InkSkin

Prologue

"They are planning something." Lyhria glanced up at Eary Yead, the Patriarch of the Suhtain water tribe. "I can feel it in my Ink." Lyhria watched her fellow Ryoshkin rub his hands across his arms as though he were repeatedly trying to wipe something off.

"They are making their way here as we speak, Matka." Lyhria turned to face Ayou, the Matriarch of the Suhtain tribe.

"What could they possibly want now?" she asked, but she spoke more to herself than to her fellow Ryoshkin. She tangled her fingers together to keep from burying them in her hair. It was a habit she had been trying to end since she had been appointed Matka, but one she found hard to break.

These interlopers, dignitaries from the far West, had come many times before. Pompous little men with their long, pointy, ridiculously useless hats which they claimed were all the fashion in their homeland.

These Western Dignitaries hated the grand ancient forests the Zuhrtians called home, hated the rivers and deserts the Nahtians and Suhtians called their own, both family-tribes to the Zuhrtians. In fact, they hated everything about the Nahtians, Suhtians and the Zuhrtians, the men and women of Ink.

Yet, they still came, dignitaries trying to curry favor for their Western King. For everyone knew the North, East and South were guarded by the three Tribes of fierce warriors who had never fallen nor faltered in the defense of their home lands for untold millennia.

The Nahtians, Suhtains and Zuhrians, of course, knew why these men came to them; they recognized the silken lies that dripped from their false smiles. They knew their King sought to expand his empire and the only ones in his way were the three Tribes of Ink. They were all wary of the promises and useless gifts the Westerners lavished upon them. They had perfected the art of smiling and nodding without ever committing to any of their wishes, which infuriated the dignitaries to no end.

The Nahtians, as the head family-tribe for the next eight turnings of the moon, had the most dealings with the dignitaries. Lyhria Nowd, the Matriarch of the Nahtians, and current Matka, felt a deep unease, as she gazed down at the Dignitaries' latest gift; a delicate chain less than half an inch in width which gleamed in intricate swirls of silver and gold.

"Matriarch, it is from His Majesty, the Great Benevolent Monarch of the West, King Yraurd Artul the VI." Lyhria continued to gaze down at the diminutive dignitary; she had long ago stopped trying to remember their names. She noticed his hands trembled slightly as he held out the necklace to her. "He had one made for every member of the three Tribes, Matriarch," he said with a bow.

"And how would your King know our numbers?" she asked, her rich smoky voice falling on the little man like ice.

"We ..." He nervously licked his lips and glanced at his fellow brothers over his shoulder for courage, perhaps, before clearing his throat. "We conducted a census, Matriarch. It is a-."

"I am very well aware of what a census is, Dignitary. What I would like to know is why permission was not sought before you dared take such a liberty upon yourselves?" she asked her eyes flashing.

"Matriarch," the little Dignitary's body visibly shook. "His Majesty, King Yraurd, wished it."

"Your king does not rule here!" Eary growled at the little man who blanched visibly and trembled so badly that the necklace he still held out in his hands tinkled delicately as though it were made of glass and not metal.

"Why would your King wish a census of us?" Lyhria asked as she placed a soothing hand on Eary's shoulder.

"For... for the necklaces, Matriarch," the little Dignitary stuttered and motioned the necklace towards Lyhria once more. "His gift."