Tacit permission. Livorus knew what they did best. She was, when everything was reduced down to its base elements, a weapon. So was Adam, though Adam was capable of much more.
Sigrun watched out of the corner of her eye as her spear was scooped up from the floor by one of the bodyguards, and Adam and she were both frisked, and relieved of their guns and knives. Their hands were shackled behind their backs, and she could almost feel the anger radiating off of Adam now in waves. She let herself lean against him for a second, as bags were crammed over their heads. Unspoken reassurance. We’re getting out of this, Adam. I don’t know how, yet, but we will. They’re smart enough to realize I can’t hit what I can’t see. But the manacles? So long as she could get her hands in front of her—easy enough to step through, so long as no guards happened to be watching—she should be able to free herself, and then him, assuming they were kept together. Then again, if she were their captors, she wouldn’t keep them in the same room. And nothing so far about their captors had yet said unintelligent. Mad? Certainly. But the emperor wasn’t stupid.
___________________
At the hotel on the other side of Cuzco, Lassair and Minori were, once again, cooped up in the same room together. Minori was rather surprised to realize that the room actually felt more crowded with Trennus and Kanmi gone, rather than less; Lassair’s presence was powerful, and when the two men were there, her attention tended to be split between them all, or, at least, more focused on Trennus. As it was, Minori was trying to concentrate on reading the files Kanmi had left for her to examine, but finding it hard to focus with little coils of energy twining all through the room. Lassair, for her part, studied the plants in the patio area outside the room Minori and Kanmi had been sharing. Minori thought she could see the buds on the plants starting to swell and grow under the spirit’s concentrated attention.
Did you like it? Lassair asked, suddenly.
Minori blinked, and looked up from the files that she was patently not reading. “Excuse me?” she asked. Plainly, she’d missed something.
When Emberstone kissed you, outside the hotel. Did you like it?
Minori flushed. “We have spirits and, ah, entities potentially being bound and being used to pump power into the ley-grid. We might have seismic disturbances that run the length of Caesaria Australis. We might have a massive conspiracy that could threaten the lives of all of us.” She looked up, swallowed, and met the spirit’s ruby eyes. “And you ask me this?”
It is, as they say, a hobby. The mating rituals of humans interest me.
Minori choked. Lassair waved a hand at her, smiling cheerfully. Mostly because, properly done, by people in proper resonance, they seem to do the impossible within the bounds of this universe: they seem to create energy. I realize that this is an illusion, but I do sometimes wonder if the exchange of energies between two humans creates enough of a nexus to open tiny fissures to the Veil. A little more energy in the universe, a little localized loss of entropy. Love does seem to be a potent force. I like it.
Minori’s eyes were wide. Hearing emotional states and physics put into the same sentence, and particularly those emotions? Added to which was their personal application to herself? She didn’t know whether to tell Lassair that the spirit’s grasp on the laws of natural philosophy was . . . tenuous, at best . . . or laugh, blush, and splutter. She opted for the latter three, more or less at the same time.
Lassair smiled, and crossed the room, and suddenly, the spirit was directly in front of Minori. Her current physical form was easily Sigrun’s height, the better to match her human lover’s frame, and she’d clearly taken her proportions from the slender curves of the Venus de Milo. Small, high breasts, and an athletic, healthy body, rounded hips, all outlined by a tight wool tunic. She had altered the cosmetic appearance of the body several times over the course of the past weeks, but had stayed in this body, specifically, the entire time, something that was evidently unusual for the spirit. There had even been an entire conversation last night on Lassair’s ability to disguise herself. “Make yourself horse-faced and flat-chested if you need to disguise yourself and run,” Sigrun had suggested, arching her eyebrows. “No one will look for that, if they’re all looking for the single most striking-looking woman in the area.”
I could. Technically, I could take hermaphroditic form, and diminish the breasts to minimum. That would keep the uterus and the baby intact, but I’m unsure what the additional hormones in the blood would do to the development of the child. It would probably be safe for a short duration, however.
Everyone in the room had stared at her. Kanmi had cleared his throat. “You can make yourself into both genders at once?”
Yes. Actually, I can make my form male, as well, but that would leave the child with no place to go. Lassair’s tone had been bland.
“Do you do this regularly?” Kanmi asked, his eyebrows rising.
I prefer female form when I take a human shape. It’s the most comfortable for me, and the one Flamesower enjoys the most. But hermaphrodite form has some benefits as well. Eliminating waste while standing up is certainly more efficient.
Kanmi’s eyebrows had gone up, and he’d looked directly at Trennus, who was flushing. “You know, for once in my life, I think I’m not going to ask any more questions.”
“Thank you,” Adam had answered, shifting his shoulders uncomfortably “This conversation is rapidly degenerating.”
Trennus had looked up at the ceiling. “Lassair? Please fix this.”
I am a spirit. Functionally, we are genderless. Organic life in your world generally takes two genders. Simple, on the face of it. What confuses me, however, is that human spirits can resonate with each other perfectly, but the bodies also need to be in resonance. It is a complicated system. But one I enjoy studying, in all its combinations.
Kanmi had laughed out loud. “That was an absolutely perfect politician’s answer, Lassair. You said everything and nothing at the same time. You must be taking lessons from Livorus.”
I endeavor not to give offense, and make no apologies for it. Lassair had smiled merrily.
“And we already know that you can change species on a whim. Phoenix, tiger, kitten, human. And they all seem to be beautiful, no matter what.” Kanmi’s grin had widened.
“I thought you said ‘no more questions,’” Adam put in.
“Work with me, ben Maor, work with me.”
Yes? I enjoy making the forms aesthetically pleasing. Lassair’s tone was amused.
“So you could make yourself the most desirable sheep in existence, if you so chose.”
. . . yes. I could.
“Gods, Kanmi, you had to say it, didn’t you?” Trennus shook his head. “You’re as bad as my family.”
“No, no. I didn’t say you were shagging a sheep. I said that Lassair was broad-minded enough and capable of making it an option.” Kanmi’s tone had been virtuous. “I am complimenting her.”
You are not. You are amusing yourself at our expense.
“It’s all right, Lassair, he’s just jealous,” Trennus said, long-sufferingly.
“Baaaaa.”
The conversation had broken apart into laughter at about that moment.
Now, however, as Lassair touched her cheek, Minori stopped laughing. She also stopped breathing. I can change my physical form to something that disturbs you less. Something more masculine?
“Don’t . . . don’t do that, on my account.” Minori swallowed again.
So, answer my question. Did you like it when Emberstone kissed you?
Minori’s entire world had become the flame-like ruby eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Lassair leaned forward and kissed her, full on the lips. Minori stood rigid for a moment, shocked, and then melted under the spirit’s touch. I think you understand, Lassair told her, pulling back. Did it feel like that? Safe and not-safe at all, at the same time?
Minori nodded, numbly. This was all bringing back terrible recollections for her. Most of
the experiences hadn’t seemed bad at the time, but everything that had resulted from them had been, and perspective was everything. Lassair brushed the hair back from Minori’s face, and told her, gently, Emberstone and you both have bad memories. You should make new ones together.
She started to shake her head in confused denial. “He can’t stand me.”
The role he is bound to play, that of one who seeks resonance with you? He fights the role because he desires that resonance, but does not think he should. The role is everything he wishes he could have, but knows that it is a role. An illusion. A lie. And Emberstone hates lies, though he employs them freely. Do you understand?
“Not at all.” Minori swallowed. Lassair was still standing much too close. Just like Asuka had done, years ago, in another life.
And you? You have been burned by the fire, not once, but twice, and because you desire so much, you bind yourself away from it all. It does not have to be this way. Unbind yourself. Lassair looked apt to continue, but then the spirit’s head jerked up. Someone comes? Oh. Those bound to protect us for a time see two serving men with the maids. But I only see one spirit. How odd.
Minori’s mind cleared, rapidly. “Mouse form,” she said, and pointed at the nightstand. That had been a stroke of brilliance on Kanmi’s part. Lassair’s body flickered, contracted, and then a little golden-furred mouse scurried away under the nightstand. Minori pulled out her derringer, made sure her enchanted bullets were in place, and dropped down behind the sofa, facing the room’s door, pulling up a defensive incantation. The air around her would steal energy from any incoming projectiles, and disperse it outwards, as heat. The room, in a firefight, might ramp up by over twenty degrees ambient, but it beat getting shot.
Voices, in the hallway. The harsh tones of the Nahautl lictor, telling someone, No, no housekeeping today. No, no towels. No sheets. No, there’s no problem with the heat. Be off with you. “Lassair?” Minori whispered.
I am trying to tell him—oh!
That was timed with a muffled exclamation from the hall and a thud. Minori swore internally, and aimed, carefully, for the door, two competing courses of action outlining themselves in her head. I should put Lassair in my pocket and run out the patio door. I should do that. Staying and fighting is stupid. Wait. Wasn’t there supposed to be a lictor covering the back—?
The door in front of Minori opened with a crash as two men entered. One of them held a long tube in his hands, and she didn’t need any more than that. She had only two shots, but she’d also enchanted the bullets for accuracy. She could make them count.
The first man fell, shot in the chest, and the second put the blowpipe to his lips and fired it. The dart caught and tangled in her shields, dropping to the ground at her feet. Minori shifted her aim and fired, but the second intruder was already moving. She only clipped his arm. Then he was on her, trying to grapple with her, and Minori dropped the gun, caught his incoming hand, stepped into his charge, around, and under, snapping his hand down and pulling back at the same time, like a whip, throwing him to the floor. Untrained people never rolled. They generally plowed, face-first, into the floor, as this man did. I can’t believe that worked, was her single numb thought, as she reached inwards for power, freezing the air in front of her into a shard of solid matter with a phrase. Two hundred and ten degrees below zero, it was already out-gassing along the edges, and she needed to do something with the excess heat she’d pulled from it, but she held that in a ball just above her right hand, as she brought the frozen air-knife down into the man’s chest in a finishing blow, as hard as she could, with her mind.
Blood sprayed up, splattering her cheek, and for in instant, Minori was frozen with horror. She’d never killed before, and she’d just done it twice inside of half a minute. She stumbled backwards, away from the body . . . and found hands grabbing her from behind. She tried to grab the hands, turn her head to avoid the choke, step back to get her hips free . . . and felt cold steel against her throat. Pressure and an edge, and she froze in place, frantically trying to get an incantation formulated in her mind. It would turn the air around her into thousands of tiny, sharp needles of solid matter, just like the knife she’d made a moment ago, and would hurl them, like arrows, at everyone around her . . . but she couldn’t release that spell without at least a word or a gesture, and either one would result in her throat being sliced open. “One word,” the person with the knife at her throat whispered. Woman’s voice. Quechan accent to the Latin. “One wrong move, and you die. We know you’re a sorcerer.” The knife pressed a little tighter, and Minori could feel movement behind her. Found her hands taken roughly behind her. Cold steel of manacles, the click of metal closing around her wrists.
The door to the patio slid open, and Minori looked up, hoping that it would be the Hellene lictor . . . and saw a familiar face. The Tawantinsuyan man who’d been following them, periodically, whom she’d seen at the conference in Lutetia, now moved into the room, dragging the limp body of Arkadios Sanna behind him, by the ankles. He kicked the lictor’s gun across the floor, and closed the door. Minori stiffened. She could see blood leaking out of the Hellene lictor’s mouth, eyes, nose, and ears. What did he do to him? she thought, in horror.
Lassair, tucked under the nightstand, in rodent form, seethed. Old memories called to her. Whispered that she should be able to burn these interlopers to ashes. The old memories spoke of becoming flame once more, lambent and pure, and raging through the room in a fiery blaze. But these recollections could not stand in the face of new priorities. If I dissolve the body and become flame, can I make the child flame with me? Can I carry it with me? If I re-materialize, what do I do with it? Do I . . . make a new one? I don’t know what to do. I need to save Truthsayer. I need to save myself. What do I do? The others in the room were almost impossible to understand with spirit eyes, though mouse-eyes detected them without difficulties. Her Veil senses, however, showed them . . . wavering. Each of them carried a spirit of some sort with them, bound to an amulet, perhaps. That spirit overlapped their body, as she did, when she shielded Trennus from flame or cold, or as Saraid did, when she shielded him against physical harm. Lassair’s whiskers twitched. They all smelled bad to mouse-nose. Like blood and ozone.
“Call your spirit,” the man ordered, getting closer to Minori, his hands up in a casting position. “Just one word. Her Name.”
Minori shook her head, slightly . . . and then gave a choked cry as the man hooked his fingers and twisted them in the air. Lassair could feel what he was doing. He was moving Minori’s entrails, as if he’d reached into her guts and seized a handful. Say my other name! Lassair said, urgently. Say it!
“A-asha,” Minori mumbled, and Lassair spun herself into human form, knocking over the nightstand as she did so. The various humans all turned towards her, and Lassair looked at her hands. There’s a way to do this. There’s a way to be flame and flesh at once. I know there is.
She didn’t have time to decipher the memories—if they were even memories. They didn’t feel like who she was. Who she was, now, anyway. The woman with the knife pressed to Minori’s throat tightened her grip. Lassair could see strength in those hands; the woman had worked, and worked hard, her whole life. Perhaps she even was a maid. No way to tell, with the mind locked away behind the spirit’s shield . . . and she couldn’t reach the spirit. It was terrified, and would not speak with her, bargain with her. Anything. Just a low green glow that reeked of fear to spirit senses. “Asha?” the man said now, his tone skeptical. “You will come with us. You will permit yourself to be bound, or your friend here will die.”
Lassair smiled, and put all her charm into it, but it was hard. She realized that she hated this particular human, and in the main, she liked humans. But this one reminded her of the one Trennus had unNamed. This one would use force to gain what he wanted. It’s not really necessary to bind me, she murmured, gliding forwards. I’ll come along peacefully. We can get to know each other better, you and I, if we each bargain fr
om . . . a position of trust. She peeked out from under her body’s lashes.
She could watch the body react. Hormone surge, flushing through him, starting at the fork of the legs. But the mind, protected by his bound spirit, was able to shake off the suggestion, at least this time. “No,” he told her, his voice harsh, and pointed out into the hall at the metal cart. No towels. No blankets. But the inside of the doors in that would normally house all such things . . . were covered in words of powers. Lines and tracings. Lassair shuddered at the very sight of it. Trennus! she cried out, sending the words down along the bond that connected his soul to her. Trennus! Flamesower! We are bound, we are captive, and I do not know where we are being taken! Come to us! Come to us now!
Chapter XVIII: Xenocrysts
Any student of history understands that wars are very rarely actually fought for religion or ideology. These are most often the excuses used to clothe the poor, naked casus belli, and dress it like a strumpet togged out in a noblewoman’s garb. One can, however, almost always detect the rouge and stale perfume beneath the borrowed finery. Wars are most often fought for resources, and, secondarily, to check perceived or actual aggression from neighboring states. The history of war, and, perforce, that of humanity itself, is closely tied to geology, geography, and mineralogy.
On establishing colonia cities in the new world, Rome at first thought that Caesaria Aquilonis was a poor colony site—a hardship land, best suited for the barbaric Gauls and Goth. Several of the first colonial sites suffered from starvation in the early days. A few disappeared entirely, leaving no survivors for the next ships to find, but only a mass of graves, and a few forlorn words chipped in Gothic runes or Latin letters on the walls of a building. From 500 AC until 1190 AC, the Gauls and Goths stretched out slowly across the continent. The reader must imagine an era in which there were no railroads. They moved and advanced along rivers and seacoasts, much as their ancestors had moved through northern Europa. They met the local tribes, and either made peace or made war, resulting in the patchwork of small allied and neutral kingdoms that dots the landscape of Caesaria Aquilonis to this day.
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