by Jean Johnson
"I can see that. There is meaning behind our own ceremony as well, if not as much effort," he admitted. "As men are most often the shifters, we are said to rule everything in the air, the water, and the earth via the various animal shapes we can take. But women are the traditional keepers of the hearthfire, representing the fourth element. So a man must be courageous enough to brave the flames of the fourth element when leaping to his lady's side."
She smiled. "I like that. In our ceremony, fire is simply used for heating the water, though it also represents the magical element of fire. We don't go leaping over it," she teased, provoking a smile from him. "In the wealthiest families, special scented woods can be burned, and in winter, incense perfumes the air. In spring or summer, even the poorest family showers the couple with fragrant flower petals to invoke the scented blessings of the mountain winds. Earth is obviously represented by the cup, whether it's made from pottery, glass, or gold, and of course the tea represents water."
"So then what happens?" Kenyen asked her, curious. "The priest prepares the tea, the flame boils the water, the tea is whisked, and the air is perfumed... and... They just drink it?"
"They just drink it," she confirmed, grinning. "From the same bowl in which it is prepared, rather than a separate whisking bowl." She checked herself, amending, "Well, they also say, 'With this tea, I drink you into my life as my beloved groom.' Or 'my beloved bride' in your case as a man. The groom speaks and drinks first, one quarter of the tea. Then the bride speaks and drinks one third of what is left. The groom drinks half of the remainder, this time without words, and the bride drains the whole of what's left in the bowl."
"And then they are married?" he asked.
"The foam is first checked for augury by the priest—the priest usually keeps silent and speaks privately to the bride and groom later if anything needs mentioning. Silence doesn't have to mean something bad, just something private, so everyone assumes all tea-reading results are a good thing. The priest then blesses them, the witnesses cheer, and a feast is usually served," Solyn explained. "At the end of the feast, everyone helps one half of the newly married couple move their belongings into the other half's home.
"Often it's the bride moving into the groom's home, but sometimes it's the groom moving into the bride's, if her home is larger. Sometimes they stay with one or the other set of parents, particularly if that family needs the help, or they don't have the land or the wealth available to build their own home just yet," she said.
Kenyen rubbed his chin, absorbing her words. "So the one moves in with the other, which isn't so different from a maiden moving in with her mate. On the Plains, a man doesn't leap to a woman's side until he is wealthy enough to afford his own geome."
"Geome?" Solyn asked, curious.
"It's the special kind of domed, lattice-walled tents that we use," he explained. "The maiden saves up her own wealth so she can afford a brazier at the very least, though a portable cookstove is preferred. And when we retire to the Shifting City each winter, the newly married couple usually get their own room in the tenements set aside for each Family. But that doesn't apply here. It's not at all the same. Traver doesn't have a geome, let alone a house to call his own."
"Well, Traver's family isn't as wealthy as my own," Solyn admitted, giving it some thought. "Technically, since I have my own bedchamber and Traver sleeps in an attic with his little brother, it would be expected for my family to accept him into our house, while we built up the funds to buy or build our own. As far as everyone is concerned, I'm still the Healer's daughter, which means I would inherit the house with its herb-room and such, so I would be expected to stay with my family, and my husband would stay with me.
"In fact, the night before the caravan left, Traver came and discussed such an arrangement with my parents, since I would need to stay near all the Healing supplies. At least until my training as a Healer is complete, then I'd be expected to find and settle somewhere that needs a Healer, unless the local one is very old. Which Mother isn't."
He could hear a hedge lurking in her tone and voiced it as a question. "However...?"
"However, I'm a mage. My magics aren't the kind that are very good at healing things, so I really should be sent to a city where I can learn from other mages," she reminded him. "A half-trained mage is a danger to herself and those around her. Particularly if I tried to experiment with the more complex spells without understanding the principles behind whatever magic I'm trying to effect—the more complex the spell, the more I have to understand it. Anyone can brew a pot of willow-bark tea for simple pain relief, but you don't want to try to mix up a truly complex posset for some ailment, the kind containing several different ingredients, without the right sort of training."
"True," he agreed. "What about moving to a city? Where would you and your husband stay while you trained?"
"If I did get to travel to, say, the capital, either I'd be given quarters at the Mage School as an apprentice—provided they'd let my husband room with me—or I'd rent rooms from someone. Or Traver could stay here and continue to farm while I studied for a few years in the city, since there wouldn't be anything for him to do while I was training."
"Nothing at all?" Kenyen asked. "What about... what about representing his family or holding's trade interests in the city?"
"Traver, a merchant?" Solyn snorted with laughter. "Not likely. You'd make a far better agent, given what I've seen of your bartering prowess. No, he wouldn't be interested. Unless, of course, the local holdings got together and appointed him as a representative of the Nespah Valley," she allowed. "Then he would be able to present our concerns at the various trade and craft meetings, and perhaps even help give counsel to the King and his advisors on the needs of this region. That, he could do. Managing a shrewd bargain isn't his strong suit, but he is honorable and does have a good mind for what people need. Actually, in some ways, it'd be easiest if he was an apprentice instead of a farmer. He could learn a trade skill in the city. Smithing, pottery, tanning, woodwrighting, weaving, glassblowing..."
Kenyen nodded slowly. "The Mongrels wanted to know if I knew anything of blacksmithing. Specifically, enough to forge a knife. They also wanted to know if I could work my way so deeply into your family, your father would take me on as an apprentice. I know a few things, since it's encouraged for all of us to try different trades until we find something we're good at, but I was better at the tasks of hunting, fighting, and trading, so I found my place in a warband."
Solyn wrinkled her nose, amused at that. "Traver, as a blacksmith apprentice? He tried, once. After one week of burns, cuts, and bruises, of sore arms from pumping the bellows and an aching back from lifting the ore and hauling the ingots, he went right back to the family goats and terrace fields and swore we couldn't pay him enough to labor like that again. He's very much a farmer at heart."
"Tellik says I'm not complaining about my chores like 'I' should," Kenyen murmured.
That earned him a chuckle. "I didn't say he didn't complain about being a farmer," she quipped. "He just doesn't complain like he did when he tried being a blacksmith. If he hadn't quit when he did, my mother was about ready to scrub his tongue with soap, his language was so awful."
He grinned at that. "Now there's something else I don't know. How do Corredai swear?"
Blushing at the topic, Solyn started packing up her tea-making things. "Well, I'm not supposed to swear, since my family does have some high standing in the valley... but since Traver was the one who originally taught me how to do it, you should probably know."
She looked very pretty when she blushed like that. Following his impulse, Kenyen leaned down and kissed her cheek. Solyn blinked and looked up at him, then smiled and rose. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him into a proper kiss.
Raised to be polite regardless of location or culture, Kenyen kindly obliged her in her silent demand for more. It didn't take long for passion to rise between them; when he finally ended their kiss, separating their bodies, t
he ache of wanting her, warring with his cultural instincts to respect this bright, talented young woman, made him very inclined to swear.
From the heartfelt words she muttered, giving him his first lesson in Corredai vulgarity, it was obvious she felt the same way.
* * *
Eight
Solyn sent her younger sister to him the next day, an hour or so before he was expecting her to arrive for their next trip to the cheese cavern. Luelyn found him in the root garden, digging fresh vegetables for Traver's mother. Looking particularly sober, even a little scared, Luelyn informed Kenyen that Solyn and their mother were busy with someone who'd had a woodcutting accident, and that there was "... blood all over the place!"
As concerned as he was for Solyn and her patient, Kenyen knew the young girl needed a distraction. So he asked her if she'd help him pick out the prettiest onions and carrots, and then had her help him pick out the best greens for the midday meal. Tellik huffed at the table when she sat down to eat with them, but Traver's parents gave Kenyen subtle but proud looks for so carefully distracting the girl from the things she had just seen.
Receiving such looks felt like a sham. It was a sham; they thought Kenyen was Traver, and that it was their son being this thoughtful, not a stranger who wore his face. When Traver's mother, Tenaria, pressed a bag of freshly boiled and dried wrapping cloths into his arms, then offered to teach Luelyn the secrets of baking her favorite sweet biscuits to further distract her, Kenyen gratefully escaped.
Now that he'd had some practice in the task, Corredai style—and wasn't being distracted by rambling, fun conversations with Solyn—he made short work of lighting the lanterns with his flint and knife, then spent several minutes checking the freshest rounds for dampness and rewrapping them with the clean cloths. It didn't take that much longer than it had with two sets of hands, since he wasn't talking, laughing, or kissing the very pretty outlander.
Since there were no more dried rounds in need of being waxed, he debated returning to the east wall of the valley to help Traver's family some more. Impulse turned him instead toward the very back of the tunnel. Stripping off his clothes, he folded them neatly and placed them in the darkest corner, then headed back up the tunnel, ears enhanced to pick up any sounds.
No one was near. Blowing out each lamp as he came to it, he shifted shape as soon as he could see daylight from the entrance. A moment later, a magpie fluttered out of the cave mouth, winging its way by memory back toward a certain mountaintop in the distance. The biggest danger in flying came from the sky. Wary of hawks and eagles, he flew as fast as he dared, zigging and zagging to thwart any predators.
He spotted the sheep first, grazing along a meadow farther down the slope. After a few moments, he saw Cullerog with them and his herding dog. At least, he thought it was the older shifter; the man had a woven hat on his head and a shawl draped over his shoulders. Here on the west side of most of the mountains, the wind was beginning to pick up intensity, though the skies were still clear. Fluttering closer, he caught a glimpse of Cullerog's nose and chin, recognizing the man. Satisfied of his whereabouts, Kenyen headed for the cottage.
Within minutes, he reached the cabin and circled it as well. The shutters on the windows were open; the hut had two of them, but no glass. If no one was inside, there was a possibility that he could get Traver free and far enough away that when Cullerog returned, the trail would be cold. Landing on one sill, he could see inside... and see the large dog dozing on the hearth. Not the one Cullerog used to help him herd sheep, either.
Now Kenyen wished he hadn't given up his hunting cat shape in exchange for copying Traver's face. That had been one of his quietest forms. His sharp bird sight did pick out a hole in the floorboards, a body length or so from the dog and a little small, but possibly enough for his snake form to slide through. Fluttering quietly to the floor, he hopped close to the knothole, one eye on the dog.
The canine slept quietly, side heaving up and down in steady rhythm. Shifting shape, stretching his body into a sinewy line, Kenyen flicked his tongue at the air, tasting the scent of the beast. The sting of man sweat exuded from it, a smell different than Cullerog's. Vaguely familiar. This, then, was a shapeshifter.
So much for my half-formed idea of getting Traver out of here, right now, he thought, disappointed. Though when that storm Solyn predicted hits, if it's a heavy rain, that'd go a long way in washing away any possible scent trails. But then where would we take him? I don't know if those paper birds have reached their targets yet or not.
Dog-shifter or not, he still wanted to check up on the other young man. Slithering quietly forward, he peered down into the hole. It was dark down there, but the heat-sensing dimples on his nose gave Kenyen a view of sorts. A cool bucket of water, a slightly warmer bucket of slops, and a distinctly warm body. Traver stirred restlessly, a blob of heat that shifted a leg.
Guilt speared through him. I've been living a soft life—hard work on a farm, yes, but soft compared to his. I need to let him know he hasn't been forgotten. Because I haven't.
The easiest way to drop was feet first. Or the equivalent, on a snake. Returning his attention to the not-dog sleeping on top of the trapdoor, Kenyen eased his tail into the knothole. It was a tight fit, as suspected, but even with only half his brother's shapes, Kenyen wasn't a weak shifter. Dangling his body into the room below, he almost hit his serpentine head when the weight of what was below overbalanced the mass still on the cottage floor.
Shifting fast as he fell, he fluttered owl-soft wings, catching himself on the stone-carved floor with only the slightest of thumps. As soon as he landed, he held everything still but for his ears. Those, he elongated into something horse-sized, magnifying his ability to hear. Two creatures breathed nearby. One was the quick, startled breaths of Traver Ys Ten. The other was the slow, steady breaths of the shifter-dog sleeping over their heads.
The tiny bit of light that did come through the cracks and the hole in the boards over their head, coupled with Kenyen's owl-keen vision, proved more than enough light. It showed Traver Ys Ten gaping at him. Unfurling his body into its natural shape—but keeping the ears—Kenyen carefully shifted forward. Crouching next to the man whose body he had learned to shift, Kenyen brought his head as close as he dared.
"Are you all right?" He barely breathed the words, never mind whispered them. Traver rolled his eyes and looked around the room. Kenyen nodded. The Corredai didn't seem injured, so he breathed next, "I'm working on a way to get you free."
Traver nodded. He breathed back a single word. "... And?"
"... I'm still working on it." Kenyen returned, lifting his head and his gaze to the trapdoor, where the not-dog slept.
"Ask Solyn," Traver offered. "She has good ideas. Usually."
Kenyen could guess what he meant. The startled, flustered claim of a betrothal, which Solyn had already explained had been a spur of the moment thing and not her wisest choice in retrospect. At least, where the real Traver was concerned. More guilt surfaced at that thought. In a way, Kenyen was taking advantage of the situation. With a willing outlander woman, since there was no doubt in his mind that Solyn enjoyed their semi-intimate twinings so far, but it was still... illicit, he supposed was the word for it, and on several levels.
"Be ready for us," Kenyen told him. "When the rains..."
He froze, ears twitching. The dog's breathing had changed. Depending on the skill of the shifter up there, that canine nose could be quite sensitive indeed. Enough to maybe detect Kenyen's smell. Growing a covering of feathers—the best way to trap his personal scent close to his body—Kenyen looked back at Traver.
The younger man bravely lifted his chin, shaping the words, "Go. I'll be ready."
He lifted his chin, not toward the knothole in the ceiling, but toward a dim patch of light to one side, near a spot where the support beams holding up the cottage floor disappeared into the stones mortared in place on the downhill side. Moving slowly, cushioning each step with a bit of fur, Kenyen h
eaded toward the promised bit of light. If that's a hole over there, and it's at least as big as the knothole, I can get out without being...
The dog moved. Floorboards creaking slightly, it heaved up onto its paws. The patterns of shadow and light shifted as the dog snuffled around the edges of the trapdoor. Yawning with that faint but typical canine whine, he padded toward the cottage door. Indecision held Kenyen still. If the dog knew of the hole, if the cur was headed outside to check it out—the four-legged shadow shifted shape. A moment later, something scraped on the floor. A hiss of liquid filling a pot told him what the Mongrel watchdog was doing.
Using the cover of the noise over their heads, Kenyen quickly moved to the indicated corner. The opening was small, and longish, reminiscent of the tunnel under the rocks in that cave to the north. It also bore tiny mouse tracks. Relieved, Kenyen tucked his fingers into the hole and flowed his body up into it, pulling himself onto the tiny ledge in a very ugly, un-pure fashion. Where a mouse can go... so can a serpent, thank the Gods.
His body had to be shifted longer and thinner than normal for a viper, since he needed enough room to push off of the crumbled mortar, but it was the best way to escape. For him. But not for Traver. If only he had his own magics—of course! Some mages can shift their shapes via magic. Maybe Solyn knows a spell?
Pausing at the exit, he flicked his tongue out, tasting the air. The floorboards creaked behind him. As yet, there were no scents indicating anyone else was right outside. Slithering into the sun, he worked his way through the tufts of grass growing outside the cottage. The sheep were no doubt allowed to nibble on it from time to time, but from the length of the stalks, they hadn't been this close to the cottage in a handful of days.
A shift and a flutter launched him back into the sky. Mindful of predators, Kenyen hurried down the valley, flying at an angle to the Nespah Valley in case the dog-shifter was looking for anything suspicious outside. Magpies weren't long-distance fliers, but they were agile enough that he could duck into the trees whenever he passed a bit of forest or an orchard. Detouring back toward the valley, he mulled over the choices as he flew.