“I thought Grayson only gave the drug to a handful of feybloods.”
“Your brethren continue giving it to many brightbloods,” Silene responded.
Damn it. The Arcanites, grandfather’s little extremist group of Fey haters, it had to be. He must have given the formula to them. “They are not my brethren, the ones doing this.”
“Then you will help?” Silene asked.
“I … I don’t know how. I would need to talk to an alchemist, and—”
“We tried that,” Silene said, and knelt beside the wisp. “It did not go well. Do you not have a healing potion?”
“No. Sorry.” Heather had been willing to brew them for my family cheap, but was unfortunately no longer around to help us out. Even more unfortunate was the reason—she’d tried to freeze me on behalf of my power-mad grandfather, and then went fugitive. Too bad, too, because if anyone could help these feybloods, it would be her.
Silene sighed. “I shall have to do what I may, then.” She placed her hand on the wisp’s forehead, and closed her eyes. Her tree began to sway back and forth gently, each sway greater and longer than the last. The sunlight glistened off the swooping cedar fronds, and a green light rose up around the moaning woman. Silene started to sway back and forth in time with her tree. The wisp arched her back, and the green light rushed up through Silene’s hand and along her arm, until it surrounded her. It faded, and Silene slumped back to sit on the mossy earth, her legs folded to one side. The tree slowed in its swaying, and the wisp lay still, breathing slow and steady.
“You healed her?” I asked.
“No,” Silene said, and her voice sounded strained, tired. “I drained the poisons from her body, filtered them through my tree. She will rest a while. But the craving will rise in her again, and she will require more of the drug or she will die. I have only bought her a brief rest.”
I frowned. “I’m sorry, but … I’ve never learned what the drug does, exactly. Why would your cousins use it, knowing this might happen?”
Silene looked up at me, her eyebrows raised. “I find your ignorance surprising indeed.” Her mouth pouted to the side, as if she were uncertain whether to tell me more or not. Then she said, “Not all brightbloods take it willingly. But for those who do, it offers many temptations. Pleasure, of course. Escape from unhappy memories. For Elene, I believe she took it to heal the Fettering. She desired offspring, but none was approved.”
The Fettering was a kind of spiritual birth control, on par with having a vasectomy or your tubes tied, that prevented brightbloods from having true offspring without ARC intervention. It was used to enforce the population controls approved in the Pax. Even waer couldn’t infect others if they were fettered. Which explained how Pete was infected, if the drug had unfettered the waer who attacked him.
“Oh.” I felt awkward. “So, does this have something to do with why the enforcers were here?”
“In a way, yes.” She tried to stand, but fell back to the ground. Sal stepped forward and offered his catcher’s mitt-sized hand to help her up. She frowned at his boots. “You are the one who has been wrapping trees in yarn for the humans to see.”
“Iself just trying to make humans stop and see the trees, realize the beauty,” Sal said.
“The yarn allows rot and insects to grow beneath,” Silene replied. “And you’re covering up their true beauty, not displaying it.”
“Iself take the yarn down before rot begins,” Sal said. “Why youself be so badger-angry? Youself dryad, use beauty to protect trees, too.”
“Not anymore.” Silene’s hand moved to her chest, but stopped just short, and closed into a fist. “I have a new purpose now.”
“We all do,” Romey said behind me. “And you’re not part of it.”
*And here we go,* Alynon said.
“What?” I turned to find the feybloods had closed around me, looking like I’d just been caught eating filet of faun. I glanced at Sal, but he just stared back, giving no indication of helping.
*Clan before mana,* Alynon said.
Great.
“Uh, hey guys,” I said. “Crazy day, huh?”
Romey stepped forth from the crowd, her narrow fox-like features scrunched even narrower by her scowl. “Maybe we should take you prisoner, the way your enforcers took our cousins.”
“You could try,” I said. “But then, the ARC would come back with a small army.”
“They would have to find us,” the wolf, a shunka warakin, said. “And we would have you while they did.” He padded forward, his hackles rising.
Crap.
I whipped the spirit trap out from beneath my shirt, though it was useless as a weapon, and held the twisted metal amulet up as I shouted, “Anall nathrach, oothfas bethad, dochiel dienvay!”
The feybloods flinched back, some covering their eyes or heads.
“Touch me, and suffer!” I said, then lowered the amulet. “Or, we can talk. You can tell me what’s going on and maybe I can help.”
Romey growled a little fox-like growl, and looked to either side. “He cannot stop us all.”
“Nope, but I can rip the soul out of most of you,” I lied. “So, you know, there’s pros and cons I guess.”
Sal grunted. “Finn-mage is not problem.”
“Romey,” Silene said. “Stand down!” She struggled to her feet. “All of you, we agreed that we would not use violence to achieve our goals.”
The waerfox scowled, and she glanced at her fellow feybloods. “Maybe it is time for a new agreement.”
“How will that prove that we are more than beasts?” Silene asked, stepping up beside me. “That we are worthy of being treated as equals? Why would they ever allow us to move freely among the humans, or give us representation in their council?”
I looked at her, surprised. Feybloods on the Arcana Ruling Council? She really was dreaming. The council had only recently allowed women arcana in their highest positions.
*Fa,* Alynon said in a dismissive tone as the feybloods grumbled and mumbled between themselves. *Always there is talk among these children that they should separate from their patrons, form their own nation, and make of themselves partners equal to the arcana, la la la. But soon enough the arcana reject them, they feel the lack of our protection and magic, and need prevails over foolish wanting.*
Sal stepped up on the other side of me, casting me in his shadow. He looked over my head at Silene. “Brightbloods are not having to prove anything to arcana. Brightbloods can stay in forests, do what weself want.”
Romey snorted. “Bold words from a brightblood who sells his services to the arcana.”
Sal blushed. “Seeahtik tribe need mana sometimes, too, like any brightblood. Even fox spirits. Even dryads.”
Silene crossed her arms. “We should not have to be their slaves to get what we need.”
Sal looked angry now, and leaned over me toward Silene, making me feel like I was between a rock and, well, an angry sasquatch. “Iself nobody’s slave. Grayson made sister-mine a true slave, and if heself were not dead, Iself would end him.”
*Awkward!* Alynon said. *What say we tell him your grandfather—or “Grayson”—may be alive in truth?*
Anyone ever tell you that you suck?
*Many indeed, starting with my parents. Which just goes to prove how few beings have any taste.*
Silene said, “Running and hiding is no more an answer than violence.” She looked at me. “If you cannot cure the curse, then how could you help us?”
Romey spat on the ground. “If you are going to deal with arcana, especially a Gramaraye, I will take those willing to fight and we shall start our own movement.”
Silene raised one eyebrow to Romey for a second, then without taking her eyes from the waerfox, she said loudly, “We will get our cousins back, and we will continue the fight. Just as the Klallam firstmen have won the freedom of our river from its concrete shackles, so, too, we shall win our freedom from the shackles of the Pax. Our lives and our cause burn with the fi
re of the bright in our blood, and both shall endure long after those arcana who came here today are naught but bones and dust. We shall not give them an excuse to end our light, but we shall instead let our light shine upon their injustices for all to see, and, our cause being just and right and true, we shall prevail!”
A ripple passed through the feyblood crowd, of heads nodding and murmurs of agreement. Romey looked around her, and scowled like Archie Bunker at a Pride Parade down Martin Luther King Way, but didn’t agitate any further.
“Come, speak with me,” Silene said, and Sal and I followed her around to the far side of her tree. Romey joined us. Because, of course. As I neared the river, my knees felt unsteady and my hands shook. I turned away from it.
Silene sat and leaned back against the cedar’s trunk, facing the river. She let out a long sigh, resting her hands on the roots that cradled her to either side. “This all will change soon,” she said.
“The feyblood’s role in the Pax?”
“The river.” She motioned to it. I risked a quick glance. The water ran clear and green, cutting through a gray, clay-like ravine beneath forested hills. In the cool breeze coming off of the river, I could smell the cooling sweat on myself. It held the sharp tang of fear as though I’d just run through a fine mist of Christian Dior’s Holy Crap I’m Going to Die.
I took a step back as Silene continued, “Soon, the mundanes will take away their dams to let the river flow free and the salmon spawn. The Klallam firstmen did this, won the freedom of the river. Many trees may be lost along the riverbank when the river finds its new way. But many more will grow again where now there is a lake. All of this I learned the day after my tree was struck by lightning, when I lost my—beauty.”
Sal harrumphed. “Iself not seeing how youself lost beauty,” he said.
Silene looked away from us.
“So…” I asked. “Is that a good thing, with the river? Will your tree be safe?”
Silene shrugged. “The future is uncertain. But it awakened me. The lightning. The victory of the Klallam firstmen. I realized that if I had but a short time left, I might spend it winning a victory for my own clan, to ensure their roots were strong enough to weather coming storms and their ambitions great enough to touch the skies. So I began organizing a movement among those of us pledged to the Silver Court.”
“And that is why the enforcers were here? Because of your movement?”
“Because they fear it, yes. And … because one of my sister brightbloods was killed by an alchemist, and they cover for him.”
I frowned. Romey cocked her head, and said, “You do not believe your fellow arcana capable of such behavior? Or did you not believe us brightbloods capable of recognizing it, because we are just stupid beasts?”
“Neither,” I said. “Don’t get me wrong, enforcers can be total tools, and they’re a tad overzealous in the same way the Hulk is a tad unhappy, but one thing I’ve learned is they truly believe in truth and justice and the arcana way. They wouldn’t knowingly arrest the wrong person—or feyblood for that matter—and certainly not to cover up a crime.”
“Of course you would defend them,” Romey said.
“Finn-mage may be wrong,” Sal said. “But heself is not responsible for enforcers. Heself is just spirit talker. And Iself see other arcana try to kill Finn-mage.”
“It is not our way to blame a falling leaf for the winter winds,” Silene replied, I assumed in agreement.
“Sal’s right,” I said. “I can’t control what the enforcers do. But do you know if the ARC necromancers have questioned the spirit of your dead cousin, the one killed by the alchemist?”
“If they had,” Silene said, “and they are as honest as you say, then they would not have had cause to come here and arrest us.”
“Then allow me to leave and speak to the spirit of your fallen cousin, to learn the truth of what happened.”
Romey scowled. “And how are we to trust you will do so, and not just try to blame her death on us somehow?”
“I won’t lie,” I said, my arms crossed. “I give you my word as a necromancer that I will Talk to your dead cousin and convey the truth of what I find to both the ARC and yourselves.” I looked at Silene. “I will want to be quick, though. There’s a cost to Talking. So if you can tell me what happened, and why, that will help me know what to ask.”
“We do not know what happened, exactly,” Silene said. “Only that the alchemist is to blame.”
“Okay, why do you think that?”
“What other explanation could there be? That we killed our own, or attacked an arcana openly? For what gain?”
I frowned. “Maybe we should back up a bit. Why was your cousin even with the alchemist in the first place?”
Silene sighed. “She and those arrested today were protesting outside his shop. Our campaign against alchemists was to be the first seed sown in our growth toward freedom. Alchemists exploit us. They need us for so many of their potions—our blood, bone, and flesh, our hair, horns, and venom, everything. Even the ink that the wizards use to make their tattoos requires some part of brightbloods.”
Sal gave a low growl. “Theyself use Seeahtik feet for sexstrong potion. Weself feet, and skin of unicorn … horn.”
Thank the gods I’d never drunk that particular potion. I wondered if Mort had. Seemed likely. I’d have to mention the ingredients to him, maybe over breakfast.
“This has always been true, though,” I said. “The alchemists get those ingredients from the licensed necrotoriums, and in exchange the feyblood’s family gets mana.”
“And how much mana would you feel is fair in exchange for your mother’s eyes? Or your father’s feet?” Romey challenged.
“No amount,” I admitted. And I had a sudden, terrible thought—would someone try to harvest something of Pete or Vee after their death for an alchemist’s potion? “But … I thought most feybloods didn’t care about the physical body once the spirit had left?”
“Some,” Silene said, looking at the wisp. “And some are just desperate to leave their family a little mana. Even so, the mana we get for the bodies of our fallen is never enough to meet our need, yet just enough that many cannot refuse it.”
It was like rabbit’s feet, I realized. I’d won them as colorful little trinkets at the arcade when I was young, and knew what they were called at the time, yet somehow hadn’t connected them as having once actually been on a cute little living rabbit, not until I was a teen. How many familiar artifacts and potions had I also never thought to question the origins of?
Silene continued, her voice becoming more passionate, “We have more to offer of value than our bodies, yet most are denied permission to perform such work—they say to keep humans safe and our natures hidden, but we know it is also to keep us dependent.”
Romey snorted. “And because they fear we shall prove their betters.”
Silene gave a slight shrug. “We hoped our peaceful protests would remind the arcana that the potions and powders they buy come from our dead, to demand fair return for our sacrifice.”
*How like a brightblood to blame everyone else for their lowly state,* Alynon said. *But if brightbloods had the ability to care for themselves, they would have done so by now.*
Isn’t that what Silene is trying to do?
*A child’s rebellion against those who care for her, that is all. It shall prove short lived and symbolic only, as all such brightblood movements are.*
Don’t be a jerk, I thought.
*You may call me the jerk, but if you arcana wished to reduce your dependence upon these brightbloods, it would be but a matter of small effort to do so.*
The ARC had, I knew, found artificial replacements for some of the more rare feyblood ingredients. In fact, several popular medicines, two artificial sweetners, and a rather hostile and short-lived breed of Sea Monkeys were also discovered by accident during the ARC’s experiments. But such work was expensive in resources and mana. Easier to just pay feybloods for their donati
ons, and maintain the Pax Arcana’s status quo.
“No response, I see,” Romey said bitingly.
I shook my head. “Just thinking. So what went wrong with your protests?”
“We do not know,” Silene said, “except Veirai was killed.”
Romey growled. “She was murdered by the alchemist.”
Silene shrugged. “They said it was self-defense, that he acted out of fear for his life. I do not think that likely.”
I frowned. “Are you sure Veirai didn’t attack this alchemist, maybe try to force him to make a cure for Grayson’s Curse?”
“I’m sure. We do not speak of the curse except to those we trust, to prevent spreading awareness of its existence. We’ve already lost too many to its trap—Dunngo’s son among them—and too many out there already see us as little better than animals, to be used as pets and slaves.”
“Ah.” I wasn’t sure what to say to that. “Okay. I’ll do what I can to find out why this alchemist killed Veirai, and what the ARC is doing about it.” I turned to Sal. “And we’ll verify that Challa is the right … friend for you once she’s free. I promise.” I gave him a pat on the arm, and winced as my hand found a sharp burr caught in his fur. I plucked it off my palm and tossed it away with the difficulty of tossing away a bad dream made of sap and static cling.
Silene ordered the other feybloods to let me leave in peace rather than pieces, and I wasted no time in getting back to my car. I arranged to meet Sal the next day at Fort Worden, when I’d hopefully have the sasquatch Challa, or at least some good news.
*You are a fool to get involved in their troubles,* Alynon said as Don Faun led me back toward my car.
I’m not—what do you care anyway?
*I care if it puts us in danger.*
Offering to help got us out of danger. And it’s the right thing to do. I promised Sal I’d find him love. And Grayson’s Curse—
*Ah, you hope to improve your family name? Perhaps so Pete may pledge here to the Silver?*
Bigfootloose and Finn Fancy Free Page 7