by Jean Johnson
“Djin-taje-ul thrives on kindness like a bush thrives on the water in an oasis,” she answered obliquely. “The others are also very kind. When other tribes come to steal our water—as they will—she will be too gentle, and they will not be kind. They will try to kill us, or enslave us. It may be the animadjic of the Fae that gave us the water we need to live, but I think it will be the skills you learned when you could no longer die that will keep us alive.” Zuki gave him a sidelong look. “I do not mean to say we will use you, like an arrow shot from a bow over and over, without regard for how soon the shaft might break, but that I think you should teach us some of what you learned, so that we can fight, and survive.”
“I could do that. But Jintaya would have to approve,” he warned her.
“She loves you,” the young girl countered. “Because of that love, she wants you to have a purpose in life beyond just surviving. She thinks—and I think—that you need to learn how to live. Teaching others could give you a purpose. When you are not traveling everywhere, looking at everything for her, you can teach us how to protect ourselves, and thus help protect her.”
“I will consider it,” Ban stated. “But the pantean has rules. They will want to bring in one of their own teachers for such things.”
“Well, until they do, we will just have to settle for you,” she retorted sarcastically, and grinned when he frowned at her admonition. Zuki reached over and patted him on the hand resting on his thigh. “We are coming to love your Djin-taje as much as you do. It will be good for you to teach us how to protect her, too. You should also consider what more you want to do with her than just protect her. I think she would want to do more with you, too.”
Patting him again on the arm, she rose and headed for one of the side rooms to rejoin the children.
Ban let her go. In the distance, a faint rumble of thunder could be heard, though there was no flicker of light that he noticed. He carefully focused on the cool, damp air, the spattering, pattering rain, that faint, fading rumble, and a touch of thirst making his mouth dry. Now was not the time to recall any more details from his rather long, unpleasant past. Or to think about what, if anything, he truly wanted from the inebriated pantean leader who was no doubt still enjoying the company of the local men.
That was her choice, after all. Their choice. So long as they did not hurt her, he would respect it. He would never make such demands of anyone else. Not when far worse had been taken from him, time and again, in a past he refused to revisit tonight.
***
Year 0, Month 5, Day 15
The Veil cavern had been turned into an artificial garden, terraced with illusionary plants, lighting that imitated a sky, and trickling fountains—the fountains were very real, lending a cool moisture to the air this deep in the rock. Jintaya had claimed one of the divans for her call to her superiors back home and lounged on it while she gave her report. The Fae Gh’vin had to know the potential dangers of this world so that access to it could be restricted. The problem was convincing them this world was dangerous and thus needed to be restricted, but not so dangerous that it had to be abandoned.
The Veilway, reduced to a thin line of scintillating golden white, shimmered and rippled as one of the others spoke. Jintaya heard it through her earring, though. The voice was male, but the long, hair-thin opening distorted the transmission; he could have been her own father and she would not have known. Still, anyone with access to the Veilway had clearance to hear her report, ask questions, and offer suggestions, if not give outright orders.
“The agriculture reports Rua compiled suggests most foods, both plant and animal, will be very compatible with Fae digestion and nutrition needs. You state that there are only the usual sorts of poisonous creatures for a desert environment, scorpions, snakes, spiders, and such, and the aether itself is reported to be unusually compatible with Fae magics. Yet you say that this world is dangerous. How so?”
“It isn’t the nonmagical environment that renders this world a candidate for restricted-access status,” Jintaya replied firmly. “The aether is too compatible and thus dangerous, because we as yet do not know how this anima-magic’s supercompatibility will affect Fae lives in the long term. We live ten to twelve times as long as the local humanoids do, so whatever effects it may have on them may be too subtle over their shorter life spans compared to how it will affect our own in the long term.
“On top of that,” she forced herself to continue, staring at the illusion of clouds slowly scudding across the “sky” of the cavern roof, “there is one more problem, which may be an even bigger problem than the aether itself.”
“And what problem would that be?”
Jintaya sighed. “I’m pregnant.”
“Congratulations. So?”
“I am pregnant with a Dai-Fae. As is Rua—which I mentioned in a previous report—but it’s more than just the two of us. So is Parren. So is Fali. And so are several human females with offspring sired by Éfan, Adan, and Kaife.”
Choking noises came through the shimmering line. “They’re what?” someone finally demanded. “Weren’t you all using contraceptive spells? How could you forget such a basic pantean protocol?”
“We didn’t! That is my point. There is something about this world, its humans, its aether, that negates such protections. I’ve examined everyone who cross-indulged a month ago, and every last one of the females involved is gravid with a half-bred child. It isn’t a matter which I can explain, either, for I myself was protected by two layers, a potion and a contraceptive spell,” she added firmly. Part of her wondered if it was that fermented drink, palraca . . . but that would not explain Rua’s contraceptive spell failing. Unlike herself, Rua had coupled without the liquor. “It’s not just magic, and it’s not just chemistry. It’s something else. Of course, the drink they served definitely loosened inhibitions for everyone, more so than I realized it would, but Rua did not drink it when she became pregnant. Neither did their chief mage.”
“No one questions your abilities in such matters,” another voice, this one male, reassured her. “If this is as you say, then . . . yes, this particular Veilway will have to be restricted in access. Such things, excessively easy magic, excessively easy impregnation, they seem minor concerns, but they could become major ones. Are you and your pantean team prepared to spend several more years there, examining and recording the situations? Or do you think you should terminate the pregnancies and remove yourselves from this world?”
Jintaya craned her neck and looked at one of the nearby trees. Artificial, but reminiscent of home with its delicate, lacy leaves. Very different from the often dry-looking, thorny versions found locally. As much as she enjoyed the forests of her home region on Faelan, there was beauty in the stark desert landscape of this world. “I don’t think it’s that dangerous. If nothing else, we know the risks are there with every world we visit.
“The locals themselves are not all that dangerous—their ability to wield magic is primitive compared to ours, their fighting skills are laughable in comparison, so on and so forth—but it would be a shame to seal the Veilway without at least running two decades’ worth of observations. I’d consider advocating for the full hundred it normally takes to declare a world open for full trade, but I’d restrict the influx of more Fae until we’ve run a good four or five decades’ worth of observations on the initial expedition members. And our Dai-Fae offspring.”
“If any of these Dai-Fae prove to be . . . problematic, beyond the pantean’s ability to control them, you will secure the safety of Faelan by removing them from existence. No arguments, Jintaya. This is standard procedure, and you will follow it through by eliminating all threats to the home universe.”
She sighed heavily at that. Her personal preference was to give someone help in turning themselves around, counseling, and a second, even a third or more chance. She was also old enough to know that such things did not always work with cert
ain kinds. “I know, I know . . . I’ll have Ban do it. If it becomes necessary. Hopefully, it will not. Anything else you want to know?”
A feminine voice spoke this time. “You did not list the Shae, Ban, among those who sired children. Did he not participate in this . . . drink-fueled orgy?”
“Ahhh . . . I think not. I was a bit distracted,” she admitted. Jintaya thought about it, then shook her head. “No, he did not; Rua noticed he didn’t, and commented on it in passing. Certainly, he isn’t any of the fathers. I’ve already spell-checked for those, and the paternity of everyone is accounted for.”
The same female spoke after a pause. “Some are curious to know if the Wandering One can reproduce at all. What are your thoughts on the matter?”
Jintaya was very glad no one had bothered to widen the Veil enough for them to see her face, since it grew rather hot at that question. Her voice was steady, however. “I suppose it can be tested, but only if he is amenable. I could ask, but I would rather it was a freely thought idea, not one imposed upon him.”
“Continue to keep him thinking favorably of the Fae, Jintaya. Such a powerful being should not wander unchecked.”
“You make him sound like a tornado, or a typhoon,” she quipped.
“He responds to you. He is therefore your charge, and it is up to you to determine if he is a man or a monster.”
She wanted to reply “man,” but . . . she had seen the world she had rescued him from, and what he had done to survive. And that was not the worst of the worlds he has suffered through, she silently acknowledged. “At least he seems to be enjoying the desert environment here, though personally I find it a bit hot. It will take a bit longer for us to acclimate . . . Back to the report. Is there anything else at this time that you need to know?”
“Keep us apprised of the Dai-Fae situation, and be careful with the cross-contamination of Fae and native cultures. Observe the effects of this world upon your expedition, and the halfbreed children, for at least forty more years. If nothing alarming happens in that time, you will continue on for the full one hundred. Beyond, that, we have no questions at this time. We look forward to your next report one month from now. May the light of a thousand stars shine gently upon you in your travels.”
“Of course. May they shine upon you, too,” she returned. It was a good benediction to give to someone. Except she wasn’t traveling anywhere for a while, of course. The pantean was scheduled to remain here one hundred years under normal circumstances, and at least forty to see how these Dai-Fae children would turn out. With a murmur and a swirl of her fingers, she conjured the webwork of awareness she had spent time carefully creating.
Each life force she had examined as the settlement’s healer was tied into a health-tracking spell. She knew now whenever anyone was injured, whenever they were starting to fall ill. Siffu’s youngest little girl, a three-year-old, had fallen and skinned her knee earlier today. The injury was not serious and had not picked up an infection, because her mother had rinsed it at the main fountain quickly enough. One of Puna’s hunters was suffering a cough and was staying near a pot of boiling water to help ease the tickle in her lungs. Other than that and a few old-age complaints among the seniormost of the natives, everyone was reasonably healthy.
Including the pregnant women. It occurred to Jintaya that if she didn’t try accelerating her own pregnancy a little, she could very well be trapped in labor at the same time as most of the others. At least she could tell her fetus was healthy so far. Very healthy, which hopefully meant accelerated growth wouldn’t harm the child too much. She would not accelerate the growth by much, just a handful of quarter-moons, a month at most. Of course, that would put her close to Rua’s own birthing time, but that would be more manageable. The humans had herb-healers and midwife helpers, but she had to monitor each pregnancy for the pantean’s records, and that included how birthing each Dai-Fae would affect each mother.
Patting her still-flat belly, Jintaya sighed and stared at the ceiling, wondering just what it was about this world that was so subtly weird in how it interacted with her race.
Chapter Eight
Year 0, Month 9, Day 13
Spring was a season with two faces: early, which meant warming up but still raining regularly; and late, growing even warmer, with the rains tapering off to rare showers that vanished with the coming of summer’s heat. Each phase lasted about a month and a half, maybe a little longer, and it was round about the splitting point when Lutun—though the young man loved spring—found himself caught twice.
The unexpected flood wasn’t bad, since the wadij was broad, but it did soak him to the hips before he could get out of it. His bowstring managed to stay dry, but the quiver got drenched, as did the hunting bag with the trio of desert hares he had shot earlier. The pouch with his travel cakes, he discovered when he settled onto a rock outcrop to spread everything out to dry, was ruined, too, along with the pouch with his tinder and striking stones for making a fire. The deluge did not spare the scabbard for his bronze knife, either, which would start turning green and dull if he didn’t let the leather sheath dry thoroughly first.
Everything would have to be dried by the sun, not by sun and fire; he was no animadj, to be able to summon a wisp to make twigs and such burn. Unfortunately, with the clouds scudding by, the sunlight and its heat weren’t as intense as they could have been. After spreading out his belongings, even his sandals and trousers, Lutun made a pillow out of his poncho top and settled back to rest. He had told Puna, the hunt mistress, what direction he had gone and how long he planned to stay out. So long as he kept his nap short, he should be able to return within the rough time span he’d given her. At least he was now on the right side of that muddy wadij to be able to get home without having to cross it a second time.
And what a home! Fancy cave-like homes that were so straight and clean and pristine, they couldn’t be called caves and certainly were not huts. Entire rooms set aside for sleeping, for cooking, for bathing and excreting, and of course entertaining guests. The Fae had called them “ah-part-mints,” and they had by now made enough that every single person could have had three, though it seemed silly and Lutun couldn’t imagine dragging his pallet and gear from bedchamber to bedchamber within just one of them, never mind three.
Population expansion was the excuse the Fae gave for the excess in housing, which was probably a good thing, because Zudu and Halek had introduced the Fae to the Laughing Feast, held at the end of five of the darkest, cloudiest, gloomiest days of winter. Even though the Fae did not partake of the palraca as before, the same free-flowing couplings happened again. The three sun-haired males had—according to Djin-taje-ul—managed to get seven more women pregnant.
He himself had been pulled into a tangle of bodies by the Fae Adan when he had finished drumming on his strange instrument. Adan had urged Lutun to help him make love to the ash blond woman, Fali, her stomach rounded, her hands talented, her lips . . .
A scraping sound, sand against stone, snapped Lutun’s eyes open. He groped for his bronze knife, set a short distance from his hand—and cried out with pain when an arrow pierced his third finger, cutting into the bone and slicing the littlest finger next to it. Rolling protectively toward the injury, he grabbed the knife in his other hand and struggled to his feet, only to stagger with another shriek when an arrow slammed into his calf.
Panting, kneeling awkwardly, he held himself very still. Only his eyes and his head moved a little as he tried to scan for where the attacks were coming from. Someone approached from his right, the direction of the sun. Squinting that way, Lutun made out a big fellow with a huge axe, its bronze head boasting two curved blades, and not the single one normally seen for chopping wood. A hand came down on his left shoulder, startling him with another cry of pain from his jostled wounds.
“I see you’re willing to kneel before your new masters,” the man on his left stated. He was tall, lean but muscled
, and bore a red-painted ring on his poncho. Circle Fire Tribe. His fingers dug in hard, provoking another cry from Lutun. “But let’s see how cooperative you are in other ways. Such as telling your new masters where your tribe lives, and how many stand watch, and how well armed they might be.”
In a flash of insight, Lutun realized he had a choice. Either cooperate and hopefully live, or hold his tongue and most likely be tortured. He wanted to live, but he did not want to betray his tribe, or the Fae. The young man also did not know how much pain he could withstand before he would talk and betray them anyway. He was no coward, but neither was he the strongest-willed member of the tribe. Also, if he defied them hard enough, they could very well kill him, and he’d never see his new home again. He’d never be pulled into another mating-pile again.
A third choice opened up to him when the man shifted his weight and stepped on Lutun’s calf, making the naked youth cry out in pain—he wanted to tell them anything to get the pain to stop! Anything . . . anything could include lies . . . couldn’t it? Could he?
Licking his lips, he struggled to think, and think quickly. “We live to the southwest of here, at the southern end of the canyons!”
The man stomped, making Lutun scream. The bronze arrowhead had war-barbs, and they cut into his flesh cruelly. “Wrong answer! We know they went to the northwest. We know they still are living to the northwest. How many are left?”
“One . . . one hundred and fifty-three! The . . . the floods killed many,” Lutun panted. He could see others approaching now, a youngish man with a veritable forest of twigs in a bundle strapped to his back, and an older man carrying a torch. Its flames . . . were pointing contrary to the actual flow of the wind. Anima. They were using the anima to track his tribe? This was not good. Lutun altered his lie a little. “My group lives to the southwest. We . . . we spread out, some of us. There’s not a lot of water to all live together, so . . . so we dug lots of catch-basins for water. The . . . the grazing land is to the northwest, and the farming land.”