Well, it's been quite a while. Who knew summers could be so busy? Ah, that's not really an excuse. Partly, I just haven't felt like writing for a bit. I think in some ways I'm not particularly happy with the last chapter. It's really more a means to an end than anything all that interesting on its own. Not that I dislike it… I actually rather enjoy Mero and Rena's bit. I dunno.
Anyway, for some reason I can't seem to right except for times when I'm really so busy I should be doing other things. Who knows what that says about me?
But, here it is, late, but here. Weird but here. Give me some feedback, please.
Oh, and let me say thank you so much for all the people who continued to review while I was gone. That really spurred me through some writer's block and got this chapter out. So, yeah. Y'all rock.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Mine. There is a fine distinction. Halfblood Chronicles are one, this storyline is another.
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Jemayne is pregnant? Cyerriah struggled to wrap her mind around the idea. Breeders got pregnant. The occasional bond-slave rewarded with the opportunity to marry got pregnant. Pregnancy among humans was an event carefully monitored and controlled by the elven overlords. Common slaves, scullery slaves like Jemayne, did not get pregnant.
The little she knew came from distant, vague memories of the breeders her mother had been a part of. Watching Jemayne now, as the other dismissed Mero and Sheyrena, Cyerriah examined the diminutive girl, running through the events of the past days under this new light. She kept throwing up… is that normal? What kind of strain has she been under? For the first time it occurred to her to wonder just how old the other girl was. Younger than me, Cyerriah thought. By several years. Fifteen… maybe sixteen. Ancestors, so young!
Slaves grew up quickly, of course. They had to, to survive. Cyerriah's own childhood had ended when she had been taken from her mother at five to begin her training. But pregnancy… Fleetingly Cyerriah wondered if she would have become a breeder some day. The thought was foreign, and unsettling. And yet it was perhaps the best of the potential futures a concubine could look forward to…
Her mind was drawn inexorably back to the current crisis. Jemayne is pregnant. What happened to her? It hurt to contemplate, sent a pang of sorrow and compassion slicing through her with the sharpness of a knife. And other thoughts. She must have known. She knew. She was hiding it from me. That hurt, too, in its own way—the awareness of how little she really knew about this other girl. And what right did she have to know? If Jemayne wanted to keep secrets, she was more than entitled to. And if Jemayne didn't trust her… well, wasn't she entitled to that, too? Even if hurt?
Jemayne's voice broke into her thoughts. "We need to talk." Odd—now that Jemayne had finally looked at her, it was Cyerriah who found she couldn't meet the other girl's eyes. She found a comb lying atop a box, and busied herself with setting Jemayne's short blonde hair to rights.
The distraction helped her to keep her words calm and detached. "Only if you want to." Her hands worked with gentle assurance at the familiar task. Yet another of the less than useful skills of her training, she considered with bitter irony.
"I should have told you—" Jemayne started, haltingly. "You deserve to know."
"You weren't obligated to tell me anything. You still aren't."
Jemayne's hands clenched. "Yes I am! And I should have. Because…" Her words tumbled over each other in a self-conscious rush. "Because I'd like to think you're my friend, and that's what friends do! They tell each other things." She was looking thoroughly embarrassed now, and her voice dropped to a low mutter. "I'm not very used to having friends."
Cyerriah felt a peculiar lifting in her heart. "Me neither." Friends. It was a nice word. It brought a smile to her face. Does it even matter if she really means it? "Maynee…" she searched for words, came up blank. "…thanks. You still don't have to tell me, though."
Jemayne twisted to glare irritably at the other girl. "Haven't you listened to a word I've said? Of course I'm telling you." It was so typical of Jemayne that Cyerriah broke into a grin. Jemayne struggled to look properly annoyed then grinned herself, settling back into the cot. "And don't you forget it."
Jemayne sighed then, and fell into a contemplative silence for a few moments, and the mood grew solemn again. Finally, she spoke. "Mother is a strange word. What do you suppose mothers are like outside of slavery? I don't remember mine—just the children's pens." Cyerriah set the comb down and moved to sit beside the cot. "The baby's half-elven," Jemayne said abruptly. "A wizard. I suppose that's why Amity sent us to the halfbloods. Not that it matters."
She laughed, a harsh sound. "I probably don't even need to tell the rest of the story. There aren't too many ways for a common slave to wind up with an elf-child in her belly. Is it even rape if it's a slave?"
Cyerriah's eyes were wide and sad, deep with reflected pain. Oh, Maynee.
Perhaps she spoke the words aloud, for Jemayne shrugged, and continued, almost carelessly. "I suppose V'Kel Shaen Lord Kavoes didn't have enough concubines." She saw the wordless question in the other girl's face. She had seen from the beginning where Cyerriah's feelings about the elvenlord lay. It had, in fact, been as much the reason for her dislike as any other cause. Granted, feelings on both sides had shifted over time, but Jemayne found herself probing mercilessly. "You love him. Still."
Cyerriah's face contracted. "I don't know." The words sounded lost. "Jemayne… did he…?" She trailed off, unable to finish.
Jemayne's voice was hard, almost cold. "What if I said it was him?"
Cyerriah flinched as if struck but said nothing, dropping her gaze. Jemayne immediately felt guilty, the spite draining out of her, leaving her empty and tired. "No. I never even knew his name. Just some anonymous lordly guest who couldn't go a few days without his concubines. Or maybe he just liked harassing slave girls, I don't know."
She tipped her head back, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. "Everyone could tell right off he was one of those types. The sadists. I was just the only one stupid enough to get myself cornered."
Her hands tightened on the blankets and she drew them closer around her. "I still can't get his laugh out of my head. The way he enjoyed the pain… humiliation. Sometimes I even see his face. Clear as day, like he's there again. A beautiful face. Even his laugh. Things like that shouldn't be beautiful. Maybe that's why they stuck so well. It's weird, everything else seems blurry and… distant. Someone else's pain. Screams. Like I'm just watching. But it makes me sick. I can't stand it—to be so totally helpless. So totally—and I want to—I just—"
Her shoulders convulsed with a sudden gasping sob. And then another. And then she was crying, violently, with all the fervency and energy she put into every action. She was crying, and Cyerriah found that she had no words to comfort, no soothing melodies, no automatic and ingrained techniques from her training to confer. She could only hold onto her friend, pained and at a loss, until weariness sapped the passion from Jemayne's sobs, and her crying gradually abated.
Finally, Jemayne pushed away, sinking back into her cot. "Sorry." Her voice sound hoarse and exhausted, but she twisted her lips around a weak self-mocking smile. "I promised myself I'd done all the crying I was going to do because of that pointy-eared bastard." She let out a shaky breath, and scrubbed vigorously at her face. "Stupid… 's done now."
Automatically, Cyerriah passed her a handkerchief, and Jemayne accepted the offering with a grimace of amusement that exposed a faint echo of her usual spirit. "'m fine." As if to prove her words, she rolled her shoulders in a cavalier shrug, and launched back into her narrative.
"Anyway, Amity was the one who found me. Not then of course, but later. You don't dare tell anyone—slaves can get killed for that kind of thing. Not that you want to tell anyone. It's just—it's hard pretending. You clean up and you go on like nothing happened."
Her voice picked up an edge. "It's just another day, and you have work to do, and if anybody asks, you got clumsy on the stairs. People suspect of course, but they don't know, so they don't have to report you." She punctuated the words with a bitter laugh. "Wouldn't want the elves getting paranoid and starting some culling crusade."
"Amity, though… she doesn't pretend like the rest of us, does she? Don't know how the batty old woman survived so long." Jemayne's lips curved with affection. "Yet somehow she seems indestructible, doesn't she? Funny… She saw the signs—just like everyone else. But more, she took me aside, talked to me… cared. Who cares about a stranger?"
"…We're not going to hurt you. We want to help."
"I am sorry… I only want to help."
Jemayne's brow furrowed at the flash of memory, but she continued. "No one else did—back there. In a way, we were all strangers, weren't we?"
Cyerriah spoke, her voice sounding abrupt after her long silence. "The collars." Her words fell heavily into the air, as if burdened with a personal grief.
Jemayne narrowed her eyes. "Yes." The word was a hiss of distaste. "Amity said the collar-spell was tied into that. But spell or no spell… in the end I think the responsibility falls on the individual." She shrugged and looked embarrassed by her philosophizing. "Anyway. Long story short, Amity helped me out in more ways than one. My magic started up right after that—trying to break free of the collar. Made me more than a little sick, and also made a few things happen that would have signed my death warrant if anyone else had seen. Spontaneous combustion and the like."
"Amity said it was the trauma that did it—woke the magic up." Jemayne's mouth twisted into a smile full of bitter irony. "Funny, isn't it? If it weren't for that pointy-eared bastard I'd still be a slave. Still be helpless." Her normally blue eyes were shadow-filled…midnight dark. "Funny. Anyway, Amity's the only reason they didn't catch me. She gave me an iron piece, which helped, then got the blasted collar off, which helped more. She even got me a look-alike, and blast me if I can figure where she came up with that. She also showed me how to get my magic under control, gave me lessons. Amity's no mage, but she knew enough theory to get me through." Jemayne blew out a breath of air and leaned back, staring up into the canvas above her. "I swear—that woman's not human. She's got an answer to everything. Maybe she's from one of the Old Gods."
"She is wonderful…" Cyerriah smiled, musing aloud. "Do you suppose there really was a time before the elves?"
Jemayne shrugged. "Hard to imagine, isn't it?"
Cyerriah nodded pensively. "Amity says that's where the Dance she taught me comes from…a before-time. I never really believed her, but now…"
"Hmph." Jemayne turned, focusing an intense gaze upon her. "I wonder… well. Maybe Amity set you up as well as she did me." She barked a laugh. "Wouldn't be surprised—crafty old bag. I swear…" She shook her head and sighed. "Well, there's one last part to the story. Amity saw more symptoms than my magic breaking loose." Jemayne's stared off into space, the moment clear in her mind.
"Ah, sweetling, ye're not dying. Ye be carrying a little, 'tis all."
Shock. Denial. Revulsion. Anger. All swam dizzingly in her head, leaving her unable to form a coherent sentence. Her first words had been of rejection—of the pronouncement, of Amity, of the child. Infection. It had felt like a second violation, the renewal of that—creature's presence.
She remembered when she had finally, bluntly, asked Amity how to get rid of it. And been shocked again—by Amity's reaction so similar to her own in its way. Revulsion followed by anger. She had never seen Amity angry before—not towards her. They argued viciously and parted, and Jemayne had spent a miserable night, alone and afraid; cold inside after the heat of her anger had left her. She hadn't thought she would see Amity again. She hadn't been sure she would even survive the week.
So she was startled anew when the old woman sought her out the next day. Amity looked… tired. Careworn. But resigned. And today, even quietly sympathetic and understanding towards Jemayne. In this manner she delved straight into the day's instruction, making no reference to the previous day. When Jemayne uncertainly attempted to bring it up she made her statement simply and softly.
"When ye've the skill for it, ye'll know how, lass, if ye want. I'll not hinder your choice, whatever it may be. We'll talk no more of it."
That same sadness and resignation echoed through her words, but with it Jemayne thought she detected the hint of another emotion; something like guilt or anger directed inwards. What could Amity have to be mad at herself about?
Jemayne looked toward Cyerriah, still turning that question over in her mind as she spoke. "I didn't want this. I didn't ask for it. Amity was upset at first… that I wanted to get rid of it and I couldn't understand why. It was just… I don't want any part of him. Amity wouldn't show me directly how to get rid of it, but I figured I could work that out on my own, eventually. After all, I've got magic, right? What better?"
She looked searchingly at Cyerriah, but didn't know what she wanted to find there. What she saw was something like the face of a person struggling with foreign ideas and emotions; someone who attempted to empathize, but in the end could only feel sympathy and uncertainty. Perhaps it helped—there was no judgment there. At any rate, Jemayne found suddenly that she wanted nothing more but to move away from these uncomfortable recollections and feelings.
"I can't say exactly how things happened from there—or whether anything happened at all. But when I could—when I finally thought I could try… I—well, I looked. There's away of looking, with the mage sight, to see inside things… it has to do with healing. But I looked inside, and there was this tiny little thing that didn't look quite like a person, or quite like a nothing. And, I don't know what it was but right then I felt him kick. For the first time." She closed her eyes, caught by the memory. Had it been the magic? Had it been chance? Recognition? A very deep part of her mind wondered if it might not have been an excuse. She sighed, releasing the questions gladly. They weren't what mattered. What mattered was what had changed in that moment.
"He's mine. My son. Cye, he's so beautiful. And I want to—protect him, to keep him happy. I want—I want his world to be everything the elves have tried to take from us. I want him to have a family, love, friends, choices, everything!" It wasn't quite a smile that transformed her face, but her face was alight with energy, and her blue eyes seemed almost to glow.
"This baby… it's almost like he's nothing to do with… that… or rather, he's something the elves wouldn't have wanted. Something they're scared of. Another one of the beautiful things they try to take away from us. They deny us the right to be people, they deny him the right to exist! But I claim him. I want him. I love him already—is that strange? Is it odd for my feelings to change like this?" Her voice and features softened, and she pressed a hand to her stomach with something like wonder. "But it is… a sort of miracle… not even magic to help, but it happens anyway."
They passed a few moments in comfortable silence that way, then Jemayne turned to Cyerriah matter-of-factly, though her voice came slightly uneven. "Well. Now you 'know all.' Some final spilling of the guts. Pass me that bowl, I'm going to sick up."
Cyerriah her lip, trying not to smile as Jemayne really was quite sick into the bowl. Leave it to Maynee to end a story like that. And make time for sarcastic commentary. Ancestors, help me.
Her emotions and thoughts were still spinning from the day's events. But as she stroked her friend's hair back, helped her wipe her face, and settled her in for some real, much needed rest, she felt the strangest sense of contentment settle over her. For the first time in several weeks she didn't worry about how things were going to work out, or what she could possibly make of use out of herself. She had a place, of sorts. A friend. And maybe, eventually, a family.
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Well, the end of this chapter could probably use some tweaking. And there was supposed to be a bit of ominous plot development at the end, but I thought you'd rather have something sooner, after my long absence. So we'll leave that for next time. I'm not sure quite how I feel about this chapter, but I think that personally, I like it. Let me know how it works for you guys… I worry a bit that I spent too much time on Maynee's past, or approached it the wrong way.
Review Responses:
Rosethorn: Yeah, I should probably get a beta reader. But I'm not really attempting to post a finished product here—and I tend to get bogged down. Well, it's just for fun, and I look for feedback like yours, and try mostly to write better in the future. I did capitalize Self on purpose… sorta the proper noun approach when something represents a little more of a concept and idea, almost an entity. Like Justice. Or maybe I'm just being crazy.
Augh, your comments about Sue-ism have driven me crazy. I keep analyzing poor Cye to bits. Well, I think I have shifted a few plans for her, but it would help if you'd be more specific. Then I'd know whether I agreed with you or not.
Lizai: Yes, indeed, she will. Poor, poor baby. Or maybe poor rest of the world, if he's anything like her.
Winona: Well, nothing too surprising came out. I look to the future.
Goti-chan: I charge you with a great quest. Rest not until you have hunted these books unto their deepest lairs and… hm, I am in a weird mood. Thanx for the compliment!
Ken: Thank you. Perhaps I shall endeavor to work a mention of horses into the story. Perhaps I am overfond of the word perhaps in this chapter. Perhaps.
Sarah: Thanks! Your enthusiasm makes me happy to write!
Katherine Sloan: Well, I've looked. And I would LOVE to hear from anyone else writing an Elvenbane fic.
Unnatural Love, id:1859046; and Elvenbound, id:1364686 are the only ones I've encountered. I gladly pimp them here.
Ballgirl: Thanks! And here you go! Heh, now everyone must pester me for the next update. That is, if y'all want one.
Hmm, I think I'm just gonna post this sucker now. I gotta go to bed. But I'll cross my fingers and hope for response. Ciao!
-Li