Author's Note: While it is officially after Christmas as I write this note, it truly was my intention to post this chapter as a Christmas present. It was Twelfth Night when I started the final cleanup…(-_-).
Aw, whatever. Merry Christmas (and a Happy New Year)!
Credits to BlueTrillium who has been beta-ing this and other stories of mine for—gosh, probably about nine years now! I think a toast is in order!
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Tachiki Noriko woke to a hand shaking her shoulder. Blinking muzzily, she tried to turn onto her back—
And discovered herself to be in a figurative strait-jacket, with Izark coiled around her at her back, her body rolled into a blanket like makizushi, and her older brother standing over them, smirking.
"[Get your boyfriend up]," Jinta told her, untroubled by her hostile frown.
"[Why? ]"
"[Because Wei says me waking him could be lethal. ]"
"[No, I mean why wake him? It's not late enough that he needs to leave for work.]" Again she tried, unsuccessfully, to roll. "[He's really asleep. He almost never really sleeps, and he needs to.]"
Jinta raised his eyebrows. "[Wei said that, too. Has he tried sedatives?]"
"[They help—for maybe a day. His body just adapts to them and they never work again.]"
"[Well, then, sorry, but you still need to get him up. Rottenina's awake, and she saw some things that he needs to know about. Seems like Wei can cross-reference some of it.]"
When Izark left Zena's house in the early evening, it was with a piece of parchment covered in Rottenina's appalling handwriting tucked into his sash, and his sword hanging next to his standard issue baton at his side.
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Chapter 14: Commonalities
As Agol Dena Orfa exited the outer gates of the Palace Complex he was sore, tired, and nursing a headache.
Barago had been in a particularly silly mood most of the day, which would have been fine if Agol had been equal to it. He hadn't.
To save time, they'd decided to guide the dinosaurs straight from Southern Ambala to Selena Guzena. This had not proved as effective as they hoped, and what little they had gained on the sundial Barago, Quartz, White Cat, and he had paid for with pain. The men had had to stand upright in a high wind and constantly remind their eminently more sensible mounts to fly across said wind instead of with it. They never did find an air current going their way, but lurched and flailed from one altitude to the next, dinosaurs and riders fighting all the way.
Finally, he'd nearly gotten into a fistfight with the head of the dragon stables at the Palace Mews. Every time they came to Selena Guzena, the pushy man just kept pestering him to sell, sell, sell the beasts, knowing full well that Agol would have to be insane to even consider it.
A massive hand bumped his shoulder consolingly. "You know he can't help himself, right? Trained adult wings are just so hard to come by," Barago mumbled. "At least we know he won't try to pull something. Geena would have mentioned it."
Agol grunted agreement. "He's a jerk, but an honest jerk."
"Sort of like you, huh, Chief?"
"Har, har. I almost wish you could meet my wife's father. He was a brutally honest jerk."
As they left the causeway, a closed carriage rolled through the gate behind them. The two men fell into single file to let it pass, but the uniformed soldier in the drivers' bench pulled the horses up beside them with a laugh.
"You finally made it!" Alef de Elezard grinned down from his perch. Banadam poked his head around the side from his place at the back, while the curtain that shielded the side of the carriage was drawn to the side, revealing the curious faces of the Family de Gilenee.
Agol grinned wearily. "Laugh if you must. The fastest transport existing, and we're a week late. Blame Barago."
"You can't," the hulking warrior parried, "really can not visit your old mother for the first time in two years and only stay for two days. It doesn't work like that, especially in Ambala."
"Especially if the roof needs to be fixed, and the well dredged, and the chimney—"
"Oh, come on, she paid you for that."
"Sure, for getting pressganged into hard lab—"
"In any case, you both must be exhausted," Duke Jeida hastily interceded. "Why don't you join us? We can squeeze in—"
"I can go on the back with Banadam," Koriki offered.
Agol cocked his head at the team of four and cut a look at Banadam. Can the horses take that much?
The blond guard nodded. "Good paving, mostly gentle downhills. We were actually expecting to carry three more, but Miss Zena has to work, and Dr. Clairgeeta isn't finished in the library. They'll be fine."
For his part, Barago was eyeing the available space inside the carriage. He sighed. "Stay where you are, Koriki—I'll get on the back. In you get, Chief."
As Barago ambled around to the footmen's platform, Agol climbed stiffly into the coach and took the empty space on the bench next to Rontarna and Glocia, who made a good attempt at melding into the opposite wall to make that space. He grimaced at the creaking noises his knees made each time he bent them. By the spirits, but it was good to sit down.
Dinner was low-key, which suited Agol just fine. His daughter and Barago had long ago sat him down to enlighten him that his cooking was atrocious, so he'd handed over that responsibility to Barago. He'd always kept a little packet of spices and salt to doctor his own portion—otherwise, other peoples' fare was pretty tasteless (Gaya had forgiven him, once he explained). The Family de Gilenee had given them a rundown of the previous seven days during the ride from the Palace—some of which they already knew thanks to Geena—and conversation shifted easily between trade negotiations, tales of exploits in the West and the East, and the unsavory situation in Market District. Barago seemed pleased to hear that one of his former fellow gladiators had found employment with Jul, and was much too enthusiastic about taking part in the next Market District guardsmen's trial. Afterward in the sitting room, while Barago whined and grumped about missing Izark again, the 'chief' of their little corps got down to the business of categorizing the additions to their circle of comrades.
The little girl Geena introduced him to was Noriko's cousin—Akane. Keen. Enquiring. All sorts of trouble, if the way she bounced and skipped was any indication. Nice, to see how fast she was adapting to Geena's more specific requirements. Altogether, pretty freaking Adorable.
Noriko's parents—Daisuke and Yuri? As worthy of his envy as the Family de Gilenee, he assumed. Blessed—to be reunited with their lost child, despite the astounding obstacles involved. He wondered how they felt about the choice he suspected their daughter had made. How he would feel if Geena Haas made a similar choice in the future, even as his other Geena had done in the past. Probably shattered.
Noriko's brother—Polite. Talented, though having never heard a guitar before, Agol had no way to judge whether the sounds Jinta coaxed from the instrument were the best it was capable of producing.
Noriko's grandfather—Yuri's father. Jin. Ojii-san. A lot of smiles, with a few sad ones for Geena. Not a lot of words—at least, not that Agol could comprehend.
Noriko's—aunt, Chiyako. Akane's mother. Daisuke's sister. Absorbing. He had wrested his eyes away in what he considered an acceptable amount of time, but had to work at keeping them. Just because he didn't seem to be around didn't mean she didn't have a husband. If Chiyako noticed, she didn't show it.
The Gray Bird woman, Katarina, whom Agol knew by reputation—she had already noticed his difficulty, and was leering at him.
Wei—was having a rousing debate with Barago about…the relative cuteness of chimos versus flying dinosaurs. What?Oh. Oh, wait—they were just messing about, trying to beat each other with sheer ridiculousness. Well, at least Barago had finally found an outlet.
Lori son Arikowa—he resolved never to gamble against the Aibiskan guardsman. Agol had a decent gaming face, but anyone that could keep a straight face with those two hamming it up right next to them would beggar him.
The Aibiskan philosopher and his fourth shadow were absent—Glocia had notified Gaya that they had made arrangements to dine with Zena in her rooms there, and would return with her later. Agol was looking forward to meeting the Dr. Clairgeeta.
The young Tazasina Kilahb Clanswoman—Ashre. He couldn't get a read on this one, mostly because she seemed to be avoiding interaction by pretending to be completely immersed in drilling her partner, Ronan, in the wide and varied language the Kilahb shared with their canine counterparts. Pretending was the only word for it, because she seemed to have as much trouble keeping her eyes off the Duke and his family as Agol had not staring at Noriko's aunt. First impressions meant nothing, of course, but the girl looked quite miserable, and completely oblivious to the worried side-eyes she kept receiving from Gaya and Noriko.
Agol intercepted one of Noriko's. Shall I?
The young island woman brightened and made a little urging motion with her hands that meant "Yes. PLEASE," then leaned over to catch whatever would be said.
Agol also leaned forward. "Ashre?"
The Clan-born girl—part reluctance, part relief—looked up.
"I'm afraid I didn't catch it—among the Tazasina Kilahb, which clan—?" He trailed off expectantly. From the corner of his eye, Noriko looked puzzled, but Ashre nodded, and even smiled a little.
"Parzhru's clan—most years, we hold the border routes," she elaborated, just to see if he knew what that meant.
Agol grinned. "I spent a couple years with Fa'ad's clan on their bark," he explained, with enough pride that Ashre knew he understood the vast commendation he'd been paid. "Parzhru's clan was their host when we stopped in Saage Shore. This was, oh…must have been fifteen years ago, now."
"Before I was born, then. I don't remember Fa'ad, but maybe the new elder—"
"Right. Let's see—there's Uramn. I know he was angling for the fatherhood."
Ashre shook her head, trying not to smile. She'd never expected to play the acquaintances game with a Rienkan.
"Eh, well, good. He was too big for his boots, anyway. Their serber didn't seem to like him much, either. Who else—oh, there was Baira! She would've made a good clan-mother."
Again the Kilahb shook her head, but felt her lips twitch. The Rienkan snapped his fingers and pointed at her in the same motion, letting her know he'd caught the tell. He hadn't hit upon the new elder of Fa'ad's clan, but he was naming prominent members of a single sea clan—one that had commerce with Parzhru's clan.
"Hmmm. Not Uramn, not Baira…Maybe…no, not Ramng, there's no way he could have gone over Uramn's head without creating more infighting than it was worth…Oh. Oh! Baira's boy! His name is—it's Thak! Thak Ri!"
Ashre laughed. Again, the Rienkan dragon rider snapped and pointed, which made her laugh harder.
"Fa'ad's clan is now Thak Ri's clan! Spirits, he wasn't much more than a whelp when I knew him. Fa'ad had a darn good run if she passed over a whole generation! Well?" Agol prompted, delighting the Clan girl with his understanding of the format.
She bent her head. "It is as you say, and you have proven your friendship with Thak Ri's clan. As reward, I will describe for you a member of my own clan whom you may know."
"So I have to guess their name, right? Your 'reward' is just another test. Such distrust, Clanswoman," the man jibed, playing on the compliment of the word if one applied it to a Kilahb, but settled back when his opponent put up a hand for quiet, and listened seriously as she began defining a member of her family in the broadest terms she knew how.
Agol guessed right on the eleventh descriptor, even though the cousin being outlined would have been a toddler of four when he last saw him. Either he was really good at the acquaintances game, or she was too happy to have someone who knew how to play to make it hard.
"No. Two kids? Already?"
"Well, there's their son Usma, who is two, and another child expected in the—spring…" the girl broke off, having become aware of a disconcerting phenomenon.
The room had stopped. Geena and Akane had somehow migrated over, until Geena was sharing Agol's chair and Akane had her arms around Ronan's neck. Every pair of ears was angled toward the game.
Agol groaned. "Barago, what's that look supposed to mean?"
The big Amballan man was somehow balancing on the back two legs of a chair borrowed from the dining room, leaning back precariously to watch the game upside-down, which made it difficult for Ashre to read his expression. "Nothing. Well, okay, I'm trying to figure out—You know Chief, for a guy who's been to so many places and learned so many good manners and all…your thought-to-speech sieve is terrible."
Agol opened his mouth to protest, but closed it as the first snicker expanded into a torrent of laughter, and chuckled along with his friends.
"No, I mean it!" Barago insisted. "I mean…" He stopped to try and articulate his thoughts. "When it really matters, then you're pretty good at keeping your mouth shut, but otherwise you're more likely to just blurt out whatever you're thinking. You hear stories all the time about travelers getting killed in duels because they said something that means nothing in their country but is mortally rude in another one, and we all remember when Gaya threatened to spank you, so—" Another burst of chuckles, again including Agol. "Man, how are you still alive?"
The 'chief' frowned pensively. "Never really thought about it. I didn't get into any personal duels, so I can't say it's because I'm just that good. I guess—well, later, I just assumed that everyone liked Geena, and decided not to beat the crap out of her jerk dad." He put an affectionate hand on the young seer's wavy hair.
"He's like a puppy," Ashre found herself saying—she instantly regretted it because everyone looked at her instead of Agol or Barago. She reached out for Ronan's ears, and explained. "When a puppy chews up your shoes, do you kill the puppy? No—you teach him to know better." And store your next pair where he can't get to them—you learn something, too. She looked at Agol. "You laugh with everyone else about mistakes that you make. You don't get angry when they call you out on them, and you don't intend any insult to begin with, so—" She shrugged. "Fa'ad let you on her clan's bark." With all the rest of her clumsy, well-meaning puppies.
The gathering broke up rather early—Geena was fast asleep in her father's arms, while both he and Barago were likewise beaten. It looked to Ashre as if everyone else was drained, too. Katarina and Wei had already left—the sister had been working nights at the same tavern Wei danced in. According to her, the owner was such a sweetheart that he needed "strong lassies" like her and her "sister" to see the stubbornest customers on their way.
In Zena's room, the Clan girl finished shrugging out of her outer jacket, then almost nearly jumped out of her skin when she looked up and found Glocia de Gilenee standing at the foot of her cot.
"About the puppy," Jeida's heir said, with the kind of straightforward authority Ashre had decided wasn't meant to be as intimidating as it was. "I need to write that one down. Get it engraved on my wall. Maybe put it on the cover of a primer for would-be-ambassadors." Abruptly, she turned around and left the room, leaving Ashre with her arms still stuck in her jacket sleeves and her jaw on the floor.
If only her own situation were as simple as Agol's had once been, she realized morosely as she crawled under the covers, and Ronan did his best to crush her flat against the wall.
If what she said and did only affected how she was treated.
There was no room for blunders.
And nothing to indicate what was correct.
Yes, as a grown dog, she truly envied the puppies.
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Market District, First Hour of the Next Day
A volley of arrows splintered against very dense air. Izark heard the assailant coming up behind him swear as shrapnel found him.
He'd felt their purpose from blocks away. Now they were close, and he could distinguish between the wrath of one, the fear-tinged conviction of another, and the detached calm of the third. There was a fourth, but those signals were not clear. Not because they were complex—rather, they were distorted or withheld.
That was worrisome.
Izark disabled the would-be ambusher with minimal effort. The man fumed and cursed, his accent giving Izark a sudden, sad insight into how he had come into his current occupation. His dialect also clarified quite handily the grouping of three attackers—they were Gray Birds. Gaya had explained it to him once. Three was the basic unit—small enough to go unnoticed, large enough to be a presence, and simple enough to maintain cohesion and clear leadership. Cohorts did tend to be larger—often including small children, younger apprentices, and disabled masters—but three was considered the proper number of professional soldiers in a Gray Bird "family", whether the members of such a unit were blood relatives or not.
Another shot came from his right as he trussed his captive—it had even less effect than the first, because the Angry Man was now safe within the bounds of Izark's shield. A thwip! from the left told him that Katarina had followed the trajectory of the latest wasted arrow to locate the sniper. The tiny noise of distress that followed announced that she'd hit her target—he swore that woman could see better in the dark than he could, and the black-haired warrior's eyes could do really unusual things when he needed them to.
Knowing that Katarina was watching the street, and sensing that Wei had moved to collect the Frightened-and-Now-In-Pain Archer, Izark turned his attention to the No-Longer-so-Calm One. A temper had flared up ahead on the apparently vacant street when Katarina hit the sniper, and now he homed in on that sense of—of…of maternal outrage.
Huh.
He was actually quite surprised at how much physical force erupted in front of him when the tall, powerfully built woman vaulted the crates she'd been using as cover, employing the full weight of both her greatsword and herself to try and drag his guard down, probably in the hopes of getting a dagger between his ribs.
She might as well have tried to drag down a granite cliff, but he gave her points for effort and tactical savvy. On most other people, it would have worked beautifully.
As Izark Kia Tarj was not most other people, her charge met an immovable object in the form of his sword block. She ricocheted back off of it, tried to recover, failed, and wound up on her bum with her weapon kicked to the side and the point of Izark's longsword in the vicinity of her throat.
The furious eyes that looked up the blade at him reminded him painfully of Banadam's.
The presence of the obscure fourth adversary had vanished.
"There was another," Izark said, never lessening the threat in his stance. "Was he with you?"
The Gray Bird woman—something told him she was the leader—glared, but shook her head as Wei appeared at Izark's side, dressed in a fitted dark tunic and hood that hid his hair.
The young Gray Bird man considered the swordswoman with some disappointment. "I was kind of hoping you'd have a beard," he informed her. "And saggy eyes. The archer's a young lady," he informed Izark. "And the man's not Radiak."
"No," Izark agreed. "I did sense someone besides these three. Whoever it was, they hide almost as well as you do."
Wei grimaced. "That was probably him." He cut his eyes at the swordswoman. "Up you get, Mistress, and no tricks. You can't touch him, but I'm guessing you were paid in advance, so you should be able to buy your way free—too bad they didn't tell you the job was impossible."
Sullen, the woman eased to her feet.
"How's the archer?" Izark wanted to know. He had to pull the tip of his blade back an inch, because his captive almost sliced herself when she looked up suddenly.
"Won't be using her drawing arm for a while, if she has any sense. Scared—never seen an arrow break on nothing before, and worried about her parents. I bandaged her when I tied her—she'll be a bit woozy, but otherwise she's fine. Arms behind you, Mistress."
The swordswoman sagged with relief as Wei bound her hands. She even started talking. "They did say you don't kill." The lack of any sort of twang in her speech suggested that she had come to the Tribe from a different walk of life than her husband. She cast a cool look at Wei. "Didn't say you had backup."
Izark opened his mouth, but Wei beat him to it. "He doesn't kill, when he can avoid it. It's my big sister you have to watch out for. She's the one that got your daughter. Katarina and I can take them back to the station," the young Gray Bird told his friend. "Keep looking for Radiak—we need to get him fast."
"You're sure he's a poisoner?"
"I could smell it on him. No healer would ever keep that much prepared Full Moon on his person."
"And he can conceal his presence." Which means he probably has other tricks up his sleeves.
"Yeah. Not a good combination, for us." Wei nodded to Izark, then nudged the Gray Bird woman toward where Katarina was guarding the man and the girl. "Walk steady, or I swear on my parents' graves I'll hobble you. That's a nice weapon, by the way, and you're the right build for it—if I tried to swing a sword that heavy, it'd swing me." Chatting amiably, he started them on their trek to the district's cells.
The last Izark heard, Wei had managed to draw the swordswoman into an analysis about matching a warrior's physique to the right weapon. He rolled his eyes, but smiled. Gray Birds.
It was bracing when the assassins took defeat sensibly. Also, the fact that this group was from out of town suggested that he'd already made a sizable dent in the local population of hitmen. That, or the results of the last several days were making the intended impression—pipe down or clear out, because the fun is over—but Izark found that reasoning a bit too optimistic.
Now, the poisoner. It wasn't just that he'd concealed his presence—Izark got the sense that he had truly gone, retreated. Either he'd seen enough, and decided that Izark was more than he could handle, or…or what?
Or he's seen enough, and thinks hecanhandle me, with some prep-work.
Which, depending on the poisoner's method, was dangerous on a small scale, or dangerous on a large scale. Taking an aimless path through the alleyways, Izark scowled at unpleasant memories.
Three days until the next guard trial. Large scale or small scale, poisoners were bad news and Wei was right.
They needed to catch this Radiak fast.
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Author's Note: I cannot take credit in any way for thelesson about the puppy—that amazing analogy is, as far as I know, the creation of Paul Cox, an ethnobotanist and former Mormon Missionary who is partly recognized for figuring out the link between a toxin called BMAA and the rash of neurological diseases that was affecting adults of the Chamorros people on the island of Guam, a discovery which encouraged the current investigation into whether BMAA accumulation could be responsible for Alzheimer's and other 'tangle diseases'. I can't get my hands on the article, but he explained in an interview that when entering another culture, an outsider will invariably mess it up, get it wrong, and make some truly magnificent mistakes. Therefore, as the outsider, it's important that you accept the role of a puppy who has just piddled on the rug—or a child learning manners for the first time-'cause that's exactly what you are.
A few years ago I went to a primitive skills convention. There was a reenactor's camp, some blacksmiths, a few atlatl throwers/makers, one of the nation's premiere antler and bone sculptors, a Native American storyteller and several antique dealers and rock hounds. Most of the tents, however, were occupied by one or two men (a few women) surrounded by piles of flint, chert, and the random obsidian on tarps (most of which was ostensibly for sale). They sat on folding chairs and camp stools with their heads bent over unassuming pieces of rock just knap, knap, knapping away. Once in a while, a man would finish, consider the spear- or arrow-head he'd just made, then get up and go to his neighbor's tent. (Take a look. Oh, wow, yeah, that's a nice point!) Knappers in all the adjacent tents would converge to admire the new sharp implement (Hmm! Yeah, nice!), then go back and continue their own projects. Occasionally, this happened not with a successful point at all—just a really quality piece of rock.
It was beautiful. Seriously, this memory makes me so happy.
Gray Birds are like those flint knappers when it comes to deadly weapons and how to use them—they are Art of War aficionados, the fact that their society has been dispersed notwithstanding. If you were raised Gray Bird but didn't feel this kind of enthusiasm for the Art of War, chances are you didn't remain a Gray Bird. Maybe you've got a special skill, like Zena. Perhaps you like weapons, but not using them, so you became a weaponsmith.
Every once in a while I like to dig up Rudyard Kipling's poem, 'The Female of the Species'. Perhaps contrary to its original intent, I find it's fairly lighthearted while at the same time bringing up some serious points—it makes me feel powerful while reminding me not to be a bully. Based on Gaya in particular, women that were either raised Gray Bird or gravitated to the Tribe tend to be Mama Bears. They're strong and they know it—Gaya will even warn you in advance, just to be sure you've considered how badly you'll be thrashed if you decide to take her on. Due to the content of the second part, I was tempted to name this chapter 'The Female of the Species'. Maybe another chapter ^_^.
Please Review! I might not get back to you, but I do take your thoughts into account. I spend a lot of time trying to get things just right (especially in regards to continuity—I have charts and maps, people), so it's nice to have three or ten pairs of eyes looking for mistakes.
Love,
~Lanta