by Wen Spencer
“All the phones should be hooked up.” Dean Fisher paused to pick up one old-fashioned headset and listened for a tone. “Yes.” She switched to English and held out a card. “These are all my phone numbers. If you need anything during the day, just dial my extension. After office hours, I’m at the second number. That’s my private cell phone number. To dial out, you’ll need to enter ‘9’ first. It’s ancient.” She paused as if realizing that Olivia might not understand the antique system. “Have you ever used a landline?”
“Yes.” Olivia didn’t bother to explain that she never owned a cell phone. The ranch considered them something sinful that only men could use safely. There was a phone system in place similar to the university’s so that all incoming phone calls could be screened prior to connecting the caller with the right person.
“Most students are baffled by our ancient technology. Their phones are tiny flat things that they carry in their pocket and do everything from take pictures to send e-mail. We need to give the freshmen detailed instructions on how to use the university’s phone system. They grasp it quickly; they’re used to the fundamental idea of using a tool to speak with anyone. Elves do not have anything similar to telephones. They don’t see the need. If they want to communicate with someone, they write a letter. The days that it takes for a message carried by hand to travel back and forth, to them, are like minutes to us. If the need for communication is great enough, they go themselves or send someone from their household.”
Olivia had gotten enough allegories drummed into her that she recognized one dressed up in different clothes. The lesson of this particular one, however, eluded her. “Your point being?”
“You are young. Frighteningly young.”
Olivia expected the dean to ask her age again, but the woman glossed over that detail.
“I have found that the younger the student, the more they believe that they understand how the world works based on their very limited experience. They don’t realize how subtle reality truly is; there are layers to the world. What seems to be the truth is only the reflective surface, mirroring back their perceptions.”
Olivia fought to keep her voice level. “And I’ve found that the older the adult, the more sure that they know what is better for the child, even when what they believe kills the child.”
The dean’s eyes filled with sorrow. “Yes, I realize that is true too.” Nevertheless, she plowed on. “There is much we don’t know about the elves; we’ve only had contact with fairly young and adventurous individuals of the Wind Clan. Even the viceroy should be considered a teenager. Everything has changed. We can’t take for granted what the elves want is something we can easily understand.”
By “we” the dean obviously meant “you.”
Which might be true but it certainly applied to everyone else in Pittsburgh too.
“We,” Olivia stressed the pronoun, “will only be using this floor until we can find a house.”
* * *
They cleaned.
Which was to say that the Wyverns stood around guarding them from God-knows-what, the royal marines established where they were supposed to be and promptly disappeared, and Forest Moss picked up random items and studied them for an hour before setting them back where he found them. Olivia worked quickly and efficiently; cleaning was the one thing that the ranch taught her to do well.
She set her sights low; she limited her cleaning to just one section. She and Forest Moss would be camping in the space only until she found something in Oakland where they could safely live. The rooms had been the offices of Nathan Yocum, Dean of Children’s Literature, and his administrative assistant. The larger room had a charming but dusty window seat, a big leather sofa, two wingback chairs, a massive wooden desk, and large built-in bookcases as befitted the offices of a dean. Someone had taken the desk chair, which was fine as there were plenty of other places to sit.
The royal marines loved the elevator. They rode up and down and up and down in it all morning. Much to the university’s dismay, they used it to explore all the floors—abandoned and occupied. They would circle back to the twentieth floor bearing gifts from the startled university staff and found treasures from the abandoned offices. The elevator would ding, the doors would slide open and they would spill out, laughing and talking loudly like excited schoolchildren. They would track Olivia down in the warren of offices, show off their latest discovery, and ask her to explain it.
They laughed at her Elvish, saying that she sounded like someone from the Wind Clan. Apparently the creators of her online language classes had never spoken with elves from the other clans.
The marines were an equal mix of males and females. They were all over six feet tall, red haired and green eyed. From a globe they found, she learned that they were all from an area that matched up with Northern Italy. They’d arrived just days ago via the train. Prior to that, they had never seen a diesel engine, an automobile, an electric light, or even a human before. They brought her staplers, tape dispensers, staple removers, binder clips, and bubble wrap. The last, once she showed how the bubbles could be popped, triggered a running game of keep-away.
“They seem so young,” Olivia said as the game charged down the hall, popping and cracking.
“They’re about your age.” Forest Moss believed that Olivia was eighteen or older. “They are fresh out of training. The more-experienced troops were deployed to protect the Spell Stones. Neither Aum Renau nor Aum Hearn was heavily guarded prior to the oni’s first attack of the viceroy. There was little need. They are shielded against everything except traitors. Since the Spell Stones are our greatest weapons, they are also our greatest weakness.”
The Spell Stones were “our” while her baby was “yours.” It would not be so galling if she actually knew what the stupid things actually were.
* * *
It exhausted her to simply clear the larger room, dust the bookshelves, and explain every possible piece of office equipment known to humankind for the last fifty years. At least the marines had done more than explore the cathedral; they brought cots, more blankets, and baskets of hot food. The warriors all had ironwood forks and spoons in kit bags. During the day, however, they’d found plastic sporks for Olivia and Forest Moss to use. Inside the baskets were grilled fish fillets, more of the dark rye bread, and a roasted root that tasted vaguely like turnips that had been sweetened with honey.
“Are we paying for this?” She hadn’t seen any money exchange hands but that didn’t mean that someone wasn’t keeping track of what they were eating.
“Oh, yes, close accounting is kept. Wind Clan bleeds heavily for this war.”
She didn’t understand if that meant they would be charged or not. She glanced to Glaive.
The Wyvern explained in more detail. “The Wind Clan is responsible to house and feed the incoming domana from other clans. Wolf Who Rules Wind will cover any expense incurred within reason.”
This was good news since she only had the keva beans salvaged from her house. With two mouths to feed, the food would not last long. Considering that the marines had grown to twenty in number, she was thankful that they were feeding her instead of the other way around.
“For how long?” she asked.
“For the duration of the war.” Forest Moss pressed her hand to his cheek. “It’s all bookkeeping. Extremely petty of us to quibble over money when our world is at risk, but that is how we keep the peace among us. Otherwise we would be like pigs fighting over table scraps while the butcher looks on.”
“So the Wind Clan will feed us as long as the fighting continues?” Olivia said
Forest Moss smiled gently. “Do not worry; the war will not last long. The oni have been cut off from their world, so they have no retreat and no reinforcements. Every day more elves arrive in Pittsburgh to fight. We will quickly root out these oni. I was given land. We can build a holding and gather people to us. We will soon be a proper household.”
God forgive her, but she didn’t want the war
to end quickly. At least, not until next summer, when they’d had a chance to plant crops and harvest them. All the food from Earth was running out. It was only a matter of time before the elves were the only source. For her unborn child and all the people of Pittsburgh, she didn’t want their survival to be dependent on the good will of the Wind Clan. It would be a simple matter of letting Pittsburgh starve in the dead of winter.
She hoped that the Wind Clan would be better than that. She prayed that they were. But she couldn’t afford to assume that they would be.
They only needed to be in Oakland during the war. The moment it ended, they could settle anywhere in the city. They could stay at the Cathedral of Learning. The important thing was to find winter clothing and start stocking up on food.
She yawned deeply.
Tomorrow.
* * *
She woke up late at night, the moon shining light through the windows on the ranks of cots around her. The Wyverns, who stayed up the night before, slept while the marines kept watch down the hall.
It made Olivia feel like she’d awoken in preschool during nap time and found her classmates still asleep. She wondered why. She spent years sleeping with all her stepsisters, stacked like cordwood in bunk beds. Maybe it was because the Wyverns were unknown elements; possible allies instead of known enemies.
She didn’t have the luxury of seeing the world as a child. Currently her worldly possessions were exactly a pair of underwear, a pair of sensible shoes, a gingham sundress, and a purse full of gold. She needed clothes not only for herself but for Forest Moss too. He had lost everything at Ginger Wine’s; his rooms had burned the night of the oni attack.
She tiptoed to the restroom. Forest Moss didn’t stir but all the Wyverns woke long enough to watch her pass. Half of the marines were gathered around the elevator; the rest were in cots scattered about the twentieth floor. They grinned sheepishly at her as if she’d caught them doing something wrong. They bowed repeatedly, like a flock of drinking bird toys.
What had she interrupted?
They didn’t seem to be drinking or smoking (if elves smoked), or even roughhousing more than normal. They must have been talking about something they didn’t want her to hear. She let the restroom door squeak closed behind her, clunked across the tile floor, coughing to make more noise. Then, slipping off her shoes, crept back to the door. At the ranch, eavesdropping was the only way she ever learned anything. During the day she’d learned the individual voices of the marines so she was able to identify the speakers.
“See,” Dagger whispered loudly. The female was the brassy leader with a little too-friendly hands. “All this strangeness and she’s calm as ice on a lake. No amount of wind is going to be ruffling her.”
“Two different things.” Ox didn’t bother to whisper. He tended to be blunt to the point of rude, but not in an intentionally mean way. “He could shatter again at any moment. She’s still human; there’s nothing she can do to stop him.”
“She calms him right down.” Coal sided with Dagger. “Ice on rough waters.”
“No, he’s like a keg of black powder,” Ox stated. “One spark. Boom. Everyone dead before they can stop the explosion. He’ll probably just kill her by mistake.”
“He’s too valuable!” Rage lived up to her name; her voice was rough with her anger. “We need him. The oni have powerful human weapons and dragons and wargs. Forest Moss is a seasoned warrior, something that Wolf Who Rules is not.”
Coal made the sound of agreement. “It was Wind Clan domi that killed the oni dragon, not the viceroy. Do you think, once she’s dashavat, she’ll be as fearsome in battle as the child bride?”
Olivia didn’t know the meaning of the unfamiliar word. Once she was what?
“I don’t think it will come to that. Forest Moss is going to shatter and the holy ones will put him down. You’ll see. Just like Earth Son.” Ox whistled, imitating a sword cutting through the air. Earth Son had been beheaded by his own guards.
“Wyverns don’t want to do that,” Dagger said. “We’re spread thin and Forest Moss has fought bravely so far. Earth Son was a coward.”
“At that place with the children statues that he was blowing up, they were discussing putting him down like a mad dog when she slipped him away. They might not want to do it, but they will.”
They meant Kaufmann’s. The Wyverns had been that close to writing Forest Moss off as a lost cause?
“I would like to go to that place,” Lynx said. Apparently Elvish didn’t have a word for “department store.” “They say that the stairs moved and would carry you up and down without you moving your feet.”
The conversation changed to the rumored sights of the city that the elves would like to see. Olivia backed away from the door, her heart beating madly. The Wyverns planned to kill Forest Moss? The only reason he was still alive was because she kept him sane enough that the elves felt safe around him?
Were they right? Could Forest Moss lose control enough to accidently kill her?
She used the toilet because the need was real and ignoring it wouldn’t solve any of her problems.
Somehow this was worse than when Troy first unleashed his anger on her. She’d been scared then because she knew no one would stop him from hitting her until he felt like stopping. This time the Wyverns would stop the person hurting her by killing him. It should make her glad that someone was protecting her. Had she become one of those women that expected abuse as part of a relationship? Or was it because she didn’t want to believe that Forest Moss would ever hurt her?
She finished, washed her hands, and then stood staring at her reflection.
Shouldn’t she be comforted by the fact that she was being protected?
The door squeaked open and Dagger leaned in. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Olivia said automatically.
The Wyverns woke again as she made her way back to her cot despite the fact she was trying her best to move silently. Forest Moss stirred, sought her warmth and fell back into deep sleep.
She imagined that she felt the eyes of the Wyverns on them. Judging them. At any moment, the holy warriors might decide to take a sword to Forest Moss. They could even do it with her beside him, spraying her with blood. She shuddered, remembering how it felt when they butchered the lambs. The small thrashing bodies that had to be held still for the knife. The stench of blood and the slickness of it on her hands. The cries of fear. The distress of the ewes wanting back their lambs.
Olivia wrapped her arms around Forest Moss, hugging him protectively.
Anyone could be dangerous; even the smallest of children could pick up a gun and pull the trigger. It was the nature of God’s creations; the will to survive included the ability to kill. Even bacteria could murder. What set humans apart from animals was the moral understanding that ability to kill others didn’t equate to the right.
The Wyverns might be just and holy, but they had no right to kill Forest Moss.
She couldn’t let them, but she knew she couldn’t stop them. Somehow, she had to find a way to keep them from harming Forest Moss.
* * *
Olivia and her private army went shopping the next morning. By some minor miracle, the nearby Giant Eagle had managed to stay open while the rest of the chain had closed. She trundled through the big supermarket, pushing a cart with one squeaky wheel, followed by a herd of Wyverns and royal marines. Imagine Dragons’ “Radioactive” played over the sound system, the deep thumping bass accompanied by the cart’s squeaking. “It’s a revolution I suppose,” the male lead sang. “We’re painted red to fit right in.”
She eyed the sea of red behind her in the mirror over the vegetable bins labeled “local produce.” Fitting in was not what they were doing. Employees and other customers were scattering before her like flocks of frightened pigeons.
She raided the bins for produce that would keep. Apples. Potatoes. Winter squash. The next aisle that used to be canned goods was picked clean. Not even dented cans of spi
nach remained.
“Welcome to the new age, to the new age,” the PA system sang.
It felt like the apocalypse had hit Pittsburgh. It reminded her that she needed the elves to survive the winter.
At least the next aisle, which was paper goods, was still well stocked. Pittsburghers hadn’t considered what life without toilet paper was going to be like. She picked up a mega-pack and handed it to the nearest marine. The male elf eyed the package decorated with the cartoon bears as if he’d never seen toilet paper before. She ignored him, handing a second and third mega-pack out to the bewildered elves. The marines huddled around the newly burdened soldiers, examining the packages and making guesses as to what they contained.
“Bear cloth?” one guessed, pointing at the bears.
One could read French. “Ne bouche pas sur pour les systemes septiques. Septiques. Septiques. I don’t know this word. Ah! Paper hygiénique. Paper for health.”
This only mystified them more.
She wanted cloth diapers but there were only disposable ones in the next aisle. Savvy parents had bought out the larger sizes, leaving behind only three packages for newborn. Those would last her a week. She was going to have to find more before her baby was born.
The next few aisles were as empty as the canned goods. Only the overhead signs hinted at what had been shelved there. Pasta. Soup. Cereal. Soda. Spices were largely untouched. Her budget didn’t allow her to buy to her heart’s content, not when anything beyond salt and pepper came at a dear price. Beyond iodized salt, nothing was required for survival.
Before she could stop him, Forest Moss had picked up a bottle of Chinese Five Spice and broken the seal.
“Anise.” He intermixed English words with Elvish. “Cassia, which is the bark of Cinnamomum trees. Cloves.” He sniffed again. “Gingibre. Badian, which is sometimes called star anise. I used to trade herbs for bronze and then steel.”