I offered the astounding Mookyvet a gift story, and she requested a tale about her character Aimelle. Aimelle is a Caithari, a race of humanoid mantis-like insectoids ruled by a strict matriarchy and capable of great magical feats. I ran a little wild with such a wide-open setting. Mook drew up this picture of Aimelle doing her thing to accompany the first part of her story; please fav the original here.

Aimelle and the Caithari are, of course, Mookyvet's character and concept.

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Aimelle's Tale, Part 1

"Greetings, Vestal Txi'Aimelle." The Erresuma Guardsman snapped to attention, using the txi- prefix to indicate his utmost respect for Aimelle as a vestal priestess of Hilobia. "Here to see the Augur Txi'Meleta?"

"I just saw her, thank you," said Aimelle. "Apparently he is well pleased."

"As well he should be, Vestal," said the guardsman. "Word of your deeds has spread in the barracks. Well done!"

It was a bit forward of a guardsman, even one of the Erresuma whose loyalty to the Queen was unquestionable, to offer a personal opinion on any matter, much less to a Vestal priestess. But Aimelle was quite pleased with herself, and tarried a moment while her coachman waited.

"Is it…really that well known already?" she said. Her antennae twitched nervously, betraying the thrill the compliment had given her beneath the detatched and dedicated veneer that was expected of all Vestals.

"My children will have food this winter, and so will those of my neighbors," said the guardsman. "I can't think of a better service to the Caithari. Your actions will let the Matxino rebels know that their sabotage and blasphemy is doomed to failure."

The personal markings on Aimelle's face burned with shy joy at the compliment. "Thank you, guardsman, for your candor," she said. "I will note it favorably in my report to the Augur."

Her carriage driver was motioning impatiently; Aimelle was on a timetable, after all, and was needed in the Queen's Temple for the afternoon ceremony. She took her leave and began walking toward her rise, a decided bounce in each step.

Aimelle had only covered half the distance when the carriage exploded.

She was thrown heavily to the ground, and felt the bitter taste of hemolymph in her mouth. Her tympanum rung with the sound of the blast and the concussion it had generated, and she could only lay there, dazed.

The Erresuma Guardsman and his fellows from nearby guardposts responded; Aimelle could see their chitinous legs moving past her. Someone was moving in from the opposite direction, the Augur's Gardens, and the sound of heavy combat was unmistakable, even to someone like Aimelle who had never seen it.

A group of Caithari advanced though the smoke and debris, one stepping over a prone shape that Aimelle was shocked to see was her driver's bloodied corpse. The guardsman confronted them but were outnumbered easily five to one, and their ceremonial arms and armor were made for parade, not combat.

Who, after all, could have predicted an attack on the Augur's front doorstep?

As they were cut down one by one, surrounded by dead and wounded attackers, the guardsman who'd spoken to Aimelle earlier cried for her to run and seek shelter in the Augury. His cried were silenced by a rough-looking knife which spattered hemolymph over the ornate cobblestones at his feet.

Aimelle struggled to her feet and was able to stumble a few desperate steps toward the Augury. But she hadn't made it more than ten feet before a pair of strong arms wrapped around her from behind, locking their second set of clawed arms around her midsection. She tried to cry out, but only a hoarse whisper emerged.

More hands and claws locked around Aimelle, and a black canvas back was thrust over her head. A moment later, her senses deserted her, overwhelmed by the shock and suddenness of it all.

Earlier That Day

"My lady, you are called for."

Aimelle opened her compound eyes only to be blinded by morning light streaming in through her apartment window. "Ugh! Close it. It's too early for it to be so bright."

Her assistant Harra, a young priestess-in-training from a reputable family, quickly moved to shut the curtains. "It's nearly eleven, my lady. You left instructions that you were not to be disturbed."

"I see you're as good at following the rules as I was in training," Aimelle said, sitting up in bed and combing her mane of thick black setae out of her face.

"Yes, the fellow trainees have told me all about it," laughed Harra. "Being it was all of two years ago."

Aimelle couldn't help but smile. Becoming a Vestal priestess, sworn to celibacy and service to the Queen, often took many years. They were, after all, in charge of some of the Caithari people's most sacred rituals of homage to their god-Queen. A fair number of priestesses became Vestals after only a few years, but many were well-connected daughters of noble patrician families or Senators. Aimelle, whose noble blood came from a distant cadet line, had few such advantages.

"So what is it this morning?" Aimelle said, staggering to her nearby desk. "The Praetor needs an emergency blessing again? No matter how many times I bless that son of his, he's still going to steal the neighbors' mail."

Vestals and trainees were expected to live simple lives, free of distractions which might distance themselves from the worship of the Queen. As such, Aimelle had no telephone, no television, and her small computer terminal was linked to a local network with powerful censorship software.

"The Augur has called for you," said Harra. "You're to meet her at the Labezomorro overlook after lunch."

"The Augur?" Aimelle felt her heart speed at the word. "What does she want with me?"

"The message didn't say, and you know I'm not to ask," Harra said. "I'll let you get ready and then we'll go through the Liturgy and have some practice before they bring lunch up, okay?"

Aimelle nodded, but she was already absorbed in the news headlines that she'd pulled up. "More Matxino attacks," she said. "Over fifty dead in the bombing of a temple near the docks." She wondered, offhand, if the humans might have had anything to do with it--they did have their trading post in that area. But it was an uncomfortable thought; humans were heathens without regard for the god-Queen, after all, and they'd been defeated by the Caithari in no less than two wars.

Plus, they were just so unbearably ugly. All that greasy mush where strong, springy chitin ought to have been. And those horrible jiggling eyes they had...

"Those damned rebels," Harra growled as she made Aimelle's bed. "I just don't understand how anyone could try to undermine the Queen. She's divine, the daughter of heaven, anointed by the gods. To go against that is to give yourself over to evil."

"That's just what the Matxino are, Harra," said Aimelle, who had scrolled past the news reports to look at the weather forecast and funny arkakuso videos. "Evil. From Matxin on down they just want to sow as much chaos and death as they can."

"Matxin died on the traitor's breaking wheel years ago…what' sort of lunatic fights for evil and chaos even in the face of that?" said Harra. "Queen help us if they ever gain any sort of power."

"The Queen would have to be very helpless indeed to let the Matxino rebels get enough power to run a flashlight," Aimelle said. "Which is why it will never happen. The Queen will protect us, especially her chosen priestesses." She laughed a moment later at a video of an arkakuso batting a ball of string--the talk of a rebel victory was so absurd that she had to put it immediately out of her mind.

"Liturgy and drills?" Harra said, having finished tidying up the room.

"Liturgy and drills," Aimelle agreed. "Right after this funny arkakuso video."

In the courtyard of the priestess apartments in the Holy District of the Royal City, Vestals regularly practiced their magicks along with their retainers. The Caithari had a special ability to tap into the natural magickal energies of their world, something that neither the humans--nor any other intelligent species--had ever managed, or so the scrolls taught.

The place was alight with other Vestals and their retainers; Aimelle could barely hear Harra's prompts.

"Speak the Liturgy of the Queen, O Vestal, and be bathed in the light of her divine power!"

Aimelle closed her eyes, relaxed her mandibles, and let the words flow instinctively, as they had since she had been a nymph. "The Queen is our goddess/Imbued with divinity by the gods themselves/Her priestesses are extensions of her will/Infalliable in matters of faith/Descended in a direct line from holy Caithar, the First Queen/We pledge our service, our life, our love to you."

"Well spoken, O Vestal!" cried Harra. "What was that about funny arkakusos in the Liturgy? Did I hear you say that they are favored of the god-Queen to the exclusion of all else?"

"W-what? No!" Aimelle had to stifle a laugh, lest the other Vestals hear. "Easy on the blasphemy, Harra!"

"It's not blasphemy. Funny arkakusos are proof that the god-Queen loves us and wants us to be happy."

Aimelle couldn't help but collapse in helpless laughter after that, drawing askance glares from the other Vestals training nearby. Once she'd recovered, Harra--still holding her sides from mirth--set up the practice targets.

"Aeromancy on one!"

Aimelle relaxed, chanted softly, and threw out her arms. A gust of wind slapped the paper target off its pedestal. "Just like the miniature storm I summoned last month at the festival," she said. After a moment's thought, she added: "I didn't dry off for weeks."

"Me either. I think there's still water under my left wing." Harra set up the second target, a qyth-rat in a small tank. "Chaomancy on two!"

Focusing, Aimelle thought of a playful arkakusos bearing down on the qyth-rat, claws bared. The rodent squeaked in terror and tried to claw away.

"Ordomancy on three!" Harra set up a paper target that had been torn in half.

Instead of looking at it, Aimelle remained focused on the qyth-rat. "Confusion," she whispered. The rat began tearing about its bowl in every direction as if drunk.

"Ordomancy on three!" Harra repeated.

Feeling a bit sorry for the qyth-rat, Aimelle pictured it surrounded by friendly vermin and with a generous pile of cheese at its paws. Squeaking happily, the rat began alternating between eating non-existent food and humping non-existent lady qyth-rats.

"What part of 'ordomancy on three' do you not understand?" Harra cried.

"Fine, fine." It took a good deal of concentration, but Aimelle was able to force the two halves of the target back together. She didn't have nearly the aptitude in ordomancy, the magick of order and balance, as she did in the other schools. Certainly not as much as the great healers who worked in the royal hospitals, but enough for emergencies.

Harra looked like she was about to continue berating her Vestal about ordomancy, but she looked over Aimelle's shoulder instead. A moment later, a uniformed soldier approached her.

"Aimelle!" Harra cried. "Your car is here and the Augur is waiting. Looks like you're skipping lunch today."

Aimelle's chauffeured car pulled up to a bluff overlooking the Labezomorro plain, where much of the food that fed the Royal City was grown. Ever since the Human Wars, when the enemy had tried to starve the Caithari into submission, the god-Queen had decreed that its food supply must be as local as possible to resist a siege.

The Augur, Txi'Meleta, stood there resplendent in her golden robes, one of the few Caithari allowed such gaudy and non-utilitarian clothing. It was supposedly imported from the human trading outpost on Decima Island in the Royal City's harbor, from which the humans were forbidden to stray--and all but the most senior Caithari were forbidden to enter--on penalty of death.

"Welcome, Txi'Aimelle," said the Augur, her voice confident and powerful. The head of the Vestal priestesses, and third in line to the throne, she had a certain royal dignity about her--as Aimelle expected, given her direct descent from Queen Caithar herself.

"I am your humble servant, and the Queen's, Augur Txi'Meleta," Aimelle said with a ritual bow. She caught site of what looked like soldiers moving down below, past the phalanx of elite Erresuma guardsmen protecting the Augur.

"Mopping up after a Matxino attack," the Augur said, following Aimelle's gaze. "They mounted a major offensive in this area yesterday but were driven back with heavy losses. Any who would oppose the will of our god-Queen shall meet the same fate, as I'm sure you know."

"The Queen's will be done, as she commands to her priestesses," Aimelle said, bowing again.

"The vile Matxino rebels attacked and burned these fields earlier in the season," continued Txi'Meleta. "Before the defenses were in place. They killed the laborers and destroyed what they could not take. That's the reason for the crop's failure, and even if the news had to be officially suppressed to deny the rebels a propaganda victory, rumors are swirling everywhere."

"This is a second crop, then?" said Aimelle, looking out over the short stalks in the vast fields. They should have been chest-high by this point in the year, according to her books, but were considerably short of that.

"Yes, we were hoping for late-season rains, but instead there has been a drought," said the Augur. "The crops are necessary to feed the city, and the time has come for our last resort: aeromancy."

"Couldn't we…trade with the humans for the foodstuffs we need?" asked Aimelle. "The human traders on Decima are always petitioning the Vestal Court for more trading rights."

The Augur's visage grew cold. "We did not win two wars against the humans to go begging them to feed our own people," she snapped, her mandibles clacking angrily. "We only trade for what we cannot acquire ourselves, nothing more. That is the Queen's edict and nothing, not even hardship, may alter that."

"Of course," Aimelle said, bowing deeply. "I apologize for my presumptuousness." If the Queen had decreed something, it was unquestioned holy law.

"You are forgiven," said Txi'Meleta. "Your zeal on behalf of our people's welfare is commendable, but you can be part of a more ideal solution. We need you to summon a cloudburst for us, Vestal Txi'Aimelle. A hard rain is all these crops need. It will be short rations for most, but it should work. And you are the only Vestal skilled enough in aeromancy to attempt the feat."

Hemolymph rushed to Aimelle's face, darkening her pink brood markings. "You flatter me, Augur."

"It is not flattery, but rather the Queen's command," said the Augur. "She has reviewed your files, and often observes the Vestal priestesses training their magicks from the palace. She, and by extension I, are confident in your ability to produce what is needed."

Aimelle stepped to the edge of the rock outcropping. She was nervous, her antennae and vestigial wings aflutter and her brood marking scarlet, but the Queen was the divine center of all life in Caithari. If she in her awesome and holy wisdom believed that Aimelle was the one for the incantation…

Well, the only possible thing was to obey.

The wordless incantation flowed out from the Vestal priestess, echoing among the fields below and in the great skies above them. A minute…two…ten. A rumble in the distance. Thunder? Possibly just the pounding of Aimelle's tympanum from stress.

Dark clouds gathered overhead, condensing slowly but visibly from streams of moisture pulled down from high in the mountains. Aimelle threw her arms skyward, spinning them slowly, and she began to mold the clouds the way a potter might work clay.

"Yes," murmured Txi'Meleta softly. "Yes!"

The first peal of thunder sounded after about twenty minutes had passed, and enormous drops of rain were falling so thickly and heavily by the time Aimelle stopped her incantation that the Augur's guards had to hastily bundle them into the waiting automobile.

"You've just done a noble deed for your city and for your god-Queen, Vestal Txi'Aimelle," said Txi'Meleta. "I think that the high priestesses and I can expect great things from you in the future."

Day 1

Great things…that took on an ironic tinge as the Augur's words echoed through Aimelle's mind as she regained consciousness. All was still dark; she could feel the sack over her head, having rubbed a few raw spots on her chitinous exoskeleton. How long had she been out…hours? Days? And where could the rebels have taken her? She sobbed quietly as she recalled news reports of the vile Matxino rebels torturing captured guardsmen for information before devouring them, since the Queen's troops had so efficiently cut them off from resupply.

To be continued...