Chapel Orahamm's Blog, page 19

Firefly Fish: Ch 18

The nesting grounds caught me by surprise as we exited from the current. It spat us out into a shallower area where the light could penetrate to the seafloor. Coral arches and swaths of reef unfolded in brilliant colours beneath the oscillating sparkles. “Welcome to Keris’s territory.” Saeesar took me for an overview above the grounds, or at least part of the grounds. It reached well past the end of my sight. Children of Llyr peered out from arches, cracks, and crevices. Soon, recognizing the Fomorii, they emerged, waving to him. He circled back towards a low hill amid the reef.

     “Saeesar!” A particularly large dynllyr approached him as he settled to the coral. This individual flickered with coloured blossoms. I stayed behind Saeesar, peeking out to observe.

     “You’ve got a clinger, Sar!” A female chortled. I span to put my back to Saeesar. The female child of Llyr towered over me, at least four times Saeesar’s size.

     “Hello.” I waved timidly up at her form.

     “Oh, not a clinger. Who’d you bring back? Is this the Kraken child Taigre’s been telling long tales about?” the female asked.

     “Pursha, fantastic I should find you! How is Taigre doing?” Saeesar turned to her, wrapping me under his arm protectively.

     “Robust bull calf. He’s off playing with friends for the moment. I came when Keris said he’d gone missing.” She pushed a shocking amount of grey hair from her shoulder, a flash of red lines across her bicep uncovered momentarily.

     “No one’s come since then?” Saeesar asked, agitated.

     “None that I’ve noticed. Why? What’s wrong?” She ducked down to our level. Her face was huge compared to me. Fathomless grey eyes blinked at me.

     “Are you his mother?” I stuttered.

     “I am.” She tilted her head at the question, eyes flicking between Saeesar and me.

     “Um…I…did he say anything more about what I am?” I desperately wanted to hide behind Saeesar.

     “You are one of Puca’s children and have Siren Voice. I mean, your spots glow; you are Puca’s if there was ever a doubt in the seas,” she qualified.

     I winced at what I had to say. “Did he mention I bit him?” The water went chilly at that question.

     “What did that idiot son of mine do to raise the ire of a Kraken child?” she hissed. Not the response I had expected. Saeesar pushed me gently towards her so I would quit trying to merge with his skin.

     “It was an accident,” I tried to protest.

     “Marin is half-human if you could not already assume from his structure. Taigre saw his mantel and thought he could breathe. Pulled him into a mix without casting a charm. Could have killed him, Pursha.” Saeesar explained solemnly.

     “He didn’t mean any harm, but, um, well, Saeesar’s explained, and I didn’t know that if I bit someone, that it would call others. I’m still a little new at all this. I bit Leviathan, and if there is a pack, they will probably go after them first. Is there a way to undo it? Taigre doesn’t need to be in danger. I’m sorry.” My comforting ability to swallow my panic was gone under water.

     “A way to cancel a Puca child’s call? None that I’ve ever heard of, little one.” Pursha bobbed back, a different signal I had seen Saeesar use that I equated to shaking a head.

     “Can the scar heal such that someone with Puca’s blood won’t notice it after a time?” I asked.

     “No, he’ll smell of you for the rest of his life.” Pusha’s frame sagged as she realized the issue in full depth.

     “Are those of the Antumnos literate?” I turned the question to Saeesar.

     “Literate?” he asked, the word unfamiliar.

     “Do you write, leave notes, use signs?” Maybe I could make something that Taigre could show to others of Puca’s lineage that could be recognized as a ‘do no eat me’ sign.

     “No. We’ll chip off rocks in patterns to show that we’ve claimed a nest. Some of the Antumnos will decorate their burrows in similar ways. Otherwise, there’s never been a need to,” Saeesar replied.

     “Then I need to talk to Puca.” I arrived at the conclusion I had not been interested in up until now.

     “Your father? You would talk to him to save a child of Llyr after they upset you?” Pusha gasped.

     “Not my father. He never raised me,” I qualified that statement quickly, a bit of a bite setting all of my spots glowing. “All he did was contribute to why I was born.”

     “Forgive me, Kraken child.” Pursha ducked low at the admonishment.

     I would have sighed if my charm would have allowed it. Rubbing at the back of my neck, I let my feet settle to the sands where I could stand, feel a little more stable in the swirling drafts. “My name is Marin, please, ma’am. I knew myself as nothing more than human up until recently, and I don’t know how things work here. I’d like to fix what has happened. He shouldn’t have to bear this fate,” I tried again.

     “Marin Kraken child, you bless me with your name. I would ask Keris if one of his scouts has seen Puca’s whereabouts. I have been outside of the nesting grounds for some time and very rarely left when I was within it. I have never met Puca.” She exuded authority, and yet she deferred to me. I hated this.

     Pinching the bridge of my nose, I gave myself a moment to think. I kept running into walls, though. The only solution I could find was to talk to this Kraken and see if he could call the Pack off. Not that I had seen this Pack, though.

“For now,” Pursha took my focus, “why don’t you come into our cave and settle yourself for a minute. You look to be asleep on your feet.”

“I couldn’t possibly impose, ma’am.” I backed up a step.

“Well, it is Keris’s cave now, rather than mine, but I shared these walls long enough. Come, sit. Saeesar?” Pursha motioned to me.

“If he doesn’t want to, I’m not making him, Pursha. I’ve given a dowry for Mate Claim; I won’t force him.” Saeesar sank lower to lay his tail loosely around the area I stood as if to protect me from the giant that was Taigre’s mother.

Pursha came down to our level, shock settling about her features. “Mate Claim, Saeesar? You know what Keris will say about this, don’t you?”

“I won’t be his arena winner anymore, Pursha. I have a home and a nest where I belong. I will claim my title as Baya. I was only meant to be here until I came of age. It’s been well past that time, and he will need to release my title. I intend on taking my nesting grounds back.” Saeesar’s fins twitched in the current.

Pursha turned her head to search around us, looking for anyone listening to the conversation. “Let’s take this inside. Would that be alright, Marin Kraken child?”

That tell of concern caught my focus. Twisting my head, I nodded once and watched the mermaid the size of the shrimp trawler disappear into the massive black maw of a cave.

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Subgalaxia: Ch 2

He paced the study of his house.  Books lined cherry shelves and his desk was overcrowded with papers and electronics.  He had sent his maid up to check on the woman. What had possessed him to intervene was beyond him.  A simple trip was all he wanted. He had gone to see the beginnings of Wall Street and the establishment of Manhattan’s business district.  While walking back to his movement point he had heard the high pitched shrieking of a woman in desperate need of help.

He wasn’t sure what he was going to tell Ms. Lisgon about the new woman in his house.  He had successfully been able to have an actual conversation with her for once. If she found out about the woman and misunderstood the situation, then he wouldn’t be able to move on to the next step of recruiting her to help him get his cryopreservation chambers up and running.

He had cracked the time barrier within the last year and been ducking in and out of past centuries over the last month when his tests of the transportation points came back as stable.  He peeked in on Monet’s studio, seen Hiroshige’s woodblocks drawn out, and noted the murder of Anastasia Romanov. He had successfully forewent playing with history, knowing that by removing, preventing, or helping in history would probably collapse the present in its totality. Now he had screwed everything up and he wasn’t sure what to do about it.

“Mr. Ziphle, the lady is doing fine.  I took her up a cup of tea with just a tinge of whiskey to steady her nerves.  She is distraught at having woken up in a foreign place. I wasn’t sure what to tell her.  Lord only knows where you found her with that get-up. I told her that she was resting at your residence until she felt well enough to come down and talk to you.  She said that she would like to gather her thoughts until dinner, which I will start now. It should be ready in an hour.

While you were out, Sophia Lisgon called and asked if she could drop by to talk to you about something.  I told her that she could join us for dinner if she wanted. I wasn’t aware that you would be bringing a guest back with you, so I’m not sure what you would like for me to do now, though.” The elderly maid rung her hands.  All the breath left Ziphle’s body as the blood drained from his face. Sophia, coming here? Oh God how could things not be worse? “Mr. Ziphle? Corbin? Are you all right sir?” The maid shook his arm. He snapped out of his trance to look down at her, his mouth going dry.

“Um, yes, no, thank you Mrs. Stiner.  Dinner would be nice. I need to speak with Ms. Lisgon anyways about a few matters, so this is convenient for me.  Thank you for speaking with the other woman, I’m glad she is doing all right.”

“‘The other woman?’ You mean to say you don’t even know who she is?” Mrs. Stiner took a step back from her employer. 

“Um…” Corbin swallowed. He hadn’t informed Mrs. Stiner that he had been time traveling. She thought that he was out on business calls.

“This is going to be better for me, in the long run, I believe, if I don’t ask.  I’m glad to see that you have finally found some female companionship, though Ms. Lisgon, seeing as you know her and all, I thought would have been better for you.  If you get off on that type of thing upstairs though.” She waving her hand at the ceiling as she made her way to the door.

A strangle hold fell around his throat and his face burned at her tisking.  He rub his temples, fighting a head ache. He should call Sophia and forewarn her of the company, but he should probably introduce himself first to the woman upstairs if he planned on explaining the situation in its totality to his dinner guests.

He trudged upstairs to the guest bedroom where he had placed the woman to wait for her to wake up.  He had feared that she had received a concussion in her fall. To his relief, she had done little more than faint.

Unsure of the gentlemanly thing to do for the period, he had at least relieved her feet of her tightly laced boots.  He had thought to loosen her stays, but having found that she was wearing more layers than he knew what to do with, he decided it was probably wiser to leave her as is.

He rapped his knuckles on the door and listed for a reply.  “Come in,” a trembling female voice called out.

He eased the door open and popped his head in.  “Hello, I hope you’re feeling better.”

 The woman was sitting at the little desk he had positioned under the window overlooking the backyard garden.  “Oh, hello. You’re the one who rescued me, I believe.” She rose to meet him, the swish of fabrics distinctive in their nostalgic sound of years gone past.

“I’m sorry to place you in this awkward situation, ma’am.” He apologized.

“Mrs. Stiner is very nice, sir.  She brought me something to drink and has invited me to dinner.” She glanced at her shoes, pursing her lips.

“She is a dear.  She makes a fantastic lamb roast, which I think is on the menu tonight.” He rubbed at his arm in a nervous tick.

“Oh, wonderful.  I haven’t had lamb since leaving my folk’s farm.” She turned back to him, smiling.  Her stomach growled at the invitation.

“Oh?  Your parents raise sheep?” he asked.  He had neglected to change out of his period shoes and the hard leather sole was beginning to make his knees ache.

“Well, they usually keep fifty head, but they primarily raise wheat, and corn,” she admitted readily.

“What were you doing on the edge of Five Corners, miss…?”

“Miss Teslanoviach.  I was trying to find my way back to my boarding house from the college, and I was told I could cut through Five Corners to get there,” she answered.

“Miss Teslanoviach, my name is Corbin Ziphle.  You work for the college?” He shifted his weight from left to right, trying to relieve the pain.

“Very nice to meet you Mr. Ziphle.  I had my interview today to enroll in the College of Science.” She drifted to the bedframe, trying to restrain her tears once more.  “I was not accepted.” Her voice cracked, but her back and shoulder remained ridgedly straight.

“I’m sorry,” Corbin apologized automatically.

“I’m not,” she answered back fiercely, taking Corbin aback.  He wasn’t expecting her sudden venomous backlash. “I did something that no one else in my town has ever done.  I applied for college. Even the mayor only graduated from eighth grade. It’s their own fault for not accepting me, and I’ll try for another college,” she told him determinedly.

“What was it that you wanted to study in the college of science, Miss Teslanoviach?” he asked, expecting her to reply with botany or zoology.

“I want to explore the nature of machinery in relation to human anatomy, such as seen in the mills and factories in the city,” she responded automatically.

“Such as the men with one large arm and one small arm from working the same lever over and over?” he asked, knowing what she was referring to.

“Yes, but also the stagnation of musculature seen in the overabundance of farm equipment, and this new innovation, the automatic wagon.  Such things provide magnificent help to the farmer or a person traveling a long distance, especially for the elderly, but I believe the more people utilize these inhibitors, the worse our bodily health will be,” she answered, before blushing, feeling a bit outspoken.

You have no idea how accurate you are. Corbin told himself.  “It sounds like a fascinating topic of study, Miss Teslanoviach,” he smiled at her.

“Oh, I believe it to be of utmost urgency to study this topic in an effort to retain our health and longevity,” she told him adamantly.  “I do have a question though.”

“Yes?” A pit of unease settled in his stomach. She had been brought out of the late 1800s.  A white woman in his house. How bad was the racist rant going to be that he was about to hear? He cringed, expecting a tirade.

“How did you come to hide all of your wires?” she asked, pointing up.

“Huh?” He looked up at his smooth finished ceiling at the ceiling fan with a light fixture in the center.  “The house was built like that,” he shrugged, staring at the fan.

“I’ve seen it done with gas line lighting at the college, but even the boarding house only has the one electric light in the foyer and the line was run up the wall last month.  I’m amazed. You have this light, and then there are two lights on either side of the bed.” She pointed to the other two lamps, their chords hidden behind the bedframe. Blood drained from his face and he considered the prospect of a fainting couch. This would be an unusual phenomenon for her.  Electricity in a private house, let alone so many light sources in a spare room would be exceedingly rare in her time. “You must have struck gold to be this wealthy, Mr. Ziphle.”

A bell rang in the hall outside of the door.  “Would you like to join me? Mrs. Stiner has finished preparing our meal.” He bowed slightly at the waist and motioned to the door. 

“My shoes!” She protested.

A blush ran across her face.  “Do not worry yourself. I prefer to keep my house free of dirt brought in on shoes, I just have not had the time to remove my own.”

“Really?  I’ve never heard of such a thing.” She followed him out to the hall.

“It is very typical of many Asian countries to remove their shoes at the door to keep their flooring clean.” They walked to the stairwell.

“I have heard of the Nipponese!  What a strange country. They walk around in robes all day.” She giggled.  Corbin blanched, again realizing that the Meiji era had recently come into being at the point he had removed Miss Teslanoviach from.  She would have only heard about them through second or third hand sources from twice old newspapers.

As they made their way down the stairs of the Victorian era house, light flashed through the foyer window, bouncing sparkling blue onto the whitewashed walls.  Nicole gasped, startled. She stopped on the steps. Corbin turned back to her quizzically, wondering what had spooked her. He followed the line of her eyes to the window next to the door that looked out over his circle drive where his Dodge Tomahawk V10 and his electric blue Pagani Huarya were parked. It didn’t help that Sophia Lisgon had pulled up in with her 1978 custom cherry red Mustang she had inherited from her grandfather.

“What are those?” Nicole asked, descending the stairs, quickly dashing around Corbin and out the door to look at the vehicles.  “Oh, ummm…” he followed her out. She had come to a dead stop again. Sophia, her leather bound shoulder length red hair striped with green and blue and purple highlights gleamed in the setting sun.  Her black knee high leather boots fit snugly over her skin tight hot pink jeans. Her padded motorcycle jacket barely covered her middrift and her massive bug-eye sunglasses rested precariously on her upturned nose.  Down her ears were several piercings, all unmatched, one gauged, one bearing a hummingbird worth of feathers. “Corbin! Did I miss a re-enactment? I so could have done with tea today.” Sophia beamed, her heavy British accent cutting through the stagnant summer air.  Nicole fainted. Corbin and Sophia looked down at her, both raising their eyebrows at the action.

“Sophia, um…yes, great to see you.  I wasn’t aware of your coming over today, I just got back, but I think Mrs. Stiner said something about you dropping by now that I think about it,” he stuttered, lifting up Nicole and quickly motioning Sophia into the house.

“Is she ok?” Sophia asked, moving out of the way in the foyer for Corbin to get in the door with his heavy load.  “Not really sure, this is the second time today that she’s fainted, so I’m wondering if she has a concussion,” he told her as he laid her into a reclining chair in the living room.  Sophia rummaged out a tiny pen-light from her coat and checked Nicole’s eyes and felt her pulse. It didn’t take much for her to come to. Mrs. Stiner, hearing the commotion, hurried out to the living room, wiping her hands on her apron.  “Oh dear, the poor thing fainted again. What have you done Corbin?” she whacked him on the shoulder, pushing him out of the way.

Sophia looked at Corbin, baffled.  He motioned her back out the foyer.  He massaged the back of his neck, not really sure what to say.  “Not a tea party?” Sophia asked him.

“No…not a a tea party. Um…how can I say?” he asked her. 

“By saying it,” she offered with a smile.

“You’re going to think I’ve lost it,” he replied, sitting down on the bench at the bottom the stairs. 

“Insanity seems to lead you down good roads,” she offered, referring to his house, his cars, his booming technology business, and his philanthropical work towards orchard creations in third world countries through biodegradable funerary boxes that contained tree seeds.

“I’ve been working on a new experiment,” he told her, trying to figure out where to start appropriately for this conversation.

“Fashion design?” she asked.

He looked down at his clothing, smirking at her humor.  “No, not really. Tempting for a different project maybe.  You remember, over coffee, how I was explaining my endeavors in chryonics and how I got to my funerary box idea?” he asked her.

“Well yes, that was last week after all.  I wouldn’t have passed my medical degree if I couldn’t remember more than a week of information,” she scooted down next to him.

“That hasn’t been my only experiment recently,” he confided.

“Oh?” she asked, curious.

“I’ve figured out time travel,” he told her, practically whispering.

“What?” she exclaimed.

“You’re not going to make me say that again are you?” he begged.

“Like, Albert Einstein equation time travel…or…time time travel?” she asked.

“Time time travel.  Machine and all,” he answered.

Sophia stared at him for a minute, and then looked up at the door that lead into the living room, and then back at him.  Her face fell from humorous fun to seriousness. “You aren’t joking, are you?” she asked. He shook his head, mute.

“And the girl?” she was a bit afraid to know.  She had hoped that after coffee, and coming to dinner, that maybe Corbin and her were hitting it off.

“I was trying to see Taos.  I ended up in the wrong spot. I found her in an alley being harassed by this big bloke.  I didn’t really think about it, I just sort of brought her through the way point, and the next thing I know, I have this Victorian girl in the thirty-first century.” He buried his head in his hands.

“Do you know who she is?” she asked, curious now.

“Miss Teslanoviach.  She just got denied her application to a science college.  Her parents are farmers,” he mumbled. He looked up to find Sophia gone. He groaned.  This was not how he had hoped to spend his evening.

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Polaris Skies: Ch 12

Trigger Warning: Rape, Miscarriage

You wanted to know what happened to make Michael hate you so much? You’re not going to like it, Shaman, Sven whispered maliciously as his host rode the black waves of unconsciousness.

He stood in the field again. The guy with the red wings was to his left as the sun set in front of him. The woman with the raven black wings swooped gracefully through the clouds accumulating around the sun. The man motioned to her, and she swung down from one of her curves and glided down to meet him. Twilight shifted the scene, dropping it away into a shadow puppet world of flickering candlelight and red.

A woman with waist-length hair and massive wings flew into the field. As tall as the man, she brushed back her hair, and a fire pit lit, flashing and jumping behind the shadow curtain. She danced around it; a beautiful voice sliced through the quiet field. Nat lulled to the tune, the flicking of the light mesmerizing.

The first woman flew off after bidding the second woman goodbye. The man searched around the screen as if looking for the lost birdwoman. In frustration, he threw something across the screen before flying off.

The tone shifted. The head of a beast grew behind the woman ominously before disappearing. A lean man emerged behind the screen. He approached the woman slowly, quietly, as she danced around her fire. The man’s nails grew, and his hair shortened, thickened. His limbs warped, and his face extended until he dropped to all fours. The woman danced with the wolf; they swayed and pranced, seeming for an eternity. Eventually, she knelt in front of the wolf, holding his muzzle in her hands. The wolf changed back to the man.

They were gentle, tender. The music shifted once more. A ticking permeated Nat’s senses, offbeat to the soft melody.

The man satisfied, and the woman asleep, drifted in the impending sunrise. He rose from the woman and looked around quickly. Slinking away, he disappeared into the woods as the wolf. The woman woke to find herself deserted. She cried bitterly and turned towards the fire.

Nat walked toward the screen that never came closer. Every step he took, the shadow woman’s stomach grew with pregnancy. On his ninth step, she had come to her third trimester.

An image flashed onto the shadow screen before him, like the poorly tuned projector from his college biology class. A cell, hazy around the edges of the slide, came into focus. Something removed the cellephane sheet, replacing it with the nucleus and the inner lying DNA. He watched slide after slide as it unwound and the prongs of the DNA exploded in the nucleus. The nucleus burst into the cell, and the cell erupted several other cells as a chain reaction. The image on the hellish screen continued to zoom out to broaden the vision. He watched the heart burst. His gut twisted. The image zoomed out to the inside of a womb. A cold shock ran up his spine as his brain fought the image. He looked at the body of a baby for a second, trying to understand what was wrong with it. The jaws were lengthened horrendously, disproportionately. The limbs bent at strange angles that Nat couldn’t recognise as human. Its hands were pulled towards it, but the nails on its fingers were so long that they reached past its small shoulders. The child was not going to make it.

The screen dropped to reveal the red-haired man, his wings cocooned around the woman. Her head lay on his lap, her hair spilling around her, white wings splayed. In her arms lay a swaddled ball. The hair on Nat’s arms stood on end. He knew, looking at her, that she was no longer in this world.

The man’s cold red eyes filled Nat’s vision until only one bright red iris and pitch-black pupil stared back at him.

Nat woke with a start, his stomach screaming at him. “Oh gods.” He rolled to his side and puked.

Now you know, čovjek, more than your winged friend, what happened to Raphael. Sven whispered, brushing at the hollow in the man’s chest.

How the hell did you come up with this, you sick bastard? Nat spat back.

Oh, the brain is a marvellous device when you throw the right switches. You’ve got a bit of Shaman blood in here. That’s useful. Did you know you can tap into Michael’s brain from here? For that matter, let me roam around a bit more, you know, get cosy, and who knows, maybe you’ll learn a few more things interesting. Sven growled, his anger seeping into Nat’s.

The hell with you! I thought you were supposed to be helping. A chill ran down Nat’s spine as another wave of nausea emptied his guts.

Deck woke to Nat gagging. “Nat, Nat, are you okay?”

Yeller placed a hand to Nat’s forehead, clicking his tongue at the frost cold beneath. “Nothing left in your stomach; you’re gonna go into hypothermia at this rate.” He pulled Nat to him, careful of the shirt now torn to pieces being used as bandaging.

“I know why Michael hates us.” Nat rested into Yeller’s warmth as he explained the nightmare.

“Damn,” Deck whistled.

“Sven?” Benj asked.

Nat nodded, replying, “Sven. I think I have turned into a Schitzo.” His cheeks blotched red, tears threatening at the edges of his eyes. “Yeller said he hasn’t heard his wolf talk. None of you have.”

“Not funny, Nat. I had an aunt who was diagnosed with it. It’s not something to joke about,” Zola barked at him.

“I’m not joking, Zola,” he pleaded, losing control of the river running behind his eyes. He knew he was going off the deep end. He had to be making this Sven up.

“He’s not making it up,” Deck defended Nat.

“Sven or the Schizophrenia?” Yeller asked.

“Sven. Nat doesn’t lie about things. You know that. He might be a dick and a hormonal asshole over this little birdie friend, but what would he gain from telling us this? Maybe this is another issue with this RWE junk,” Deck defended.

[1] man

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Subject 15: Ch 18

Fane shifted, his skin prickling at the heavy embroidery rubbing along his scars. He still wasn’t keen on the new clothes, though he was getting used to them. He studied himself in the mirror hung on the inside of his wardrobe. Black kurta, black churidar, black leather jutti. He had to admit, it all moved nicely and fit comfortably, but it didn’t have all the hiding places his gear afforded him.

He sighed. The silver embroidery around the yoke and arms seemed too formal for him. He seldom saw anyone else wearing black. Was he standing out too much? He clicked his tongue, pulling once more at his clothes. He ran his hand through his hair. It had grown past standard issue. He reached for his gel. The undercut needed to be touched up, but the top at least could still be slicked back. He rubbed the gel into his hair until it set up. The mirror told him he was a respectable individual at face value, but the snide smile hidden under the surface called him a faker. 

Adjusting his harness, he ignored the cruel personality in the reflection. The leather had been constructed as a sash with the attachment option to have a secondary harness hitched to it to go under his right arm for a gun. His Glock shined against the raven colour of his clothes. Walking death. Intimidation was good and all, but would it be wrong in front of the oil Baron that the Prince was trying to impress?

A hard rap at the door told him to hurry up. He flicked the latch and let Shelly in while he went and washed his hands of the gel. “Did the tailor make it?” Shelly demanded. Fane nodded, wiping his wet hands on a towel. “The jeweller?” she pressed. He pointed to the box on the table. Inside was a torc style choker, a pair of gold rings, and a set of heavy gold bracelets. Shelly walked over to look at the pieces admiringly. A faint pink-red crept across her face. 

“I was lucky to get away with him not piercing my ears,” he grouched.

“He can joke!” Shelly exclaimed. Fane gave her the most withering gaze he could afford before a smile tugged at his lip.

“And he thinks he’s funny?” She turned away from him and put on an exaggerated pout.

How long had it been since he had a woman tease him? The men would do it occasionally at base, but most women didn’t really approach him too much. “Don’t get used to it; I’m testing a theory.” He tugged at his sleeves. A sneer passed over his face momentarily. Nothing felt comfortable.

“That you won’t get struck by lightning for knowing how to laugh?” She contemplated the cloth swatches lying next to the jewellery. They were all a varying shade of red and gold embroidery. A slight gasp escaped her. Fane looked at her, puzzled. “What?” he asked, walking over to look at the pieces. The patterns were subtly different, but nothing he recognised as having any meaning.

“Nothing. I remembered something, that’s all. Come on, you’ll be late to meet with Prince Ishan. How have lessons been going?” She led the way out of the room.

“Pretty good,” he answered her in Punjabi.

“Fantastic!” she answered back.

“I doubt I’ll ever be as fluent in it as Prince Orlov is in English, but I hope to have enough command in it in the next year that I can comfortably direct the men here,” he switched back to English. He was in the early phrases part of his lessons, though his teacher was already pressing him into speaking simple sentences. He locked the door behind them and proceeded down the hallway to the Prince’s office. Ajay was there retrieving a packet of papers. Fane greeted him.

“Shelly, why am I wearing black today?” he whispered to the woman while they waited for the Prince to come out of the private bathroom attached to the office.

“It’s intimidating.” She raised a shoulder.

“I thought so.” He nodded.

“Usually, it’s reserved for funerals and sad times.” She picked at a wrinkle under his sash.

“Is this going to be a problem with the Baron?” he asked. 

A frown crossed her face. “It’ll leave an impression, but I don’t think it’ll matter too much to the man.” 

Fane led her over to his preferred spot of observation. “What are you doing today?” he asked her, trying to make conversation while they waited for the Prince and valet.

“I have a meeting at the local museum to view a collection of antique swords.” Her eyes gleamed.

“That sounds like fun,” he chuckled. Shelly was practically salivating. If he gave her room, she’d start on a dissertation or two. To him, going and seeing a collection of swords sounded thrilling compared with what he was about to do.

“I’m tracing the history of religious memorabilia right now for this section, and some of the swords are ceremonial in nature. I want to see if there are enough symbols on them to draw a couple of conclusions on that I’m hypothesising about.” She gestured broadly to the room.  Fane suspected she was imagining the museum cases at her fingertips as she explained about sword hilt decorations. “Ajay’s joining me,” she added quietly, watching the large man through mascara eyelashes. Fane glanced between her and the bodyguard. Her cheeks were slightly flushed. Was he Shelly’s date that night he had joined Prince Orlov for his family dinner?

The Prince finally emerged, dressed in a bright white kurta and white dhoti, interrupted with onyx threading to mimic Fane’s own attire. His platinum hair was half pulled back with a silver hair stick. The pinch in Fane’s side kneaded into him. The walking embodiment of mercury turned to Ajay and said a couple of words. Ajay came up to a formal salute and nodded to Shelly. She followed him out of the room while Prince Orlov took up his seat behind his desk.

“Good morning, Mr Anson.” The Prince said as he went searching about his desk for a specific paper.

“Good morning, Mr Orlov,” Fane waited at the Prince’s desk.

“I will be talking to the Baron today. I have had Griyashi reschedule your language lessons for after.”

“Very good, sir. I was reminded by both the tailor and the jeweller of the formal gala this evening.” Fane bowed at the hip and stepped back from the desk.

“Was the tailor able to get everything set?” The Prince sorted through documents.

“Yes, sir,” Fane responded as he found his comfortable spot, out of the view of windows and doors, a shadowed place that gave him a full view of everything.

At eleven, Fane escorted Prince Orlov from his office to the waiting limousine in the courtyard. He was not keen on the idea that they would be going to the Baron’s house for this meeting. It did not fit with the hierarchy of royalty. Fane stated as much to the Prince once they were seated and on the road.

“I don’t blame you for the opinion. I’d rather have my meetings in my offices too. The Palace is one of the safest places I know of in this country. However, I don’t trust this man much farther than I can throw him. I’d rather he not even have been invited to the gala. I will meet with him at his estate to avoid having him on ours as much as possible,” the Prince admitted.

“Is he something to be feared?” Fane’s hand immediately crept to his side, counting the hard edges of sheaths and holsters. The Prince watched out the window, quietly thinking. Fane studied the line of his throat, the tension in his shoulder. Orlov sighed and shrugged, not voicing a reply.

Pulling into a lavish white and gold-plated monstrosity of a mansion, Fane developed a critical perspective of what the Baron was compensating for. The flowers blooming from every spot imaginable were white. Even the green plants that provided a base to the landscaping were explicitly chosen for their variegated white lines. Through the car vents, air circulated in with the deep smell of honeysuckle, brushing away the pungent smells of the city streets.

Fane and Orlov made their way into the Baron’s house to be seated in what Fane could only classify as a parlour that Midas’s cat threw up on. Everything was gold and white. Even the table linens were embroidered in gold. Fane took up a position to the side and behind the Prince, who seated himself on the most prominent chair in the room.

Twenty minutes later and the Baron finally made his appearance. Fane’s stomach soured immediately. The stocky man was dressed to match his house. Every finger held a heavy gold ring. About his neck hung several gold chains. He reeked of exotic tobacco.

The Baron appraised Fane with open, withering, dismissive, incredulity. He seated himself, his retainers seeing to his comforts. Behind him stood his two bodyguards, both in contrasting yellow to the Baron.

The man and the Prince exchanged formalities, which Fane was able to understand without too much difficulty, though nuances regarding hierarchy and formal speech went over his head. A tray of luncheons was presented to the Prince, who went about the customary gratuities afforded such a gesture. So far, Fane was keeping up with the conversation. He watched the two men interact and talk. At the very least, they could be civil together.

The Prince set down his bone-thin teacup on its dish. His tone shifted. Prince Orlov leaned back in his chair, watching the Baron steadily. Fane could only catch snippets of what was being said now. Larger, longer words interspersed with English imported vocabulary. Dialling the sound down, he left the business talk as white noise. He watched the opposing man and his bodyguards, observing the tension rise in the room. He waited, ready to come over the chair and put himself between the three men and the Prince.

The ornate man snapped a finger, and another retainer appeared with a set of blue rolled papers. Fane shifted, catching his employer’s eye. The Prince nodded to him. He approached the man with the documents and asked to look at the rolls in his best mastery of the phrase his teacher had taught him that morning. They were general blueprints, nothing hidden in the tight bundles. He returned it to the man and allowed him to spread them out on the table.

Fane returned back to his position, hoping he had been clear and steady in his presentation. The Prince and the Baron returned to their discussion. The bodyguards appeared board. The man who had brought in the blueprints had already left.

The rest of the afternoon dragged on as the Baron and the Prince talked solemnly about the blueprints. They looked like topographic maps to Fane, but that seemed odd to have been constructed on architectural papers. Prince Orlov would explain to him if necessary; otherwise, he didn’t need to know.

As the sun cast long shadows through stained glass and the white and gold room glowed a warm honey shade, the Prince wrapped up his conversation with the man. The Baron asked about the preparations of the gala. They were finally utilising small talk again, enough that Fane could decipher what they were discussing again. Would they have enough time to get back to the palace and prepare? It would be fine, the Prince reassured as he signalled for Fane to follow him out the door. The Baron wished him well as he saw them out the entrance and into the limousine.

The grand receiving hall glittered and dazzled. Gold-toned chandeliers burned overhead. Men and women dressed in formal attire milled around the edges, leaving way in the centre of the parquet floor for couples waltzing to strains of Bach. Night had set beyond the two-story windows, leaving the red velvet windows in dusky violets and soft crimson. Waiters floated amongst the crowd, glasses of wine and champagne gleaming on silver platters.

Fane tugged at his shirt. It was similar to the outfit he had first seen the Prince wear at the general’s dinner party. Orlov had mentioned the party to him during one of their many meetings that had taken place that week leading up to him taking over the men’s training. Initially, he tried to get out of it. Parties weren’t his thing.

Orlov had informed him Ajay would require assistance as guards for him during the party. It was an important time for Fane to meet with individuals of status that had to come in and out of the palace. He would have to familiarise himself with many people, and the party would be a prime moment to meet the merchants and nobles in question.

Orlov’s personal tailor showed up at his door first thing upon the Prince and his return from the Baron. Looking down at himself, he couldn’t believe what he was wearing. Admittedly, it was comfortable but bizarre. It was significantly more formal and form-fitting than any of the other outfits he had been bequeathed earlier. His shirt went down below his knees – a long kurta with elaborate embroidery. His pants were a weird level of tight and loose in all the wrong places. Shelly stepped in with instructions on how to get the pleats and ties to wrap appropriately. It was a couple levels more ornate than what he had been wearing earlier. The shoes. Now those he could get behind. They weren’t as stiff as his boots or the leather jutti, but he found them relatively nimble and silent on the flooring. The whole thing was red with gold trim from shirt to shoes. The tailor had gushed at how well it looked. He had to admit, the tailor knew how to match his fabrics. The snide personality in the mirror had even realised he looked good. 

Shelly led him around the floor edge, introducing him, but everyone blended together in a nauseating blur. On several occasions, she fielded a few questions with blushes and modest answers. Fane was only surviving through the most basic of conversation. He couldn’t quite grasp yet the nuances that were big questions. She had neglected to translate those questions that made her stutter and blush. He figured it was directed for her and didn’t matter for him.

Eventually, about his seventeenth individual in, he was beginning to stifle and wanted to escape. The man he faced off with was heavy, best described as round. Heavily encrusted in jewellery and gold cloth, he was off-putting at best. Fane had at least been able to greet him with a basic hello, how are you, nice to meet you greeting in Punjabi. It was the Baron from earlier. They chatted cordially about what Fane was doing for the royal family. Questions slowly stewed into a more pointed commentary. Shelly continued her translation, but they were becoming clipped and significantly shorter than what the man said. 

“Shelly, stop translating for a second,” Fane commanded gently, almost a whisper. She glanced at him, her cheeks hot. She looked like she was about to start crying. “What is this da vi’aha that I keep hearing?” He flubbed the pronunciation. Several times he had heard this when Shelly had not translated.

“They keep asking if we’re married. I didn’t think it was important that you need to answer the question when I could defend myself,” the translator bit out.

“It’s getting to you, though?” Fane led her to a quiet window looking out on one of the compound’s pools. The Baron stalked after them with a party in tow.

“I’m unchaperoned, leading around a man that is neither my father nor my brother. I’ve heard a couple of lewd things already.” She shrugged, her reflected outline bitter.

“Why not lie and say you are married to me?” Fane studied the crowd in the glass.

“Because I don’t want to deal with the lie later if I have to face these people again,” she replied rationally. The crowd, with the Baron in the midst, motioned them from the window. Fane followed Shelly to the floor.

“Fair enough. What can I do to make this easier?” He offered.

“I appreciate your thoughtfulness. I do.” She ducked as the Baron returned to his perturbed questions by his expression. Fane itched for his knife. His shirt was not convenient for the sheath he tended to keep at his hip, but the beautifully crafted leather and jewelled one at his back was begging to taste blood.

“What did he ask you?” Fane tested the waters, wondering if she was going to shorten what she had been asked. He pinned the man with dismissive aloofness, letting his icy persona drop the surrounding three meters of space a couple degrees.

“I’m being chewed out for being a little whore and you being some entitled ginger white boy if you want the gist of it. This guy’s a misogynistic, racist dick,” she whispered. It took everything for Fane not to turn deadly on the Baron. A chill ran down his spine. He glanced to his left. Orlov had appeared at his side.

Dressed in a white and silver matched version of Fane’s outfit, he gleamed, oozing his royal status. Lean and tall, his yellow undertoned fair skin and amber eyes screamed for attention. A formal turban, different from the religious ones Fane had seen on the streets outside the palace, hid platinum hair. Pins of silver threads and pearls hung from folds in clusters, sparkling in the glow of the chandeliers.

“Is everything all right here?” Orlov posed to Fane. The Prince’s face was closed off; a look of exhausted annoyance flashed through his eyes only for a second when his glance fell on the rotund man ruining his translator’s psychological stability.

“Shelly is done being harassed, and if she starts crying, I draw blood,” Fane hissed under his breath. The Prince glanced toward the petite woman in a sleek anarkalis and dupatta. It accentuated every curve perfectly yet left her covered in such a fashion as to not be considered indecent, even in such a culturally conservative region as New Punjab. Her hair was done up, and she had seen a cosmetologist for professional makeup for the evening. Orlov could commend Fane’s choice to be protective of her at the moment.

“Shelly?” The Prince directed the woman’s attention from the perturbing individual. Her cheeks were flushed scarlet, and her eyes sparkled around the edges. She informed Prince Orlov in as quiet and direct a manner as possible, keeping the explanation concise and unbiased. The Prince pursed his lips. They were in a bit of a quandary. All three of them needed to maintain some semblance of social civility in these circumstances to not jeopardise the royal family’s power, but all of them were done with playing the doormat.

“Shelly. How about you walk around with Ajay for a little while? I’ll act as translator for Mr Anson here. Take a break. If you want to leave, I completely understand,” the Prince offered. Relief eased through the woman’s shoulders. She thanked him graciously with a soft curtsy and joined Ajay to circulate with Prince Abhi.

That left Fane and Orlov facing down the man who had sent Shelly away with her tail between her legs. Orlov studied the Baron as he would study an ill-conceived farcically rendered statue, debating if it was poorly executed or if the creator had meant for it to be a philosophical statement on the quality of burnable rubbish heaps. Fane eased a step in front and to the side of the Prince, trying to provide him with some protection from the perverse Baron. Orlov snapped at the man. Fane shifted as the harsh words flew under the volume level of threatening hiss. The man turned ashen, a disdainful grimace raising his lips over his teeth. Those mingling close had gone quiet, watching the spectacle.

How badly Fane wished he could understand what was going on. He itched for his regular clothes, the ones with custom pockets. The ones in which he could hide a small armoury of weapons. This skin-tight outfit showed off his physique but did nothing for safety. He couldn’t handle that many people all looking at them.

“Anson?” Orlov nodded his head to the man. Fane snapped from the Baron’s profile to slide a glance to the Prince’s face. The man’s eyes glittered like chipped yellow diamonds, pinning the Baron. 

Fane eased up next to his employer, agitation slipping acid down his ribs. “Sir?” he breathed, wary he had dug himself a hole somehow with the Baron. He had a hand ready to draw a knife out of his sleeve if he had need. Tension resonated through his shoulders. The crowd had split, some remaining to witness the spectacle while others left to group around a massive doorframe. The rest of the royal family had moved out of the room into the next, where food spread on elegant silk tablecloths.

Orlov’s gaze dropped to Fane’s mouth and rested there for a second. Shoulders relaxed, the Prince leaned into his bodyguard’s ear to hide his face from the crowd. “Can you hate me for what I’m about to do later? Don’t slit my throat. Please, Fane?” he whispered.

The use of his first name hit Fane to the core. The burn in his side shot sparks through his scars, a rolling tidal wave crashing against his chest. He sought out the Prince’s eyes. Heat rose to his cheeks, noting the man’s fixation. Blond feathered eyelashes were lush and cloudy. His throat clicked in a dry swallow as the Prince’s eyes shifted back and forth across the slash of his lips. He did not have enough time to contemplate this change, or maybe he had all the time in the world as it slowed to measure every muscle twitch and shift between the two of them.

The Prince’s slim fingers found his chin and tilted his head back, exposing his neck. Orlov’s hand moved from his chin roughly, decisively, to circle behind his neck, his thumb feathering the soft spot under his jaw. Those eyes, Fane dropped into them, swimming, drowning. He was in trouble. Orlov pulled his head to him. Lips touched his, and the world shattered into a rain of comets and ice. He melted under the sudden contact, the semicircles of his golden-red eyelashes sweeping down over dusky blue to grace his cheeks before his eyes snapped wide in shock.

The Prince had kissed him. Not a peck on the cheek greeting either. The tick of the clock hand had stalled. He would swear to that to his dying day. It took what he could to contain the sudden shake that ran through his legs. Orlov withdrew himself from the kiss, leaving Fane perplexed and empty. He hesitated, regrouping his scattering thoughts before bowing to the Prince and stepping back and to the side of the man. The flustered man needed somewhere where the Prince wouldn’t be able to watch him. 

Orlov continued his discussion with the oil Baron. The man bowed deeply many times. Fane figured it was some type of plea for forgiveness. He hoped that he’d be able to figure out the language quickly. He was growing weary of not knowing what was going on. Irritation leaving creases at the corner of his mouth, the Prince dismissed the man.

Fane maintained his position at Orlov’s side for another hour as he mulled over what had happened. He greeted people with his shaky Punjabi and listened carefully as the Prince translated for him. His head wasn’t in the game, though. It was floating off on cloud nine.

After probably the fortieth introduction and exchange, the Prince made his way out of the ballroom. Fane followed him for a short distance around a corner before coming to a halt. Orlov walked a couple more paces before realising his bodyguard no longer followed him. He turned to find Fane in the hallway, studying floor tiles. “What is it, Mr Anson?”

“The fuck, Mr Orlov?” Fane ran a hand along his arm to still the shaking he could no longer hide.

“Mr Anson?” The Prince approached him cautiously.

“I am a man. You know that, right, sir?” Fane bit out. “I know you came to base thinking I was a woman when you showed up to recruit split-shot Anson, and I might have effeminate features, as I’ve been informed more than once, but you do know that, right?” Brittle, his voice slid on hot tears threatening at the back of his throat.

“Mr Anson, what is it?” Orlov’s fingers rolled as he fought to keep from shoving them in his pockets or crossing his arms to bury them against his sides protectively.

“I may not speak your language, sir. So, I probably am misunderstanding quite a lot of things here, but is it in your culture’s custom for the Prince to randomly kiss a guy full on the mouth? And I know that wasn’t any kind of greeting, so don’t insult my intelligence.” Fane checked his emotions behind an emergency wall. 

The Prince watched him closely. Fane’s eyes were dilated, the same as when he had first met the man. His cheeks were flushed like fever. He swayed ever so slightly; he could have passed for being drunk. His hand at his left was clenched, the elbow squeezing into his side enough to be noticed as different from his regular stance.

“I’m sorry. I may have ruined your reputation. If you have a woman back home, or…Ms Shelly? I didn’t mean to….” Orlov suddenly realised he had overstepped many boundaries. Fane was shaking. The Prince raised a hand to his mouth, covering an unruly emotion. He trembled as a cold draft chilled the hallway.

Fane swore he was being laughed at. “Am I a joke to you, some kind of status symbol?” His chest twisted tightly around his lungs, pinching and pulling to rip them apart. The lights above them dimmed, casting the hallway into harsh shadows. He was coming down from an adrenaline rush he had been trying to ignore while out on the floor. He had kept his feelings in check behind a mask of cool aloofness, but now, away from prying eyes, his exterior was crumbling.

“I am amazed you didn’t straight-up black my eye back in there. I’m glad you didn’t, honestly,” the Prince placated. Fane waited silently, wrestling with crushing the vestiges of his emotions from giving his tumulting brain away.

“Naag was accusing you of being a white spy that could never be loyal to me. I asked him what would prove your loyalty. He said that anyone not loyal to me would probably punch me if I kissed them.” Ishan tugged at his suit to settle out imaginary wrinkles.

“And you went along with that? Are you an idiot? Seriously? A kiss? What about stepping off the roof of the building or eating a scorpion? All that did was give him ammunition to smear your name.

“How’d you know I wouldn’t have?” Fane asked bitterly.

“I didn’t,” the Prince admitted.

“So, did you prove your point?” Fane flicked from studying the swirling pattern of the stone to the half-columns in the hall, anywhere other than his employer.

“Most assuredly, yes.” The Prince smiled.

“Well, I’m glad I could be your guinea pig, sir. I can escort you back to your quarters if you wish it. If you still need a guard for the evening, Ajay would probably be more than thrilled to work with you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m headed back to my room, Your Highness.” Fane fought his anger. He walked down the hallway, intent on passing the Prince and proceeding to the stairs.

“I didn’t mean to call your manliness into question. I was trying to keep -” the Prince began protesting.

Fane spun on him. “No, you were goaded into something stupid that could put your position into jeopardy while you did what you saw fit to continue ruling the way you do. I’m not telling you your methods were in vain. I’m just not in the mood to find out the reasons, ‘k? Follow me if you want a guard, else I’m leaving you in this hallway.” Fane turned, trying to keep close to the wall. He wanted to blend into the shadows and disappear.

“Mood? Reasons?” Orlov blinked as the ginger man walked past him in his blazing red suit. He caught Fane’s wrist, heavy gold bracelets clanking.

Fane stopped, refusing to face the man. He wanted to crawl into a small hole. Why can’t he drop it? 

The Prince took the couple of steps needed to put himself in front of the redhead. “Mr Anson?” The Prince asked again.

Fane couldn’t look at him. “You know that was your first time using my first name?” He finally looked up at the man.

“I’m sorry if that offended you, Mr Anson,” The Prince lowered his lashes in a bid for modesty.

“Prince, you are an idiot.” Fane freed himself from the man’s grasp. He made to get out from between the Prince and the wall.

“My name is Ishan,” growled the Prince, pushing Fane back to the wall, pinning him. One thigh pressed between his legs, trapping him. Orlov’s hand wound behind Fane’s head, tunnelling into his hair, pulling his head back. The Prince had expected resistance, knew Fane could get away if he wanted, but what he found was a smouldering heat in Fane’s eyes, a burning desire taking his ice blue to a warm cerulean. Orlov lowered his head, kissing him once again.

Fane closed his eyes, enraptured. He wanted the catastrophic heat to wipe him from the earth. The hallway shifted sideways as the temperature rose. Fingering the silk at the edge of his sense, he sought out the Prince’s narrow waist, pulling him closer. He wanted this to last. Fire ran the length of his scars, a heady numbness pinching his gut as Ishan’s thigh gently ground against him. A thought punched through his high about the same time the Prince pulled away. “Why do you insist on making fun of me today? I’m an enlisted man with no admirable background to his name. Stop,” Fane demanded.

The Prince pulled back, defeated, dejected. “I’m sorry. I thought-” Ishan began.

“I may have come from the streets. I may be a murderer. I have my pride and my honour, though. If I’m to remain being me, I can’t lose them now.” Fane was holding back the screaming burn encompassing him, making dark demands he refused to listen to. He looked away, trying to check himself. He needed to cool off. His body was coming unglued.

“Fane?” Ishan asked again. He shivered as the hallway chilled around him.

Fane finally faced the man, his anger cold and clear, his warm cerulean seeping into arctic glaciers. “I don’t want to ruin a good working relationship for a simple one-night tryst because you’re curious, Your Highness. You have a position to fulfil, expectations to uphold, and a family to save face for. When there is nothing here between us, I’d rather not ruin either of our reputations,” Fane bit out.

“But you -” Ishan tried to protest.

Fane levelled a disdainful look on him. “Don’t say it,” the soldier-turned-bodyguard whispered more to himself than to the Prince.

“You were enjoying it.” The Prince’s voice brushed up his spine. Fane’s gut dropped into his shoes. He couldn’t look the man in the eye. He couldn’t even reply. “Why not enjoy yourself for the evening?” Ishan offered. “You haven’t exactly told me you aren’t into other men, so I’m assuming things here.”

“Because I’m the one that gets to deal with the fallout tomorrow morning when you dismiss me from your bed. I’m the one that has to look at you for the rest of the time I’m here, knowing what we did and knowing that you don’t really care.” Fane shook the Prince off.

Ishan Orlov stood in the hall, mutely watching his ginger bodyguard walk away in the flaming red and gold kurta. His gut twisted. Resigning himself, he followed the man at a distance up the flight of stairs.

Fane led the way to Ishan’s apartment and waited until the Prince had closed the door behind him before he

Fyskar: Ch 12

Finished with lunch, Seonaid and Fearchar took up their positions on the rug once more. “You have surely led a remarkable life, Eoin.” Seonaid drank from her cup.

Eoin nodded reluctantly. I had hoped, running as far as I could, that my boys and I would be safe, he explained. He sipped at another cup of qahva. Setting it aside, he paced the length of the house before settling his back against the main door frame to study the couple on his rug.

Fearchar glanced at his wife to study her reaction before turning back to the doc. “The slavers didn’t take your hairstick or your torc?” The handyman pointed to Eoin’s neck.

Eoin fingered the heavy gold. I had dropped the bracelet in my house by accident when I tried to hide my boys before we ran to try to escape the flames and the slavers. I retrieved it later, on my return here. I wanted to see Egret Nest, what had become of it. I had a jeweller in Morocco straiten it for me, seeing as I couldn’t wear it with the bracers.

The slavers thought about killing me to get my torc off. One man was too intelligent to let the rest do that. My sons and I were too different, even for Egret Nest housing a wide variety of people. The shape of our face, my tattoos, the torc were enough to make that man suspicious. The boys can speak Xhosa, Maba and Komuz – what the people of Egret Nest spoke. That’s all they had ever known, outside of my internal communication.

For me, they never gave me an opportunity to touch them outright after that blow. I was just the mute doctor chained to everyone else. They took my necklaces, my sash, my kente, everything that the Egret Nest used to recognize my status as their medicine man. Masud knew when he would make a deal on the valuable oddities. He grimaced at the thought of the old man. He drank deeply from his cup at the thought.

Seonaid stumbled through the explanation, some of the words still unfamiliar. “You speak our language well enough in here.” She pointed out, tapping her skull. “Why do you use the Norman’s language with your hands?”

He looked down at the milky white skin of his knuckles. His forefinger and middle finger were still stained blue, though the brilliant depth of the shade had lightened with a good scrub. He turned them over, the light blush of colour across his palms barely noticeable in the house’s dark. Henri, he signed the man’s name.

“Henri?” Seonaid reached out her hand to Eoin, wanting to know more. He did not reach out to her. He stared down at his bracers sullenly. She retracted her hands and laid them in her lap, waiting.

Death, you are familiar with. Destruction you have seen. But have you ever watched the life leave a body that continues walking? Have you ever witnessed unending terror that breaks the soul? What came after Amina and Tau and Egret Nest was a new level of horror that I could never imagine humans could possibly reach. Living on this Isle, away from the mainland and the things they did, I wasn’t aware that such atrocities could possibly even exist. I thought the world had come unhinged, his fingers slumped. Seonaid made her best explanation for Fearchar, but they both knew what he had said had more depth than what she could understand.

“Ye dinnae ‘ave ta show us.” Fearchar eased the man’s trembling. 

Eoin shook his head. He rubbed his splotchy face with his hands and pulled his hair over his shoulder to brush through it for a minute. They let him comfort himself, waiting patiently for when he would open up again. He carefully plated the length into a thick braid and twisted it upon his head, pushing his hairstick back into it to hold it out of the way. I must leave for a bit.

“Where are you off to in this weather? You’ll freeze.” Fearchar heaved himself off the rug and brushed off his kilt. Eoin turned to his bags and rummaged out the remainder of his clothing, padding himself in warmth. “Chief, yer not goin’ out in this.” Fearchar touched Eoin’s hand to draw his attention. A massive bird flew at him in the void. He ducked, pulling away from the contact. “What was that?” Fearchar demanded, trying to get a handle on his heartbeat.

Vanora.

“Who’s Vanora? I don’t know anyone in the village with that name.” Seonaid sat up with interest.

Vanora is my teachdaire spiorad. I need to see to her today. She has been left alone too long. He gathered up his cloak and mask and slipped his gloves on.

“A teachdair spiorad? Like an angel?” Fearchar tried to put his finger on the unusual term.

She is my way of communicating to the Woods. I thought she was long dead, slaughtered by the Dalerochs. Why they’ve kept her, I do not know. She is in poor condition and should be seen to before I continue with my explanations.

“This bird in your head is real? Alive?” Fearchar rushed to put on his boots and a heavy knit sweater over his shirt and kilt.

I found her last night in the mews after you went to the village. I left her with food, but it will have solidified. I have nowhere to put her here to watch for her health. She is poorly. I need to go.

“Right, Chief, right. I’ll come with you.” Fearchar tossed his cloak on and pilfered his wife’s larder for a few handfuls of dried meat.

Thank you.

Eoin and Fearchar returned to the old house on the hill.

“Where’s this mews you were talking about?” Fearchar demanded. Eoin motioned the man around to the back through a path that would not be seen from the road. The handyman paused in surprise at the building. “I always thought this was the summer kitchens.”

Eoin shrugged and went to the barred window to poke at the rug. A raspy cry announced the bird had lived through the storm. Fearchar crowded him to see in. Eoin slipped to the side, giving the man more room. He went to the door and opened it softly, whistling his presence. The bird returned a pleased call. The room was not much warmer than the outside, but the wind was cut down. As he had suspected, her feed had frozen solid. Fearchar peered into the door to watch the man pull back his hood and mask. The bird bobbed at the movement, intrigued. It crooned and clicked at his presence. Eoin worked the bird to his glove and gave her a handful of the dried ration Fearchar had provided.

“She’s a gorgeous beasty, if not for the missing feathers.” Fearchar slipped in. Vanora spotted him, spread her wings and hissed. He backed up to the door.

Not like men.

“What do you mean not like men? You’re holding her.”

Liked my wife.

“Ah. She’s partial.” Fearchar caught the single-hand remarks, now that Eoin’s other hand was tied up with a bird in it. “Should have let Seonaid come up. She’d a’ liked the lady.”

Eoin glanced at Fearchar. His voice had gone soft, mesmerized by the creature in his hand. Vanora had a way of captivating people. He smirked and nodded. It would have been good to bring Seonaid. Vanora would have liked her.

“What are we to do with your partner?” Fearchar pulled another handful of meat from his pouch. Vanora spotted the vitals, her head swirling to verify its location. “She’s not going to fly at me, is she, if I give this to you?”

Slow. Eoin encouraged Vanora off his hand and walked back to Fearchar. Do you want to see if she’ll remove your eyes?

Fearchar paled at the proposition. “You’d let me?”

Eoin pulled his left glove off, the red bobble swinging, catching the light filtering through the ceiling. He handed it to Fearchar, who slipped it on. Good time to see if she still detests men. Fearchar, though, was not paying attention to Eoin’s hands as he cinched the glove on. Eoin shifted to stand in front of Fearchar, keeping an eye on the bird focused on the food in Fearchar’s hand.

He showed Fearchar how to let her perch in the void, giving him a demonstration with his memory of Vanora before trying it with the real beast. “Be gentle but confident. Give her the top of your hand and keep your arm in a bit. It’s easier for her to balance almost on the top of your thumb. If you drop your hand, she’ll start climbing your arm, and without leather, her talons will go through your clothes.”

“Why does she not fly to you when you make the same whistle?” Fearchar asked when Eoin released him, checking his stance.

She had the whole building length to fly, but if she has not been allowed to free fly in years, and very little incentive or interaction…? They are intelligent creatures and need stimulation. I’m amazed she hasn’t died.

“How old is she?” Fearchar mimicked Eoin’s whistle, coming forward close enough to try encouraging the skittish bird onto his gloved hand. Vanora shifted away from him, moving down the pole to the other side to step down. “Do I pursue her, or what?”

Leave her for now. She’s done. We’ll leave food for her here. I need to come back tomorrow to make sure she eats properly. Eoin’s shoulders sagged. He could not expect miracles. He pointed Fearchar to where he could leave the extra scraps of food.

“Can we bring Seonaid next time?” Fearchar’s eyes glistened with amused interest. Eoin nodded, a smile at the corners of his lips. If only he could laugh like he used to. Fearchar exited the mews after Eoin.

That’s up to her if she wants to see Vanora. “Shall we head back, or do you need to do more here?” Fearchar glanced about the space, the wind pushing ice into his clothes. Eoin motioned him down to the road. “Guess you’re done.”

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Firefly Fish: Ch 17

“What can I do when I get there? Is there a way to undo a mark?” I asked as water rushed past me. Holding onto his back fin, I could not be improving Saeesar’s aerodynamics, but it was easier to hold on this way and freed up his arms for propulsion.

“I don’t know. I don’t know how your talent works. The best I have are the cautions we’re taught growing up. There are a few top tiers you just don’t mess with in the Antumnos. The sea gods tend to be one of them. They’re monstrous, massive, strange, singular phenomena that can devour an entire nursery ground in one bite. Kraken fall into that line of sea gods. Most children of the Sea Gods are just offspring. Some have talents, but most tend to be the crossed offspring of average creatures. They lack intelligence and have a short lifespan because of compatibility issues.” Saeesar caught a current that sent us hurtling through the darker water.

Swarms of flashing silverfish brushed alongside us in swathes for more than a mile. A deep scent, one that left my stomach cramping, fascinated me as I watched smaller grey creatures dash in and out of the sholes.

“But those born to intelligence?” I fixated on the grey creatures, my focus drawing in until I recognized the small squids flicking in and out of the schools, hunting.

“Tend to be longer lived. It is not unheard of for a sea god and one of the Antumnos producing spawn, and they are abnormally long-lived. A human cross is infrequent in the best of times.” Saeesar’s voice turned into that of a philosophical school teacher.

“And Puca’s children?” My hands cramped with the desire to get hold of one of the squid. “You said the pack hunt. There must be more. No children have been found in a couple centuries. These are the intelligent Antumnos cross?”

Saeesar neglected to reply, twisting with the current. We passed out from the shelf and down through a series of jutting cliffs and valleys. The landscape reminded me of New Mexico. The canyons and desert drifted beneath the refraction of light and particle density.

“At least, before we lose any more food opportunities…” I alluded, taking an interest in a set of marlin following our movement.

Saeesar’s speed at getting us back to the nesting grounds slackened. “They will not be happy being singled out.”

“They are intelligent?” I sized up what could make for good bits of grilled fish steaks.

Saeesar snorted, a burst of tiny bubbles telling me he was laughing at me. “They are Antumnos. Do you not see them?”

I waited for their form to coalesce into something closer to Saeesar or Taigre’s. It wasn’t coming to me. I was hungry, and they looked like food.

Saeesar glanced back at me, an edge of worry slicking his fins. “How often do you eat?”

“Three, four times a day preferred. I’ve had maybe two meals in the last three days, and there wasn’t much on Captain’s ship before.” I desperately wanted to let go of Saeesar and take after one of the marlins. It was smaller, a bit slower than the rest of the school. Black fins with stressed white stripes curled around me, blocking out my fascination. “What?”

Saeesar’s features were that of worry, though he did not frown like a human. It was the set of his shoulders and the method by which his fingers and fins worked to redirect me back toward the shole of silverfish. “I made an error in seeing to your health, Kraken child. Let’s see to your hunting before taking you to nesting grounds.”

His tone had gone cold, and he was handling me like a china doll. Furrowing my brow, I went along with him, confused at the action. “Did I do something wrong?” I asked.

“Not necessarily wrong. You are adhering to your instincts, and sometimes they are dangerous to others. It is not bad, but it does need to be dealt with.” Saeesar fought the current back a quarter of a mile to the edge of the school.

“Are these Antumnos too?” I asked, now wary of letting go of him.

“Most are fish, easily hunted and frequently eaten,” Saeesar regarded me warily.

“Why do you still look like you then if I couldn’t see the marlin as Antumnos? If I let go of you, will I recognize you and not try to eat you?” I dragged in saltwater, tasting that pungent spice now that we were closer to the squid diverting edges of the schools.

The marlin shot into the sholes, breaking up the pattern, startling Saeesar and me. “No! Get out of here!” He yelled at the larger beasts. No matter how I looked at them, they looked like regular fish.

“Squid. Just a squid, Saeesar,” I whispered, homing in on a little grey creature jetting in our direction. Saeesar stilled under my admittance, his fins going static. Using his immense size like I did with Nuada, I launched after the slippery beast, getting my hands around the pliable thing. I had never noticed them to have a smell. Everything out of the ocean smelled of ocean. Now though, with saltwater rather than air, the creature smelled pungent, spicy, close to woody mushrooms. I glanced back to Saeesar. “It’s okay, right?”

His protection between marlin and me was a resolute shadow splitting off the school of silverfish into two distinct patterns. The larger fish were interested in him, circling close. He glanced back at me, his tail twitching in irritation. My heart sank with guilt. That type that sinks in whenever I had to realize I was different from everyone else. The creature wrapped its tentacles around my hands, desperately seeking escape. I kept my grip on the slippery thing but gentle so as not to damage it.

“No. He’s Antumnos. Hold on.” He motioned for me to wait and turned back to the marlin. “Stay out of the way if you don’t want to get eaten.” Hissing, he revealed a mouth of sharp teeth at them before nudging back my way to look over the squid I had caught.

“Is it Kraken child, like me?” I asked, frustrated with my inabilities.

“No, no, he is a member of the Nautili clans. He would very much like to not be consumed at the moment. Would you mind releasing him?” Saeesar asked carefully.

I released my grip, the grey tentacled beast shifting to put distance between us. “I would have you know I am the leader of my nesting ground in the Soft Southern Ridge!” The creature’s voice squeaked at me. Squid. It still looked like a squid.

“Are there any here that a child of Puca may hunt?” Saeesar asked.

The creature froze at the question, all of its colorful swirling spots going sallow. “Puca child?”

“I’m sorry. I-I can see some of you proper. Right now, you just look like a squid, and I’m hungry. I didn’t mean no harm for your people.” I waved off, putting Saeesar in front of me. “I’m sort of new to this whole thing.”

The marlin had stilled at this admittance. The sholes drifted, some still moving mindlessly while others had frozen at this announcement. “There are others here in this school of fish, aren’t there?” I asked Saeesar, taking account of those who moved and those who watched.

“Your human sight is interfering with your Antumnos sight because you are hungry,” Saeesar hedged as we waited for a reply from the creatures.

“I really need to eat and get going. I’ve made a mistake and need to fix it before others like me come,” I tried to explain.

“The Pack!” The call went up through the school. Silverfish and squid dashed from the area, fleeing in droves. Left behind were the mindless wanderers and the marlin. 

I flicked a glance from Saeesar to the marlin and back to the one squid identified as part of the Antumnos. “I’m sorry. Really, I am. I don’t know. I didn’t mean for that to sound like a threat.”

“They’ll help you.” The tiny squid’s tentacles flicked to the marlins, which were herding fish my way. It wasn’t the fish, though, that interested me; it was the few squids in the pack that had my focus. This time, with nothing to push against, I tried to press through the waters for one of the darting beasties. Three times I missed before one of the marlin charged, and I got a nice-sized one that I could easily share with my entire family. I returned with my catch to Saeesar and the squid waiting at the outskirts of the school. The marlin, finding its fill, circled back to us.

“This one’s edible, yes?” I presented my catch. 

The Antumnos squid recoiled at the question. “To the children of Puca, who isn’t edible?”

“I mean, I shouldn’t eat you, right?” I held my wiggling meal to my chest, waiting. If I had been on land, I would have been salivating.

“I would prefer not to be eaten or marked for death, no,” the squid replied.

“Can I eat this then?” I asked once more. “It was on your hunting grounds, I think?” I turned to Saeesar.

“Our hunting grounds are migratory, but ask them.” The squid motioned, and the largest of the marlin entered our circle.

“I’m sorry, um, is it alright with you if I eat this?” I panicked at the sword-like nose so close to me.

“They say yes.” Saeesar ducked his gratitude. 

I copied the movement. “I can’t eat all of it. Would it offend them if I ate what I could and gave them what was left? I think marlin eat squid?”

Saeesar blew a set of bubbles, and one of the marlins twisted in a summersault. “They say that is one of the most respectable deals they’ve heard from a Kraken child.”

“I mean, I’m kind of eating off their hunting grounds. Not sure if it’s a deal.” I bit into the soft spot of the mantle that led to a crunch, and the squid in my hands stopped twitching. The world situated itself in order as I dragged in the flavour, that of understory and the soft bits in bacon. I made short work of half of the mantle and internals, and a pair of tentacles before the Antumnos resolved itself, and the little squid and marlin took on resemblance more closely to that of Saeesar. Staring, I forgot about the meal to analyse the small Antumnos squid. Its mantle looked more like a long hat, and the tentacles were many long thin arms. Spirals of red lines circled around its mantle, different from its spots. Its face was closer to that of Taigre and Saeesar, however, lacking a nose entirely.

“My table manners are atrocious; forgive me.” I ducked, looking at the mess floating around me.

“You haven’t eaten me, but you were…” the little grey Antumnos creature twisted with worry as all his spots flickered.

“Siren Voice,” a female marlin whispered, coming closer. She, like the other marlin, was a long, blue creature with a single narrow fin down her back and protruding crescent moon tail. Her mouth was sharpened, her nose merging to the long point, though the length had shrunk comparably now that I saw her for what she was.

“Saeesar?” I trembled, all of my spots glowing at the analysis. The group pushed back to give me distance.

The Antumnos marlin, the female, fidgeted before shifting closer. She fluttered, her fins catching the sunlight filtering through the calm surface. I floated out of her reach, twisting to watch her dance, unsure of her motivations. Slowly I backpedalled my way toward Saeesar until I pushed into his chest. His arms encircled me as his fins came up to protect me and the other half of my meal. “He’s taken.”

“There’s been no Mate Claim, Bet-tah,” the female marlin hissed.

“He’s claimed me,” Saeesar bit back.

“There’s no proof,” the largest of the male marlin clipped back.

I stared down at my meal. I had put us in another dangerous situation. My spots glowed in my little nest, illuminating Saeesar’s features harshly. “We need to get to Taigre before the others reach him.”

The marlin stilled. “Others?” one of the smaller males asked.

“I bit someone. My siblings will be coming.” I looked up to Saeesar’s stolid features. He glared down the marlin at my admittance.

“You were not joking when you said that earlier?” The little squid creature squeaked before rocketing off to the darker depths.

“I said I would leave you with the other portion of my meal.” I glanced to the marlin, not willing to leave the safety of Saeesar’s fins.

“Take it. It’s yours, child of Puca. Siren’s Voice isn’t worth getting eaten over.” The marlin turned to join the little squid creature.

With their departure, Saeesar and I were left to ourselves. “Do you eat squid?” I asked him.

His edgy mood dissolved when the marlins were lost to the dark waters. “The little ones similar to me eat grubs and insects. The Bet-tah of the Antumnos, though, enjoys snakes and sweetwater eel. I tend to hunt saltwater eel.”

“So, no to squid?” I ventured, unsure of what to do with the carcass if I wasn’t going to consume it immediately.

“More to the point, offering food like this, it’s, well…” Saeesar trailed off, all his fins fluffing again.

“Courtship ritual?” I assumed, numb after the mishap I had almost had with the other Antumnos creatures.

“For some. From what I’ve been told, it is within my clan. Is it with your kind?” Saeesar took the offered meal, watching my reaction.

“Usually, the married couple will share honey cakes and wine as their first meal after the ceremony, but I don’t think there is one before it. I mean, guys courting their girls will usually join her parents and her for dinners, so maybe, if you think of it like that?” I ventured. “The female marlin, she tried to mate claim me, didn’t she?”

“She did,” his voice was soft, a quiet echo under the current.

“I had control of myself, right? I didn’t say yes or anything, did I?”

“No, the most you did was sing when you were eating. If not for the audience, you were…” he twisted at his inability to form the words and took a bite of the squid.

“I don’t want to lead someone on accidentally.” I studied the ragged cliffs jutting out below us.

“You’re cute when you eat.” Saeesar swallowed, refusing to meet my eyes. 

I strangled at the compliment, water refusing to go in or out of my gills. “Why did you stay the same when I couldn’t recognize the others as different?” I pressed as he downed the rest of the squid. He shrugged, licking a finger clean. The action rippled up my shoulder. I shuddered.

He turned his focus to me. “You’re singing again.”

“I’m a bit horny is what I am.” I muttered to myself. “What proof is there to mate claim? Leviathan said it could be smelled. The marlin said there was no proof. Did any of them have Mate Claim that I could see?”

“Nuada is an exception, not a rule. The Nautili, he had Mate Claim. You saw the long red mark across his mantle?” Saeesar moved to unfold me from his protection. I shifted to take hold of his back fin as we pushed into the colder depths of the Gulf waters.

“The long spiral?” I checked.

“That was his Mate Claim. Each of the Antumnos leaves behind a mark of some type. It’s dependent upon the clan claim what it looks like. To Leviathan and some of the Sea Gods, the line has a smell of the creature who imprinted.”

“Dian Cecht?” I asked after the shrimp-like creature.

“Abstains from mate claim. Has no interest in it. So she has no signs. I really can’t think of anyone you’ve met up to now who has Mate Claim sign, other than the Nautili. This has to be confusing to you.”

“It is. I think I overreacted to Nuada,” I admitted.

“Why did you take such a disliking of her?”

“Leviathan, they’re more like a snake. We leave snakes alone back home unless they’re disturbing the chickens or particularly poisonous. Cut their heads off with a shovel, so we don’t get dead. I understood that. Leviathan is a snake.

“Nuada. She has a massive ball of light hanging off her head and these massive teeth which are creepy on their own but the fact that she absorbs her mates like that. Nope. Not going there. That was too many shades of weird for me. To say the least of it, she is what nightmares are in my world. Leviathan is a snake, that’s handleable. Nuada, I’ve got nothing.”

A burst of champagne tiny bubbles brushed over Saeesar’s shoulders. He was laughing. “You didn’t like her because of her type of Mate Claim?”

“Honestly, being completely upfront here, she just rubbed me wrong. I didn’t like her tone with you when I was waking up. Everything else just set up the rest of my opinion.” I shrugged. The rush of the current pulled us deeper into the gulf, the land below us flashing past in massive swaths of rock and desert.

“Her tone?” Saeesar asked.

“Had some of those nosey little old bitties back home who’d get in everyone’s business playing matchmaker. They weren’t hard to deal with, necessarily. It was the matriarch. She ran the quilting ring with the rest. She’d get them all riled and have them break up matches that didn’t suit her taste. Couldn’t stand the woman. She couldn’t stand my family either. We were outsiders. Didn’t really fit in, and she’d make sure we knew it. Made sure everyone else knew it too. Nuada reminded me of her. Reminded me of when Anna took a fancying to a boy in class, and that crone straight up boxed both their ears and reminded him he was already pledged to someone else chosen by his father. I don’t like matchmakers,” I vented that buried frustration that had been eating me for years.

“Matchmaker? What an odd concept.” Saeesar bounced off an incoming spire and sent us hurtling into a new current system. It twisted us down into the darker waters where my eyes took their time adjusting, and my spots lit up myriads of strange darting fish.

“Common thing in Europe from what mom told me when I asked her to explain.” I ducked as flecks of algae and sandstone came loose in the current.

“Humans are strange.”

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Polaris Skies: Ch 11

Nat returned to the Flock’s roost before dawn, having lounged at the side of a creek for what remained of the previous day. Slipping through the fields, he crept to the building Hana was residing in. She had been awake for a little while. He hoped alongside Sven that she was feeling better.

Pattering down the linoleum tiled hall, a light flickered at the door before Hana’s room. Nat slowed, working his hearing until he could use Sven’s shift to listen. A muffled whisper and a squeak tunnelled through his brain. He inched closer.

“Marriage is such a beautiful thing, Lisa,” Michael’s voice twisted through the door jam. Nat’s heart sank into his stomach. “Thirty days since our vows, and you are ready to become the bride of the Lord’s trumpet. You will herald in a new generation with your sisters, Lisa.”

The muffle echoed again.

The martyr will burn at the stake. Nat hissed to Sven.

Agreed.

“Get your fucking hands off her.” Nat kicked the door open.

Hana woke to a bird, a robin, warbling away its merry heart to the warm sunshine on the sill near her head. The sun streaming through the window hit her in the face. She rubbed her eyes to bring the room into focus. A loud crack echoed into the room from outside. She sat up quickly, grasping for her trench coat.

Another nerve-shattering crack burst into the room. She pulled herself onto the window sill and shimmied through the empty casing. Hana caught her breath at the view. Michael and Nat were standing inside of the circle of people near a large tree. Gasping for breath, the two-edged at each other, feinting for a hold. Nat had massive dark purplish-black bruises growing on his back and sides. Michael spat from a split lip. They glared at each other before Nat ducked low and tried to ram the man. Michael caught him by the shoulder, bringing it under the white-haired man, effectively spinning him around. He fell to the ground panting.

“Filthy scum, you bring evil to the Flock. You have squandered the sacred night of the Lord’s trumpet and his wife,” the man growled.

Nat gained his feet, wiping the dirt from his hands. He had played the fool until now, but he was starting to learn how the man worked. He feigned his ramming technique once more, but this time he ducked and slid, grappled the man by the legs, and brought him down. Michael tried to get up, but Nat landed squarely on his chest, pressing into his windpipes. “She’s a child, you sick fuck, and every person here who does not protect her is as responsible as you for what you were trying to do. Every one of you should see yourselves off this planet.” Nat barred his growing fangs, his voice too deep for his body.

They wrestled, clashing. Michael pushed him off, sending him skidding across the dirt to the feet of an onlooker. The onlooker, a vicious brute by Nat’s standards, gave him a good kick to the ribs, knocking out his breath. He coughed, gasping for air as the red-winged man advanced on him.

“A demon dictating judgement? I am the right hand of our Lord and tasked to pass judgement upon you, spawn of the devil, for defiling our promised land!” he shouted, lunging at him.

Nat, holding a hand to sore ribs, skittered from the man’s grasp. He gained his feet and dashed, trying to put his back to something less likely to beat him. He put the forest to his back, a massive tree seeming to be a safe launching point. Cursing the fact that he had always been better at running than fighting, he squatted into a wrestling stance, well aware that this was an entirely different concept for featherweight division.

Nat reached for Sven’s offered shift, taking on the slashing nails and long snout. The wolf-man spat into the dust, eyeing the bobbing bird-man. Michael swooped at him, and Nat dodged, scraping his claws across the man’s chest, leaving deep bleeding gouges. The man brought his wings down on Nat, a pair of steel capped ends at the edge of the bone tips slicking into his shoulders, pinning the waif to the tree. Nat cried out at the intense fire and numbness that dug into his ribs and arms.

“Michael! Nat? What the bloody hell is the meaning of this!” Hana yelled, flying into the ring of onlookers. The man turned to look over his shoulder at her, his eyes wide. “Let him down! Let him down this minute Michael!” she screamed at him. The bird-woman fluffed out her massive black wings, making herself significantly larger.

Nat, in the midst of the sharp burn, noted with some interest that her wingspan was larger than Michael’s, for her standing a good foot shorter than him. He had not realised until the moment he got himself pinned to the tree that the bird people could possibly use their wings as weapons. The ringing in his ears told him that he wouldn’t be thinking for long on that topic or any other.

Hana advanced on Michael.

“Easy now, Haniel, easy. I’m letting him down,” placated Michael as he dropped Nat. With some effort and a bit rougher treatment, Michael was able to dislodge his wings from Nat’s shoulders. Blood poured down from the two holes in his shoulder.

Nat glared at the man, but his head was spinning with blood loss. The wolf brushed under his skin warily. All he could do was slump to the ground, trying to gain some use of his arms. With luck, Michael’s deadly attack had turned injurious and not mortal. His subclavical was mangled, but he could still work his fingertips.

“What the hell is going on?” she barked.

Nat held a hand to one of the holes in his shoulder, bringing it away bright red and sticky. Ringing bounced around in his skull as black circles flashed in his eyes. The sensation in his fingers seeped out with the beat of his heart.

“Michael, what is going on here! Why are you trying to murder one of my friends?” Hana demanded once again.

All Nat wanted to do was sulk away and lick his wounds. He tried to press himself further against the tree. Glancing between Michael and Hana, he was losing his hearing.

Puzzle pieces clicked together. “You two are brother and sister?” he wheezed. It was in the facial structure, the narrow chin and eyelid fold.

“Yeah, it’s been going on for a while,” Michael replied offhandedly as he turned away from his sister.

“Oh, no, you don’t. Get back here. Where is Raphael?” her voice pierced Nat’s ears.

Michael turned back to her, flames burning in his eyes. She rustled her wings, warning him. Red flushed his face as he tried to calm his nerves. “Raphael’s dead, Haniel.” He brabbed the back of her elbow. “It’s just you and me now to lead the Flock in our promised land. I thought you knew that!”

“The fuck you mean ‘thought’? You all are a cult! I left the Flock ‘ and went all the way out to Portland ‘cause of mom and dad’s weird fixation with calling down angels. They wanted us to bring down the next coming. They infected three hundred people with an avian virus purely for this course of action. How can you not see you’re a cult leader? Did Raphael die with mom and dad?” Hana tugged her arm to get free. Michael pulled her toward the building.

“Vile half-bred scum of the devil like that boy that defiled her.”

Nat and Hana shared a confused glance. He had pushed himself up against the tree so hard as to leave bark impressions on his back. Blood seeped from the holes in his shoulders. A black veil descended behind his eyes. He slipped down the tree and blacked out.

“What is wrong with you?” Hana yelled at her brother, pulling to get her arm free.

Michael tightened his grip on her. “Don’t you even dare touch him. He’ll kill you like the demon who killed Raphael.” He pulled her back to the large building. That’s when she saw the rest of the group stuck within a pin that was fenced in with fresh twelve-foot-tall sharpened logs.

Sun Hee cried on Deck’s shoulder, and Benj had an ugly black eye. Yeller, in possession of a bloody cut across his cheek and an angry bruise on his chin, growled at the gathering on the outside of the fence. Zola glared at Michael with death shining in her eyes.

Two men, armed with a pair of pre-fall automatics, approached the fence, Nat suspended between them. One of them shook a fence pole, and the group of friends moved back as Nat was shoved in. Yeller caught him, wrapping around him protectively. “Easy, mo grá, easy. Deck, help me get the blood to stop.”

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Subject 15: Ch 17

Having returned to Ishan’s offices, Fane was at a loss regarding what he was supposed to do. He was no bodyguard. He was neither certified nor trained as one. He was an ammo tech and dive instructor. He monitored the armoury. He cleaned and accounted for everything. He taught people how to not drown when in a simulated helicopter water crash.

He knew how to protect himself, but another person? He expressed as much to the Prince when the door to the office closed.

The Prince sat down into his rolling leather chair and contemplated Fane for a while. Seething pain crawled up his side under that analysis. Prince Orlov opened his mouth once, then closed it. He let out a contemplative sigh and pressed a button on a pad on his desk.

Fane listened carefully but didn’t hear a ring. A set of footsteps signalled someone approaching. He immediately reached for his back but had to remind himself he didn’t have his back knife. He switched for the harness under his arm where a Glock waited.

A knock at the door signalled the person had arrived. Fane glanced to Prince Orlov. The man appeared at ease. Fane relaxed, shifting to a shadowed corner of the office where he had a clean line of sight of the door. The door clicked, and a maid entered. “Prince Ishan?” The woman asked sweetly. She wore a simple light blue kurti and black dhoti all the maids wore as uniforms. “A black coffee, hot tea, and biscuits, if you would please,” the Prince requested as he reached for a packet of papers in a wire rack on his desk. She dropped a soft curtsy and left immediately. Fane shifted around the room when she left.

Ishan had his desk positioned to face the door. To his right was the south-facing windows. Behind him sat the bookshelves and the small conference table they had lunched at the day before. Fane took in the view below the window, calculating. If he had to act as a bodyguard, he should know the weaknesses of the room he was occupying for the moment. He wanted a good vantage, somewhere with a view of both the outside where someone could set up a snipe-nest and the doors into the office. The room was expansive enough to house a small family. It contained paintings and sculptures in an alcove to the right of the double doors leading to the hallway. The bookshelves started on the north wall and wrapped around to the back wall. The bookshelves were predominantly lined with books in several languages, but small trinkets occupied space on top of books too long to be stood upright in the cubbies.

Initially, Fane had ignored the art, only calculating the room. He continued pacing off the room when the maid returned with a tray of cups and pots. A china blue plate was laden with breakfast biscuits. He watched Ishan pick out the chocolate covered ones and pour himself a cup of tea. “Want some?” he motioned Fane to the plate.

“I’m all right, but thanks.” Fane shook his head.

“For the moment, I’ll be working through these tax papers. When I get through most of the pile, or when eleven rolls around, stop me so I can order lunch.” Prince Orlov sat back down behind his desk to nibble at the biscuits.

“Yes, Mr Orlov.” Fane slunk further into the shadow, getting comfy. He watched the minutes pass by. He was at a good vantage. The window overlooked a section of the garden that had a small road for the delivery trucks for the palace. He memorised every emblem on every delivery vehicle and the gardeners managing the planting of annuals and resetting the sprinkler system. Out of the corner of his eye, he considered the man at the desk who had lost his attention for the paper in his hand, instead taking in the statue in the alcove.

That pain in Fane’s side sizzled as he watched the Prince brush loose hair behind his ear. The man, returning to the stacks at hand, continued to jot notes, sign papers and shred others. He had a habit of gently chewing on his pen cap when he was reading long forms. His perfectly white teeth were a fixation for Fane. A burn wrapped into his gut.

He turned his attention to the room. He knew the location of every book. The longer he maintained his position, the more information he could retain on the space. The paintings and the sculpture were proving fascinating and not helping the splintering heat under his scars.

The male statue was two-thirds the height of a living person. He leaned against a broken tree trunk, and an arrow protruded from his right side. On either side of the alcove were a pair of paintings Fane suspected of the same individual. Executed differently, he assumed they were by different artists, but both portrayed a copper-haired, bearded man with statues in his hand.

“Vittoria.” The Prince interrupted Fane’s observations, startling him. “I like his work. They are just reproductions, though. Too expensive to get the real, and San Sebastiano is too big for that alcove.” The Prince provided Fane while still skipping through paper after paper. 

Eventually, a knock came at the door. The inundated royal looked up from his paperwork in exhausted frustration and glanced at his agenda. Sighing, he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Sir?” Fane asked.

“It’s all right. Come in!” Orlov called out. Fane’s hand eased to the gun in its harness. A small man in a tan Shalwar suit pushed the door open timidly. In his hand was a thin wooden box. He greeted the Prince with a broad smile and flamboyant bow. Fane eased up next to the man without observation. He wasn’t keen on the concept of a bomb getting near the Prince.

The Prince’s eyes flickered up to Fane, who had been able to get behind the small man. His bodyguard was peering at the man and the box carefully. Orlov said something softly to the small man. The man replied back, a bright smile flashing across his face, obviously pleased. The man walked closer to the Prince, and Fane couldn’t keep blood from hammering in his ears.

The small man set the box on the desk and stepped back from it. Fane watched the Prince for a signal to check it. He had enough training in detecting and dismantling bombs that he felt confident not to blow the room sky high if presented with the problem.

“Mr Anson.” Orlov motioned him to the box. Fane sucked in his breath. The small man jumped. He hadn’t realised Fane was standing so close to him. He eased to the side, beaming, waving to the box and saying something over and over again happily. Fane looked to the Prince, wary. He approached the box and observed it, looking for any visual clues about what might be within it. He tested his fingers along the edges when he no longer felt that he could see any problems. It was well made and of good quality. He didn’t find any traps or anything to indicate it had a weight sensor in it activated by being placed on the desk.

His throat clicked as he tried to swallow. He gently flipped the hinges on either side of the handle. He observed his every movement, every clue that box lid held as he opened it. Inside was an absolutely magnificent knife, scabbard, and harness. It was a rich full-grain mahogany coloured leather and brass buckling shoulder to back harness. A pattern was carefully pressed along the front of the harness that would go across the chest. It was fitted similar to a shoulder sash. The sheath was similar to the harness in attention to detail.

The knife was something altogether breathtaking. It was a fixed blade with a full tang. The handle, for the elegance of the blade design and the suppleness and luxury of the leather harness, was comprised of G-10 with an intricate moulding red inlay on black that matched the pattern of the leather harness. It was a perfect weapon.

“ATS 34 steel.” Orlov watched Fane’s fixation on the weapon.

“A good grade. It’ll be a great investment for someone. If you don’t mind, I’ll finish checking the box.” Fane leaned forward to remove the materials.

“I hope you enjoy it.” The Prince smiled, watching Fane’s hands handle the materials reverently.

Fane looked up, startled. “Sir?”

“It’s yours, Mr Anson.” Orlov motioned to the harness and knife.

“I couldn’t possibly, Mr Orlov. This is too much for me.” Fane tried to wave the gift off.

“I hope to see you wear it and use it to protect me. I had it designed so that it would work well with your new clothes. I realise that our traditional dress does not easily incorporate a lot of your preferred weapons. Ajay also mentioned your disappointment when you found a back sheath in the armoury that wasn’t well maintained or something. Try it on.” The Prince waved toward the knife.

The small man beamed up at Fane. He suspected the man was probably the one who created the harness for the blade. He slipped the sash over his head. It was a bit too big. The creator chatted at him quickly, and Fane looked to the Prince for assistance. The man dragged a chair to Fane and stood on it. He adjusted the buckles along his shoulder until it fit comfortably.

The man again said something proudly to Fane before stepping down from the chair. Fane couldn’t remember the last time a grown man had to actually use something to stand taller than him. The man beamed at the Prince, who shook his hand before leaving.

“Thank you, sir. You really shouldn’t have.” Fane tried to hide a sudden burst of emotions. It fit beautifully. He reached to his back, and the knife was there, almost begging to be pulled. The Prince motioned for him to test it, sitting back to watch Fane appreciatively.

Fane stepped back from the desk and eased into a kokutsu dachi. He pulled the blade smoothly into a block, dropping lower into his stance, visualising someone coming at him. The shine of the blade glinted in the morning. He spun backwards, forcing himself into a zen kutsu dachi, punching out with his right. The edge practically sang in his hand. He returned back to a formal stance. 

The Prince was staring intently at him. That burning surge in his side came back at the look of warm honey in the man’s eyes. He resheathed the blade, never dropping the man’s gaze. Heat crept up his neck, and a throb resonated within him, rocking him to the core.

“Lunch?” Prince Orlov offered. 

Fane swallowed, wetted his lips, and nodded. “I’m sorry for the distraction.”

“No distraction. He was scheduled to show up.” The Prince’s eyes dashing away as he tucked a pesky stray hair behind his ear.

That pain in Fane’s side throbbed. He needed to finish lunch and switch Ajay quickly before it got worse. 

“Here.” Orlov held out his agenda to Fane, “Memorise my schedule for the week. You’ll be doing the morning shift, and Ajay takes over in the afternoon. That way you’ll be less surprised by people showing up out of the blue. My amanuensis also has the agenda and can make a copy for you if you need it. Her name’s Griyashi. She’s the lady you pass every time you come in here. You’ll deal with her coming in taking dictation if you decide to remain a bodyguard for me long.” 

“Ah. I had been wondering who she was. I’ll introduce myself when I head for my language class today.” Fane took the notebook and glanced down at the tight handwriting. It was filled with details, deadlines, meetings, memos and reminders. He had them memorised in half a heartbeat before handing back the notebook. “Do any of your meetings worry you?”

“Two. One is with an oil Baron I will be seeing Friday morning. We have the formal dinner party that evening, and I don’t want to come away from that meeting with failure,” the Prince bit out, frustration running rigid under his pressed suit jacket.

“He has been difficult before?” Fane prompted.

“He has tried to divide our people with greed. He has to be handled with kid gloves.” The Prince leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.

“He wouldn’t try to kill or maim you, though?” Fane asked, a layer of concern wrapped in his voice.

“No, I don’t think he’d sink that low. It would benefit him more to crash my family into the ground with tact than to actually terrorise us.” He rubbed at his neck.

“The other meeting?” Fane logged the information.

“A shipping magnate looking for a new route. We have a couple going through our city. The man is eager to have us grant him a permit to ship through us. We run the risk, if he’s shipping anything illegal, of incurring problems. It’s a balancing act to keep the people of the city happy with us.

“Another shipping route may bring in more money, but at what cost? The last time we allowed someone into the shipping route, we lost quite a few young girls off the streets. It was later that we found they were using the shipping route for human trafficking. We suffered greatly. Some girls were rescued, but many had come off the streets and didn’t have anywhere to return to. I had a fund set up for them. Several work as maids here now.” Ishan sighed, glancing at the door.

“This shipping magnate can be a risk because you don’t trust him?” Fane clarified. 

Ishan glanced at him, his lips flattening. “I don’t trust a lot of people readily. Growing up royal makes you sceptical of what people want from you.”

“And me?” Fane raised an eyebrow.

The Prince appraised him for a moment, his amber eyes glinting. “You disregarded my position to make yourself as clear as possible who and what you are. You didn’t ask me for anything but still came to me when asked. I’d say, at this moment, I trust you as much as I trust Ajay.” Prince Orlov held Fane’s gaze until the soldier looked away.

“When is the shipping magnate’s appointment?” Fane cleared his throat while surveying an argument between two guards in the road below. A van sat idling on the gravel. He flipped through the agenda in his mind as he watched the men bicker. The delivery driver got out of the vehicle and gave one of the guards a folder of documents. The other guard snatched it to rifle through it furiously. A call on a walkie-talkie left the guard handing the file back to the driver and pointing him off the to the backside of the palace. The guard who had first had the document shouted at his companion after the van left before marching off to follow the van.

“Tomorrow in the afternoon. Ajay will be with me then.” The Prince turned to his phone and pressed one of the speed dial buttons. Someone must have picked up immediately. The Prince gave a couple of sentences. Fane could only wish he understood what was going on. He was going to work hard with his teacher that afternoon. He was determined not to be left in the dark any more than utterly necessary.

“Lunch will be up in a moment.” Orlov picked up another stack of papers, dismissing Fane back to his corner. Fane moved the box from the Prince’s desk and set it to the side of his chair in the corner. He’d take that back to his room with him before his lessons.

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Firefly Fish: Ch 16

“Marin!” Saeesar called behind me as I broke the surface of the ocean. We were surprisingly closer than I thought to land. The crevice had been part of a deep section off a long shallow shelf. Instead of wasting the charm, I used it to push myself towards the soft sand beach. “Marin!” Saeesar called again. I ignored the call, intent on putting feet to earth.

     At the beach edge, I cleared out my gills and drew in fresh, humid air. The type like Grabble in summer when the wind had settled. Suffocating, when the sea turned into the heavens, and people sweated like they’d been swimming. The trees were strange compared to the pine and birch I had grown up with. Broad overarching palm fronds and thick staggered trunks clung to the beach edge.

     I couldn’t survive in the human world the way I was. Going back now was chancing my freedom and my life. Going in the ocean unclaimed meant dealing with Leviathan and others of the Antumnos. Nuada gave me the creeps. Leviathan, I understood. That motivation was almost tangible and bluntly honest.

People from the village had a saying: “Come to a crossroads and count the stars above you. Make a pact with the first person to intersect with you, if you wish to leave.” An easier way of saying it: “When no other choice is available, make a pact with the devil that lets you sleep at night.”

     “Marin Goranich?” Saeesar called from several feet out in the surf. If he came in much closer, he would beach himself and get stuck.

     “Where’s a freshwater source?” I asked, digging a foot into the sand to get myself upright. The world protested, slipping sideways on me. The sun was shifting past midday, and I was famished.

     “South.” He pointed along the beach edge.

     “How far?” I called back, starting on my trudge.

     “Not more than fifty spans.” He followed me in the surf.

     “Your length?” I asked.

     “Not my length, no. I’m not sure how to relate it to you. You saw Nuada’s length. Twenty of her, at least,” he answered.

     The beach ran up against a set of dark cliffs, interspersed with broad foliage. Birds flitted in and out of the trees. He had brought me to paradise, and I was lost. Set my sail and let the rudder list; I was floating to the whims of the gods.

     “I don’t like her,” I grouched at him.

     “She takes time to warm up to,” he hedged.

     “Thank you for getting me to someone who could help with my shoulder.” I still couldn’t lift it and rotate it properly, but it was better.

     “Of course! You were wounded, and you warned me of danger with those humans. Why did they injure you?” Saeesar asked.

     “I was camped on their territory, so they wanted me to leave until they realized I was different. Ever heard of a circus?” I scrambled over a jut of volcanic rock.

     “No, it is a new word for me,” Saeesar admitted.

     “Companies collect odd and strange creatures and employ people who can do tricks or look strange. They travel, acting and performing for money from crowds of other people. There’s something called a sideshow, and they are usually part of the circus. That’s where bearded ladies and strong-men and short people exhibit themselves. The men, once they saw my spots, changed from wanting me off their land, to wanting to put me in a sideshow,” I explained.

     “But they shot you? You said no?” Saeesar asked, confused.

     “They would have gained a finder’s fee for me. I may or may not have actually gotten paid. I can’t stomach that kind of attention. It was something Jarl had initially wanted to do with Taigre; send him to the sideshow. I couldn’t fathom seeing him stuck in a tank. That wouldn’t have been good for him.” I ended up having to backtrack at an impassable rock and get into the water.

     “Thank you for not sending him to this sideshow place. A finder’s fee. I am not sure I understand.” Saeesar shimmied over low rocks in the water rather than go far out to get around.

     “You know how humans value pearls?” I splashed through the tide around the rock.

     “Yes.” He pulled closer in as the shallowness of the beach dipped on the other side of the rocks.

     “Does the Antumnos deal in money, currency, taxes, barter?” I lifted away deep lobed leaves to search for the absentee shoreline.

     “We will barter, yes, but I am not familiar with the use of the other terms.” Saeesar shrugged. “We’re almost to the freshwater, around that next outcrop, and you’ll be at the delta.”

     “Essentially, they would have bartered my life for pearls.” I gave him the blunt version, finding the edge of the shore again.

     “But you are not theirs to give.” His tail slapped the surface of the water in frustrated incredulity.

     “You’re not wrong there. If I had been one of them and come across Taigre, you would not have gotten him back. Humans, some are good, some are not, and it’s not always easy to tell who is who. 

“Met some old-timers who came out of the Civil War and went through emancipation. Met some of their kids on the docks. Met enough sharecroppers on my way down from Vale to Grabble. Some of them who lived through the 1900 flood. People take advantage of others when it benefits them. 

“We’re parasitic by nature.” I turned at his rock, the smell of the water changing noticeably. The temperature dropped, and the delta merged between a clear soft green and a murky algae green. Saeesar dashed into the deep river. I followed him along the bank while he rolled in the current in ecstasy.

“You are not parasitic. I’ve seen enough parasites, and you do not do what they do,” Saeesar defended.

“In the general sense of the term, humans are parasitic. We may not latch on and feed like your lamp rays or snot worms, but we take and take and take. You would make me the wealthiest man in the world.” I tried to elaborate.

“But I am not yours, not to give away.” Saeesar picked leaf shed out of his tresses, flicking detritus back into the water where he would gather it all over again.

“No. You know that. I know that. There are people out there that do not see the situation that way. Don’t trust humans, Saeesar. Learn them, but don’t trust any individual you just run into. They won’t have your best interests in mind. Right now, most of the nation’s people, the country I live in, are looking for the easiest way to fill their stomachs. If they found out about the Antumnos and decided to set value to it, your world would collapse right alongside mine.” I paced with him as he enjoyed his bath.

     “You are a river creature, aren’t you?” I called out to him, putting my feet in the water. It was soft, compared to the ocean. Cooler, calming, it was easy to slip into the stream and walk along the edge as he fluffed his fins and cleaned the algae from his tail.

     “Yes. It feels better. The water doesn’t burn my gills like it does out there,” he admitted, finding himself a large rock to bask on, his eyes and back fins above the waterline. His tail and side fins flicked in and out of the rocking tree light.

     “Can I really not breath this?” I waded farther in to sit on a rock close to his.

     “If I find the sea to burn, you will think you have died. Reason why I chastised Taigre when he dragged you into the sweetwater mix. It can take a long time getting used to waters that are not natural to you. That could have killed you. Nuada is not wrong. A Kraken child and a Fomorii would not make a good match.” His gaze slid from me to regard the canopy shading our spot.

     “Explain the names. Fomorii, child of Domnu, Bet-tah. I know you are Saeesar. Also, what are charms? They help a lot, but humans can’t do what you do.” I slipped deeper into the water to enjoy floating.

     “You do not fear the river?” Saeesar pushed himself from his rock to circle me warily. I rolled my shoulders in response.

“Charms are manipulation of energy. Those of the Antumnos and those with blood from the Antumnos have a varying capacity for them. You could learn to cast them with time. Llyr is higher than the saltwater gods. Domnu is higher than the sweetwater gods. Fomorii is an old name for us from when Nuada fought on the side of Llyr against Domnu. The Fomorii, underrepresented in the Antumnos Council for millennia, had thought to take the seat and transfer the council. A revolution broke out and a lot of both sides were killed, more so from the children of Domnu than the children of Llyr. This was well before my time, or my mother’s. Are you really okay to be in this?”

     “I grew up hunting crawdads in the creek, swimming in lakes in summer. I’ve waded flooded pastures. These waters, they aren’t something as broad and deep as that out there.” I pointed back the way we came.

     “But rivers can be deep. There are those of the Antumnos who are the same as Nuada in size. Do not think it safer,” he cautioned.

     “Do I know that feeling. Viktor, my younger brother, got too far out once, and I had a fun moment of running into a massive catfish getting him out of the water. Crept on my memories for weeks,” I chuckled.

     “You were angry out there, and now you are singing? All the sea gods will hear you,” Saeesar whispered, stuck between indecision of reaching out to hold me above water and leaving me to my floating.

     “Maybe I’m a solitary creature, one that finds a person, or two, and after that, it’s too much to handle?” I offered, catching onto one of his wrists. He startled at my audacity. “I’m probably not what you need here, just a problem to navigate around. Mate Claim isn’t something you’d want with me.

“Bet-tah is what you are, isn’t it? Your group in the Antumnos, like Nuada and Dian Cecht are different from Taigre’s family? Fomorii refers to the separation between the fresh and saltwater factions, not your clan or tribe or people, yes?” I guessed, pulling closer to him and his wavering uncertainty at my motivations.

     “Yes, those are what the names mean.” His fins flattened at the assessment. He fluffed back out and looked up at me, “but I would argue with you on the validity of Mate Claim. Siren’s Voice. You’re singing now. Can you not feel it?”

     I closed my eyes to listen to the trickle of water over boulders. The sound of home. The drip of humidity off the leaves. The coating of the freshwater spray on my skin. Saeesar swallowed. I opened my eyes to regard his expression. He was watching my spots intently, all of his fins feathered out into clouds. “What?” I fought a smile wavering at the corner of my lip.

     “I – um -” His fingers slipped along my waist, but his focus was across my chest and arms.

     “I’m doing weird patterns again, aren’t I?” I asked after his closeness. He dipped below the water and came back up, flicking his eyes between mine and the rest of me. I snorted at the edge of the water, ducking below the surface to run fingers along a stripe on one of the side fins along his tail. He stilled, fixating. “Is ducking your way of showing yes? Like I nod?” The charm had to still be active between my throat and iase.

“You know what you’re doing?” He joined me under the water.

“Admiring you?” I traced the edges of his fin before bobbing for the surface to grab another breath of air and diving back to him.

“I mean, well, you see,” he stuttered as I traced the feathered edges of his fins in fascination. Delicate, they tickled my fingertips. My lights played in tight patterns up my arms in response. He twisted, all of his fins flashing in the river light.

I pushed for the surface and sucked in more air, and let it go, this time diving on empty lungs. I reached for him. He grabbed my wrist, pulling me so I could curl around him. I kissed him, taking a breath of hellfire. He held on until I had fought past that first flash of pain. His fins wrapped around me protectively. Returning the kiss tentatively, he pressed his charm into my chest, helping me draw in and out on the burn.

“The sea gods, Nuada, they’ll recognize us, yes?” I gasped past the sensation of drowning in moonshine.

“Are you sure? Weren’t you the one who said yesterday that humans need time?” Saeesar asked.

“Maybe we’ll find love, if those in the Antumnos even understand the concept. For now, can we seek protection in each other?” I twisted with his movements, slipping along his ridges.

“You’ve never seen a Mate Claim display,” Saeesar whispered in startled awe. “Kraken or Fomorii, and you can’t hear yourself. It’s all instinct, and you don’t even know you do it.”

“No. I’m not sure I ever will. Someday, I’ll play you songs on my mandolin or guitar.” I slipped my hands behind his neck.

“You’re dancing,” he hedged.

“How does this work with you?” I trailed fingers down his chest.

“Work?” he swallowed.

“Maybe I missed the concept of Mate Claim?” I offered. “You said you’d seen it. That often there was a pairing off after only a couple hours?”

He settled timid fingers over mine. “You seem to know what you’re about.”

“Is this the time to ask if Bet-tah approach this like Taigre and Keris, or is this more of a trout thing? You’re quite literally three times longer than me, so I’m trying to, uh, you know?” I hesitated.

“Like Keris.” Saeesar’s fins shimmered in the dappled sunlight. I paused, calculating. “Your spots have gone dim, Marin?”

“I’ve seen enough livestock in my life. I’m trying to work out how this isn’t going to hurt,” I admitted.

Saeesar got the concept of where my problem lay, all of his fins going slick as his fingers traced across my skin absentmindedly. “You um, well, I thought, see you’re Kraken. I thought you were going to…” he trailed off.

A miniature jack and a Clydesdale came to mind at that admission. I was insignificantly small around the others of the Antumnos I had met up to now. The world turned vastly more intimidating all at once. “I’m not going to say no, but am I assuming you designated this off of some hierarchy thing in the Antumnos that I’m not familiar with, or…? Again, three times my size, I have some doubts, size-wise, that I’ll please you in much of any way?”

Saeesar ducked at the question, his way of nodding yes. “You’re not wrong. There is a hierarchy in the Antumnos.” 

I shifted from teasing and admiring to tug him toward some of the low rocks where I could more easily perch. “Would there still be this problem if I were capable of bearing children? Would that impact how this went?”

“Paired like that, I would still be secondary to you because you are Kraken child, but I would be provider.” He let me pull him to rest between my knees.

“Okay. Let’s just clear this one up now. Antumnos hierarchy is bullshit,” I told him.

He shifted in protest like I had said something taboo. “I’m not sure you understand, Marin. You’re – you’re up there being Puca’s child. You guarantee someone will die if you mark them.”

“A grim reaper?” I clarified.

“That is an unfamiliar term, but the sensation feels right. If you’re down here long enough, you’ll come across more of your siblings. I told you, Puca’s children pack hunt other Kraken and sea gods. You bite someone, the rest will come,” he explained.

“I bit Taigre.” Horror flashed all of my spots bright at that realization.

Saeesar’s eyes went wide at that as I pushed him off me and launched myself into the river current. “Bit him? When?”

“When he dragged me under that first time. I got scared, and he wasn’t letting go. I got one of his fingers. Where are we going?” I demanded as I let the headwater carry me to the delta.

“Pull out and clear your gills before you smack into the ocean, Marin! You think river water hurts; that mix is going to make you pass out!” Saeesar cautioned, catching my foot before I could make it into the murky swirl. I did as I was told and clambered into the swampy mud and spat out the water.

“Who’s more likely to have others like me come after them, Leviathan or Taigre, right now?” I demanded, the water taking its sweet time clearing.

“Leviathan. You took a full chunk out of that massive snout. Taigre had all his fingers when I saw him.” Saeesar answered from the ocean side.

“Do we have time to get there? Is there a way to let the Antumnos know there’s been a mistake?” I waded into the water and dived in. Saltwater, I had to admit, felt significantly better on my gills.

Saeesar reached for my hand as I struggled against the current we turned into off the island. “Hold tight and let me know when that charm goes. Dian Cecht said your ribs will eventually soften to passing water through your gills, but to not push it, lest they crack from strain. You’re fast, but I can cover the distance with less effort. I’ll get us there faster.”

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Polaris Skies: Ch 10

Dreams flooded his senses. The moon cracked into deep fissures, and a faceless woman with black wings flew over the sky. He followed her movements, enthralled with her dance. The glade sparkled in the stillness beneath her floating ballet. Polaris’s surface shattered into a million pieces. A shadow man emerged in the dusk. The woman flew down to meet him, black feathers scattering. A red fog blew the feathers into his line of sight, blocking his view. A roar echoed through the glade as Sven came awake on all fours, his hackles up and teeth bared.

Michael dropped a platter of tea and biscuits on the ground, scattering boiling hot liquid and fluffy rolls across the dirt. Sunrise seeped along the horizon behind him. Michael’s other hand was stuffed into his pocket. Sven snorted at the action, aware of the tang of metal that sat at the man’s fingertips.

Calm yourself, Sven. You’re on edge, and that’s not going to help us get Hana out of here.

I don’t trust this overstuffed poultry.

You can smell her on him. Maybe her husband. You should prepare yourself for that, Sven.

Don’t say that. Never say that. She has my mate.

Your damn fault for picking her.

Shut up, human.

Give me my body back. You aren’t rational right now, and I don’t like the idea of being a pelt for an afterlife.

You don’t believe in an afterlife.

You’ve been nosing around.

Went and flipped a few switches. Found a few things I suspected. Found a few things I didn’t. You’re interesting, but this bastard needs to die.

Shove it, mutt. We aren’t killing anyone right now. It will not benefit us, and I am not willing to face that moral mountain ever.

He’s a threat, and not just to you and me. You might only smell feathers. I smell blood and evil. The way his eyes move. Don’t trust him. He’s twisted.

Give me back my body, Sven. I can’t put up with your anger right now.

I warned you. I warned you, dječak u sjeni. I will not die here. I’ll give you back your body for now, but he pulls that switchblade from his pocket, I will permanently take over. Our luck, he dumped that crap all over the ground. Smells like poison. Sven heaved a sigh and slipped to the background, giving way for Nat to grab the transition.

“Is there something I can do for you?” he asked behind clenched teeth, the pain of transformation twining through his bones.

Michael shook his head and shrugged, leaning over to pick up the fallen cups. “Do you always have to scare the people?”

“Do you?” Nat whispered.

Michael studied him down the length of his nose. A sardonic smile slipped to reveal cruel teeth. “The Flock needs a leader. I’m just doing my job.”

“Your job abusing women and kids?” Nat spat back quietly. Sven perked up at the accusation to focus on the birdman.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Michael stacked the cups on the platter.

What do you mean, dječak?

“The women cower when you get close. So do the kids. Seen enough of that from my old man to know what it looks like when Mom would skirt away from him. Afraid to get grabbed. Is that why Hana left? To get away from you?” Nat prodded, his eyes flashing in golden hour rising around them. His friends slept through the conversation. The twist in his heart was relief that Yeller wouldn’t hear this bit of truth.

“My Flock obeys their leader without baulking, unlike yours. They know anything I do for them is for their benefit, to lead us through our promised land.” The smile that creased the birdman’s face dripped acid down Nat’s arms.

“I’ve seen your type, creep. Cult leaders. You’ve got them all brainwashed, don’t you?” Nat folded his arms across his chest.

“You’ve been in the woods too long, kid. I’ll leave you to get some rest.” Michael took up the tray and headed out of the circle.

Human?

Sven?

Can I kill him now?

Not yet. We need Hana well again, right?

Then we take her?

She left to be safe; we’ll get her free.

The others?

I can’t handle that many.

Then we rescue who we can.

Agreed.

You knew he was evil.

You’re not the only one with senses tuned to a particular frequency, beast.

Why did you let us bring him back to camp?

Because he smelled like her.

You thought to offload her?

I thought that others like her would know how to heal her. I never said she had to stay.

You are protective of her? That’s not just me?

Can I not be protective of those I want to protect?

She isn’t your mate or your pack.

You aren’t me. She is not your mate. I am your host as she is your mate’s host.

You humans don’t make sense to me. Never have.

I’m not here to teach you how to be human.

I’m sorry about your dad, čovjek1.

If you want to be more than a monster to me, don’t lock me in the dark, lest you want to be just like him.

The sun flashed blood under a blanket of clouds before disappearing for the day. Nat sighed, exhausted with the adrenaline overload permeating his system after that confrontation. He studied the white chunks of Polaris drifting in the morning sunlight.

The Flock emerged with the sun to begin the day’s chores. His group wallowed around the campfire, the wolves watching the coming and going of the bird people. Eventually, they joined in with helping clear out the underbrush from a side of the forest and fell a series of trees slated to open up a planting field.

Nat took on the chore of taking his anger out on a huge tree. Sven settled into his chest, quiet respect vibrating from him. An axe and a pair of wedges would make this an all-day project.

“Hey, bro,” Yeller called out as he came up and chopped on Nat’s upstroke so that they were keeping a constant rhythm.

“Hey,” Nat grunted.

“So, Michael and the Flock seem pretty nice. Thinking Hana’ll be happy to be home?” Yeller asked.

“Paid any attention to how the girls act around their leader?” Nat set his axe down to wipe sweat from his forehead before it fell into his eyes.

Yeller paused, looking up to study the people around them. Furtive glances turned back to business. “I haven’t seen anything?”

“Watch next time that mofo shows up. Hana left for a reason, and I’d bet you he’s it.” He picked the axe back up and helped Yeller tap in the wedges before turning to work the other side.

“You okay?” Yeller asked.

“Will be when we get out of here.”

Michael wandered through the fields to check progress. Nat and Yeller watched from the shadows of their tree the man work his way through the piles of wood and brush accruing in the site. Directing some of his men, they set a bonfire in the field to create ash for fertilizer. A young girl, not more than fourteen, approached him with food for lunch. Fingers slid over a small wrist. Hackles rose. Michael looked up from his distraction toward the woods. Nat and Yeller both knew when he realized they were working the forest with the rest of the party. The charming smile fell, and he took his hands off the girl.

“I’m getting the picture, Nat,” Yeller growled.

“It’s not just me then.”

“Not just you.”

“I’m going for a walk before I let my wolf off the leash. Don’t need to make a monster a martyr right now.” Nat set his axe down and stepped away, reaching for Sven.

Yeller watched the beast walk away, disappearing into the thick evergreen. Sighing, he took up the unfinished work of felling the tree, taking his frustration out on the trunk.

“Yeller?” Zola broke his concentration

“Yeah?” He turned to her.

“Lunch’s ready if you want to join us.” She pointed to the group already eating.

[1] man

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