The Guild of the Cowry Catchers, Book 1: Embers, Deluxe Illustrated Edition by Abigail Hilton

although the children stopped their
games to peer shyly at him. Their facial markings were delightfully
varied—some having almost none and some with heavily lined eyes and
stripes on their foreheads and cheeks. Silveo should have been
born an ocelon, thought Gerard. No need for all that
kohl. On an impulse, Gerard stopped outside a tent with tables
where two ocelons were eating. He opened the flap and stepped
inside.

Chapter 13. Tea with
Flag
    The grishnard written language is an ancient
and cumbersome pictographic text. Each word is a little picture
with no clues to pronunciation. It requires years to learn to read
and write these characters with any skill, and they serve to
perpetuate Wefrivain’s rigid class system. Shelts without the means
to begin early training in the written word are hopelessly
outmatched by shelts who’ve been trained from childhood. Oddly
enough, phonetic characters have been known in the islands for
ages. They can be taught in a day to a willing shelt and would
greatly increase efficiency in almost every area of business and
learning. However, the beauty-cult of the wyverns dismissed
phonetic characters long ago as barbaric, crude, and ugly (the
worst sin). The wyverns and their Priestess may, indeed, find the
phonetic characters ugly, but I believe that they also find them
dangerous. The class system is to their advantage. They do not want
a reading public.
    —Gwain, The Truth About Wyverns
    The tent was a teahouse. Gerard could smell
the tea as soon as he entered, but the interior was so dark that he
could see nothing for a moment. He stood there, his head brushing
the top of the low roof, fighting a sense of claustrophobia. Gerard
took a step forward, and something dangled in his face, tickling
his nose and making him sneeze. Gradually, he became accustomed to
the gloom and saw that the tent had been constructed of raw pelts,
fur-side inward. They made a crazy pattern of spots and stripes. A
number of the pelts had feet or faces of animals still attached to
them, and a couple of paws were dangling in Gerard’s face.
    In addition to the pelts, the owner of the
teahouse had unaccountably sewn random bits of ribbon, bone, and
feathers into the walls. The whole effect was a bewildering array
of colors and textures. Gerard glanced over the tables. There were
only four, each large enough for two or three shelts. A leather
curtain partitioned the back of the room, which must be the
kitchen. The place was lit by only two censors, which gave off a
pleasant odor.
    A lone ocelon sat at one of the tables with a
book and a cup of tea. He was wearing pants and boots and had a few
facial stripes. His hair was light brown. Gerard wondered if he
might be a sailor, as his pants appeared to be made from
sailcloth.
    Gerard sat down across from him. The ocelon’s
eyes lifted slowly from his book, hazel in the muddy light. Gerard
was surprised. The ocelon was wearing little wire-framed lenses.
Eye-lenses were rare on Wefrivain, though Gerard had seen them a
couple of times before. They were expensive and difficult to make.
Most of the shelts who could afford them didn’t need them
(grishnards had legendarily good eyesight), and shelts who might
need them couldn’t afford them.
    “Where did you get those?” he asked.
    Gerard had intended nothing but honest
curiosity. However, the ocelon took off his lenses and slid them
across the table. Gerard felt ashamed. Have these shelts been so
trodden upon that they immediately roll over every time a grishnard
points a finger at them?
    Gerard forced himself to pick up the lenses
and examine them. The frames were only cheap wire, but the glass
itself was good work. He set them back on the table in front of the
ocelon. “I wasn’t accusing you of theft. I was only curious.”
    The ocelon quirked a smile. He put his lenses
back on. “You must be Gerard Holovar. Welcome to Sern,
Captain.”
    Gerard tried to cover his surprise. “Am I
already so famous?”
    “You have