by Adam Thomas
Early on, when their affair would have been termed a dalliance, Serafina had confided in Rosamund that her relationship to Pelagius had soured after a promising beginning because they remained childless. Pelagius blamed her – not with words, but with cold looks and even colder dismissal. On one occasion she had wondered aloud whether the problem might have been his contribution. That comment led to the separate bedrooms. To keep up appearances, they began supporting the local orphanage. Would they ever actually adopt, Rosamund had asked, and she had been surprised by her level of passionate interest. That question hung in the air still, which was one of the reasons Rosamund was waiting. To her the choice was obvious; she, Rosamund, was the only possible candidate for Serafina’s affection. But Serafina still did not know Rosamund was a vampire. Rosamund needed Serafina to fall in love with her truly and deeply before telling her, lest she remain by Rosamund’s side out of fear alone.
Rosamund pushed those thoughts out of her mind and focused her attention on the woman standing in the middle of the room brushing her hair. She licked her lips and her eyes flashed a momentary, unbidden charm. Curses. She did not want to use her magic, but it slipped out now and again. Serafina put down the brush and slid onto the bed. Rosamund peeled the robe off her body, and they both forgot about their earlier conversation for a while.
An hour later, Rosamund held Serafina in her arms and watched her while she dozed. She was so warm and her neck was so close and the artery pumping blood to her brain was pulsing, pulsing, pulsing. But Rosamund was a master of her own desires. Her time of sharirana was long, long ago. If everything worked out as she hoped, what would she do with Serafina after turning her, when Serafina was in her own feral stage? That question gave her pause. Perhaps the business opportunity from Hightower would present some options. The north was secluded, after all.
The thought of Hightower reminded her of her earlier question. She caressed Serafina’s shoulder until she awoke. “Will you do it? Will you join the Kindred Society? If you do, we can be seen together in public and no one will look twice at two friends involved in the same social club.”
Serafina propped herself up on her elbow and kissed Rosamund’s chilly lips. “I wish I could, but...” She trailed off and looked away.
“But what?”
“It’s embarrassing, especially while I’m lying here in the lap of luxury.”
“My name is Rosamund, actually, but I’ll respond to Luxury if it pleases you.”
Serafina nuzzled against Rosamund’s neck. “Rosamund Luxury Steele. I like that.”
They fell silent for a time, and Rosamund felt her body relax in a way she had never felt before. The rightness of the moment – of her and Serafina and their bodies intertwined – struck her with a peacefulness unknown to her in all her 135 years, vampire and human. And she resolved to see her plan through, no matter how long it took.
“If it’s a matter of your tight-fisted husband, I’d be happy to pay your way.”
“You would do that for me?”
“I’d do anything for you.” The words were out of Rosamund’s mouth before she had time to catch and measure them. She tried to keep her body from tensing. She didn’t want the cat to arch, fur on end, and scramble away.
“I believe you,” Serafina said, her breath hot on Rosamund’s neck. “But I couldn’t possibly ask –”
“You didn’t ask. I offered. Besides, I could pass it off as a business expense as I negotiate Secureswift’s contract with the Society. No one would blink an eye. Money does not come in amounts to these people. To them there is no difference between a hundred golden arils and a hundred thousand.”
Serafina rolled over onto the pillow and looked up at the four-poster’s canopy. “We could be together and not just here in your bed. Not that I’m complaining, but it would be lovely to spend a night on the town with you.”
“Not just a night,” Rosamund said, and in her mind she finished the thought. An eternity.
ten
Elvish Lessons
The moon hung low in the sky, a shining orb that gilded with silver the uppermost leaves of the Aril Forest. Rhys, Emric, Jeral, and Shonasir watched the graceful silhouette of a crane fly across the moon and land in the canopy. The crane was not a native of northern Sularil, and if there had been any birdwatchers out at midnight this deep into the forest, they would have been both thrilled and mightily confused. The crane was a native of Starfall, the poor, island nation far to the south.
But the crane was not really a crane.
Alurel flung a wing around the trunk and in a flash the wing became her arm. She balanced on a flimsy branch and edged her way out to the vines that hung from the canopy like thick, wet hair. There in the silver light, like lilies floating on a pond, the moonfoil flowers glistened. Each flower had four white petals, which folded back to reveal a long, orange stamen. The petals curled at the tips like scrolls or the ends of ornate banisters. Without the telltale flowers, the moonfoil vine would have been indistinguishable from any other hanging plant in the forest. Alurel had judged the timing correctly, arriving as the full moon shone down on the very spot she suspected the vines to be. She smiled as she reached for the vines. Sometimes being a druid with a deep connection to the land had its benefits.
Alurel said a silent prayer of thanks to the vine and clipped a handful of leaves from around the white flowers. These she wrapped in fabric and placed at the bottom of her pack. Then she took her crane form again and the large bird circled to the ground. Landing behind a tree, Alurel reverted to her half-elven body. Even though her friends knew her secret, she was still uncomfortable shaping in front of them.
“All done,” she said, as she emerged from the trees into the clearing where they made camp.
“That was easy,” Rhys said. “I was half-expecting the vine to bite you or try to suffocate you or something.”
“Not this time. Most things in nature won’t choose to fight if they can avoid it.” Alurel gave Rhys a pointed look. “Humans are an exception.”
“Don’t expect the rest of the ingredients to be that simple to gather,” Shonasir said. “We’ll be able to obtain water from the Verinon Par with no effort besides making sure we travel that direction. After that things get harder.”
“Basilisk venom and vampire mist,” Jeral said, reciting Helmen Pint’s potion. Then his normally jocular manner went serious. “Truly, I can’t thank you enough for helping me. I’ve never...never had friends before this, and I didn’t know what I was missing.”
“Friends?” Alurel echoed. “You think we’re your friends?”
Their laughter filled the clearing and mixed with the sounds of the popping fire and the nocturnal creatures going about their business and the soft wind blowing through the trees.
The companions followed the edge of the mountains westward to the gap they had recently navigated going the opposite direction. The Sularin Joint Force post that marked the line between northern and southern Sularil let them pass and they were back in Daen, the vast country of the four elven tribes.
“Tell us again, Shonasir,” Emric prompted. “I have trouble keeping you all straight.”
“Spoken just like a dwarf,” Shonasir said, an inch of exasperation creeping into their voice. “I suppose the dwarves of Anvilcairn are the only group of your people in Sularil?”
“No, there are the Vrydun in the north. They split off from Anvilcairn long ago.”
“I’m sure the four tribes were one people in ages past, as well. There are tales about my people taking different paths, but I’m no loremaster. I couldn’t do them justice.”
The morning fog was beginning to burn off, promising an unseasonably warm day. The companions removed their jackets and stored them in the packs. Shonasir squinted into the rising sun and pointed to the east.
“There’s a huge old growth forest cl
inging to the southern edge of the mountains between the Verinon Par and the coast. That’s the home of the Dasost elves; they are reclusive and rarely venture out of the forest. I’m not sure why.” They swung their pointing arm a few degrees to the south. “The city of Eredaen is that way. It sits on the banks of the Verinon Par, which is the largest body of freshwater in Sularil. The humans have the audacity to call it the Sea of Sularil.” Shonasir made a clicking sound with their tongue and shook their head. “The Arcan live in Eredaen, the only elves to have built a city. They focus entirely on arcane pursuits.”
“Why didn’t you go to Eredaen for your studies,” Emric asked.
“Believe it or not, the Arcan are so exclusive in whom they teach that elves from the others tribes are rarely let in. Besides, I wanted to study meteorology, not wizardry.”
“Judging by what I’ve seen you do, you have plenty of wizardry in there already.”
Shonasir chuckled. “I don’t think the Arcan would be able to fathom what I can do. I can’t even fathom it. They’d probably decide to cut me open to find out how my magic works.”
Jeral shuddered. “Don’t even joke about that.”
“Right. The orcs. I’m sorry.” Shonasir kept moving their arm southward. “My people, the Parth live on the shores of the Verinon Par and the coasts of the parana.”
“Parana,” Rhys said. “That’s ‘big water,’ right?”
“Technically, yes. But ‘ocean’ is a better translation.” Shonasir patted Rhys on the arm. “I didn’t know you were interested in learning my language.”
“I didn’t know what I was interested in until I left Kelen,” he said.
“We’re heading to my home village, Laneskathpar. Want to take a stab at that one, Rhys?”
“Let me see. I know lanes is ‘sky.’” He pointed to the blue karest that Shonasir was wearing. Laneson is ‘blue.’ Of the sky. Par is water. Skywater something. I don’t know what skath means.”
“Good try,” Shonasir said. “The Elvish language is built by combining concepts together. There are relatively few words in Elvish, at least compared to the humans’ tongues. Skath is shadow. Laneskath literally means ‘sky shadow,’ but what happens when dark clouds roll in?”
“A storm?”
“Right. Laneskath means ‘storm.’ So Laneskathpar is…”
“Stormwater.”
“Right again. The southern coast of Daen sees lots of storm activity. That’s one of the reasons I’m so interested in the weather. The Parth elves all live near the water and love plying the waves. I’m hopeful we might catch one of my siblings at home so we can hitch a ride with them to Starfall.”
“That leaves one more tribe of elves,” Alurel said, and she moved her arm in a wide arc which took in the entirety of Daen. “The Oruana Kir are nomadic. They traverse the wide plains of the Daen with their herds. Except in the winter when they live in the Forest-Betwixt-the-Rivers. Or should I say when they used to live in the forest.”
Alurel’s words trailed off as she swore under her breath.
“You keep saying ‘they,’ Alurel,” Emric said. “Aren’t you one of them.”
“That depends whom you ask.” Alurel’s face fell and her cheeks flushed a deeper blue. “The Starfallen are a mix of humans and all the elven lineages. I claim the Kir because of my...my gift. I don’t know if they would claim me back.” She looked from Rhys to Shonasir. “Humans aren’t the only ones who can be prejudiced against half-elves.”
At this they fell silent and rode on into the heat of the day. Circling the edge of the foothills, Shonasir angled them off the Kelenday March and into the scrubland. All around them the early spring greenery burgeoned to life. They breathed in the fresh air of the new growing season, and it invigorated them. By evening they reached the northwestern edge of the Verinon Par. After many days of travel, they took the opportunity to bath in the cold, clear water. Shonasir did so with a reverence that subdued the others’ splashing.
When they were done, Jeral filled several vials with water. “Water from the Verinon Par. Check. What’s next?”
“If we push it tomorrow, we can make it to Eredaen by evening and sleep in a bed one more time before the long march across the open plains,” Shonasir said.
Their plan came to pass, and late the next day the party spotted the towers of Eredaen rising from a spur of land surrounded by the arms of the sea. None of the buildings were as tall as the towers of Thousand Spires, but each was a marvel of artistry and architecture, each unique, but each fitting into the cityscape perfectly. The sight of the city quickened their pace, and they arrived as the sun set over their shoulders.
They stopped at the first inn they came to and were surprised to find it was run by two human men, husbands, no doubt, by the way they bickered. Jeral asked them how humans came to be living in Eredaen.
“Few of the Arcan have the urge to study the magic of hospitality,” said the more talkative of the two. “You’ll find many of the innkeepers are non-elves here in the city. But none of them are as hospitable as we are.”
He gave Jeral a wink and half a smile. His husband stepped up next to him. “And none of them are fortunate enough to be entertaining a brawny dragonborn tonight.”
Jeral looked to his friends. “I think we found the right place to stay.”
The food was delicious and the beds were soft. After so many days of riding since they left Torniel, they all fell to sleep right away. All save Jeral, who took the proprietors up on their offer of an evening’s entertainment.
The companions left Eredaen refreshed the next morning. Jeral had an extra spring in his step, despite his lack of sleep. They set their sights due south and rode off into the open plains under a vast blue sky.
Two days later, the scenery had changed not at all. The sky was as big as ever and the plains continued to roll on. The companions were not following a road or a path of any kind. Shonasir led the way, keeping the morning sun to their left and knowing that their home lay many miles ahead. What would their shineth say when they knocked on the door? What would their raneth say?
They looked back at their companions, their forehead furrowed in vexation. Being home was going to be hard enough without a bunch of non-elves misunderstanding their ways. Shonasir led their horse in a circle and came alongside the others.
“There are a few things you need to understand about elven society,” they began, but then they faltered. Had they been among other peoples long enough at the university to feel fearfully protective of the elves’ ways?
Emric said, “Go ahead. I’m all ears.” Then his eyes went wide as he realized his mistake. He looked everywhere but at Shonasir’s long, gracefully pointed ears. “I meant, I’m listening.”
Shonasir scowled for a moment, but let the unintended slur pass. “You all come from cultures where it is normative to have two parents, a mother and a father. They may not be together as a family unit, but you still have them.”
Jeral laughed aloud, but it held no humor. “My mother – and I use the term loosely – was forced to mate with someone captured by orcs for breeding purposes. That’s hardly normative.”
Rhys said, “My parents sold my little sister and me into forced labor in a Kelentir sweatshop.”
Emric said, “My mother can’t stand me.”
They all turned to Alurel. She blinked a handful of times. “My parents are all right.”
This time they all laughed and the laughter was genuine. It rolled down the open plains, and the wind took their humor far and wide.
“Point taken,” Shonasir said. “There is no normal. But as I was saying, you will meet my shineth. If Elvish had masculine and feminine words like the human tongues do, this would be translated as ‘mother.’ A direct translation is ‘my parent’; that is, the parent who birthed me. And I am their shishon.”
“That’s what? My child?” Rhys asked.
“Yes.”
“So your name, Shonasir, is ‘child of…” Rhys thought for a moment. “Air?”
“Close. Nas is ‘air.’ If you add -ir to a large or abstract concept, you get a smaller or more concrete example of it. Nasir is ‘wind.’”
“Child of the Wind,” Rhys said. “I like that.”
“Me too,” Shonasir said. “I was given that name not by shineth, but by raneth. That’s technically my ‘love parent,’ but a better way of thinking about it is, ‘the parent you choose.’”
“So that’s different from your shineth’s spouse?”
“Right. Elves live so long that we have no assumption that marital pairings are supposed to last a lifetime. My shineth has had four spouses. In two cases, they were paired with someone with whom they could procreate and in two cases not. If I were thinking like a human, I would think of shineth’s current spouse as my father. But that’s not how elves think. Rather, I have a raneth, a second parent that I chose and who chose me.”
“Like a mentor?” Jeral asked.
“Something like that, but the connection goes both ways. I hope you get to meet my raneth, but they aren’t often in Laneskathpar these days. Their name is Ansilan, and they’re the one who encouraged me to go to the university.”
Rhys sucked his lips in concentration. “So if you are shishon to your shineth, then are you rashon to your raneth?”
Shonasir smiled at Rhys’s curiosity. “Close. I’m ralshon. The ‘L’ sound in the prefix gets dropped sometimes depending on the surrounding sounds.”
“Can a raneth have multiple ralshons?”
“Oh, yes. Mine has at least a dozen. And since you’re interested in Elvish, the plural is raelshon. You change the length of the vowel sound in the stressed syllable from short to long in order to switch from singular to plural.”