by Jean Johnson
“Ban, my friend,” Zuki murmured, reaching up to cup his cheek with her hand, before turning to kiss his own. “How was the trial of courage?”
“Most will survive it,” he told her, crouching on the balls of his feet. Tall as he was, that only put his head a little below hers. “Young Nadj might drop out.”
“Pity,” she sighed. “His grandmother was very brave.”
“Not everyone is suited to such things,” Éfan stated. He slanted a wry look at Ban with his honey gold eyes. “Jintaya certainly isn’t.”
“Ha!” Zuki laughed, a sharp bark followed by a bit of coughing. She waved off Ban’s concerned touch on her arm. “. . . Don’t mind me. I choked on some water earlier. It’s still plaguing my lungs. So, what gift did you bring me in that basket, hmm?”
“Not a gift, but a problem. For Éfan,” Ban stated. The Fae immediately rose and crossed to the basket, peering inside while Ban explained. “A trader from the northlands, Yusef, accidentally caused a very expensive piece of pottery to break . . . after being insulted by Udrin.”
Zuki narrowed her hazel eyes, intellect sharpening. “Every time he comes back from the Efrijt-lands, he is worse. I have never approved of him being raised by them.”
“We could hardly keep him to ourselves, Zuki,” Éfan chided gently. “Since we had no way to reinforce our rights to govern access to this world—and still do not—the only way we could get the Efrijt to heed our demands was to give them a chance at gaining control.”
“They may have doors to other realms,” the elderly animadj dismissed, familiar by now with how the Fae and the Efrijt and even Ban—human though he technically was—came from other dimensions. “But they do not have the power you have. You could toss them through their doorways like sacks of grain without raising a single bead of sweat.”
“True, but that would be counterproductive,” Éfan reminded her. “They could choose to bring through an army of heavily equipped thousands . . . and even Ban would find such numbers difficult to defeat, when coupled with their machines and what little magic they can access in this realm.”
“He has a point,” Ban admitted. “I am only one man, and I can be stopped, even if only for a time . . . but I can be stopped more than once along the way.”
Éfan, reaching into the basket, chuckled. “Yes. Like that boulder that dropped on you, just before you discovered the Efrijt had arrived.”
Rolling his eyes, Ban grunted, “Do not remind me. And it was just the one.”
Zuki chuckled, only to cough again. “Too late,” she rasped, grinning. Reaching up, she pulled the tattooed man close enough to press a smacking kiss to his brow. “I have earned the right to be able to laugh at everything. My wrinkles give it to me.”
“Poor Ban,” Éfan sighed. “Forever juniormost in face . . . and . . . There. One fully repaired, good-as-new piece of pottery.” He withdrew his hand from the basket, which now had a tall, ornately decorated, pale bluish green pitcher sticking up out of its depths. “No cracks . . . and imbued with a resiliency spell that will see it safely on its way for the next one hundred days.”
“It may take Yusef that long to get home,” Ban warned. “They may be used to more year-round heat than we get, but if I remember right, their caravan leaves in two days so that they can cross the desert before it becomes too dry.”
“So long as this Yusef fellow does not delay his trip, or get excessively angry again, the pot should survive,” the chief mage of the pantean stated. “And, of course, so long as some animadj doesn’t try to siphon the anima out of it. The pottery won’t rebreak, but it will resume being brittle.”
“The problem lies with Udrin,” Ban stated, standing up so he could stretch out his long, crouched legs. “Apparently he made some comment about ‘reshaping’ Yusef to have no mouth, when Yusef ordered him to get away from his caravan members.”
Éfan frowned. “That’s odd . . .”
“I keep telling you, the boy should have been raised by humans—and I don’t care that he’s Dai-Fae or Dai-Efrijt!” Zuki asserted irritably. “He’s gauging the fate of our world, the world of us humans. He should’ve been raised to know and respect our values!”
“He was in part,” Efan murmured, distracted.
The elderly animadj snorted. “You know as well as I do,” she stated, grunting as she heaved herself to her feet, “that the Efrijt wanted to warp him from childhood to obey their ways . . . thank you, Ban,” she added when the tattooed outworlder handed her the cane resting on the floor by her chair. Even with Jintaya giving her healing energies, the human was simply old, and her knees no longer quite so forgiving. She moved over to the table to examine the ewer. “Raise him to understand and appreciate the humans whose fate he will decide. That’s where you both went wrong.
“I’ve said it to you, and I’ve said it to that Sejo Zakal lady when she came visiting last,” Zuki asserted. “This is our world, and our resources. We should decide who gets to use them . . . and that is indeed a gorgeous vase. Well worth every drop of animadjic you spent on it. Speaking of which,” she continued, leveling a stern look at her superior in magic, “when was the last time you ate anything? That is, anything other than anima?”
Tipping his head back with a sigh, Éfan rolled it around to loosen his neck muscles before answering, his wheat-gold, thigh-length hair sliding along his golden robes. “. . . Seven . . . no, eight days. And I do plan to eat.”
“Tonight?” Zuki prodded, not at all fooled by the vague promise.
Éfan rolled his eyes again, then turned those honey irises on Ban. He sighed. “I cannot even rely upon you for support in this argument, can I?”
“Only the second wave of Fae still feel the pangs of hunger, though it’s been twenty years,” Ban told him. “And they only feel it once in a while. But that does not mean you do not hunger.”
Opening his mouth to say more, Éfan flinched when the elderly animadjet woman poked his shin with the tip of her walking stick. Huffing, he gave both of them a dirty look. “Fine. I shall go find something to eat now.”
“Good boy,” Zuki chuckled, as if she had many more years to her than Éfan’s three and a half centuries. She watched the Fae leave the balcony for a moment, then turned to Ban and lifted her free arm in invitation.
He leaned in for a brief hug, sharing it with one of his own arms, and even kissed her cheek, and got one in return.
“You’re a good boy, too, Ban. I will see you for supper tomorrow.”
“Of course. Zuki . . . is there anything you think we can do about Udrin now?” he asked, unsettled by Yusef’s revelations. The boy had been getting rather odd in the last few years.
“Rather than complain about the improper raising of his past?” she asked. Thinking a few moments, she finally sighed and shrugged, bracing both hands on the top of her cane. “I don’t know. It would take a shock to his system to open his eyes, at this stage. I fear he has been so spoiled and petted and indulged by the Efrijt that he will side with them, and they will take that as impunity to exploit our world and our kind in perpetuity.”
“They are only gaining the right to trade freely,” Ban told her. “At least, according to everything Kefer and his assistant Jinji have bartered out of their medjant leadership. They are not gaining the right to resource thievery.”
“You pare your words thinner than an onion skin, trying to cling to the hope they will behave,” she groused. “I wanted you to regain some capacity for trust over the last six-plus decades, not turn utterly naïve, Ban.”
“I haven’t turned naïve,” he countered calmly. “I am still watching to see if Udrin or the Efrijt break their word in any way. I am simply . . . hoping . . . that they do not.”
A single chuckle escaped her, along with a wry twist of her tanned, age-seamed lips. “Take up your basket and its ewer, and return it to your friend. I need to go relieve myself be
fore I’m due to give my last lecture of the day.”
Bowing his head, Ban picked up Yusef’s belongings. He hesitated, though. “Zuki, do you have any other thoughts on Udrin’s nature? You see with more clarity than most.”
Zuki hesitated, frowning in thought, then shook her head slowly. Her bone-beaded headband didn’t even sway, she moved it so gently. “Not pleasant ones. His arrogance could simply be the petted and spoiled kind. But . . . it could also be the overindulged-to-the-point-of-purified-arrogance kind. If he believes himself superior to both sides of his heritage . . . he may try to set things up so they benefit him the most.”
“If Udrin has been paying enough attention, he should have realized by now that the Efrijt are ruthless in punishing infractions against their rules,” Ban murmured. “They will only indulge him in every way until they have a ruling in their favor. Then the spoiling will stop. They seek to use him, and will not react well to being used.”
That made her bare her teeth in a grimace. “Not a wise raising at all,” the animadj muttered. “He has a great deal of power. Almost Fae-strength, in fact. Far stronger than his Efrijt heritage would imply.
“The Efrijt might continue to indulge him somewhat, so they can call upon his ability to wield the anima in this realm for them, but they would still insist on running things their way,” she reminded the tall male. “If he gets it into his head to pick his own path . . . we may want to pray to our ancestors for help in dealing with whatever that boy concocts. I fear if he does have plans that neither side will like, they will not be good.”
Ban’s instincts for danger sharpened. “What suggests that?”
“The idea of ‘reshaping’ your friend so he has no mouth,” Zuki told him, lifting her chin at the ewer in the basket. This time, her bone-fringed headdress, mark of a senior animadj, clattered softly at the sharp movement. “Flesh-shaping is difficult for nonhealers. This is wise, as those who have an affinity for healing anima often feel compelled to use it wisely and carefully. They feel an inner urge to heal, rather than to harm. Not always, but thankfully most of the time.
“As it is, flesh-crafting requires a great deal of power even for those who are attuned to its ways. Udrin does not have much of a healing urge within in him. Not enough to have the accompanying, insistent urges for compassion and empathy for others.” She shook her head again. “I would rather hope he’s simply a spoiled brat, than to think him arrogant enough to try flesh-crafting. He is strong, so he might be tempted, but such things often go wrong the first several tries, if it is not guided by the instinct and the need.”
“Aside from being . . . twitchy,” Ban summed up, “he doesn’t seem malformed in any way. He has not reshaped himself, and we have not heard of him trying to reshape the flesh of anyone, human, Efrijt, or Fae.”
She slanted him a chiding look, teacher to pupil. “Your animadjic was never the same as ours. It is also fully trained, since you tap into your own personal anima almost exclusively, unless you make an effort to tap into the world’s. You didn’t need to learn the advanced lessons in what can and cannot be safely done. Smart experimenters first practice flesh-crafting on insects and small animals, not on themselves. Whatever he is, and whatever he may become, young Udrin is not stupid.”
Ban considered her warning carefully. “. . . Do you think I should search for signs of flesh-crafting in the animals around him?”
“Yes.” Her answer was blunt. “If only to be sure he isn’t tormenting creatures. But I can guarantee it will not have happened here in the Flame Sea. Jintaya and Rua both would have sensed it, and been offended by it. His mother, Muan, would have stumbled across it, and been shamed by it. Éfan would be outraged by it. His other kin . . .”
“If they allowed it, then it would have been a dangerous indulgence. I will go looking for such signs. In a little bit,” Ban stated. “Not immediately. I need to discuss this concern with Jintaya and the others. I do not think he would have bothered to threaten such a thing if it wasn’t something that had crossed his mind already. Which means he has not only thought about it, but quite possibly practiced it as well—or if not practiced it yet, he will practice it soon. But then, I am suspicious from far too many centuries of living among Netherhell demons, who call that sort of thing their idea of fun.”
“Exactly.” She poked him in the calf with her walking stick. “Go on, get moving. I still need to relieve myself, and neither I nor the day are getting any younger. Unlike you, with each reset . . . and it is a pity about Nadj. I do hope he finds some inner strength,” Zuki stated as they once again headed toward the doorway off the covered balcony where she liked to sit and watch the people in the valley below. “But if not, then I hope he finds a task he both enjoys and can stomach. Fighting is not for the weak-willed.”
“So do I,” Ban agreed absently, his mind more on Udrin than on Nadj. “Not everyone is suited for what they think they should be. It’s better to find out earlier on what to do about it, than when it’s too late.”
Zuki gave him a sharp look, but kept moving.
Chapter Three
“Oh, Mother . . . you look more and more beautiful each time I see you.”
Blinking, Muan looked up from her work. One of the younger children being taught how to make nets had tangled up his netting cords, and needed help picking the mess carefully apart. Since the Fae had longish fingernails, she absently plucked at and loosened the cords while she looked around for her son.
Whenever the weather was good, Shava preferred to hold these classes outside in some courtyard. Today’s location had shade trees and some awnings, but mostly low boxes filled with fragrant herbs meant for cooking. Some of the older students were having a lesson from both Shava and Rua on what the more exotic plants were, where they had come from, and what they needed to grow and be healthy so far from their home.
Spotting the tanned redhead as he moved between the netting frames set up for the dozen or so younger students to learn on, she smiled softly at him. “Good morning, Udrin. Thank you for your kind words.”
“How can it be a kindness when it is the truth?” Moving in close, he brushed her pale curls back from her shoulder, fingers spearing through the near-white locks. That made her shiver a little from the stimulation. Thankfully, his fingers left her hair on his next murmur. “So very beautiful . . .”
“Thank you, my son,” Muan replied politely, finished unpicking the knot. She twisted on the stool she had borrowed, facing her child. “Though I take more pride in my mind bein—”
He cut her off with a kiss, pressing his lips to her own. For the last year or so, her son had chosen to peck her on the mouth rather than the cheek, so it was not entirely unexpected, though Fae custom preferred the cheek between blood kin. However, he wobbled as he kissed her. His left hand cupped her shoulder for balance. The right one came down and in, first landing on her thigh and squeezing it through the fine cream wool of her gown. It lifted away after a moment . . . only to land on her breast. At the same moment, his tongue touched her bottom lip.
Startled, the Fae shoved at her son, scowling. “Udrin! That is not appropriate!”
“What? I slipped!” he protested. “I had to grab you for balance!”
“You grabbed my breast. You are no longer a child, and the milk in my breast is not flowing for you,” Muan told him, still frowning. She lifted a hand to her bottom lip, which now tasted of fruit and grains, honey and something else. Her frown deepened, furrowing her forehead. “I felt your tongue, too. Such things are what a lover would try, not someone who is unbalanced!”
“So? You kiss lots of men in the tribe,” Udrin protested. “And I told you, I tripped!”
“Such things are only to be tried with consent, and only when not related! You are my son, and that was not appropriate!” Muan snapped.
Last night, Ban had asked the others in the pantean if they felt Udrin had changed in recent yea
rs. A few had said yes, but Muan had not been convinced. However, now that she thought about it, last night when he had arrived and entered their shared quarters, he had stared a lot at her body, not just her face. That stare had made her feel a little uncomfortable, though the Fae had not been able to pinpoint why, until now.
Her son had changed in the last year or so, and she had been blinded by her love for him as his parent.
Rising smoothly from the stool, she looked at her son, just a tiny bit taller than her. “You are acting strangely, Udrin. I want you to report to Jintaya for a health examination.”
“Really? A health examination?” he protested, flinging up his hands. “I slip, I grab a body part accidentally, and you think my health is in jeopardy?”
Youthful rebellion was to be expected, since he was nineteen in local years—in physical, mental, and emotional maturity, Udrin sat at about the equivalent of sixteen had he been human, and maybe twenty-two as a full-blooded Fae—but Muan still felt the lingering imprint of his hand cupping her breast. It disturbed her still. “You will report immediately.”
“I can’t, Mother—don’t look at me like that!” he protested, gesturing off to the side. “I promised Teacher Seda I’d go to the archery range with the others this morning. And then immediately after that, Fali and Kadu the Elder are taking us on a hunt. I will report to Jintaya in the morning—I even have my journey-bag packed for the trip up to the northern canyons. See?” he added, swinging the leather satchel forward off his shoulder for a moment, before reversing it onto his back once more. “We’ll be gone all day, and exhausted when we return. I will report to Mother-All in the morning. I promise.”