“Is everyone in the Fallen Lands as strong as you, or is it just vampires?”
“Just vampires. I used to be such a nice young man.”
“If you tell me more about the Fallen Lands, I’ll bring you some cigarettes later.”
Nearby, the air seemed to suddenly displace—wavering the way it did on a very hot day, and then Grau appeared with a sharp little boom. The vampire sprung up, instinctively holding his hands in front of his face like he thought something had exploded.
“Grau! How did you teleport?”
But his attention was on the vampire. She knew from past incidents that when she was hurt, Grau was likely to throw a punch first and think later. “What are you doing with my wife?”
“Your wife?” the vampire said. “You’re a real man.”
“Damn right I am.” Grau lunged at him.
“Grau, don’t!” Velsa cried. Just when she was starting to get somewhere, Grau had to shop up and play the hero. “Stop it! I’m all right! He’s hiding out here from Kalan Jherin’s people, and he’s not from our world.”
It was too late to stop Grau from attempting to strike the vampire, and it went as well as she could have predicted. The vampire dodged and shoved Grau into the snow, even as Grau tried to suck the vampire’s breath away with his wind magic. This was his usual quick spell, and it made the vampire cough, but otherwise had little effect. If he was undead, he surely didn’t need to breathe unless he wanted to speak.
Grau scrambled back up with a scowl. “What world are you from?” Grau asked.
“Earth. But now, you might as well call me the hermit of the woods.”
“Where is Earth?”
“It’s a parallel world. We invented your steamships, your electricity…all the stuff Kalan Jherin is saying his people came up with.”
“Grau, I have it under control. I’ve been talking to him about all of this.”
“That’s why Nalim Ima is so advanced?” Grau asked the vampire. “That’s where all this strange non-magical magic is from? A parallel world?”
“You’ve hardly seen the half of it,” the vampire said. “I heard Europe’s gone to war while I’ve been gone, so whatever the military has, I’m sure Kalan is copying.”
“It’s a world without magic,” Velsa told Grau. “Except vampires and psychic grandmothers. It’s the Fallen Lands.”
“The Fallen Lands?” Grau asked, sounding wary.
“I think you need a better name for us these days,” the vampire said.
Grau grabbed Velsa’s hand. “We’d better get out of here before people start asking questions about where I’ve been. I borrowed this teleportation stone from work.”
“Wait—I’m not done—”
“Are you still going to bring me those cigarettes?” The vampire interrupted her.
“Cigarettes?” Grau shook his head. “She’s not meeting with you again.”
* * *
They were back in some room in the magical arts building, she presumed: a storage space with various potions and crystals, some in locked cases. She wrested her hand from Grau.
“You’ve got to stop doing that,” she said, wrestling with an unfamiliar emotion. She had been sad around Grau. She had dared to be angry with him, a few times. But she had never been so annoyed.
“You were scared. I felt it.”
She grabbed her temples, wrestling with it all for a moment before speaking. “I was scared for a second. And then I wasn’t. I managed the situation and he was starting to open up.”
“It was more than a second.” Grau blinked at her. “I mean, was I wrong to want to find out why you were scared? The city is loaded with dangers. You chided me once for leaving you unprotected on the street.”
“But…my telepathy wasn’t what it is now. I was—you know. Can we just go home?”
“I need to clean up a few things here at work.”
“I can head back myself, then.” She moved to the door.
He put a hand on her shoulder. “Hey…are you mad at me?”
“No, no…I get it.” She forced a wan smile.
She did get it. If he was in distress, she would go to him too.
But did he have to show up all half-cocked? Throwing punches? And then it aggravated her that he started questioning the vampire when she was already in the middle of the job. And then he said she wasn’t going to meet him again!
Yes, she was definitely annoyed. She walked a circuit around two of the squares before going back to the apartment, to calm down.
Sorla was waiting at home. She looked absolutely terrified and when she spoke it was clear she’d been crying; since Fanarlem had no tears it was hard to tell otherwise. “I opened the message,” she sobbed. “I’ve never opened one before. I’ve always kept my promise until today. But it’s in another language.”
Velsa looked over the paper. “Maybe there are some books at the library that could help us decipher it.” She thought it must be writing from the Fallen Lands, and technically the library shouldn’t have anything from the Fallen Lands if it was supposed to be a secret. But it was clear now that some of the strange books and music coming out of Nalim Ima must actually be translated from the Fallen Lands. That explained, for example, why the novel Jane of the Moors she had read back at the patrol camp had so many oddities, like children dying at school from illnesses a healer should have been able to prevent, and a wealthy man who was ugly, without any mention of shape-shifting. She wondered if she might be able to dig up something that had slipped through, now that she knew.
Grau walked in the door.
“I came as soon as I could,” he said. “Please, tell me everything.”
She detailed the entire encounter—leaving out some of the parts where the vampire tried to hurt her—and he looked over the message, a wrinkle of worry creasing his brow.
“How long have you been delivering these messages?” he asked Sorla.
“As long as I’ve been a rental slave. People don’t pay much attention to us. And I already have to stand on the street a lot, so it’s easy enough for me to pass messages. It gives me a reason to live. But…at the time I never thought anyone would want to give me a home again. I should have stopped as soon as you did…”
“Who are these messages for? Who is Flynn?”
“I’ve only met him once. I don’t really know who he is,” Sorla said. “Except that these people are Daramons who don’t believe Kalan Jherin speaks to the fates at all. I know you don’t believe that either.” She looked at Grau.
Grau scrambled a hand through his hair. “I don’t. But—this is very dangerous.”
“How does it work to pass on the messages, exactly?” Velsa asked.
“Someone will give me a message and a password. They’ll tell me to deliver it to a certain place if I can, or otherwise keep it until someone else fetches it. Although I can read, I never open them. It’s not safe for me to know things as long as I’m bouncing around from master to master.”
“I think for now, perhaps you’d better stop,” Grau said. “For similar reasons, we shouldn’t know too much ourselves. I’m working directly under the Peacock General and he has his eye on Velsa too. If he sees you sneaking around…”
“That is true,” Velsa admitted reluctantly. “I went after you today because one of the neighbors asked me where you were always going. I actually thought you might be a spy for the Peacock General.”
“Never!”
“But…if he wanted you to be his spy, I don’t know if you’d have a choice,” Grau said. “So it’s better if we don’t give him any reasons to think we should be spied on. Unless you want to go back to the rental shop, but none of us want that. We have to be careful right now. You do understand?”
“Yes…”
Velsa understood Grau’s logic, but she exchanged the briefest glance with Sorla. The prospect of an entire group of Daramons that disagreed with Kalan brought a sense of relief beyond words, as if the entire world was not as terrible
a place as she had always assumed. “What about this letter for Flynn?” she asked Grau.
He looked it over. “I wish I knew what it said…but, Velsa, you don’t really think we should let Sorla deliver it, do you?”
“I didn’t say that…”
“You’re looking at me like you’re planning to disagree.”
“It could be very important.”
“But what is more important to me than your safety?” Grau asked. “Both of you.”
He threw the letter into the stove, where the paper quickly crinkled into ash.
Velsa stared at him. “Why did you do that? Before we had fully discussed it?”
“I don’t know what else there is to discuss,” he said. “The idea of rebellion might be appealing, but look at the position we’re in! We can’t be stupid.”
“I was going to try and translate that message! At least we would know.”
He met her eyes. “Please don’t look so anguished…”
“I’m not anguished.” That was probably the fault of her stupid pretty face that could never entirely frown.
He lifted his hands. “Well, I’m sorry I burned the letter, but I highly doubt you could have translated it. It’s probably in the language of the Fallen Lands.”
“I thought of that, but I wanted to try.”
“This is a delicate situation. You know Calban is watching us and it makes me very nervous to flirt with all these secrets and rebellions, without really knowing what we’re doing.”
She looked away, still feeling the edge of anger. I’m going to see the vampire again, she thought. But maybe it was better if Grau didn’t know. He was the one who saw Calban every day; he was the one who didn’t have any telepathy to shield this thoughts. Information was more dangerous in his hands than it was in hers. He was right—they didn’t know what they were doing. But someone ought to find out.
Chapter 8
That evening they had dinner, and talked and laughed as they always did, but she was the one who told him she didn’t want to have sex that night, so he knew she was still a little upset. He didn’t say much about it. They seemed to have an unspoken pact that it was better to let it blow over without further discussion.
It was entirely forgotten that next afternoon when Grau came home from work, pulled her into the bedroom, and put a wad of paper money in her hand.
“Where did you get all this?” Velsa marveled. “What did you do?”
“It does look like I robbed someone on my way home, doesn’t it? No, Calban said he wanted to give me a bonus for working so hard even though I’m not where I really wanted to be.”
“I think I would have rather you robbed someone.” Velsa couldn’t stop flipping through the bills, nevertheless. “I doubt Calban gave this to us out of the goodness of his heart.”
“Yes, well… What he also said is that our wardrobes are too disheveled for high society.”
“Are we that bad?”
“Well, I have to admit we’re out of style around here, and I’m the only one at work wearing clothes that have been patched.”
“You can hardly see it.” She had been the one to do most of the mending and patching of Grau’s clothes, and every Fanarlem girl took some pride in her needlework. “I hope Calban doesn’t expect you to wear tight velvet pants.”
Grau laughed. “I won’t have enough money for those. Before anything else, we’re going to buy Sorla.”
“Really? Won’t Calban be angry if you keep showing up in patched clothes?”
“I don’t care. We’ll all sleep better if we know no one can take her away, and besides, we can finally give her a better body, remove her golden band, and let the poor girl eat.”
Velsa was about as excited as she’d ever been in her life as they stepped into the kitchen. Sorla was draining the rice she had set to soak earlier, and seemed oblivious.
“Did you want to tell her?” she asked Grau.
“You tell her.”
Now Sorla looked up.
Velsa fanned out the money. “We’re going to free you from that rental shop once and for all!”
Sorla’s eyes went wide.
“We can give you a better skeleton and a better face and a spell so you can eat and get the key to your golden band.”
Sorla quickly sat down. She seemed very shaky. “Where did you get the money?”
“The Peacock General gave me a bonus,” Grau said.
“Oh…”
“What is it?” Velsa asked, wondering with horror if there was something Sorla had never told them, some reason she could never be purchased.
“I—I don’t know. I’m happy,” Sorla said, sounding quite the opposite. “I—I should tell you something.”
“What is it?” Grau asked.
Velsa was feeling shaky herself, mind racing over all the possibilities. Sorla had some sort of contract with the rental shop. Or some dark secret in her past she had never told them. She needed this to work, she needed to save Sorla. Sorla was her own reflection. The representative of all the thousands of Fanarlem Velsa would never be able to save.
“I could eat all along. I’ve always had that spell,” Sorla said.
“Fates, is that all! No wonder you’re such a good cook,” Grau said. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone I could eat.”
“That’s good news,” Grau said. “More money left for velvet pants.” He grinned at Velsa.
Sorla started crying, covering her face with one hand.
“Sorla, this is what you want, isn’t it?” Velsa was utterly confused.
“It is…I’m sorry…I don’t know why I’m crying. I’m scared. I can never repay you.”
“You don’t need to repay us! You understand why I’d want to do this, don’t you?” Velsa asked.
“I—I don’t know.”
Velsa glanced at Grau, as if for approval, and then she realized she was going to tell Sorla the truth whether he liked it or not. “Sorla…” She sat across from her. “I was born a Fanarlem, just as you were. I was raised to be a concubine.”
Sorla lifted her head. “I—I wondered sometimes. Especially since that day Parsons came. I realized that you didn’t move like you’d ever been alive. I would forget you were flesh-born when we were together, and think you were like me. But then I would think, it’s just because you were so young when you became a Fanarlem.”
“Your instinct was right,” Velsa said, although she wasn’t thrilled to admit it. “I’ve always been a Fanarlem, but I never fully believed I was meant to be a slave. I think you’re like me, too. That’s why I just couldn’t leave you at the rental shop. Grau saved me and I want to save you in turn, and maybe someday you can save someone else, and it might not change the world, but it’s something.”
“Thank you,” Sorla said softly, finally meeting Velsa’s eyes. “I’m sorry, I—I think it’s that I don’t quite believe it’s real.”
“It’s real,” Grau said. “Let’s go to the shop.”
Grau talked the rental shop owner down to sixty ilan. It was obvious the woman was all too happy to get rid of Sorla, although she tried to bargain half-heartedly.
Velsa almost wished they hadn’t negotiated. How would she have felt if Grau tried to talk her price down? But they weren’t spending his father’s money anymore. He really needed to hold onto as much as possible.
Velsa took off Sorla’s golden band. Sorla rubbed her neck.
“Much better?” Velsa asked.
Sorla nodded, but she didn’t say much else.
They picked up the wooden skeleton from home and went back out to the nearest Fanarlem body shop. Sorla remained a quiet bundle of nerves.
“It’ll be all right.” Velsa tried to reassure her. “I just had my skeleton swapped, of course, and it’s over before you know it.”
It was not until she stood in the small workroom—Grau waiting outside—and Sorla meekly stripped off her tunic that Velsa realized the extent of ho
w different Sorla’s life had been.
Her skin was patched in a dozen different places. Red stitches slashed across her chest, her skin puckered around them from a sloppy job. It was clear only her hands and face were kept neatly to present a decent appearance to her employers. And her gender existed only in her voice and manner. She had no breasts and was smooth between the legs, like Velsa had been before receiving her adult body at the age of fourteen—but Sorla already had her adult height, so it was obvious no one intended to give her anything more.
She seemed such a small, piecemeal creature, with her sad eyes, her simplistic doll face. Her yarn hair was ragged across her shoulders. Velsa wanted to give her a hug and tell her it would be all right, but that would probably only add to the humiliated look on Sorla’s face. They were both Fanarlem-born, but they were still so different.
“She needs new skin,” Velsa told the shop owner. “All new skin. She should have a proper female body. I have a face for her, and she’ll need an illusion spell.”
“I—I don’t want a different face,” Sorla said in a small voice.
“You don’t? But—why?”
“I’m used to how I look.”
“I certainly understand; I have an absolute fear of something happening to my face,” Velsa said. “But if you want to be taken seriously by flesh and blood people…you must look more real. Besides, you don’t deserve a face like the one you have. You can’t even display emotions as fully as you should, and people are more likely to mistreat you if you don’t look human.”
“I don’t want a female body either. It’s not much of a crime to rape a Fanarlem slave.”
“I would not recommend it, madam, if you ever send her out of the house on errands,” the shop owner said.
“Okay—I see,” Velsa said darkly. “Then…just some new skin.”
While Sorla was being worked on, she stepped out to explain this to Grau, and tell him not to comment on it.
Velsa felt a little defeated and exhausted, although she should have been happy about the events of the day.
Velsa remembered how she felt when Grau bought her. Even as she started to realize that he treated her like a person, she was afraid he would tire of her, or that he regretted the whole thing simply because he worried over her so much, and had to deal with stupid comments everywhere they went. It was only because he had allowed her to fully read his thoughts, one precious time, that she could really trust him.
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