He waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t worry, Aldait Han; I’m used to people thinking shit about me.”
His words did nothing to diminish my embarrassment, but with him reading my mind there was no point dragging out this conversation. I just put up the mental defenses I’d been taught when joining Mespana.
Tayrel Kan paused next to me. From somewhere, probably outside of the three-dimensional space, he procured two pieces of reed stuffed with dried herbs and handed me one. Tchalka, as they called it (or tsalka, if you’re Dahlsi). I rarely indulged in such things, but then, following some strange impulse, I took the reed and let the sorcerer light it with a flicker of his fingers. The smoke scratched unpleasantly at the back of my throat. I coughed, trying to clear it, and before I knew what was happening, I went into a fit, almost throwing up in the process.
“Careful there. It’s strong stuff,” he warned too late, with obvious amusement.
My fit soon passed, and I felt at ease; my worries melted away in a cloud of narcotic smoke.
“So, did my screamed thoughts get you out of your hole?” I asked. My head was spinning, and I was trying my hardest not to sway. He hadn’t been kidding with his warning.
“I just wanted to show you something.”
Holding the tchalka in his left hand, he rolled up his right sleeve and presented it to me. Inside, I noticed a curious mark: a triangle divided into four smaller ones, the one inside red and the others white; the whole things encircled encircled by Dahlsian letters. “Kanven Sandeyron,” he said, not giving me the chance to read it. Sandeyron meant “company”, but the name meant nothing to me, although I thought I’d heard it before. He was quick to elaborate, “The bastards that adopted me.”
I felt like I’d been punched in the gut.
The companies weren’t driven by compassion while adopting unwanted children. They needed to test their inventions somehow, and if things went wrong, well, there would be no one left to complain. I only had a very vague idea of what happened inside—I guessed only those who’d been there knew the truth—but that was enough to make my skin crawl at the very mention.
“What I was about to say,” he picked up, face blank, almost like he wasn’t talking about his own past—like it was someone else who had to go through this, “is that sometimes it doesn’t matter whose symbol you wear. Sometimes you don’t fight for someone. You just happen to find yourself on the same side.”
“And then you can ignore your associates?” I asked.
“As long as they don’t stand in your way. I mean, look around.”
I did as he said. We were some distance from the camp, but on the outskirts, a few people busied themselves preparing meals, repairing equipment or just chatting. Mostly non-Dahlsi and nonhumans, which made it painfully clear how few of us were there.
“You think any of them give a shit about Dahls? Most of them don’t even speak Dahlsi-é. Shit, I’m sure you don’t speak Dahlsi-é.”
“I speak perfect Dahlsi-é,” I responded proudly in his native tongue.
Dahlsi-é and Tarvissi-é were practically my mother tongues, but I actually spoke five languages. I enjoyed learning, and at some point, I focused on them, imagining they would help with my communicative difficulties. But in the end, nothing could help me if I had nothing to say.
“Yes, if one can overlook that terrible accent,” he laughed.
That was the best irony of it all: I spoke Dahlsi-é with the melodic accent of Tarviss, never quite able to master the hard r the real Dahlsi use, just as I spoke Tarvissi-é with the hard accent of Dahls, sometimes skipping consonants or even switching sh to s.
Linguistic divagations aside, did he have a point?
Did I care about Dahls?
Definitely not for the almost mythical world that linked Meon Cluster with the rest of the universe. But Meon itself was my home, and it was inextricably connected with Dahls. At the same time, it was so much more—a mosaic of species and cultures coexisting in near-perfect harmony only possible thanks to the advanced status of Dahlsian society. No one else could organize it like that. Dahlsi knew their way of life was too specific to impose on other people, so they mostly left the colonists to our own devices. They were merely standing guard, checking out everyone who wanted to enter, shielding us all from crime, wars, exploitation, and other calamities that plagued other worlds.
So yes, I did care about Meon. And I knew whatever change would come, it would only be for the worse.
Pain flared in my fingers and I opened my hand, dropping the butt of my tchalka to the ground. Most of the smoke escaped, and Tayrel Kan was looking at me with reproach.
“You just wasted it,” he scolded.
“Well, I’m surprised you even have that; I’ve heard you prefer stronger things,” I retorted, realizing too late that he could take offense. But he only snorted.
“Myar Mal insists I stay away from the strong stuff for a while. Which is rich coming from someone who pops vaka like candy. He must be hallucinating half the time with the amount of proper sleep he’s getting. Anyway, that’s the only thing I’m allowed now. The only thing that keeps me sane.” He was already lighting another tchalka. “That reminds me,” he let out a puff of smoke, “did you even try my wand?”
Only then did I remember his gift. A brand new one, courtesy of Kanven Sandeyron. That’s where I heard the name.
“I didn’t have time,” I murmured apologetically.
He arched an eyebrow. “You know, most Dahlsi would piss themselves in glee if they could put their hands on it.”
I hummed, not sure what to say. It was an impressive feat of Dahlsian technomagic, no doubt, but so were kites, bikes, tents, and dozens of other things. If I got excited about every one of them, I wouldn’t have time for anything else.
He shook his head slowly. “You are incredible.”
Well, I was not Dahlsi. But now that he mentioned it, another thing occurred to me.
“Why did you even give it to me?”
He chuckled. “I just wanted to help you out a little.” He paused to take another whiff before continuing. “I knew they weren’t going to let you bring it into the mansion.”
“I didn’t notice,” I murmured, embarrassed. How could I not notice? When the Tarvissi took my old wand, I was so preoccupied by their sheer presence, I didn’t even think about how I gave it to Laik Var earlier.
“Yeah, I know.” There was no judgment in his voice, only a small sardonic smirk dancing on his lips. I started suspecting his face was permanently contorted; it was his neutral expression. Still, I was feeling stupid, and I scrambled for something to defend myself.
“I think I had more pressing things on my mind. I was almost killed.”
“It’s all right,” he assured me, looking at me seriously. For the first time, I think. “The spell was meant to keep you focused on the task. Not questioning anything.”
If anyone asked, I’d say they didn’t need a spell. I could focus pretty well, and when I did, the whole world might stop existing.
“Besides,” he continued, “no offense, but you never struck me as perceptive.”
I scoffed. “Thanks.”
“That’s not an insult. I don’t mean you’re stupid. You just seem like more of a… reflective type.”
He was probably right. Except—
“What do you even know about me?” I asked. We met less than a Dahlsian day ago. Was he watching me? Had they all been spying on me before that little mission, trying to figure out if I was the right man for the job? But it was only a few days since the revolution started, and I spent most of them in Sorox.
Did they have spies there?
Tayrel Kan looked at me and his smirk widened. “Apart from your thoughts I overhear?”
I bit back the curse. “I thought that’s considered rude.”
He spread his arms, and his smile took on an almost disarming look. “Let no one accuse me of being polite.”
I didn’t know what to sa
y. My face was hot with embarrassment, but at the same time, I felt a growing annoyance. And then I realized my defenses had slipped again, and he was probably perfectly aware of everything I had been thinking.
His smile faltered a little, and he added, “But you know, that works both ways. You can be straight with me, and I won’t hold it against you.”
I paused to consider his proposal. There was one thing…
“Can I ask you an awkward question?”
His face almost split in half by the wideness of his grin.
“You want the names of the vessár-ai?”
I grit my teeth, my face burning like a bonfire. “Is there any chance to convince you not to tell anyone?”
“I won’t. But you know, I wasn’t the only sorcerer in the room.”
I cursed mentally, and he laughed.
“That may actually be to our advantage,” he added thoughtfully after a while, “stand still.”
I wasn’t planning on moving and wasn’t even sure why I would, but then pain flashed inside my head, in a place I didn’t realize could hurt. It blinded me for a heartbeat, but when it passed my head was filled with new knowledge. I became familiar with every vessár in Mespana—their faces, names, specialties, even some saucy gossip I’d rather not have known. And it didn’t seem like it was going to vanish anytime soon.
“Thanks,” I murmured.
“You’re welcome,” he answered offhandedly.
He looked away and focused on his tchalka, giving me a moment to digest the newly-found knowledge. There were all kinds of facts, from the genuinely helpful—like Innam Ar-Leig, vessár of the First Cohort and the man responsible for training fresh recruits, having a degree in psychology and profiling us all before graduation—to useless but interesting trivia, like Sanam Il-Asa being a big Tarviss sympathizer and sporting a beard up until the rebellion started.
Curiously, there was nothing about Myar Mal. I was about to ask about it, when Tayrel Kan spoke.
“I forgot how boring Mespana is. It’s all humanoids here. You won’t even find a bloody besseq.”
“Besheq are not fighting species,” I replied. The lithe, tentacled creatures I often encountered on the market, selling palm sap or baskets, rather gave an impression of being ready to collapse from a hard shove.
“Unless you get slashed with one of those tentacles. Hey, you wanna hear a funny thing?”
I murmured something noncommittal, not sure if I wanted to.
“Besseq are not naturally venomous. They absorb poison from some shit they eat in Van-Yian. The more they have, the more potent their venom is. But in lower doses,” he sent me a sideways glance, smiling mischieviously, “some people would describe their touch as arousing.”
I coughed nervously.
“I wouldn’t know anything about it,” I murmured.
Tayrel Kan chuckled. “I wouldn’t expect you to.”
The remark stung. Despite the deepest wish to end this line of conversation as soon as possible, I couldn’t help but protest, “Not being attracted to nonhumans doesn’t make me a speciesist. I’m just not interested.”
“Oh. What are you interested in, then?” Now his voice was lascivious as he stared at me even more slyly. Laik Var’s warnings echoed in my head.
I shuddered and grit my teeth, with no idea in the worlds how to react.
“I’m… not… ,” I stammered finally.
His smile fell, and the look in his eyes shifted to more curious. “Not at all?”
“No,” I said sharply, hoping he’d get the point and shut up.
“Men, women?”
“Nope.”
His smile returned. “Yourself?”
My face was so hot, I was afraid my skin may start to peel off. At the same time I started feeling first pangs of annoyance. Sex was not something that was discussed in our culture and I was still not comfortable with the casualness Dahlsi treated it with. “No.”
Another hum. “So you never felt that particular itch in your wand?”
It took me a moment to realize he didn’t suddenly switch to talking about magic.
He waved his hand and said lightly, “that was a euphemism, I meant your dick.”
Oh. Talking about itch and sex in one sentence made me think of pubic lice. Before I said anything, Tayrel Kan choked on his smoke and twisted his fingers. A familiar tingle ran over my body. I winced, not sure whether of embarrassment or anger. Yeah, I could cast cleaning spells myself.
And I knew you didn’t mean it that way. I’m not that stupid.
As if struck by a sudden thought, the sorcerer asked, “But you do know you can do it yourself?”
“Yes, Tayrel Kan, I got some education, imagine that,” I said, now only annoyed.
“They taught masturbation in your school?”
“No! It’s just…” Talking about education was easier than talking about my pitiful adventures and realization I had absolutely no interest in bringing them to fruition. “Our teacher was very open, and she allowed us to ask anything we wanted. So, naturally, most kids asked about sex.”
Especially since it wasn’t something our parents talked about.
He hummed again, then went silent for a moment. My body was tense as I waited for him to speak. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Okay, just say what you have to say, and let’s get this over with,” I snapped.
He arched his eyebrow. “What do you expect me to say?”
What everyone else had said. “That I’m stunted.”
I thought saying the words myself would make them sting less, but they only left a bitter taste in my mouth.
Tayrel Kan looked me in the eye. “You are not stunted.”
I tensed, not sure how to react. I was so used to scrutiny, I never imagined someone might… not do it.
I cleared my throat, trying to push through the tightness. “Do you really think so?”
“Sex doesn’t make anyone mature. Or smart. It’s just a bit of fun to temporarily kill existential dread. Or pass it onto others, I guess. People experience it in different ways, and some choose not to experience it at all. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
My tension melted, and a strange warmth spread in my chest. So far, the kindest reactions were assurances I would learn to love my wife (from Tarvissi) or musings I hadn’t met the right person (from everyone else). He was the first one ever who just accepted me for who I was.
Especially since he was, well…
“I have a lot of existential dread to kill,” he said lightly. I wasn’t sure if he was joking. Luckily, he quickly changed the subject, “but I have to say, your school sounds pretty cool.”
“It wasn’t a real school,” I explained. “Just a woman, Girana Da-Vai with a mission to make our lives better. She was a bit of everything: official, healer, sorcerer. And a teacher. She used to gather all the kids in the old Peridion mansion and taught us to read, write, count. She let us ask whatever we wanted.”
“What did you ask her about?”
“The universe,” I replied without hesitation. “I was always interested in what lies beyond. Dahls and other worlds, anything really.”
“So, I guess you’re pretty happy in Mespana.”
Was I? I thought so. Even apart from visiting a different world every couple of days, it was nice to leave people behind with their problems and just be myself for a while.
But it was equally nice to return to the city, the warm apartment, and the fancy restaurants. And with Mespana’s salary, I rarely had to worry about the prices.
“Sometimes I dream about traveling beyond,” I said, “to some of the old worlds. See all the wonders I only read about. Ancient civilizations and all that.”
“Why don’t you?”
I smiled wistfully. “I can’t. Since my dad died, there’s no man in the house, so I have to help my mom and sister every once in a while. Do the heavy lifting.”
I then remembered there was no home for me to go back to, an
d I felt my heart clench. Before I succumbed to despair, though, the sorcerer came up with another question.
“Have you tried to consider this an opportunity?”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s nothing holding you back now. You can go wherever you want, do whatever you want.”
I wished it were that simple, but I still had a family to care for. I hoped, in time, they would be able to return, although I knew our lives would never be the same. We could start again somewhere, maybe even in Sfal. Although, I wasn’t sure my mom would agree to live in the city. I wasn’t keen on it either. Don’t get me wrong, I liked the city sometimes. But I equally liked getting back to the country, the simple house built by my dad from scratch, and fields green with vye and gilded with maak. I needed balance, I guess. A little bit of the city, a little bit of the country, and a new world to explore every once in a while. If I could travel farther away, that would be a bonus, but I was fine.
Except now my comfortable existence was over. Our farm was deserted, my family banished. And it seemed like I made an enemy out of the kar-vessár. Now that my head had cooled down, I realized I acted like a total fool. My insides clenched and, not for the first time in my life, I wished I could run away, leaving everything and everyone behind.
Desperate for distraction, I looked to the plain before me and tried summoning the memories of it from before the rebellion. Before I knew it, I started talking, not sure if to myself or to the sorcerer, “Around this time, namia would flower. It has these big, purple flowers you can spot from the other side of the world. Maak and sabha would be fruiting together—tall, proud maak with green threads of sabha trailing between the stalks, heavy with berries. Coclaxi trees from Llodra would shed their petals, filling the air with their scent.”
“I don’t even know what that shit is,” he laughed, sending a pang of anger through my chest. “I’m not the best person to talk about such things with. Last time I was here, I couldn’t breathe from all the pollen. I think one good thing the whole rebellion brought was clearing the air.”
“How can you live like this?” I sized up at his pale, lithe figure and thought, for all the similarities, we may as well be coming from different species. “You left your city, settled outside, and yet you keep to yourself, eat the synthetic shit. Most of you can’t even breathe without those masks. And you do nothing about it!”
The Outworlder Page 8