The Silvered

by Tanya Huff

He laughed. “Very good, is it? Well, I live in the empire, don’t I? Have for years.”

  “How do you know my name?” Tomas demanded, his shoulder bumping against Mirian’s as they walked.

  “I knew Dominic Hagen briefly when I was no older than you are now. He’d be…”

  “My uncle.”

  Not just Tomas’ uncle but the Pack Leader before Ryder. Mirian’s father had called him the man who’d brought Aydori into the modern world.

  “I wandered down into Aydori from Orin looking to see a bit of the world, but when you’re an Alpha my size, people expect you to challenge. I might’ve won, who knows, but I didn’t want Aydori, did I, and your uncle was smart enough to see that.” Gryham ran a hand down his thigh. Mirian watched the blur against the sky that meant a passing bird. “Scar’s nearly faded now. You’ve a bit of his look about you—color of fur, length of leg. That silver streak, that’s where the pin was?”

  Tomas rubbed the scar. “How did you know?”

  “Jake Saw it. He’s been Seeing you two off and on for some days now. He seems to think that silver color’s important. Means something. Doesn’t know why or what it means though. Just keeps repeating find the silvered. Soothsayers.” But he said it fondly.

  Mirian remembered the Soothsayer in Herdon. How he’d grabbed her ankle and yelled, “White light.” Given that Gryham had managed to find them, Jake must have been a little less annoyingly obscure.

  Gryham’s low stone cottage was on the other side of a fast-moving stream. There was no well, but a shed and a garden, and it both did and didn’t look familiar. Mirian stood at the edge of the rough bridge and made herself step onto it.

  “Something wrong, little mage?”

  “It just…” She gripped a handful of her skirt so tightly her hand ached. “There was a family, Pack, and they were killed…”

  “Aye. Jake Saw you find them.”

  If she had to call his expression anything, she’d say he looked sad. “Why aren’t you angry?”

  “I’m angry. But he also Saw you deal with those who did the killing. It’s good they paid.”

  “It doesn’t change anything.”

  He shrugged. “They won’t do it again.”

  “You’re still considered an abomination.”

  “You think I haven’t been called names before, little mage? Since I came out of the mountains, I’ve been called many names.”

  “But this name can get you killed!”

  “Yes. But most that know we’re out here don’t know I’m Pack. Besides, Jake’ll give us a full day’s warning. That’s all he Sees, a full day into tomorrow. It’s why he’s not crazier than he is, I expect. Also, I’m large.”

  “I noticed.”

  “Most do. Now…” He changed, leaped the stream, and changed again. “…come on.”

  Tomas changed and jumped the stream as well. “You could always part the water,” he called from the other side.

  “There’s a bridge,” Mirian sighed. And crossed it.

  Jake was a short man with dark hair and dark stubble. The dim light inside the cottage made it hard for Mirian to see the details of his face. “You want one rabbit to do for four people,” he shouted as they came into the cabin, “it’s going to have to be stew. We’ll use the last of the parsnips. Sure they look like limp dicks, but you won’t notice after they’re cooked.”

  From the smell, he was frying fish. And fiddleheads.

  “Rabbit’s for tomorrow night, then. Guess I’m hunting.” Gryham crossed the cabin, wrapped both enormous hands around the smaller man’s face and kissed him on the mouth. It wasn’t a fond kiss, it was more an if we didn’t have company I’d do you right here on the floor kiss. “Come back, love. We’re here.”

  “I think I’ll get dressed,” Tomas muttered behind her, dragging his clothes off the bedroll. When Mirian glanced back at him, he shrugged. “There’s only so much the scent of fish can cover.”

  “Have them set the table up outside.” His mouth finally free, Jake grinned up at Gryham. “And put some flaming trousers on before I burn supper.”

  “We don’t have time for supper.” Although her mouth was watering, Mirian felt she had to make the protest. Supper wouldn’t bring them closer to the Mage-pack. When Jake turned toward her and raised a brow, she sighed. “Fine.”

  “Furs, fish, fortunes sometimes.” Jake grinned over the edge of his mug. “For those who don’t need to see too far. We find enough to trade for what we can’t make on our own. Flour, cheese, decent tea.”

  Mirian frowned, smoothing the tangled fringe on her shawl. “And no one in the village looks at you differently since the church declared the Pack abominations?”

  “Most of the village thinks Gryham’s my keeper, assigned by the emperor himself.”

  “Why would they think that?” Tomas asked.

  Jake’s grin broadened. “Everyone knows the emperor loves his Soothsayers.”

  “You lied to them.” Mirian shook her head as Jake laughed. “But Soothsayers can’t lie.”

  “Not in vision,” Gryham grunted. “The rest of the time, there’s nothing stopping them. Except maybe basic decency.”

  “It was for your own good.”

  “So you keep saying.” Gryham lifted the hand he’d been holding since they sat down and kissed the back of it. “Liar.”

  Sometimes it seemed as if the two of them spoke their own private language. Mirian wondered if her parents had ever been like that and doubted it almost immediately. “There’s a course on Soothsayers at the university, but I’ve never heard of visions being prevented by touch.”

  “I’ll bet there’s plenty you haven’t heard of, little mage.”

  Tomas growled. “Stop calling her that!”

  Gryham stared across the table at him. “When she tells me to.”

  “I don’t mind.” Mirian shifted sideways on the bench so she and Tomas were touching. Pressed their shoulders together. Dropped her nearer hand to his thigh. Wound her bare foot around his under the table. Felt him relax. When the corners of Gryham’s mouth twitched, she glared them still and turned to Jake. “Do you remember what you see in vision when you’re not in vision?”

  “Not until it happens. This university of yours, does it have a name?”

  “Officially it’s the Aydori Institute for the Identification and Instruction of Mage-craft but no one ever calls it that. It’s just the university.”

  “Like it’s the only one,” he snorted. “Why not call it The Institute?”

  “That never quite caught on.”

  Gryham beamed at her when Jake laughed. “It’s where they taught you to be a mage?”

  “It’s where they teach mages,” Mirian allowed. “They didn’t have a lot of luck teaching me.”

  “Good.”

  “Good? It’s not good! All I know is basic level mage-craft. First and second and maybe I can fake a few third levels just from overhearing them spoken about, but that’s it!”

  “Good.”

  “Stop saying that! It’s not good, it’s pathetic!” Under the edge of the table, Tomas closed his hand around hers and squeezed. Mirian took a deep breath. “All right. Fine. Tell me why you think it’s good.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You can’t. I thought we were here because…”

  “I can’t.” Jake nodded at Gryham. “But he can. I Saw him do it.”

  “Inside first.” Gryham stood up and stretched. “It still gets cold after the sun sets.”

  “Fucking rain. This keeps up, the garden will flood.”

  Mirian looked up at a clear sky and the first evening stars, down at Jake, then back up at Gryham.

  Who shrugged. “I can’t be touching him all the time. And now we know why you don’t leave tomorrow.”

  “The Packs came out of the mountains; Orin and Ural beyond that. Lines on maps mostly; it’s still wild land up there. Pack lands. Aydori was the closest to non Pack lands and so non Pack started to move in. They’re l
ike rats. Some of them are like rats,” Gryham grunted as Jake drove an elbow into his side. “Pack Leaders in Aydori had to decide whether to drive them out or learn to rule them. Decided the latter, didn’t they, and Aydori got civilized.”

  “What’s wrong with civilization?” Tomas demanded. “Orin is all raw meat and beer.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with raw meat and beer, and while I don’t give a half-eaten rat’s ass about civilization’s opinion, things are simpler in the mountains. The mage-craft isn’t so tied up in rules and levels and shit. Less of it comes from here…” He leaned forward and tapped Mirian’s forehead. “…and more of it comes from here.” He tapped her breastbone, as far from her breasts as he could get and still be touching her chest.

  Tomas growled.

  “Stop it,” Mirian said absently, leaning back against his arm. “When you say more, you don’t just mean more, do you?”

  “It’s a good thing I’ve spent the last seventeen years translating for Jake,” Gryham sighed. “I mean, if you’re a Water-mage, how much healing do you learn?”

  “Healing isn’t part of being a Water-mage.”

  “And that, right there, that’s the problem. Used to be, everyone had to do a bit of everything to survive, but civilization means specialists because suddenly everything’s so bleeding complicated with foundries and gaslights and brass buttons, it takes all a person has to learn how to do just one thing, and if everything’s that complicated, then mage-craft can’t be simple. So mages in Aydori started making rules. And enforcing them. Soon enough, the rules started enforcing themselves. Go far enough up into the old country, and those rules don’t mean shit. There’s no Air-mages and Water-mages and all that one-color mage marks. There’s mages. You’re a mage.”

  Mirian rolled her eyes. “I don’t have mage marks. Of any color.”

  “And yet…” Jake spread his hands.

  “You’ve got power. I don’t need Jake to tell me that. I’ve got a nose and you smell…” This time when Tomas growled, Gryham acknowledged it with a dip of his head, somehow making the small movement look patronizing. “You smell powerful. Too powerful to be confined by the dams and channels these made-up rules have put around what it is to be a mage.”

  “I’m a river?”

  Gryham smiled. “If you want, you could put it that way. River pulls water from all around—from runoff, from rain, from springs—power works the same way. You need to be a river, not a bucket. I’m thinking you’re already halfway there.”

  “I’m not…”

  “You’re not an athlete, you never did jack shit to build your strength, but you’ve run from Aydori into the empire. How do you think a pampered society girl…?”

  Mirian felt her lip curl. “My father is a banker.”

  “How do you think a pampered banker’s daughter got this far? Your mage-craft has been rebuilding your body.”

  “That’s not…” Except body equilibrium had thrown off the sleeping drug without her consciously guiding it. Logically, it could be making adjustments to help her run.

  “Not to say you couldn’t use a couple of days’ rest, mind. A little natural healing to wipe those circles out from under your eyes, a few decent meals. Anyway,” he continued before she could respond, “way I heard it, the power is everywhere, but the mage has to open herself and say fuck these bullshit rules.”

  “Only less bluntly,” Jake muttered.

  “Just as fucking bluntly.” Gryham kissed the top of Jake’s head.

  Mirian frowned. “I tested high.”

  “There you go.”

  She shook her head. “But the more powerful you are, the more you need rules.”

  “The more powerful you are, the more you need responsibility.” When everyone turned to stare at him, Mirian twisting around so she was almost on his lap, Tomas flushed. “It was something Ryder used to say.”

  “And Ryder is?”

  “My brother. My Pack Leader. He died. In the Imperial attack.” To Mirian’s surprise, he looked away from Gryham, caught up her hand in his, and added, “Jaspyr died with him.”

  She tried to pull free, but Tomas hung on tighter. “Let go.”

  “If you’re waiting for h…Ow! Why did you pinch me?”

  “She pinched you because you were being an ass,” Gryham told him quietly as Mirian got to her feet.

  When Tomas tried to stand as well, she glared him back onto the bench, considered explaining, decided it was no one’s business, and left the cottage. It was too warm and too close and too full of men.

  The night was clear—no sign of the rain Jake had Seen coming, and the grass was cold and wet underfoot. Mirian walked over to the chopping block, finding it more by the way it disrupted the air currents than by sight. If her mage-craft had been rebuilding her body, it seemed to have forgotten to fix her vision. There were moments when it seemed no worse than it had ever been and more and more moments when she felt like she was looking through a veil. And not a cute net veil, either.

  She sat, pulled her feet up under her skirt, heard her mother say, You’re not a child anymore, Mirian, and wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or scream. No, howl. She wanted to throw back her head and fill the night with sound, to bleed off some of the pressure she could feel building behind her bones. To consciously decide to let go instead of having the release controlled by circumstance.

  When the cottage door opened, she expected Tomas, but she knew the space he filled in her world and, even in the dark, she could tell it wasn’t him. It wasn’t only that Gryham was so much larger, it was more that he didn’t fill a space in her world so much as push against it.

  He circled the chopping block, rubbed up against her knee almost hard enough to knock her over, and changed. “You can’t blame him for trying to piss a circle around you. Lines need to be clear when two Alphas share space.”

  She sighed. Tomas had no reason to be jealous of Gryham, not the way he and Jake were all over each other. “I understand.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  He was laughing at her. “Stop it.”

  “Tomas isn’t the Alpha in your little Pack, little mage. You are.”

  “That’s not…”

  Gryham stood silently, waiting predator patient while she went back over every interaction she’d had with Tomas since he walked into the firelight pretending to be a dog. In spite of instinctive physical reactions, he’d barely tolerated her until…

  Until she’d put him to sleep on the road to Herdon.

  She must have made a noise or moved because Gryham was done waiting. “You put his ass back on that bench with a look. Pack’s not complicated; someone’s in charge, that someone’s you.”

  “But I’m not Pack!”

  “Pack, Mage-pack.” She could feel Gryham shrug. “Not saying you’d still be in charge if there were more than just the two of you. Not saying you wouldn’t be either. Just telling you what it is right now. Who’s Jaspyr? He the reason you and young Tomas haven’t shared skin?”

  Startled, Mirian answered without thinking. “You can smell that?”

  He snorted. “I can see that. You’re easy with him ’cause you’re not thinking of him that way and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.”

  “Jaspyr’s not…” He wasn’t a lot of things. But what was he? “Jaspyr was a moment that passed days ago.”

  “Woke you up, though, didn’t he? You’d better let Tomas know this Jaspyr’s not the reason you two aren’t going at it like mink.”

  “I don’t know what mink…” And then she parsed the tone, rather than the words, and stiffened. “That’s none of your business.”

  “Like as not.” He held out a hand. “Have to admit, the boy’s got serious self-control because you smell bloody amazing.”

  Mirian sighed and put her hand in his, allowing him to pull her to her feet. “So I’ve heard.”

  * * *

  “So what did you think of my Archive, Captain?”

  Reiter watched the emp
eror watch the women down in the room. “It’s impressive, Majesty.” The large room had been lined with shelves and half a dozen huge scarred tables filled the center space. Junk covered every flat surface—old bits and pieces of tarnished jewelry, carved wood worn smooth from handling, stones with holes through them or runes etched into them. The whole room smelled as if generations of rats had died out of sight and slowly rotted, the smell too pervasive for one rat alone but too faint for it to be a problem solvable by a bringing in a terrier. Or a fan. Had Reiter not seen the tangles in action, he wouldn’t have given the whole lot a second thought.

  The Lord Warder of the Archive had assured him that every item was rigorously tested using the most modern scientific criteria, and while they might not know exactly how every piece functioned, they would in time. The old man had either been impressed that the Soothsayers had prophesied Reiter’s presence, or lonely, or slightly crazy, because he’d been helpful above and beyond orders from the emperor.

  “Did you see the scroll?”

  “I did, Majesty.” There were hundreds of scrolls, but Tavert had been right, the Lord Warder had known exactly what he’d meant when he’d said he was to see the scroll. The original wasn’t paper, but finely tanned skin; the Lord Warder had called it vellum as he’d smoothed out the surface, his fingers encased in a pair of fine kid gloves. A good portion of it had rotted away and what writing remained was faded and in a language that had been long dead when the empire was founded. Reiter had only a vague idea how they’d managed to translate it even after the old man’s explanation. Soothsayers had figured prominently, so it was no surprise the explanation made little sense.

  “Did you read the translation?”

  “I did, Majesty.”

  “And what did you learn?”

  “The Pack was created by mage-craft.” He decided to keep the whole if the translators weren’t blowing smoke out of their asses to himself.

  “And now you understand why they’re abominations. Unnatural. An ancient construct by a blind mage so powerful he or she could pervert the rules governing life itself. The really fascinating extrapolation is that the origin of the abominations explains why mage-craft is dying out in the empire. As science and technology push the abominations back into the wild, where they’re most comfortable…”