A Mischief in the Woodwork

by Harper Alexander

  But here I was, now. That was all that mattered. I could go back to my old ways once Tanen was safe, once his life was no longer my responsibility.

  “Don't trouble yourself over it, Vant,” Tanen told me.

  “I didn't intend–”

  “Don't bother. There are plenty of better things to occupy yourself with.”

  So he was going to be difficult. Not one to typically make this kind of effort, I didn't take kindly to having it cast aside so quickly. “This is not a natural thing for me, Tanen, so the least you can do is humor me and listen while I flounder around on your behalf.”

  “The least I can do?” he asked in a challenging tone, quite ready to bring to light that he wasn't the one who owed me, here.

  “Have you lost all desire to hear anything I might say?” I asked, for just last night he had been pressing me beyond tolerance. “Last I recall you were after me like a dog on a scent, just trying to get something – anything – out of me.”

  “Well. That was last night. The scent has turned foul.”

  “I did warn you that when you dig for truth, you sometimes find things you do not wish to know.”

  “Yes. Thank you for the warning.” Wryly, he turned back to his task.

  “Just because you're Serbaen, Tanen–”

  “I can't be Serbaen,” he denied, turning back just as quickly. The sharp blue of his eyes lanced back against mine, cutting me off. I sealed my lips in compliance, considering him. “I can't be.”

  “Why? Why can't you be?” I challenged. “Would you hate yourself so much? Would you be afraid no one could love you? But you know I love them, do you not? I could, therefore, love you, Tanen Nysim. I could. Inhibitions therein have nothing to do with that aspect of your being. Only everything to do with the rest of it.”

  “The rest? This is your idea of an encouraging speech?”

  “I didn't mean it that way.” Good Gods, now I had made it sound as if the only part of him I could ever love was the Serbaen part. That was not what I meant at all. I had indeed been aiming to encourage him, where that part of him was concerned, but I'd gone and demeaned the rest of him while doing it. Somehow, I had also been trying to encourage him where question of the sincerity of my affections was concerned – as if by telling him I could love him, that redeemed any empty affections I had practiced, because they could potentially be filled up, after the fact. But I had gone and mixed the two in just the wrong way, and surely not done anything to help my point.

  “I don't know what being Serbaen has to do with what I was after, last night,” Tanen said. “But make no mistake, you've given me more than one reason to not want to hear another word that comes out of your mouth.”

  “You think I'm nothing but a scheming vixen.”

  “Let's just say – you might want to 'stop digging' there,” he quoted me, and as he returned to chucking wood onto the pile, I felt my resolve trickle away, and I took my bucket back inside, the emptiness of failure an eddying weight in its basin.

  *

  I could not even approach Tanen for days after the exchange by the wood pile. He did not want to hear it. Despair was beginning to truly sink in, as time thinned like leaves on a winter-bound tree.

  So loathe to share my presence was Tanen, now, that he took to going into the city once again when he finished his chores for the day. He would work at them vigorously, refusing to rest, his muscles laboring and sweat soaking through his shirt, finishing early in an unheard-of spree that left him free to escape on a daily basis.

  As he was surely not scaling skyscrapers and hunting bird nests on my behalf, this time, I wondered what was occupying him, out there. I ought to follow him again, I told myself, and was sure I would, sooner or later. But as time was of the essence, I figured it probably ought to be sooner, rather than later. It was simply an equally dire factor that such was bound to not go over well, or at the very least be fruitless. I could follow him in stealth, and gain no ground where our relations were concerned (then I might as well stay home), or make myself known, whatever he was doing, and get my head bitten off for sticking my nose where it was assuredly not welcome at all, this time.

  And if I got my ankles stuck in any wayward shackles, this time, I didn't suppose he was going to be as keen to help me out.

  Still, I shirked my duties to track this new habit of his, anxious to keep tabs on him, telling myself this spying stunt was not the same thing as the violation he had already (and only just) gone off about.

  I found him fooling about in the city – nothing special, really; just digging for things and tinkering with this and that. He had simply re-adopted his hobby, it seemed – something to distract him from life and get him away from Manor Dorn. Seeing him fulfilling that need for escape, my heart went out to him.

  It also sent me reluctantly packing, traipsing back to Manor Dorn without further ado, leaving him be. I was going to gain no ground with him, leaving him be, but it was apparent from observing him – this was something he needed.

  I sighed and returned to my chores at the house, but my thoughts were never far from matters surrounding him.

  Ombri joined me, and helped me, and then flitted off to be with Victoria. The two of them had become quite close, it seemed, and I gazed after Ombri with a pleased expression, very nearly smiling. But other matters were too dire, and I was quickly pulled back into my state of brooding, the tickle of despair lapping at the gates I was only just managing to hold shut.

  Tanen returned, that evening, and took his dinner on the porch. The rest of us were already about to finish up. He was probably happier than ever now, I thought, that he had opted to take the room off the kitchen as his own. He went into his pocket of seclusion, that night, and I retired to my pallet, and lay awake, gazing at the rotting ceiling above me. The spots of mold were like black stars, or the opposite of stars, and I ran my eyes over the diseased constellations there wondering over matters of destiny, and fate, and the will of the gods.

  *

  I could not bring myself to follow Tanen again for a number of days. Time may have been of the essence, but he simply required space. Pushing a person when he did not wish to be pushed would only accomplish the opposite of what was intended.

  It was hopeless.

  It may truly be hopeless.

  It was a depressing thought. What if the gods, or the Angel of Death, or the Ambassador – or whoever it was that made related calls – had allowed me this chance only to demonstrate how powerless I truly was? To humble me? To teach me that sometimes things just were, and the Almighty could see that, could divine the extent of it, knew a thing through and through in a way that would never change, and that it was my lot only to learn to accept those things. Because it was all I could do.

  I refused to believe that yet, but it occurred to me as a possibility. A discouraging – and yes, humbling – thought.

  But it wasn't power I was after. I just wanted to do something good. I wanted to help someone I had been given the opportunity to help.

  Then perhaps the lesson was that, as Letta said, a person could not be helped if they did not wish to help themselves. I hoped it was not so. I did not doubt what Letta said to be valid, but I hoped it was not the lesson the gods were trying to teach me, with this.

  Eventually, I did follow him again. I had to keep trying. Had to keep at least ushering matters in a direction that would present opportunities.

  He had already gone and been gone for near an hour before I gave into the restlessness and went after him. He never brought anything home with him from the city, and I had to wonder what he was working on, there. Unless he was just tinkering with this and that, acting on a whim each time.

  I put a hand to the road, tracking his direction. It was becoming second nature to simply reach for things in passing, absorbing what they had for me. A brush of a finger here, a press of a palm there, and I made swift work of pinpointing Tanen's bearing. I did not even have to focus my efforts on tracking, anymore. I just kind
of absently trailed after his scent, my mind elsewhere, letting my sixth sense do the work.

  Which was why, when I came upon the end of the scent, I found myself taken aback with where I had ended up.

  The edge of the Ravine.

  An uncanny and decidedly dreadful prickle ran through me, but I put a hand on it, telling myself not to jump to conclusions. Tanen meeting with the Ravine seemed as though it had to be a significantly awful combination, but I reminded myself: You have two months. The Ambassador and I had a deal.

  Admittedly it was not two months that I had left, but she could not take him until the end of our agreement, and I had been counting carefully. We were not there yet.

  Still – what was he doing here?

  I stole myself against the inevitable premonitions of dread, and crouched at the edge of the canyon, brushing my fingers against the inner edge at my feet to test for Tanen's presence. I could not help but hope he had merely come to the edge and then wandered along it. But my fears were confirmed: he was down in it.

  We still had a deal, but it was hard not to jump to conclusions with the victim in question wandered straight into the Ambassador's lair. What could it mean for Tanen, if not something that violated our agreement?

  Perhaps it was nothing, I tried to reason with myself. Just a frightful coincidence. But more and more, the things that happened in this city seemed not to follow chance in the least. The madness was all shaping up to be significant.

  I let myself down into the Ravine, glancing both directions as if hoping to spot him only so shallowly immersed, where I could seize him right off the bat and drag his foolish caboose out of there. He was nowhere to be spotted, however, and I resorted quickly to putting my hand to the Ravine wall to track him into the channel's depths. I hurried along its course, watchful for ball-and-chained whiteskins, not keen on running into any more after my encounter with the last.

  The taste of Tanen against my fingertips – a taste I was entirely too familiar with, now – grew stronger, fresher, as I went, suggesting I was gaining on him. The Ravine curved up ahead, blinding me to its furtherance, and as I neared it and the taste against my fingers grew so strong it was almost like touching Tanen himself, I slowed, preparing myself for the encounter – for the encounter, or confrontation, or mere discovery of him amidst whatever it was he had stumbled into, here, and whatever it entailed.

  I treaded forward with utmost care, keeping to the shadows and peering prudently around the bend. What I saw, then – who I saw then – could be nothing but disquieting. Tanen stood a ways down, his back to me, and in front of him – the Ambassador. They did not precisely seem to be conversing, and I grimaced slightly, wondering what it was I was interrupting. I refrained from disturbing them, hanging back to watch. Neither of them seemed alerted to my presence, so I let my curiosity play out in hiding.

  Although, I recalled, the Ambassador had said no one fell into her 'web' without her being alerted, so I ought to assume she knew I was there. But so long as she saw fit to ignore my presence, I was not going to volunteer a disruption, not while curiosity had me so invested.

  There were no chains or baubles in the Ambassador's grasp, so I relaxed ever so slightly into my observer's stance. But what happened next left me dumbfounded.

  The Ambassador lifted a hand, trailing her fingers up Tanen's arm. She was slow about it, taunting – no doubt tantalizing – and I saw a subtle shudder go through him. He stood, receiving the caresses, and I tried to imagine what was going through his head. Seeing Tanen wooed by a darkskin was never an image I had imagined I'd bear witness to. Yet, of course, the Ambassador possessed heightened charms for this kind of thing – she could probably seduce any man she so chose. He must be struggling with such a mix of old disinclination and new, overwhelming, supernaturally charmed feelings of want for this woman...

  Whatever his feelings, she was the dominant force of the encounter; he didn't stand a chance. She trailed her long fingers over his shoulder, up his neck, and then pulled his face to hers, kissing him. He did nothing with is own hands – they remained at his sides – but he didn't have to. The Ambassador was the one calling the shots; she would surely mold him to whatever response she so desired.

  As she kissed him, she very deliberately opened her eyes, looking over his shoulder, down the Ravine, straight at me. There was a taunt in that dark gaze of hers, and a mix of emotions ran through me. The first, unfamiliar and unwelcome: jealousy. But it was for two reasons, I realized. I felt it not only as one who had claimed Tanen's affections first, but also for losing out on fulfilling the deed of seeing him practice such open acceptance of the darkskins.

  Something cold and ill pitted itself in my stomach, and I turned away, unable to watch anymore. It was the feeling of betrayal, I recognized – although at first I thought surely it couldn't be. But it was true; as I made my way back through the city, my thoughts stricken and numb beyond the flutters of ill betrayal, I realized I indeed felt betrayed and wronged, despite the victory of Tanen relishing darkskin company. And, the other thing was: could it really be counted valid where progress was concerned? Was it really a triumph, in the real world? Or merely a charmed encounter?

  Or even worse – what if the method was a double-sided blade meant to seduce him so deeply that the Ambassador could claim him after all, that he might get lost in her charms and fall completely under her spell, willingly hers to do as she wished with. After all, she was wily that way, was she not?

  Perhaps it was more innocent than that, I tried to suggest to myself. Perhaps this was a result of me falling short with Tanen these last few days, perhaps well on my way to failing, and the Ambassador had simply taken it upon herself to give things a little push in the right direction.

  I could not really begin to say, and so witnessing the encounter only resulted in suspicions and ill feelings stirring themselves up in my gut. I went back to Manor Dorn and finished my chores a little weakly, trying to distract myself yet unable to think of anything else.

  When Tanen returned, that evening, I found myself all disoriented in his presence, compelled with the desire to say something to him, yet entirely too fluttery with my own mixed-up feelings to know what to say. I could compose nothing that seemed at all sufficient, at all even necessarily confident in its relevance.

  There were contradictory feelings in me, now. I felt inclined to discourage the contact that otherwise I had been trying to encourage. And would continue to encourage, if only I did not have to doubt the Ambassador's motives.

  Yet – would I be inclined to encourage it, even then? I wondered. Perhaps I would not, because, unexpected or not, I found myself jealous, and that suggested I had feelings of my own for this man. I may very well find myself not wanting to encourage what I had seen simply because of the vile feelings of jealousy it stirred up in me.

  Gods, what kind of person was I? Had I ever really had cause to ask myself that before? Tanen's life was on the line, and I found myself disinclined to continue my cause on his behalf because a darkskin might steal his heart.

  It was preposterous. I was ashamed of myself.

  Because of my inconveniently mixed feelings, I decided it might be better if I didn't say anything at all. I didn't dare.

  But that meant there was no hope of me getting anywhere on my quest to influence him. For the first time, I found myself considering the notion that I might very well have to give this thing up, and leave it in other hands than my own.

  T h I r t y N I n e –

  The Second Cold I Knew Her By

  I returned to the mirror I had brought back from the city, scouring my reflection again, needing to find what others saw, when they looked at me. Needing to meet the eyes of the complicated beast that was the truth inside me. There had to be something there. Some revelation that could point me in the right direction, or reinforce me, or... Anything.

  I should not be blind to my own inner workings.

  One theory was that it was surely only because I al
ready knew everything there was to know about myself, but recent events had proven that wasn't necessarily absolutely true. And touching the mirror this time, while nothing of my inner workings piped up, I became tickled by another theory, as I thought about it. As I mulled over it and demanded of the gods, Why is this being kept from me?

  The theory that perhaps the reason I could not see into myself was because one had to learn about himself – learn about himself, and who he wanted to be. The experience was perhaps a big part of what validated any true essence, any changes or convictions.

  I let my fingers fall away, not altogether satisfied, but resigned to the fair wisdom of such.

  I did not pull my gaze away as quickly, however. There was still much to be searched, visually, for one who grew and changed and only looked in a mirror every so many years. My gray eyes stared back at me as I sat there, keener than I remembered. Keener in every way – keener with sadness, and hardness, and wisdom, and a determined light that knew not to take joy for granted.

  Who are you, Avante? I recalled the Ambassador for the Angel of Death trying to put a name to me, and wondered precisely what she saw when she looked at me. When she looked at me with her life-and-death seeing eyes, and struggled to place me in a world that, to her, consisted of only two kinds of people. The ones to be spared, and the ones to be condemned.

  And yet she had bothered to consider the shape of my life, rather than its mere black-or-white implications; surely she did not normally care to mull over the gray areas of a person's life. The gray areas were not the business she was in.

  But they seemed very much to be the business I was in. It was gray, gray, gray – sometimes lighter, sometimes darker, sometimes an adamant stuck-in-stubborn-stone gray, sometimes (more lately) a confused haze-gray.

  I am Avante, I thought, hoping more would come, that it would follow having just needed to be prompted. Sometimes, you only need to anchor a starting point, and the rest will follow, there all along but in need of being centered.