood that it would all fall on me, someday. I think Ta’Zan would’ve come in handy,” she added with a bitter smile. “Maniac or not, he had the knowledge of genetics to recreate the pixie race. Had he not been so evil, I would’ve spoken to him about it. I would’ve offered myself as a surrogate mother, even.”
“So, if it wasn’t a priority for the swamp witches but not forbidden either, why didn’t any of them have children?” Taeral asked.
Lumi thought about it for a moment. I was inclined to think she didn’t have an answer.
“I could tell you I don’t know of any who had children,” she replied. “But that doesn’t mean none of them did. But even if they did give birth, they clearly didn’t initiate them into the ways of the Word; otherwise, I wouldn’t have been the only one left, stuck in that basement on Neraka.”
What she said made sense. Swamp witches were made, not born. They came from different species and dedicated their lives to serving and propagating the power of the Word. Their children would’ve been untouched by it, unless they later chose to become swamp witches, too. And, as Lumi had just said, that obviously didn’t happen.
“I have to wonder why the swamp witches who presumably had children didn’t initiate them,” I thought out loud.
“It could be they had sons,” Lumi proposed. “The Word doesn’t bond very well with the males of any species, for some reason. Or maybe Azazel killed their mothers along with the other swamp witches, leaving the children without any knowledge of the Word’s existence.”
Taeral scratched the back of his head. “So, the Word doesn’t accept males. At all.” It was meant as a question.
I sat down on a boulder, crossing my legs and watching the stream go by—a thick sheet of clear water caressing a blanket of rounded black-and-gray rocks. Here and there, dozens of little white fish wiggled their way down the river, rushing somewhere. Always rushing.
“I know my sisters did try to initiate males, at some point. They probably tried again when Azazel rose to power and started killing them off—though I wasn’t there to witness any of it,” Lumi replied. “The result would likely have been the same. I remember two young Druids who wanted to know the ways of the Word. They begged Votya to teach them.”
“Wait, the same Votya whom you eventually found and who took you in?” Eira asked, her eyes wide.
I had a feeling that Inalia’s curiosity and excitement upon learning about creatures outside her world had, in fact, rubbed off on Eira. Unlike Inalia, Eira wasn’t quick to come out of her shell. Only now was she talking more. Asking questions. Doubting things that didn’t seem right to her. Then again, her introduction to the outer world beyond Cerix had been tumultuous, to say the least. She was still adjusting to it all, including our rhythm as a crew. But Eira was growing into her own. I could tell. Her self-confidence was blossoming, and Taeral seemed to have noticed it, also. More and more, I saw him stealing glances at her, each followed by a mild twitch in the corner of his mouth. A tentative smile of sorts.
“Oh, yes,” Lumi replied, smiling fondly at the memories that Eira’s questions had brought up. “It took me years to get Votya to teach me. I lingered around her, followed her around wherever she went. I never let her out of my sight. I offered to care for her horse—that was when she finally acknowledged my presence.” She chuckled. “But she never turned me away. She just didn’t care whether I was following her or not. I must’ve proved