Copper Ravens

by Jennifer Allis Provost

  It turned out that the Pacifists had basically fled their homeland under the guise of religious persecution. They hated all things magic and thought that by crossing such a large body of water they would be rid of it forever. Yeah, well, the whole running-water ploy only works on evil magic, and only on a specific kind of evil magic. Someone hadn’t bothered to do their homework.

  Also, Pacifists were banking on the land being devoid of magic and hadn’t planned on bumping into a full-fledged colony of Elementals in the midst of their paradise. The Mirlanders didn’t mind sharing space with the Peacekeepers, being that they weren’t fleeing their homeland in the first place, and the land was more than big enough for everyone. However, the Pacifists didn’t trust Elementals, not even then, and this led to lengthy negotiations and the eventual signing of the Compacts.

  As for the people that lived here before the Mirlanders arrived, no one much cared what they thought. But that’s a different story altogether.

  The native population notwithstanding, the Pacifists and Mirlanders—Mundanes and Elementals—worked together to write the Compacts, which were intended to ensure justice and equality for all. Basically, the Mundanes worried that the Elementals would run the whole show, both magically and politically. In the first of many mistakes, the Elementals let the Mundanes get away with more than they should have, because they viewed the Mundanes as weak and deserving of protection. Little did they realize that even a weakened snake retains its venom, and it really only needs one opportunity to strike.

  In time, the Mirlander party evolved from one populated by Elementals to Mundanes with a slightly less conservative agenda, such as those who thought that funding schools and road work were just as important as funding the military. And, while everyone agreed that roads without potholes are nice, and wouldn’t it just be grand if that school could be un-condemned, no one running on the Mirlander ticket had won anything since long before the Magic Wars. No matter how good their platform was, or how charismatic the speaker, they were forever tainted by magic.

  We Elementals had gotten out of politics altogether. We had been content to sit back and watch the Peacekeepers and Mirlanders argue away, keeping our own counsel, assuming nothing those puny Mundanes could cook up would ever have any kind of lasting impact. We were so arrogant, so complacent in our own strength, that we effectively hobbled ourselves. While we were busy ignoring those we thought were weak, they gathered strength and took us out. Hindsight does tend to be the clearest sort of vision.

  And now, Dr. Armstrong seemed to be the political forerunner, and he didn’t have the backing of either party. Everyone, responsible citizen and loony conspiracy theorist alike, was buying what he was selling.

  Things were so much worse than Max had let on.

  I turned back to the glossy covers, at once entranced and repulsed by the repetitive images, and noticed that Dr. Armstrong was frequently pictured alongside a rail-thin, oily-looking, little man.

  “Who’s the creepy sidekick?” I asked, grabbing a copy of Politics and Poetry. Max glanced at the cover, his jaw tensing.

  “Langston Phillips,” Max ground out. “He’s Armstrong’s right-hand man.” I was amazed at the animosity in Max’s voice, the hatred in his eyes. When Max had talked about Dr. Armstrong, he had just relayed the facts and let me make my own conclusions. But, by the way he was staring at the magazine in my hands, it looked like he wanted to rip Langston’s throat out.

  “I take it you two have met?” I ventured.

  “Yeah. A time or two.”

  Max turned back to the display, and I flipped through the magazine. It was filled with the requisite political commentary, as well as essays and poems—poems—written by popular politicians. I guess that explained the title.

  I scanned the table of contents, then replaced the magazine on the rack. I was certain that I would not ever want to read poetry written by any animal control officer, current or retired. Instead, I picked out one of the home and garden magazines, a fashion magazine to help explain my wardrobe requirements to the silverkin, and a literary review for Sadie. Max nodded, adding the daily paper and a few comics to our haul, then he slipped the seller a few bills. Once our reading material was bagged, we were on our way.

  I specifically did not ask how Max had come by Mundane money.

  As we walked down the Promenade’s main aisle, I was struck by how the market was just the same as it had ever been. I know, I’d only been gone from the Mundane realm for a couple months, but I had expected to see more of a change, more signs of humanity slipping into the chaos wrought by our uncaring government. It was kind of irritating to find out that life had just gone on without me.

  Then I spied a familiar face up ahead, and my mood lifted. It was the jeweler from whom I’d purchased spools of copper wire and shiny beads, along with some of the tiniest pliers in existence. Ultimately, those ingredients had become a copper cuff studded with malachite and amber, the token that proclaimed that Micah was mine. It felt like I’d last stopped at the jeweler’s booth centuries ago, not just a few short weeks.

  The shopkeeper, a woman who only looked middle-aged because of her silvered temples, smiled when she saw me. And well she should recognize me; the last time I was here, I’d spent a small fortune on the supplies for that cuff. “How did your last project turn out?” she asked brightly.

  “Perfectly,” I replied, smiling as I remembered the first time I’d seen Micah wearing the cuff. To think I’d worried that it wouldn’t be good enough for him. “He wears it every day.”

  “Of course he does,” she said, as if that had never been in question. “Looking for a new project?”

  “Umm, yeah.” I really wasn’t, but I needed something to do at the manor. I bet Max would buy me a few things, if for no other reason than to keep Micah from throwing him out. “Do you have any more copper?”

  The shopkeeper gave me her most dazzling “I’m about to make a sale” smile, then she turned around to gather up the more expensive items—lengths of chain, polished stones, and even a tray of pearls. While I waited, I looked over a few of her finished pieces, trying to decide if I’d like to try my hand at a necklace or maybe some earrings.

  “What’s all this?” Max asked, plunking his comics onto a tray of bracelets.

  “Be careful,” I hissed. Couldn’t he be a little considerate, just once? While I rearranged the display, Max, bored with all this girly stuff, turned around and scanned the area.

  “Sis.” I looked up, then followed Max’s stare. Peacekeepers, a whole company of them, were making their way down the aisle. And they were coming right toward us.

  What’s worse, they were led by Peacekeeper Jerome.

  I’d had the misfortune of meeting Peacekeeper Jerome the morning after I had completed Micah’s copper cuff. I’d meant for the cuff to be a quality token, to replace the pennies I’d given him in the spur of the moment. Once it was done, I’d left it on my windowsill and fell asleep; when I woke, the cuff was gone, and Micah wasn’t there. Fearing the worst, I’d sped toward my then-employer, Real Estate Evaluation Services, intending to jump through the portal in the parking lot and find Micah. I’d been waylaid by Peacekeeper Jerome, who had proceeded to check my identification, hit on me, and order someone’s death, all in the space of five minutes.

  And if his big grin and hearty wave were any indicators, he totally recognized me.

  “You know what, I have to get to work,” I said in a rush. The shopkeeper peeked over her shoulder and smiled wanly. Since it wasn’t her fault she was losing a sale, I grabbed a nearby pendant, glared at Max, and watched as he threw some money on the counter. “I’ll just take this for now. Have a good day!”

  “But your change,” she protested.

  “Put it toward my next purchase!” I called over my shoulder. Then Max and I were off, calmly wending our way around the booths and tents. The Peacekeepers gave no sign that they were pursuing us, or even that any of them, other than Jerome, had seen us. St
ill, after the recent run-ins we’d had with the iron warriors, I wasn’t taking any chances. Surprisingly, neither was Max.

  “This way,” he murmured, grabbing me by the elbow and steering me toward the food vendors. It was the busiest aisle in the Promenade, by far the easiest place to lose a pursuer. Which explained why we rounded the first corner and practically walked right into Jerome.

  “Sara!” His grin got even wider and became a bit smirky. I bet he thought I was looking for him. Jerk. “Remember me, from that morning at Real Estate Row?”

  “Y-Yeah,” I stammered. “I’m surprised you remember me.”

  “I never forget a pretty lady. Though your hair was brown then.” Before I could think of anything not too damning to say, Max started in.

  “Who’s this?” he asked. “Old flame?”

  “Max!” I hissed, but Jerome was nonplussed.

  “I wish,” he said. “In fact, I think you stood me up. You weren’t at work when I swung by, after my shift. You weren’t at The Room, either.” Jerome looked at Max’s hand on my arm and came to a conclusion even more outrageous than me dating him. “This your boyfriend?”

  “No!” I snapped, yanking my arm away from Max. “This is my brother.”

  Jerome’s eyes lit up. “Really.”

  A voice came crackling over a Peacekeeper’s comlink, and Jerome turned around to hear the orders. “Excuse me,” Jerome muttered, turning away from me as he grabbed his own comlink with a flourish. From that little move, I surmised that they didn’t contact him often. “Headquarters has orders for me.”

  I leaned toward them, wondering if the orders had anything to do with us, when Max grabbed my elbow again. While the Peacekeepers were distracted, we moved toward the fence that marked the perimeter of the market.

  “Here,” Max said, holding aside the chain link where it had previously been cut, probably by thieves. Or escaping Elementals, who knew? Anyway, we slipped through the fence and into the scrubby field beyond, seemingly undetected.

  “I can’t believe they didn’t know who we are,” I murmured.

  “I don’t believe it,” Max said. “Your old boyfriend can’t be that thick.”

  “He was never my boyfriend,” I insisted, but Max wasn’t listening. He was on his hands and knees, pawing through the dry, dusty soil. “Ah.” He triumphantly lifted up…something.

  “What’s that?” It was a shiny, clear disc, somewhere between a shard of ice and a dull mirror.

  “Portal.” Max tossed it into the air, then he grabbed my arm and pulled me through the shimmering door along with him. A heartbeat later, we were behind the tavern in the Whispering Dell.

  “It’s an old trick of Dad’s,” Max continued, as if we hadn’t just evaded the enemy and leapt across dimensions. “He would stash portals around the places he frequented, just in case he needed to make a fast getaway.”

  “Won’t the Peacekeepers have detected it?”

  “Nah. They break down after one use. Even if they know we hopped over, we’re long gone.” I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding and leaned against the tavern wall. “Drink?”

  I nodded, too relieved to speak; I couldn’t believe that I’d evaded Peacekeeper Jerome for a second time. And to think, Max spent his all his days like this, a hair’s breadth in front of trouble. I wondered if he wasn’t really of steel, rather than copper.

  11

  The next morning, I found myself once again left to my own devices. Micah, whose reaction to the news that his consort had been traipsing around the Mundane realm had been remarkably calm (would it have killed him to have been a little mad?), was off dealing with his magistrates, handling matters of taxation and laws and such. Mind you, I thought he deserved a day off, being that he’d just spent the prior afternoon explaining to Oriana the whys and wherefores of the damaged iron warriors. According to Micah, the queen had accepted his explanations without batting a single golden eyelash, which was further proof that I was right about Old Stoney being a troublemaker. However, these sorts of important matters, whatever these important matters may be, were among the few things that he handled directly in the village, which meant no day off for Micah, and no day for me to spend with Micah.

  Someday, I am really going to have to learn what he does all day. I mean, I had no idea of how he managed to run the Whispering Dell. Did he pay craftsmen like Ash wages? Hmm, probably not, since I had watched as Micah gave Ash the payment for my sword. So, did that mean that Ash paid some sort of a duty to Micah? And what about the gatekeepers? Were they on Micah’s payroll? Was gatekeeper a hereditary title, or was there an army somewhere around here, training gatekeepers and varied other law-enforcement types, that no one had told me about? And what about all the other people who made the village run smoothly, the street sweepers and the garbage collectors and—

  Yeah. Clearly, I had no idea what was going on down there.

  What made the whole mess even messier was that there weren’t only Elementals living in the Whispering Dell. As one could well imagine, the Otherworld was home to all sorts of creatures, magical and otherwise. Micah Silverstrand, the reigning Lord of Silver, was also the lord of quite a few other sorts of beasties; there was Ash, for one. On the day we’d visited the filthy smith, we’d also encountered those lovely shapeshifters, not lycanthropes, as Micah had pointed out, which just made me wonder exactly what was howling at night. This wasn’t even considering the countless other beings, like the blood-drinking tailor and the sentient tree, that were living out their lives in Micah’s village.

  No matter their country, or gene pool, of origin, all who resided in the Whispering Dell, Elemental and otherwise, deferred to Micah as their lord. When I took the time to consider the vast number of beings Micah wielded power over, it gave me a migraine.

  I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. As much as I didn’t want to deal with all of those taxes and gatekeepers and other assorted beasties, if I wanted to be a part of Micah’s life, I would need to learn something about all of this…stuff. I mean, I’d been telling Micah all along that I didn’t want to be a kept woman whose only purpose in life was to be arm candy. I wanted to be his partner. Dammit, I wanted to be his equal.

  Well, I can’t really learn anything until he comes back. I sighed again, then I rolled over and beat a few pillows into submission. If I decided to be honest with myself (and I wasn’t so sure if that was such a good idea), it really, really bothered me that Micah had been so calm about yesterday’s adventure at the Promenade with Max, especially after all the concern he’d showed when Max and I had gone down to the village without a silverkin escort. It was like Micah thought that the puny humans weren’t a threat, so I might as well come and go from the Mundane world as I pleased.

  I’m one of those puny humans.

  Resisting the urge to scream, barely, I reached toward the side table and scooped up the pendant I’d hurriedly purchased at the jeweler’s booth. It was a base metal, likely rhodium or nickel (or maybe even wolfram, ha ha), and featured an abstract fairy with multicolored enamel wings. It was the sort of charm one gives to a little girl for winning the spelling bee; she’d smile and wear it every day, until the chain broke or it turned her neck green, whichever came first. In short, it was hideous. Maybe I would give it to Sadie. Her birthday was coming up.

  I rolled over and stowed the fairy pendant in the jewelry case on my bedside table, then I dragged myself out of bed. As I made my way downstairs, I made a few mental notes about the things to ask Micah when he returned to the manor. I would ask about his day, of course, as any good consort should, but while I did that, I’d try and work in a few other questions. Namely, why interdimensional travel was okay, but a short walk to the village required a day pass and a guard. As I mentally ticked off my list of queries, I passed through the kitchens. After I grabbed a cup of coffee and a scone, I went for a walk in the orchards.

  Mind you, the orchards brought up a whole new set of questions. For instance, what did Micah do wi
th all of this fruit? I mean, I often saw the silverkin harvesting baskets full of apples and plums, but the five of us weren’t eating all of them. I don’t think we could eat all of it, not with all the sugar and piecrusts in all the worlds, Other and Mundane. And what had happened to all the fruit when Micah had lived here by himself? Did he sell it? Compost it? Make burnt offerings to the fruit gods?

  “Going for a walk?” I turned around and found Mom leaning against an apple tree.

  “Yeah. No.” I sighed yet again, a sure sign of my brain developing a slow leak, and leaned against a tree of my own. “I’m just bored.”

  “Your most common complaint,” Mom observed. “If you plan on making the manor your home, you’ll need to develop some sort of a hobby.” I heard what she’d left unsaid—I couldn’t always wait around for Micah to amuse me.

  “I ordered a sword from the blacksmith,” I offered. I decided not to bring up the near-purchase of jewelry supplies at the Promenade. With my luck, Mom would scream at Max—or me—for not remembering to pick up her favorite brand of ice cream. “Once it’s done, I’m going to learn to fight with it. Micah’s going to show me how.” My voice trailed off at the end, since there I was, once again waiting around for Micah.

  “Oh, we don’t need him for that,” Mom said, pushing off from the trunk. “I can teach you swordplay quite well.”

  “You can?” I left my empty cup and half-eaten scone at the base of an apple tree and followed my mother toward the edge of the orchard. Mom had made a beeline toward one of the many heaps of pruned branches.

  “Of course,” she replied. “When I was queen, I led every charge and every raid myself. If I couldn’t have handled a blade as well as my men, I would have been a liability. Any leader worth her salt knows not to distract her warriors with her squalling.” Mom selected a branch that was about as long as her arm, handed it to me, and proceeded to dig about for another.

  “Was this when you were the Seelie Queen?”