Gods of the Flame Sea

by Jean Johnson

  Not entirely mollified, Muan watched her son hurry away. The younger child she had been helping eyed his departure, too, then peered up at her. “He loves you?”

  Sighing, Muan nodded. “He does.”

  “Is that why he kissed you, Muan-taje?” another boy asked, one of the other children working on learning to make bird-catching nets.

  “I don’t know. Maybe,” she allowed, sinking back down onto her stool.

  The first boy, no more than eight or so and bearing the brown hair of a full-blooded human, scrunched his nose in confusion. “I love my mother, and I kiss her on the mouth. She doesn’t yell at me for it, though.”

  “It’s a different kind of love.”

  A girl, her net almost finished, peered through the webwork of cords and knots at her. She was older than either boy, closer to twelve, and had the blond curls and hazel eyes of one of Grandmother Siffu’s descendants, with a possible bit of Fae blood in her. “I didn’t know there was different kinds of love, Muan-taje.”

  “‘I didn’t know there were different kinds,’ and yes there are,” Muan corrected. Seeing the curiosity in the trio of children near her, she explained. “The Fae recognize nine different kinds of love. The first is Self-love, because of all the people in the world, you have to live with yourself for the entire span of your life. So how well you love yourself will determine some of how happy you are.”

  “What about loving others?” the older of the two boys asked.

  “That would be Compassion-love, and it is selfless, because you think of their needs before your own. Love for no other reason than someone else exists,” Muan explained. “These two loves just exist. They are always there to some degree, and don’t have to be actively or consciously developed, though it does help. The next is the love you have for your family, which exists because you are born into that family and you grow up among them, learning to love them. Or, you become a part of that family and grow into loving them. Family-love is one that teaches tolerance for the quirks and flaws in others.”

  “How so?” the girl asked her, looking up between loops of the cordage she wove into her net.

  “Your family might annoy you from time to time, but you learn to accept that each of you is different. That these differences are usually not more important than the love you learn to have for your family. It grows slowly over time,” she added, “and is similar to the love you have for your friends.”

  “Friend-love, is that the fourth kind?” someone else asked, one of the half dozen or so around her. Muan didn’t catch which one it was, but she nodded.

  “Friendship-love, the fourth kind, is about respect and caring, and is another slow-growing love that takes time to develop. You aren’t expected to love your friends, like you’re expected to love family—and to be truthful, you do not have to love your family or anyone else if they hurt you. It’s okay to stop loving those who hurt you. But usually, your family earns your love because they help care for you and you help care for them, and a long-lasting friendship tends to grow a sense of love and respect for one another, too.”

  Udrin was part of her family, along with her brother Zedren, their chief of crafting and repairing things for their pantean, and their aunt Jintaya, head of the Fae expedition to this world. She loved Zedren as her brother, Jintaya as her aunt, and Udrin as her son. But not as anything else.

  While Zedren and Jintaya were both easy to love . . . her son was, unfortunately, a little too arrogant to make it easy to love him. Particularly when, each time he came back from a stay with his father’s kin like he had yesterday, he came across as excessively arrogant and condescending. Particularly toward humans, but sometimes even a bit toward his mother’s kin. No matter how much she tried to teach him and show him and guide him, he retained that frustrating air of superiority around others.

  “Like . . . kissing love?” the eight-year-old boy asked, dubious at the idea. He looked over at the other, slightly older boy, and poked a thumb in his direction. “I love Kado. He’s not my brother, but I love him as my friend. Does that mean I have to kiss him?”

  Muan chuckled at that, distracted from her thoughts. “No, that’s a different sort of love. That’s Lustful-love, and you have years ahead before you’ll feel much of anything of that sort. Of course, some people don’t feel much lust at all, but this doesn’t make them broken,” she added. “If it’s not how they usually feel, then it might just be because they’re ill, but if that’s how they feel all the time, then it’s just who they are, and what they prefer. And some people prefer women over men for such things, and others prefer men over women. Some like both, some like none, and some prefer those who are between, like Dalsic.”

  All three nodded at that, and more of the other students, too, the others working at their own nets since she hadn’t bothered to keep her words quiet. They all knew Dalsic, who was a powerful animadj not just because they were Dai-Fae, but because—or so the animadjet claimed—they had two spirits in their body, making them equally male and female, and yet neither. Those two spirits allowed them to tap into twice as many affinity types for anima, which meant twice as much efficiency and mastery.

  “So what are the other loves?” the girl asked, coming to an end of her cord and reaching for another one from the pile of shuttles carved from bone and wrapped in heavily spun linen, the sort of cordage appropriate for keeping pigeons and ducks and geese from breaking the net and escaping. “Self, compassion, family, friends, lust, and . . . ?”

  “Youthful-love is what you feel when you don’t really know the person,” Muan explained next. “It’s also called infatuation. It’s where the other person fascinates you the first time you see them, or the first time you hear them speaking, or whenever you just think about them in your imagination, and it is far more based in imagination than in reality. That’s because it often happens when you imagine what they’re like, but don’t actually know what they’re like, which takes a lot of time to learn,” Muan explained patiently. “It’s also just a lighthearted sort of love, carefree. It’s the kind you get when you’re laughing from a shared story or a joke among strangers, and you feel a light kinship and an interest in enjoying more of their company.

  “Youthful-love, when it’s daydreaming and thinking romantically, can be what starts some of the other loves, Lustful-love and Marital-love. Youthful-love when it’s lighthearted good humor can also be what starts Friendship-love and Marital-love, too. Self-love and Compassion-love are always there at some strength or weakness,” she continued, “and Family-love is what you learn when you depend upon one another to survive, particularly as children in a family of some sort. But Youthful-love rarely lasts. Either it blooms into one of the other types, or it fades.”

  The older students drifted near, their lessons done and their curiosity piqued. Muan didn’t have an official designation like Shava, who was praised as the Chief Teacher—Shava-taje in the local tongue—or Parren-taje, Chief of Water Management. But she was well-liked by everyone, particularly since she often offered her assistance in any number of tasks. Most of which involved helping Jintaya with the healing needs of the settlement, or Shava with the educational needs. Both, she supposed, were simply an extension of Compassion-love . . . which her son didn’t really display much of, now that she thought about it.

  “And the other two?” one of the teenaged humans asked. He had golden Fae eyes, sand-colored Fae hair, and the heavy tan of his human heritage. Most of the children these days had some blend of human with at least a bit of Fae. The lustful attraction between humans and Fae had not completely vanished, even with Jintaya’s new spells to help filter and reduce their reactions to each other.

  “Well . . . there’s Marital-love, like I said, which is a combination of youthful, friendship, compassionate, and lustful types of loves,” she explained. “And they come along in any order, but when we realize it’s friendship as well as all the others, that’
s when we usually start thinking seriously about whether we can live with the other person. It’s almost pragmatic, because to be a mate, to live with someone for years and decades and even longer, you have to understand how to compromise, and why, and when. Such as when to bend to the wishes and needs of the other person, and when to stand firm on your own wishes and needs. It’s a very respectful sort of love, too, but it takes time to grow.”

  “The Fae don’t see Lustful- and Marital-love as being in conflict, do they?” a teenaged girl asked, moving up behind her young sister, who had resumed knotting the last row or so of her assigned net. She had the brown hair and brown eyes of a full-blooded human, even if her sister was Dai-Fae to some degree.

  Muan shook her head. “Lust is simply how our bodies react . . . though it can feel pretty powerful, like that red-vine plant that makes you itch if you touch its oil leaves,” she admitted, wrinkling her nose. “It can make you feel a touch of emotion toward the other person, but it doesn’t necessarily engage the heart and the mind so much as it just engages the body. We Fae prefer to have a well-balanced approach to love when it comes to our mates, but we also know that sometimes what is forbidden will seem all the more alluring and attractive, so we don’t forbid lustful feelings.”

  Lust was okay, but because of it, she’d had three other children after having Udrin, all from making love with human males, before finally working out with Jintaya how to block the hormones and pheromones that caused Fae and human alike to lust after each other. Biologically sourced, it had required potions to dampen the pheromones the Fae emitted, and spells to dampen their reactions to the pheromones the humans emitted. Eventually, she might have a few more children, but it would be on her own terms, and not a heady thing done in the desires stirred by that unguarded moment.

  “It makes more sense to the Fae to scratch the itch of lust than to suffer, since scratching usually satisfies it, while ignoring it makes it feel stronger, and thus worse. But we always discuss it with our mates, if we have them,” she emphasized. “It is both important and courteous to get consent in advance.

  “As for the eighth love . . .” Muan faltered, thinking about her son for a moment. “The eighth is less benign than the others. It is Obsessive-love. Obsession is when you love something so much, you love it too much. In extreme cases, you cannot be without it, you neglect your other responsibilities for it, you might even feel jealousy and anger whenever anyone else tries to love whatever or whoever you are loving, or tries to touch it, or tries to forbid it . . .

  “Sometimes it can be okay, in moderation,” she allowed. “It could be said that Taje-Animadj Zuki is obsessed with making sure we Fae eat and drink and sleep, but she does not allow it to rule her life excessively.” Her gaze fell on the nine-year-old boy, and smiled. “And it could be said that Kadu the Younger is obsessed with birds, and especially bird feathers. You’re constantly thinking of how you’ll get more, aren’t you, Kadu?”

  The boy nodded . . . and messed up his net-knotting, wrapping the cord and stuffing the shuttle through the wrong way. Huffing a sigh, he painstakingly undid the knot. Thankfully, he had long enough fingernails that he didn’t need the help his friend had needed. “They’re gorgeous. They make me wish I could fly. Father likes fur more than feathers, but he can hunt on the ground. Feathers are found in the air, so I want to fly on a slip-disc thingy when I get old enough . . . if the tajet will let me.”

  He peeked at Muan. She didn’t take the bait, however. The Fae stayed on topic, returning to her point.

  “In both cases, they don’t let their strong interest in an activity or an object or a person overrule their courtesy, nor do they allow it to interfere with the rest of their life, so that’s an acceptable version of obsession,” Muan explained.

  “But that is only eight loves,” the dark-eyed teenager stated. She studied Muan with a slight frown pinching her brow. “I thought I heard you say there were nine?”

  “There are indeed nine. The last love on the list is a counter to Obsessive-love, and it is Tough-love. Can anyone guess what that means?” Muan asked her impromptu pupils. At the shaking of several heads, some immediate and quick, others more slow and thoughtful, she shrugged and gestured at the nine-year-old. “If Kadu were to become obsessed with birds and feathers and wanting to ride a slip-disc, to the point where he stole a slip-disc to try to fly it and chase down the birds, then Tough-love would be displayed through the punishment the Fae and his parents would assign to him, to discourage him from stealing again.”

  “How is that love?” Kadu asked, frowning up at her. “I don’t see how punishment could be love!”

  “The punishment would be given because of the reason motivating us to punish you,” the outworlder explained patiently. “Tough-love first tries the route of explanation, of patience, of gentle correction. But if you refuse to correct yourself, if you refuse the right path . . . then we have to get tougher on you to get you to understand and behave. Tough-love happens because we want you to be a better person, and that sometimes means denying you something you obsess over, whether that’s a physical thing like feathers, or an intangible one like always having to win a footrace. Tough-love comes into play if you steal the discs even when we tell you it is forbidden, or you cheat to win the race by tripping everyone who is racing alongside you.

  “Tough-love sometimes means getting you to associate a bad choice with a painful consequence,” she explained, trying to find an analogy she hoped made sense to the children, younger and older, listening to her every word. Shava, behind them, gave her a slight nod of encouragement. “Other times, it is warning you of a consequence that could be bad . . . and then letting you suffer that consequence if you do not heed the warnings you were given.

  “To put it another way, think of how beautiful a fire in your hearth can be. It’s bright, it’s warm, and the coals are a lovely glowing thing. If you grab for the fire, however, you will get burned. You will learn that while you can admire fire and even use it to do several things, actually touching it with your bare hand hurts and can leave you badly burned. Does that make sense?” she asked the children around her.

  Most of them nodded, including Shava herself. Encouraged, Muan tried explaining another important point about the concept at hand.

  “Tough-love is like the lesson of trying to do the right thing versus trying to do the wrong thing. It is the burning heat when you grab an ember. It is not a pleasant thing to do, and it is not a pleasant thing to receive. If it is done lightly, it will be like only a brief burn of the skin, with no real damage to it. If it is overdone, it can leave bad scars, or even cripple your hand.” Another subtle nod from the tall teacher Fae behind the students encouraged Muan to continue. “Like obsession, Tough-love is best when used or felt sparingly, and wielded moderately at most.”

  “What would be a sparing use?” one of the teenagers asked her.

  Muan shrugged. “If you have not done your chores, your parent might refuse to give you a sweet treat with your supper. You do need to learn how to do your chores so that your home will be clean. Picking up your things and putting them in a storage place will reduce the chance of tripping over belongings scattered over the floor. Scrubbing your dishes with sand and water and a little soap will help make sure you do not get sick from any food left to rot on your plates. But children rarely think that far ahead,” she stated. “You have not yet learned the importance of not only doing your chores, but why you must do them, and the consequences that could happen for not doing them. Tough-love is shown by withholding a treat or delivering a punishment as a way to discourage wrongful behavior.”

  Shava spoke, adding her own words to the lesson on love types. “Those who punish others because they just like being mean are not expressing love. Instead, they are expressing their cruelty either out of hate—which is the most common version—or through a sort of neglectful and thus harmful indifference toward the other person. Thos
e who are giving actual Tough-love and not just cruelty are doing it to try to make you a better person with a safer life. They want to make sure you understand compassion and sympathy and empathy for the suffering you cause others, and thus are doing it out of love. It’s not the easiest to tell which is which sometimes, but Tough-love counteracts obsession without overacting or overreacting. In other words, enough care is paid to how the target reacts to their punishment to end that punishment the moment true remorse and an understanding of what was wrong is felt.”

  “Exactly,” Muan agreed. “So. Those are the nine loves the Fae recognize formally. There are shades and blendings of all of these things, of self-love mixed with compassion, youthful and lustful desires, overlaps between friendship, family, and marital feelings, and balancing obsession and toughness in the way you express your love. Sometimes, someone can feel any of these loves too strongly, which can be almost as bad as loving too little or too weakly.”

  “Muan is correct,” Shava agreed. “Youthful infatuation can turn into obsession over what you think the other person is like, or should be like. Excessive compassion can prompt you to neglect your own health entirely when trying to care for someone else who is ill, to the point you fall seriously ill yourself. Self-love can be selfish, if you neglect or ignore those around you.” Her pale yellow eyes met Muan’s over the heads of the others. “The love for a family member can make you overlook, ignore, or want to forgive horrible wrongdoings . . . and so on and so forth.”

  “Are you the Taje of Love, then?” another teen asked Muan.

  He was not the only one thinking along those lines. The twelve-year-old finished tying her last knot and said, “I think she is the Taje of Love. Muan-taje loves everyone. Young, old, boy, girl, naughty, nice, everyone! That would be Compassion-love.”

  Amused enough by the assertion to chuckle, Muan decided she needed to escape before she got into forbidden territory. It was bad enough the eldest member of the human tribe, Grandmother Siffu, believed the Fae were godly beings, and kept trying to encourage the others to believe it as well, despite the Fae’s repeated protests otherwise. If she got pegged as Muan-taje, Chief of Love, it would only worsen that belief.