by Forthright
“I’m Kip.”
The man stopped breathing. Kip was honestly concerned he was going to pass out.
“I’m … Joe.” His voice was no more than a whisper. “Am I supposed to … umm … isn’t it polite to ask about your name?”
Cheese and crackers.
For a few seconds, the table played host to a mutual freak-out, but Kip thrust aside his battered ego to quietly ask, “How did you know?”
“Oh … umm … umm. I heard about it on the news, I guess. Maybe a show.” He shrugged uneasily, eyes downcast.
Kip offered what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “That makes sense, but that’s not what I meant.”
Joe glanced up, dark eyes filled with uncertainties.
“How did you know I’m Amaranthine?”
His confusion couldn’t have been more obvious. Kip actually checked his hands to see if his illusion was still in place.
“Not sure. Sorry.” Joe cast a longing look at the door. “I won’t say anything.”
“Thanks for that. And it’s okay if you don’t know why you know. You’re new to this, right?”
Joe’s hand wavered over the bowl of nuts. “Me?”
Kip hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that. Tami’s twin looked as if his worst fears had been confirmed. “Let’s go back to your question,” he offered gently. “Asking about someone’s name is the commonest of common courtesies. It’s how most conversations start if you’re meeting someone from the clans for the first time. When two people trade names, it shows a willingness to explore the possibility of friendship. It’s the beginning.”
“Are you … are you my sister’s Kip?”
“Yes.” He traced a sigil on the underside of the table, wanting a bit more privacy.
“Does she know?”
“She knows I’m her friend. I’m hoping that’s enough to get us past the little awkwardness my species might cause.”
Joe calmed noticeably. With a guilty glance in his mother’s direction, he went back to cracking nuts.
“To answer, Kip is a nickname. I’m registered in all the usual places as Alder Kipling, but my true name is Alder Woodacre. My family has lived in Fletching since forever, so I’m a local boy, same as you.”
“Woodacre is a clan name?”
“Yep.” It was nice to see worry giving way to a spark of interest. Kip fanned the flame with more information than he probably should be sharing. “Woodacre is one of the smaller clans. Red squirrels, to be exact. Which means I’m nothing more than a cute rodent with a big appetite and a fondness for tall trees and acrobatic games of tag.”
“And an elementary school janitor.”
Kip kept his voice low, soothing. “That’s right, and I’d do anything to protect those kids.”
Joe toyed with a pecan. “Even human children are important to Rivven?”
Didn’t that go without saying? Kip supposed there was no harm in offering some context. “Back when my grandparents were being born, our people were prolific. That was our be-fruitful-and-multiply phase, so twin births were standard, and families had to spread out to make room. We scattered, following the migratory paths of the animals under our protection into new territories and habitats. But during my parents’ generation, everything tapered off. My mother has five siblings; my grandmother has twenty-eight.”
“What happened?”
“No one knows for sure, but there’s been plenty of speculation. Most say that our birth rate is tied directly to our function. Since we’re long-lived, there are enough of us. But maybe that will change, now that you know we’re here.” With a small smile, Kip suggested, “Maybe humanity needs us.”
Joe smiled a little.
“So … kids. Amaranthine children are precious to the clans, but why stop there? As far as I’m concerned, every life is precious. I’ve always watched out for the kids at Landmark.”
“I went there, you know. When I was little.”
Kip lay his hands on the table, palm up. “All the more reason to try to get along, Joe.”
He set his things aside and reached forward until their fingertips touched. “Jiro,” he said. “Since we’re being honest, my real name is Jiro Matthew Reaverson.”
“Jiro.” Kip slid his hands forward so that their palms touched properly. “Do you think we can be friends?”
“Oh. I don’t really … umm … I’m not good at friends stuff.”
“What do you consider friends stuff?”
“Going places. Doing things.” Color was rising in Jiro’s face, as if he were confessing some terrible failing.
“Friends don’t have to go far or do much of anything, not if they enjoy one another’s company.”
No good. Jiro had that cornered look again.
Kip changed the subject. “Getting back to my fondness for children, there’s something I’ve been wondering.” He pointed to the ceiling. “I’ve been hearing footsteps for a while now—small and light and up to mischief.”
“I should just … umm … check.”
“Don’t bother. She went out the window a few minutes ago.” Kip jerked a thumb toward the door. “Care for a walk? I could stand to stretch my legs.”
A grand tour. The lay of the land. A look at the tree. It all sounded so reasonable when Kip announced they were going for a walk. Joe was a little shocked that his parents agreed so readily. Dad looked proud, like he was glad his son had finally made a friend. Mom even packed up half the muffins and a thermos for them.
It was embarrassing. He couldn’t wait to get away from the house. Except that once he and Kip were alone, Joe realized that … they were alone.
But Kip distracted him with questions—about the trees, the tractors, the outbuildings, the cider press. And then Kip begged for a muffin, which he devoured with a happy little moan of pleasure. Joe let him have all the muffins. Somehow, it reminded him of feeding strays.
“How did you know which way to go?” Joe had been hanging back, half a step behind Kip the whole time, yet Kip had taken Joe’s usual route without hesitation.
“Some of it’s scent. Some of it’s basic tracking. But mostly, it’s the resonance of Jiminy’s wards. They’re protecting that tree, for sure, but they’re not hiding it yet. So it’s easy for me to get a bearing.”
“The little girl … she’s already snuck out two other times. She comes right back here.” He pointed to where the golden leaves of Biddie’s tree were visible.
“In every tree story I can think of, there’s usually a little house or hut or traveler’s shelter set up under its branches.” Kip walked with a spring to his step. “Traditionally, the tree takes root right beside their twin’s doorstep. Have you thought about building Tami a little place out here?”
“Not sure.”
“A tree in speaking form can’t roam. Don’t let anyone take her from the farm. And by the same token, don’t let anything happen to the tree. They’re part of each other.
“Jiminy mentioned that.”
“Good.” Kip crouched at the edge of the oak glen, his gaze sweeping the circle. “Wow. You’ve got yourself a regular squirrel paradise here.”
Joe stuffed his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders. “I like it here, but I’m not sure I like the wards.”
“Are you getting some kind of feedback from them?”
“Not … umm … not with my ears?” Joe gestured lamely. “The balance is off.”
Kip studied him for several uncomfortable moments, then crossed to the closest of the stones Jiminy had set up the day before. Without ceremony, he picked it up and pocketed it. With an inaudible pop, the discomfiting pressure vanished. “Better?”
Joe nodded.
“We’ll reset the line farther from the trees, and I’ll make sure you aren’t catching any dissonance. You’re probably a crystal adept, so you’re extra sensitive.”
“Joey-boy!”
Biddie stood amidst her roots, waving.
Kip sidled up to Joe and whispered, �
��Pinch me!”
“What?”
“I’ve never met an Amaranthine tree before. They’re straight out of my bedtime stories. For someone like me, she’s a myth.” He bounced in place and repeated, “Pinch me!”
Joe could only shake his head in wonderment. He’d always thought the inhuman races were more dignified. Kip was almost goofy. Was he being silly to put others at ease?
They strolled downhill, and Biddie met them partway. Kip crouched before her and offered his palms. “I’m Alder Woodacre, and I’m Jiro’s friend. May I ask your name?”
“Chick-a-biddie!”
“Are you teasing me?” Kip asked, eyes wide. “That must be your nickname. I have one, too. I’m Kip.”
“Kip!” she echoed. “I’m Chick-a-biddie, and I’m Tami’s. This is Joey-boy. He named me.”
Joe could feel a blush creeping into his cheeks. “We’ve been calling her Biddie.”
“Then I shall call you Biddie,” said Kip. “But we must learn your true name. May I explore your branches? I’m a good climber.”
The girl poked Kip’s nose and said, “Squirrel.”
Kip tweaked hers and smiled. “Clever girl.”
Joe said, “I thought you didn’t know much about Amaranthine trees.”
“I don’t. But I have two eyes, a nose, and some really old friends.” With a grin, he added, “Maybe I can figure out at least part of Biddie’s true name. Would you like that, little lady?”
Biddie kissed his cheek. “Kip may climb.”
Kip moved so fast, all Joe really registered was the soft thud of his boots, which he’d left behind. Moving closer so he could look up into the branches, Joe searched for some sign of the redhead. Branches swayed, leaves rustled, but he couldn’t tell where Kip was.
When his neck began to ache, Joe spread his jacket and lay on the ground, arms folded behind his head. The slope was only a little damp from yesterday’s rains. Biddie flopped beside him, her head resting on his shoulder.
“Are you happier out here?” he asked.
“Happier with you here,” she replied.
“But happiest with Tami?”
“Yes!” She curled against him. “Tami and Joey-boy.”
“Me, too? Even though I’m not your twin.”
“You are Tami’s twin. Biddie knows.” She nuzzled his cheek. “Love you, Joey-boy.”
It put Joe more at ease, knowing that Biddie acknowledged his birthright. He wanted to fit into the new balance, assuming they could find it. He shyly murmured, “Love you, Chick-a-biddie.”
She giggled, her gaze fixed on the overhead branches. “Kip is nice.”
There was no denying that. “He’s one of Tami’s good friends.”
“And yours?”
Joe wasn’t sure about that, so he offered a cautious, “Maybe?”
“I heard that!”
Kip swung into view, hanging upside down from a branch. Or … was he actually standing on the underside? Joe tilted his head to one side, trying to make sense of their gravity-defying guest.
“We’re more than maybe-friends,” Kip released the tree, turning his body and landing lightly beside them. “Jiro and I have traded names, and that’s as good as a bond.”
“Biddie, too?” asked the girl.
“You bet,” Kip promised with a wink. “But I’m very curious, Jiro. Have you ever seen strange things while you’re out in the orchard?”
Joe sat up and eyed the redhead, whose hands were clasped suspiciously, as if caging something. “Just normal stuff.”
Kip’s expression turned thoughtful. “You’ve been here your whole life.”
“Since I was born. This is Grandad’s farm, and he grew up here.”
He nodded. “Then it makes sense that you wouldn’t know otherwise.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your normal is pretty special.” He eased to the ground. “As a for instance, what kinds of critters flock around when you’re working out here?”
Joe’s heart beat a little faster, but he repeated, “Normal stuff. Birds and things.”
“Ever try to look them up at the library? Find out their proper names?”
He knew what Kip was getting at. The things he saw, the strange and beautiful creatures that no one else seemed to notice. This person knew about them, too. Joe slowly shook his head. “I made up stuff. Gave them nicknames.”
“This place has become an Ephemera sanctuary, and the ones I’ve encountered are practically tame. Take this little guy.” Kip opened his hands, revealing one of the gem snakes. This is a prismatic midivar, and they are getting increasingly hard to find. They’re supposed to come in all seven colors, just like a rainbow. I’ve already spotted three diff–”
“Eight,” Joe interrupted, taking the sapphire gem snake, which wove between his fingers. “We have eight colors.”
Kip counted off on his fingers, rattling off seven colors and arching his eyebrows questioningly. “And …?”
“Maybe white doesn’t count as a color. That one’s probably albino.” He lifted the little creature, which was sort of like a snake with dragonfly wings, and asked, “Midivar?”
“Good. If you want, I can teach you more names. Better yet, I’ll sneak you a book. Then you don’t have to wait around for my days off.
Joe saw his smile reflected in eyes with slitted pupils and quickly looked away, only to notice Kip’s feet. They’re weren’t anything like human feet. Paws with claws, thickly furred.
“Too soon?” Kip asked. “I can hide the truth if you’re not ready for it.”
“It’s okay. I’m not scared.” He just wasn’t ready to look up.
“It’s not a very big change, Jiro,” he coaxed. “Hardly anything at all. I’m still Kip.”
Joe’s gaze darted skittishly over Kip’s features. Same freckles. Same pale lashes. Same little smirk. But his ears came to points now, like all the Rivven on television. It was almost anticlimactic. “So you’re part squirrel? I mean … you change into a squirrel?”
Kip said, “I’m an Amaranthine from one of the squirrel clans, and in truest form, I look like a squirrel. This is my speaking form. I use simple illusions to look like a human and pass myself off as one.”
“Do you like being able to become a squirrel?”
“Honestly? I like to talk, so I hardly ever change.”
“Oh.” Maybe it had been rude to ask.
Watching him closely, Kip continued, “I’m relatively young, so my truest form isn’t terribly large. Well, big for a squirrel, of course, but we fall on the small side of the spectrum.”
Joe was picking up on something, and he dared to give it voice. “Are you embarrassed about being … little?”
“Are you asking me to show you?”
“Yes?”
Kip’s smile had a hint of fang to it, and the finger that tapped Joe’s nose was tipped by a claw. “Don’t tease,” he ordered, and then he dropped to all fours.
TWENTY-TWO
Cheeky Beggar
Something indefinable swelled like a song that Joe couldn’t quite hear, touching off a case of gooseflesh. Light diffused, dazzling his eyes, and when the need to squint passed, Kip was gone. No, not gone. He’d changed.
Large eyes peeped out from under the edge of a puffed tail, and Joe’s nervousness disappeared. He’d seen documentaries where Rivven transformed into massive beasts, but this squirrel was no bigger than the dwarf goats in their petting zoo. Only rounder, softer, and possessing an undeniable force of personality.
Biddie laughed and rushed to pet the oversized squirrel.
Joe was pretty sure this was a breach of etiquette, but Kip leaned into her touch. He watched them with a twinge of envy. Suddenly, Kip’s tail flashed under Joe’s nose—ticklish and taunting.
He extended a hand.
Sitting back on his haunches, the squirrel met his gesture with a clever paw, which fit neatly on his palm. And then Kip crowded close, pulling himself up Joe’s shirt and butt
ing him under the chin. Joe’s arms quickly came around for support. The red fur was plush as a kitten’s, and there were whiskers tickling everywhere the squirrel’s twitching nose touched.
“Soft,” Joe whispered.
Biddie heartily agreed.
He settled himself more comfortably, crossing his legs to cradle the squirrel who rubbed their cheeks together affectionately. Joe had always liked animals. He chuckled and mumbled, “Gosh, you’re adorable.”
And then he remembered who he was holding. He froze, face aflame.
Kip’s tail twitched into a question mark, and his eyes blinked.
Joe could have sworn the squirrel fluttered his lashes. Then those delicate paws latched onto Joe’s ears, and Kip placed a fuzzy kiss on his forehead. Draping his forelegs around Joe’s neck, he sagged against his chest and chirred softly. It was a little like purring.
Biddie said, “He likes it.”
“I guess he does.” Joe stroked red fur and marveled at how light Kip was. Following Biddie’s lead, he tugged at tufted ears and played with the pads on one forepaw. And tried not to think about the fact that he’d have to look this man—person—in the eye later.
The sun climbed, and Joe relaxed. Having an animal lolling blissfully under your hands might just be the best cure for stress. For the first time in a while, Joe felt calm, balanced.
And then the squirrel roused itself enough to change positions, scooting so he was sitting between Joe’s legs, slouching back into his chest. That’s when Kip changed, leaving Joe cradling his speaking form.
He jerked his hands away.
But Kip grabbed his wrists, wrapping them back around his chest in a loose embrace as he slumped further. Eyes closed, a smile on his upturned face, he said, “One of the hardest parts of living away from the enclave is this sort of thing. Touch is a huge part of Amaranthine culture, and I never get enough.”
Joe didn’t know what to do.
A clawed hand patted his arm. “Don’t be embarrassed, Jiro. I’ve always been a cuddler.”
“I’m … not.”
“Figured that out. Should I switch back?” Kip tipped his head back, looking at him upside down. “It’s all the same to me.”