by Jean Johnson
“From the villagers, of course.” Catching her confusion, he elaborated. “Kodan went to the Aldehall this morning to demand a cart and horse with harness culled from among the families that participated in last night’s attack. He was going to have it loaded with wood not found on the Plains. But once we unbound the boys in the Aldehall, intending to set them free, one of them grabbed a knife and stabbed Kodan.”
Shocked, Tava gasped, quickly covering her mouth to hide her unseemly gaping.
Seeming unconcerned at the violence, the middle-aged shifter continued, shrugging. “The Alders were upset at what they called the boy’s public lack of control, and so the Aldeman agreed to pay a blood-price for the unprovoked attack. Four wagons, eight horses, harnesses, and lumber.” Manolo gave her a quick smile. “It seems the Aldeman’s wife has herself a new servant after all, though it’s a young man and not a young lady.”
“And . . . Kodan?” Tava asked, upset at the thought of the shapeshifter being hurt or worse, and a little confused by her dismay. The man had bartered her freedom away, even if it hadn’t been much of a freedom. “Is he . . . ?”
“He’s sleeping it off in the trader’s wagon,” Manolo dismissed. “That’s why we decided to let you sleep, too, so that he could get his rest before we moved.”
“Was it a bad wound?” Tava found herself asking, letting more of her curiosity spill out when it seemed Manolo was willing to answer her questions. “Where was he struck? How deep was the cut? He’s a warlord, a fighter; why didn’t he dodge it?”
Manolo held up his hand to stem the tide of her questions, though he smiled as he did so. “The boy stabbed him from behind, shaming himself that much more in front of the village elders, since it wasn’t an honorable blow. Kodan says the knife pierced all the way to his lungs—but you must understand that Kodan is a multerai. That means he is a very strong, very fast shapeshifter.
“The moment after the knife pierced his ribs, he sealed the wound to keep it from bleeding. Then he turned to glare at his opponent.” Manolo chuckled. “Seeing him still standing, apparently unharmed, the boy fainted at Kodan’s feet. It also looked like the other boys and the village Alders were thinking, not twice, but four and five times again about the wisdom of protesting our warlord’s quite reasonable demands for restitution on your behalf. That’s when the Aldeman offered up four carts of lumber . . . but insisted we hurry on our way to destroy the bandits today.”
“And that was when my dear brother delivered the other blow to their outlander egos,” Kenyen stated, joining the two of them. He loaded another makeshift birdcage into the wagon, ignoring the way its two occupants quacked and fluttered their wings, upset at being relocated.
“Oh?” Tava asked, turning to face him.
Kenyen grinned. “You see, we had already encountered the bandits in question just a few days ago. In fact, we had been hired by another village to take care of them. That was where we got the Truth Stone he was using yesterday, from the scribe’s bag we found among their loot. He used the Stone to prove their bandit problem had been taken care of . . . and by the wording of the contract, there was nothing in it stipulating we had to kill them after these outlanders handed over all the requested goods. With that knife still stuck in his back, not seeming to bother him, Kodan was a living reminder that they didn’t dare protest.”
“He was injured,” Manolo stressed, reassuring Tava. “Wounds give us the same level of pain as anyone else, the same bruising and tears and trauma to the flesh. It’s just that shapeshifters can heal ourselves by shifting that flesh whole.”
“Those who are weak, with only a few shapes to their name like Torei,” Kenyen informed her, “the healing shifts can take a day or two just to process the wound. The flesh heals more and more with each shift, which is why Torei isn’t limping from the leg wound he took during the bandit fight a few days back—but it does take a great deal of energy and strength for Torei to shift his wounds whole. Someone like my brother . . .” Kenyen paused and shrugged. “Well, he merely needs to eat and rest for a while.”
“Once everything is packed, we’ll be heading out, so you’ll want to take care of any last-moment needs before then,” Manolo told her, lifting his chin at the refreshing hut. He ignored her blush at the implications, continuing by nodding at the oversized badgers in the vegetable garden off to the side. “We think we can get most of the roots onto the wagons without stressing the horses too much. The more food you can contribute to the Family upon your arrival, the more welcome your addition will be. Most worldly goods are easily shared, after all, whereas food cannot be, once eaten. Or at least, it shouldn’t be.”
His dry-voiced jest made Tava giggle, though she quickly muffled it out of habit, biting her lower lip.
“Since you haven’t traveled with the Shifterai before, I should tell you a few things, so you’ll know what to expect,” Manolo added, gesturing for her to move out of the way as someone else approached with a caged chicken. Kenyen eyed the two of them, but at a gesture from the older shifter, he sighed and moved off to fetch something else to load onto the wagons. “When we travel, we travel from an hour after dawn until an hour before sunset, though we do stop to rest the horses and use the bushes a couple times, plus a pause for the midday meal.
“We usually set up a single tent for all of us to sleep in, save those who stand watch for a few hours in turn. Since we have so many goods, and of such value, Kodan has decided that we will put you in the trader’s wagon, which will be yours alone to use from sundown to sunup. That is, once he’s up and around, we’ll move your bedding into that wagon for you to use and shift most of the goods that were in there into your wagon instead. The rest of us will shift shape and sleep around the other carts, to make it all the more difficult for anyone to attack the encampment, or attempt to pilfer anything,” he told her. “Shifterai custom for traveling is very strict; when the sun sets, we’re not allowed to be in the same enclosed space as you. Normally we would give you the tent to sleep in each night, but it’s a very large space for just one person, and the trader’s wagon is entirely enclosed, so all of us have agreed it should suffice.”
Taken aback, Tava blinked at him. “The entire tent, just for myself ?”
“Shifterai Law is very strict about how outlander women are welcomed into the Clans and Families,” Manolo explained. “You are to be treated as a maiden for the whole of the trip—even if you came to us as a Centarai woman already married to a shapeshifter cross-kin, you would be expected to spend the entire journey into the Kingdom as a maiden and spend your first ten days with the priestesses before returning to your husband. If you had one. Otherwise you would be sent to one of the maiden’s geomes.
“The geome is the special kind of tent we build,” he said, answering her unspoken confusion. “It’s round instead of square or wedge-shaped like most tents, and has a dome-shaped roof, which helps it stand up to the strong winds that can sometimes race across the Plains. The walls and roof are also made from oiled canvas and felted wool, so it stays cool in the summer and warm in the spring and fall—if a storm comes along, you will see for yourself how strong and sturdy it is. We’ll put it up if it rains so that we can have a dry place to sleep.”
His description sounded something like what her mother’s captors had used, though they had also used wedge-tents as well as rounded ones, mainly for the members of Family Mongrel with the lowest status. But she couldn’t picture it in her mind, other than something low and bulging at the top, and couldn’t see how that could possibly be strong.
“Anyway,” Manolo continued, “since we will have so much to take back with us, it is unlikely we’ll stop anywhere else for one last commission. That, and we are far enough from the Family that we will want to make it back in time to rest for a little bit, before heading for the City to help with the final harvests and the task of settling into our winter homes.”
“The City? Winter homes?” Tava asked, wondering why her mother’s book had never men
tioned anything of the sort. “I thought your people lived in tents and caves all year round.”
The look the black-haired shifter gave her was a bemused one. “Hardly. Winter on the Plains is nothing to trifle with. Our geomes may be sturdy and can withstand a few storms, but like anyone else, we’d rather have stout wood and stone to shelter us from the snow and wind. We leave the City in the spring to graze our flocks on the rich grasses of the Plains and return each autumn to the City to take shelter.
“And, once every four to five years, we take our turns farming the fields and tending the orchards maintained by each Clan. Last year was Family Tiger’s turn to stay on the farms. This year, it’s Family Lion’s,” he told her. “Which is a good thing, since barring bad weather, they’re large enough in numbers to sow up to five times the fields that Family Tiger can, and cut as much hay. Everyone tries to get back in time to help with the harvest, and we usually stay for the earliest plantings, but not the interim ones. When we have a farm-year—Family Tiger—the Clan uses up most of the stores not set aside for planting, because we can’t plant as much as the other Families. But that isn’t a bad thing, for they do need to be used up.”
Tava stared at him, wondering at how much information he was freely giving her. Without being asked, let alone acting as if her curiosity was bothersome to answer. Manolo lifted his hand and patted her upper arm.
“You’ll learn. You’ll have a whole year to learn, and hopefully a whole lifetime, too. If you want something to do, you can help Deian over there in the field, the one carrying the roots to the wagons,” Manolo said, pointing at the covered vehicle in question. “Once Kodan leaves the trader’s wagon, you can go there and settle your things however you may like. Mind you keep it tidy, though, since no one else will do it for you. Anything inside its four walls will be considered a part of maiden’s territory, just like it is for the wagons the maidens travel in when we move from one pasture to the next on the Plains.”
“From one pasture to the next?” Tava repeated, feeling stupid. “Aren’t the Plains by definition one big pasture? A giant grassland?”
The smile he gave her was a wry, indulgent one. “Grass grows in abundance, yes, but water does not. ‘Pasture’ refers specifically to those areas of grass directly around the streams, ponds, wells, and cisterns scattered across the Plains. You will see what that means once we get up there. Now go on, either be useful or be restful—I suggest you enjoy the rest while you can. Once you’ve passed through your ten days of instruction with the priestesses, you’ll be expected to become a part of life in a Shifterai Family and do your share.
“As I said, we’ll probably head for the City in time to help with the last of Clan Cat’s harvests shortly after we rejoin the rest of Family Tiger. No one rests at that point until all the beasts and bushels are settled to wait for winter. But once they are settled, the Waiting for Winter festival will begin.”
Patting her once more on the shoulder, Manolo gave Tava a little push in the general direction of both wagon and field, leaving the choice up to her as to which to choose. Not accustomed to being all that idle, and not wanting to wander aimlessly through the emptied house and the no doubt emptied barn, Tava headed for the field. Her second-best festival dress wasn’t one she would have chosen to wear for hauling beets, but it was better than just sitting in the back of a wagon with her books packed away and nothing else to occupy her mind until it was time to leave.
FIVE
She kept peering at his back. There had been a little bit of teasing from the other men when he had emerged from the trader wagon only to climb up onto its bench and take up the reins, but Kodan had endured it stoically. What he wanted—or rather, needed—was enough time to begin his campaign of seducing Tava Ell Var into accepting her heritage, her need to live with her people on the Shifting Plains. But first, he had to break the silence between them. The way she kept leaning back and twisting a little, sneaking peeks at his back, gave him an opening.
“I take it you heard what happened?” he asked when she did it for the tenth or so time.
She quickly faced forward, hands in her lap, and nodded. Kodan wondered if she would make some comment, or ask a question. When she didn’t, he wondered why not. A Shifterai woman might have known he would recover from the wound since it hadn’t killed him instantly, but she also would have asked questions, or at least given her opinion. But that is how my people are raised, he realized. It’s not just Shifterai ways she has to learn; I have to learn something of the people who raised her, the Mornai, to know better how to deal with her. More than the basics one needs to know for trading among them without giving insult or slight . . . at least, in a normal village.
“I was very angry last night,” he confessed, making her glance at him. “But I calmed myself down and reminded myself to think before I acted. The Shifterai tend to be a bit more passionate than the River folk. Possibly because, in shaping ourselves as beasts, echoing and copying them to blend in with nature, we learn the instincts and impulses of those beasts. For my own people, what that boy did would be understandable; he was upset, and he attacked on impulse.”
That got a reaction from the young woman at his side. She gasped softly. “Understandable?”
“Understanding is not the same as forgiving,” Kodan reminded her. “But it seemed to me the Alders were more shocked by him attacking me in public, than by him attacking at all. Both of our cultures frown upon attacking someone from behind, of course, but the other differences are still there. Perhaps you could enlighten me on why this is so?”
“Mornai men are supposed to exhibit self-control, in public. To be . . . figures of authority and to be worthy of being a figure of authority,” she explained.
“And the women, in public?” he asked her, guiding the enclosed wagon up the switchback road that would take them up toward the Plains. The road was rutted more from weather than from use, and the late trader’s cart wasn’t sprung like a Plains cart; it rattled uncomfortably over the lumps of earth and rock.
“Women are to be obedient. And quiet.”
Kodan glanced at her, amused. “Now, why do I get the feeling that you are inclined toward neither of those things?”
She blushed and ducked her head.
“Let me tell you about the Shifterai way,” he said, still smiling.
“Because I think you will need time to get over the shock before actually experiencing it. We are not the Mornai. I suspect we are a lot less serious and sober than the Valley folk you’re used to seeing. All of us have opinions, both men and women. And the women in particular like to air theirs. Since half our population are shapeshifters, with the ability to increase muscle strength, grow claws, or sharpen teeth, our physical self-control is very important. But in their wisdom, our ancestors knew that our inner energy had to be expressed somehow.
“So we tend to be vocal. Exaggeration and excess are discouraged, of course, since that leads to the temptation of acting physically as well as verbally. And talking just to hear your own voice is considered an annoyance just as it would be in any kingdom,” he added, guiding the mares pulling the brightly painted wagon carefully around the next bend in the road. “But it is more unusual for a Shifterai to keep quiet than it is for them to speak. Man or woman. Since you didn’t grow up among my people, I thought you should know this. You will want to ask a lot of questions, and not hesitate to ask them. Provided the person you are asking is not overly busy, of course. Common sense is highly valued, on the Plains.”
He realized after both of them stayed silent for several seconds that his last comment sounded like an end to the conversation between them. Before he could think of something else to say, she ventured a question.
“Was the wound a . . . a bad one?”
“If I weren’t a multerai, yes, it would have been bad.” His back itched at the memory, though the flesh itself had healed. His ribs and muscles were still tender, since the Mornai youth had struck with enough force to break bone, but t
he wound itself was gone. “It might have been fatal for a non-shifter, too, since I did get a little blood in my lungs. But I have plenty of experience shifting my wounds in the middle of battle. Part of our training in learning to use our power is learning how to heal our injuries. We start with little ones, little cuts on our hands and arms, and all of it carefully supervised so that the weakest among us are not injured beyond our capacity to shift away.”
“Oh.” She stared down at her hands, as if contemplating deliberately injuring them to learn such a skill.
It was the best opening he would have. A quick glance showed the other wagons strung out along the tree-lined road, and the outriders picking their way through the underbrush far enough away to give the two of them an illusion of privacy. Not visual privacy, but enough distance to let them have a private conversation. Provided he kept his voice low, just in case anyone was straining with shapeshifted hearing to listen to the two of them.
“Regarding what happened the other day . . . I know it was you.”
She jumped and stared at him, her green eyes wide.
“You do not know our people, and you do not know our ways. Until you come to understand us a lot better . . . I suggest you keep it a secret,” Kodan told Tava, glancing at her. She continued to stare at him. “I tend to think more than my fellow Shifterai and have given this some consideration. I do not think the others will think about your situation. Even though they know you are coming among us as an adopted outlander, they will react as if you were born and raised on the Plains, which you clearly weren’t.
“Because you weren’t born among us and do not understand our ways, their reactions might confuse, alarm, or even frighten you—when that is not our intent,” he quickly reassured her, seeing her biting her lower lip, visibly worried. “My advice is to keep your secrets to yourself at least for now, but to open up your mind to who and what we really are. Learning the difference between what happened to your mother versus the truth of a woman’s life on the Plains is too important for anyone to confuse you with too many expectations and too much pressure applied to you too soon.