by AO Spade
When he walked to the middle of the tent, a hot bolt of fear struck him. That... is fire. Real fire. He had never seen it before, but everyone knew what it was. His sensitive skin could feel its heat, even from several lengths away.
The white-haired Elder had made a tiny blaze near the center of the tent. By its light, he had withdrawn a leaf bundle, and was examining its markings.
If Elder Mastok feels the need to invite this danger into the healing tent, things are worse than we all think. The mage walked backward to his pallet and closed his eyes again, willing himself to forget, just until daybreak.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A Friend's Support
ALVARR WOKE UP sweating and salivating. He could smell the faint traces of the smoky fire that Elder Mastok had used last night, and it was making him-
Outside. He needed to get outside.
He slipped off the pallet and ran unsteadily for the entrance. When he had gotten into the cool morning air, he bent over, and his stomach wrung itself out and emptied. Afterward, shivery weakness stole into his limbs. The last thing he wanted to do was change to four-legs and drink and graze, but he knew he should. He had to, after that.
He walked toward a suitable spot, hoping his smaller two-legged form would go unnoticed. The dry brown grass anywhere close to the camp had been cropped short long ago and hadn't regrown. I'm not doing anything wrong, he told himself. But he did not want the others to see him eating fresh green grass when they, themselves, had to range far, spending all their energy on foraging.
The truth was, Alvarr wasn't sure if his power would answer him. It had become more and more unresponsive, ever since he had returned. When he got to a spot where he could not hear the sounds of any other stallion, he shifted, gritting his teeth against the disorienting nausea that accompanied the change.
Breathing deeply until it subsided, he listened in all directions. No one. Alvarr sent a tiny, half-hopeful thought to Nature. Please, if I serve you, give me something to eat.
Slowly, bright blades of thin grass grew around his hooves. It did not spread much. When the mage moved, the trail followed him. The very sight of the fresh food made Alvarr sick, but he made himself bite and swallow. The new grass tasted sharp and sour in his mouth. He could tell that the soil could not support much of it.
He took a few steps, growing grass in his wake. Elder Mastok had called Laren his mate. Alvarr did not know what to think about that. He believed in mates, but that did not mean that Laren was his. Or that he was Laren's. Did Elder Mastok have a way to tell, somehow? As far as Alvarr knew, the Elder only had knowledge, not magic.
He blew out a breath. And I am not the same person I was when I left. Though he was no leader, Alvarr was his own stallion, and stronger than he had been at the start of his journey. Though he wanted Laren's acceptance and willingly obeyed the Elders and the leader, Alvarr did not need them. What does that mean for me? I do not know yet. The only thing he could be sure of was that he had to work with the Elders to help their people however he could. If Laren would not help, Alvarr would act alone.
The mage started walking back toward the camp. Thank you, he sent to the earth, and the green trail disappeared like water on a hot stone.
And not a moment too soon. The distinctive shapes of Thane and Nassor stood directly in his path. Of all the times to see them. The last time he'd seen them, they had given him gifts. Alvarr did not want anything to do with them.
I'll just have to walk quickly back toward the camp. He kept a steady pace, neither shying away from those two, nor hurrying toward them.
As Alvarr approached, Thane's nostrils flared as he scented the air. "Mage," he greeted in his cool, flat voice.
"Thane," Alvarr returned, and kept on his path toward the camp. He forced himself to show no reaction, but his coat began to prickle with awareness of his two former bullies. What do they want from me this time?
Thane came up on his side, a little behind. Alvarr's ears flicked toward him, but he made himself look ahead and not speed up.
"You smell as fresh as a mare," Nassor grunted, flanking the mage's other side.
They were trying to pen him in. Usually, Alvarr could outrun them, but he was weak. He would have to keep them talking. "I don't understand why that would be," the mage said. "I am not a mare." As much as you tried to tease me about it. Uneasily, he wondered if they knew about he and Laren mating. How could they?
"Even in your man-shape, you are smaller," Thane stated.
"Barron is as small," Alvarr said, trying to remind him that they had apparently lost one of their friends.
"You are prettier." Thane spoke with no emotion, which unsettled Alvarr more than if he had been a raging monster.
"I… see," the mage said. His coat twitched, the hairs raised in alarm. He hoped that they didn't see it.
"You were made to be mounted," Nassor said. "With your small, pretty body. Though you are strong. You can take both of us," he said with a toss of his gray mane.
Alvarr swallowed down a sudden burst of nausea. The mage's belly drew tight with tension. His legs felt heavy with fatigue, but they wanted to leap ahead. He didn't dare speed up now. He just needed to spend time as he made his way toward others. "Even if that were the case, wouldn't you get jealous of each other?" Alvarr asked, keeping his voice steady and reasonable.
Nassor made a rough noise and flicked his ears. Thane just turned his head to stare at the mage as they walked along.
With relief, Alvarr saw the entrance of the camp ahead. Just keep them talking a bit longer. They won't try anything. He remembered how they had tried to mount him before, and couldn't help a little burst of speed.
"Our mare is feeling frisky," Nassor said, and they easily kept up with him.
"No, I'm feeling ill, if you must know," the mage said. Perhaps the prospect of disease would keep them away. "I vomited earlier and was trying to walk it off."
"Your breath smells of fresh grass," Thane observed.
"I am returning to the healing tent," Alvarr said. As soon as they were inside the entrance to the camp, he shifted to man-shape. Two heavy sets of footfalls followed him.
How can I rid myself of them?
Thane and Nassor followed him to the entrance of healing tent.
"Elder?" Alvarr called, hoping that someone would answer. "Elder, I am still sick." He raised his voice for the two stallions no doubt listening just outside the entrance.
Elder Mastok rushed up to Alvarr and bore him away to a partitioned-off pallet. The old man frowned. "You look well. Did you manage to eat at all?"
"Yes, I-"
Those two came around the partition, their large two-legged forms dominating the space.
Elder Mastok sat on the end of the pallet and glared at them. "You must leave the healing tent. Alvarr is ill, and I do not want any other stallion to catch it. Visitors are not welcome."
"We only want to pay our respects to the tribe's mage," Thane said, his voice smaller in his man-shape, but still expressionless and frightening.
Nassor made an attempt at looking respectful, but his blocky face showed his hunger.
They're lying, Alvarr thought to the Elder. Don't believe them. Thane and Nassor were just as horrible in their man-shapes as they were on four legs. Thane stood quietly, his tall, well-built form commanding attention. But Nassor was brutishly muscular, almost like he had been half-formed, but Nature had forgotten to smooth out the rough edges.
And Nassor had started fidgeting.
He cannot hold his man-shape for long. Alvarr was reminded that, for most of the stallions, man-shape was more difficult for them. Please, just let them leave.
"You are a worthy addition to the tribe," Thane said. "I am pleased to accept you."
Nassor shifted his weight from foot to foot. "When you get out, we'll be waiting for you. To talk," he said. His voice sounded like it was made from sand and earth.
"Yes, I am very interested to have a conversation," Thane said. Neither gave
a sign that he was about to leave. Instead, they crowded around Alvarr's pallet, pressing him for an answer.
Alvarr knew what they wanted: to mount him, to have him the way Laren had. At first, he'd thought it was just bullying because of his small size, but now, he knew better. The mage didn't know why. Magic had drawn he and the leader together, but no such power was at work here.
And something had definitely changed since he and Laren had mated. They had become more aggressive, more intent. His stomach clenched and his mouth watered. "I'm going to be sick again," he gasped.
Another voice made its way into the tent. "Alvarr!" Barron ducked through the entrance, and his light footfalls came toward the mage's pallet. His head appeared around the partition, but then his lip curled. "What are you two doing here?"
Though smaller than his former friends, Barron shouldered his way past them to Alvarr.
Alvarr, despite his nausea, smiled at the small man, and the other two stallions started talking at once.
"That's why you won't see-"
"So, you'll give your favor to him-"
"-teach him a lesson for-"
"-barely big enough to fit-"
"Stop," Elder Mastok commanded. He stood up, and despite his advanced age and smaller stature, Alvarr's two bullies fell silent. He pointed a gnarled, thin finger at them. "Leave. Now. You are upsetting him."
Alvarr wanted to tell him that Barron could stay, but he did not want his friend to draw the attention of those two. I'm happy you broke with them, he thought, glancing at the small man.
"You two," the Elder said. He put one hand on both of their shoulders, and pushed them toward the door. "You are straining to hold onto your man-shapes. If you cause destruction in the healing tent by shifting, the leader will not be pleased. It is time for you to go. I am going out to graze; come help an old man find some food."
"What is going on?" Barron's forehead had a furrow down it, and the corners of his mouth had drawn down.
"Sit down," Alvarr said. He looked at his own bare legs and ordered the events in his mind. "What I'm about to tell you, no one else knows the whole of. Not the Elders, not Laren. I am sorry to burden you with it, but I have to talk to someone, to work out my thoughts. I'm driving myself mad with questions that even the Elders cannot answer."
"I don't know how much help I will be, but I won't betray you," Barron said earnestly.
"I know," the mage said. "I'm not worried about that." He bit his lip. I might as well begin. "According to my mother, I was born the most powerful earth mage she'd ever met."
"Your mother?"
"Mare-Mother Quirina, the mage-leader of the mares."
Barron's eyes grew wide. "That makes sense… but, you're the son of a powerful leader, Alvarr!" He rubbed his short brown hair. "Why doesn't anyone know that?"
"Laren knows that I'm from the Mare-Mother's line, and the Elders do as well," the mage said. "They used to wonder if I was too young when I crossed over, and that's why I'm so small."
"We're the same age, aren't we?" Barron asked. His expression was sad. "If I had known you were so lonely…"
"No," Alvarr said, holding up a hand. "It is good that I spent so much time alone. My power was unpredictable. It still is. I think Mare-Mother was a bit afraid of it, to be honest."
"My mother did not spend much time with me after I was weaned," the mage said. "How could she? She is the tribe's leader and answers to all. But even then, I was an outcast. I was a male mage." Despite his words, Alvarr felt a stab of pain as he recalled how much time he had spent by himself, those first years.
"But she should have trained you-"
The mage wrapped his hair around his wrist. It had grown longer, and he sighed. Magic at work, but not the kind I need. "You could be right," he said. "Stallion magic might be different from mare magic. It never seems to work when I will it, only when I don't. I never talked to any of the mare-mages. I feel like I don't know anything." He resisted the urge to grab fistfuls of hair and pull. "But my magic makes me different."
"Well, yes," the other man said with gentle humor. "You can grow things, and you have a horn growing from your forehead."
"It's even more than that." He told Barron about how he didn't feel the urge, so he was not supposed to go out at the Time of Mating. But he went out anyway to heal Barron.
"I remember that well," his friend murmured. "You always give so much of yourself."
"I was not given magic to let it go to waste. To not use it would be against Nature," Alvarr said.
Barron grinned. "I could not sire any foals that night, but... Did you?"
Alvarr stiffened, and his hands clutched each other. Now we come to it. "Barron, that night was unusual for me in many ways," he began.
He told Barron about the mare, Rulea, and her stallion, and their sadness that neither they nor their foals could stay together. "That was when I knew that the Elder might be right," Alvarr said.
"About the rift?" Barron asked. "About stallions and mares living together?"
"Yes. And after that, Laren met me in the woods. He had not sired any foals, and he was very agitated." The mage took a deep breath. "And then... we mated. Laren and I."
Barron looked at him with curiosity, but Alvarr could not detect any disgust in his expression. "Laren... mounted you?" Barron asked.
"Y-yes." It is difficult to talk about this. Is he going to call me a mare? He has before. His hands clutched each other.
Barron tilted his head. "I suppose it's possible. But didn't it hurt?"
The mage made his hands relax. "No. No, but it was unexpected. How could it not be strange?" A little, tense laugh broke out of him. "Magic was at work. Nature brought us together."
"But why?"
"And this is the question. Truly, I do not know. But it happened again, just before I left, and," he leaned closer to his friend. "We mated in man-shape a little while ago, in the woods."
Barron's eyes grew wide and round as moons. "Really?"
"We didn't even mate, we just... touched each other. For comfort and closeness." It was more than that, but he didn't know how to put it into words. "That's the way it was with Rulea and her stallion," he said slowly. "I think the tribes are meant to be together."
"So we can become mates?" Barron didn't seem against the idea. If anything, he looked eager.
"I'd like to believe it, but we don't have any proof that it's more than just a story. L-Laren doesn't believe in it. In mates." It hurt to say those words, but they had to be said.
"Well, he wouldn't," Barron said with a snort. "That's not his way. He will only let himself believe a thing if it is safe."
Alvarr's mouth opened. Barron was right. That was Laren, exactly. What kind of leader would he be if he let himself believe something that could be unsafe? Then, he might lead the tribe astray. "That's exactly it," Alvarr admitted. Their leader would needed to know that this world-changing idea was safe and good. "But even if true mates don't exist, it's still not right to tear people apart, just because we have always done it. Stallions and mares belong in the same tribe, at least some of them."
Barron looked around the healing tent. "I can't imagine it. Mares among us?"
"Our mothers, sisters, and daughters, all in the same tribe," Alvarr said.
"That would be a huge tribe. We would not all fit here."
"No. But between here and the ancient camp, there is much land. We just have to cross the barrier of fear, and we can find another place to settle, one with more space and less badness."
"What you did could save the tribe," his friend said quietly.
"Only if they listen," Alvarr said. "And that means Laren must listen. He alone can make everyone believe."
The small man's stomach made a loud, hungry noise. He stood up and put his hand on the mage's shoulder. "If you need me, I'll be out foraging. Send someone, if you can't come yourself."
"Thanks," Alvarr said. He felt a flash of gratitude at Barron being his friend. "Barron, wait."
When his friend turned back, the mage said, "Do not go too far to forage. You will use more energy than you gain." Though he had always been rather lean, Barron's ribs showed, and the bones of his cheeks were sharper than usual.
The small man nodded, his face shadowed in the evening light. "I'll keep that in mind." He did not say what they all knew: good food was getting harder and harder to find.
Alvarr hated feeling this helpless. He was an earth mage; he needed to find out how to unlock his magic. He didn't know which was worse, having uncontrollable spurts of power than scared him, or not having any when the tribe needed it most. Doesn't Nature want me to help? Isn't the entire stallion tribe starving against Nature?
Though Alvarr was a little nervous, alone in the healing tent, those two did not reappear, even after much time passed. He hoped that the Elder would not let them out of his sight, but perhaps it was too much to ask. It is not Elder Mastok's job to mind two grown stallions. Alvarr would have to ask Laren to do something about them.
When Elder Mastok reappeared, he had a bundle of browning leaves in his hand.
That is one I brought back with me.
The old man took his place next to Alvarr on the pallet. He gazed at the ground in front of them. "Young mage," he said, "there is something you should know. I have wanted to tell you, but there has not been a chance." He held a bundle of flat leaves carefully with both hands.
He doesn't seem worried, just serious. "What is it, Elder?" Hope rose in Alvarr. Maybe he's found something that will help me, some ancient knowledge.
The Elder patted his arm with a weathered hand with a half smile. "This may... no, this will come as a surprise to you. But I believe I have found why your magic has been unpredictable, perhaps all your life. Why you find making the shift harder. And your sudden illness and sensitivity to the land."
"Something is wrong with me, then," Alvarr said, nodding. At least it was known. It would be a relief to know what it was. "And you've found a cure?"