by Jean Johnson
In exchange—the annoying part—the Efrijt had to provide protective clothing, masks, and goggles for the humans to wear, to cut down on contamination from dust as they chipped away and hauled out the cinnabar. Coveralls, cloth boot covers, gloves, and simple filter masks were deemed noninvasive enough for the low-tech natives to wear. Goggles, too, since the natives did have an understanding of transparent glass and crystal, even if the goggles were crafted from a different material entirely.
The mercury extracted would belong to the Efrijt to sell, in exchange for a whole list of hospitality rights for the Fae healer and anyone they brought along on their visits. The profits would be wasted partially on all that protective gear, since it had to be changed out frequently, but the materials were flammable, and the vermillion dust could be burned in the same combustion furnaces that turned the regular ore into vapor, allowing the mercury to be condensed into useful liquid form.
All of that had plusses and minuses on the business ledger. Overall, the medjant would prosper. Unfortunately, she thought, gritting her teeth as she watched the sky barge vanish into the cloudy sky, I just realized that in being more effective than we are at curing these stupid humans of mercury contamination, that strengthens their case as the protectors of this world.
“My Sejo,” a deep voice stated, speaking in Frijsh. “I have a question.”
She turned and eyed the daro who approached, Dakin Urudo. Lifting a brow, she rested her palms on her hips and replied in kind. “Yes, Daro Dakin?”
“Do you wish for me to be on hand when the Fae, Muan, returns for her next visit?” the artisan asked.
For a moment, the question threw her. She frowned in thought. Why would an artisan expect to spend time with a Fae healer? He’s not . . . Oh, wait. He was the one who helped get those humans healed in the first place, guiding her to the right home, and then keeping an eye on her work. Zakal eyed him, thinking about his question. Any Efrijt asking if they should be on hand for a Fae’s visit . . . well, he was not grimacing in disgust at the idea. Which gave her an idea or two of her own. “Did you tolerate her company? Or perhaps even enjoy it?”
He did not flinch from the question. “Her conversations were tolerable. She understands my work, and was able to speak intelligently.”
“A healer, understanding metallurgy?” Zakal asked.
Dakin shrugged slightly. “Her brother is a metallurgist and craftsman. She is . . . a generalist.”
“Taro?” the sejo asked, speculating.
He shook his head. “I do not know. I doubt it; her healing skills alone would place her above that rank.”
“True . . .” If she was not taro, well, the Fae was not kuro, and certainly not in her pantean’s triumvirate rank. Their sejo equivalent was their primary healer, but secondary healers still had a solid rank. “She is an equivalent to a daro, then. Tell me, Daro Dakin . . . would you be offended by the thought of creating a half-breed with her?”
That quirked his brows. “A half-breed, with a Fae?”
“The Fae clearly wield the local energies far more effectively than we do. That apprentice animadj, the half-breed who has both Fae and human blood . . . he wields more power as an apprentice than most of the full-blood humans of the Red Rocks,” she explained. “Whatever is in the Fae that allows them to be so magically powerful seems to be inheritable. Since we full-bloods are at a disadvantage, it makes sense to consider the long-term viability of interbreeding.
“This cannot possibly be this world’s only deposit of quicksilver,” she added, gesturing at the valleys and mountains around them. “The world is too large, and too varied in terrain. A child can be swayed to tip the balance of inheritance rights toward our people, and if nothing else, give us twenty more years to explore, mine, and profit. Both parents will have influence over the child, of course, but if you put in the effort to make the mother consider you favorably, she will speak of you favorably to the child, and the child will be raised to think favorably of you, our race, and the medjant and its needs.”
“And we would have kin that can wield magic more effectively,” Daro Dakin murmured, mulling it over. “I have heard of this method being used to gain an advantage. But sometimes it backfires. Can the Fae affinity for anima overcome our inabilities, Sejo Zakal?”
“I do not know. But they are very clever negotiators. They have an advantage in being able to use the local magic far more effectively than we can,” she muttered back. Eyeing the auburn-haired artisan, she lifted her chin. “Be on hand every time she arrives. Let her know you find her company tolerable. See if you can develop it into something more—she is single, yes?”
He nodded. “I will see what can be done, my Sejo.”
“Good,” Zakal stated, and flicked her hand, dismissing him to his duties. From the looks some of the humans in the valley gave her, they might just head to the audience hall to speak with her about what the Fae had done for them. Retreating into the brazier-lit hall—no fancy tricks with exhausting fire-summoning spells today—she took her place on the center seat. Seso Parut had healthier and thus more productive workers. Sefo Harkut had more mercury to sell. She had . . . an annoying contract with the annoying Fae who annoyingly made the primitive natives happier.
It would be wise to make these humans think I deliberately arranged for the Fae to come and encouraged them to heal “my” people. That any Fae benevolence comes from my will, not theirs. A medjant, after all, is only as strong as its prosperity, apparent as well as actual.
Determined to win the rights to this world, she nodded slightly, permitting the first of the humans now lurking in the doorway to enter and speak with her.
Chapter Ten
Flooding from the winter rains delayed the negotiations. Jintaya knew it probably sent Sejo Zakal’s tusks aching, but by sending Parren and Kaife to help restructure the wadijt around the Red Rocks region, they were able to divert heavy rainfall into new reservoirs, plus set up a way to ensure dust from the mines did not wash mercury into the drinking water, in a combination of Fae stoneworking and Efrijt extraction machinery. At the cost of setting back the conclusion of the negotiations two more months, on top of other payments.
Kefer had an idea on a legal precedent that would give the Fae complete oversight on this world, regarding the balance of who had the most effective use of resources. Obviously, the Fae did; their attunement to the anima-magic of this world was unparalleled. But he needed to be able to check all of the counterarguments first, and he was missing an important section. When he and the others had come through, they had not known just how hampered the Efrijt mages were by their lack of affinity for anima. After more than two months of observation, everyone in the Flame Sea pantean had a pretty good idea just how difficult the Efrijt found spellcrafting in this universe.
The only problem was, today was day 70.
No one from Faelan has reconnected the Veilway to this world. It should have happened by now. Where is everyone? Why is the visit from the Daemashevar taking so long? We’re in one of the vulnerable spurs; we’re a higher priority on the reconnection list!
“Jintaya. Breathe deep.”
Ban’s voice halted her restless pacing. Only when he mentioned breathing did she realize hers came and went a little too fast. Closing her eyes, she breathed deep, falling back on centuries-old meditation tricks all Fae children learned. Adolescence lasted too long in her kind for her people not to have developed childhood methods for calming the self and focusing the mind.
Opening her eyes again when she felt calm, she bowed her head. “Thank you, Ban. I am not . . .” She stopped herself before saying the rest, . . . not accustomed to being stranded anywhere. “I would like to be patient, but I am not certain what could possibly be delaying my people in reestablishing contact with us. We are an isolated pantean. We should have been reconnected by now.”
“This lengthy wait is unusual?” he asked. For the
moment, they were the only two people in the innermost grotto, though the others had taken to dropping by every few hours. Éfan would have still been here, but the tattooed Shae had insisted on sending him off to eat and sleep.
“Our policy during such vast shutdowns is to reconnect one heavily interconnected world from the top of the list, then one isolated world from the bottom, back and forth, until meeting in the middle,” she explained, pacing again.
Her path traced a course around the cluster of chairs and lounges not far from the alcove where the Veilway would be. The fountain that splashed and trickled softly formed the other corner of the triangle, but she did not pace around it. Jintaya gestured at the alcove when she came near.
“In our case, we are isolated because we were not certain what the long-term effects of our reaction to this realm’s magic would be,” she explained. “Most newly established panteans are kept isolated for similar reasons—unknown dangers and so forth—but rarely for more than a few decades at most, and often for no more than five or ten years. Our first connection is, of course, to Faelan. Our second connection would then be to a moderately connected world, one with a sufficient number of our forces to guard an extra Veilway, but it would not be a direct opening. Rather, it would be an emergency opening, with extensive arcane locks that have to be worked through, and passwords delivered via inanimate objects, before anything living could pass.”
“To prevent hostile forces from aggressive worlds taking over,” Ban murmured, his mouth twisting grimly for a moment.
She nodded, knowing he meant those realms whose denizens deserved the label demon for being filled with hate, rage, destructive intentions, and so forth. “It has happened a few times. We were lucky in that the first invasion force was . . . careless, chaotic, and poorly organized. We were able to fight it back and secure our borders. Then we encountered realms where their denizens had fought back more organized forces. Armies of great and evil cunning who had used trickery and so forth. So we studied, we learned, and we developed layers of protection. Twice more, we were nearly invaded by horrible forces masquerading as friends . . .”
Breaking off, she stopped pacing and winced her eyes shut, pressing the edge of her first two fingers to her brow.
“You fear these . . . Daemashevar . . . have masqueraded as friends and allies,” Ban stated. For him, it was not a question.
“I want to believe they are our allies. But they are not . . . They are not humanoid,” she stated, gesturing vaguely between them. “Your people, these people, my people, we have similar ways of living, similar needs, which leads to similar wanting. The Daemashevar are not beings of flesh and blood as you and I are. My people live longer than most humanoids, but we can still interbreed with each other, for the most part. We are simply a race of humanoids that live at one point on a whole spectrum of what it means to be humanoid.
“The Daemashevar . . . aren’t even on the same scale, other than that they can speak and communicate with us, and they do have a need for material goods, which stimulates their economy, meaning they have things they wish in trade, and things they can trade in return. They are not appealing visually, but they are not the first group that did not appeal to a Fae’s sensibilities visually. They smell odd, too, but that is no reason to consider them evil—they have very pleasant voices, but pleasantness is not an indication of goodness, either. All these things we know are simply what they are, and not a sign one way or another. It is how we speak versus how we act, what we say and what we do, that determines goodness from evil.
“So I am hoping,” she stressed, resuming her path around the cluster of seats and little end tables “that something else has caused the delay. Because the Daemashevar have been our staunch allies for over five hundred years. About the lifespan of a typical Daemashevar, and long enough for us to determine it was safe to invite their people to visit Faelan, rather than trading only on our intermediary worlds.”
Ban frowned in thought while she paced a bit more. Finally, he asked, “Faelan is the most interconnected of realms in the multiverse, isn’t it?”
“Not the most connected, but one of the most connected. It has to do with the nature of the Veil in our universe. It’s . . . Do you know what the keystone of an arch is?” she asked him. At his nod, she shrugged. “If you conquered our realm, you would have easy access to thousands more. Which is why you were and are a priority for this pantean to get you to consider the Fae friendly. Which we are, when our friends are worthy. Which you are.”
“Because I could take over any world I wanted,” he murmured. “If I cannot be killed, I cannot be stopped.”
She nodded and frowned again, touching her fingers to her brow. “. . . I have a headache forming, born from the stress of worrying over things I cannot control. Until the Veilway opens, I cannot even find out what is happening.”
One of his black brows rose. “Can you not connect to another realm? One with a larger pantean?”
“We were not given the coordinates for one,” she confessed, shrugging. “Connecting is not the problem. Calibration is. This realm connects poorly to anything. It’s why we haven’t opened any short-range gates or local portals to other regions, other continents . . . It is easier for another realm to reach out to us than it is for us to reach out to another realm. Éfan has the knowledge of how to reach out to other realms, but he long ago determined that aiming where the Veilway tunnel lands would be difficult to control.”
Rising from his seat, Ban joined her in her pacing when she came around to his side of the furniture. “What about the Efrijt? If their magics are so weak, it is surprising that they can keep this end of their own Veilway open.”
“I suspect a good portion of the profit from their mercury sales goes toward paying for enough external magic to keep the Veilway active,” she muttered.Frowning in distaste, she paced past the Veilway alcove again. “The Efrijt know we were cut off for a set period of time. That’s why they wanted to conclude negotiations over who controls access to this realm before Faelan opened itself up to more than just the home realm of the Daemashevar again.
“By now, they surely know which pantean-touched realms have been reconnected, and might even have heard a rumor as to why we were not connected. Their archivists would have been keeping an ear open for any such gossip, because the sefo of Medjant Kumon has been dredging up the most obscure of rulings to try to counter anything Kefer throws in his path. It’s clear they’re in constant contact with their empire.”
Ban touched her arm with one hand, and pointed with the other. She glanced that way just in time to see an anima-sphere sailing straight toward her. “You are agitated, and are drawing upon the aether energies. Calm yourself, and breathe to relax. If we are isolated, it will not be forever,” he reminded her. “The Efrijt have contact with other realms. The worlds with strong pantean resources will reconnect to one another if they have not heard from Faelan after a while, yes?”
“Yes.The most populous ones will have begun reconnecting by now, cautiously,” she agreed. “They have coordinates for scores, even hundreds of fellow worlds. Eventually, they will form a shell around Faelan, diverting all connections around it, and perhaps even seeking to open new paths. And if Faelan has . . .” Jintaya faltered at the thought, before forcing herself to go on. “If Faelan has fallen to the Daemashevar, and they try to expand outward, they will be met by thousands of worlds uniting against them.”
“A dome can still be strong even if it lacks a central keystone, provided the stones of the innermost ring or the rafters of the roof support one another reciprocally,” he murmured. “Your people are strong, and culturally predisposed to help one another. They will survive. As will we . . . even if we must go to the Efrijt to find out what is happening.”
“I’d rather wait a year,” she muttered. “Or a decade, even. But the triumvirate is coming here in just two more days, and they will press for a final contract. If we t
ried to delay . . . the next meeting would be in their territory, but . . . it would take too long.
“The longer we wait to be reconnected, the more sure the Efrijt will be that we cannot reconnect. That we are stranded here, and think that this means we will be at their mercy.” Once again, she stopped her pacing. Jintaya lifted two fingers to her brow and pressed the side of her index finger against the tension building beneath her skin. “If we indeed have been stranded here, accidentally or otherwise . . .”
She sighed heavily, and felt Ban’s left arm wrap gently around her shoulders. How far he has come, that he should be the one to give comfort, rather than need it . . . Leaning into him for a few moments, Jintaya let herself relax against his strength. Of all the people in the multiverse, this male knows what it is like to be abandoned and stranded. Stars, I am glad he is with me here.
Ban spoke slowly. Carefully. “If we have been stranded here, accidentally or otherwise . . . should we not actually strike now in the negotiations, to get a contract we want solidified in place with these Efrijt? Before they know we have been stranded, and have no outworlder resources to back up our demands?”
A chill washed through her, stilling even her breath for a moment. Blinking, Jintaya stared at the empty alcove for a long moment while she worked through the ramifications. Lifting her head from his chest, she nodded. “We should do that. And swiftly. Kefer is not going to be able to get his hands on the counterarguments he seeks. Hopefully it will not be too vital to have had access to them.”
Ban touched her arm when she started to move away. “The Veilway could be restored at any time, you know.”
She nodded, covering his hand with her own. “Thank you for comforting me, Ban. I know it will be restored. Just not when.”