I don't own Doyle. I don't own the Secret Saturdays. I also don't own a certain visitor that Corbin and company don't expect.
I own Fae, Corbin's servants, Dr. Perez, the Mulo Clan, and other unnamed extras. I own the person that the unexpected visitor has been asking about.
Though I have used a few terms here and there in other chapters, this is the first chapter I would say that I've "peppered" with Romani terms.
I try, for the sake of readers who do not know the terms and do not wish to look them up, to provide some way of indicating my intended meaning with each one. Some are actually translated within the dialogue (as when a Romani speaks to a gadje). Some, like the term mahrime (unclean, demon, etc.), I try to imply simply with the attitude or context in which it is spoken (though that may not always happen). Others, however, are kind of...just in there; for instance, I used "puyuria" in this chapter (and others) as somewhere between a title and vague label, to mean "respected outsider" or "outsider who respects our ways" (the second being a very loose interpretation of the "gadje gypsy groupies" that one of my sources gave as translation). Except for this quick note, I don't believe I've given any indication within the story of what I meant by it. For another...the name of the clan (which itself may mean many different things, depending on what site you use for translation; me, I just meant "ghost" or "spirit").
I have obtained these terms from a variety of websites (Wikipedia included)—most of which I forgot to note down—and I do not actually know the accuracy of these terms or sources. I don't even know what dialects they come from; I've probably used as many dialects as I have words.
As such, if any of my readers actually know any part of any of the Romani dialects and find errors in how I use the terms, feel free to correct me. Please, also, provide your sources, as I would love to learn more of the language.
A warning for customs, however: this Romani clan is (probably) not like other Romani. They are not intended to be like other Romani; they even explain (beginning the next chapter), that they are not like other Romani.
No, that's not me being lazy with my research (at least not in their case); I do not want them to be like other Romani, and they should explain some part of the reason.
So if you spot "errors" in their customs and beliefs...they might not all be errors.
Stray
"We cannot apologize enough for this misunderstanding, puyuria Faizura Tailor," the warrior said.
Fae tried to wave off the apology. "I understand, elder, truly." She stifled a grin at calling this young man an elder. "Even with your duties, I imagine you can be rather...nervous working so near those who believe so ill of your people."
"Aye, that is nervous enough work," the warrior agreed. "If it were only that, might be we could put an end to it, drive the evil from their spirits, and leave the gadje to their choices." He shrugged. "But in recent years, our own children have begun disappearing from their beds. It may be more of this prejudice...or something worse. We have word of these grey demons snooping about; they sound much like those that your betrothed described, and we've heard much of disappearances in their wake."
"Children?" The servant leaned forward. "Disappearing? When?"
"It appears to surge and fade every generation," an old woman replied, ignoring the rules of propriety. "Our own Rom Baro—I believe the gadje might call him the clan chief—lost his daughter more than a year past, though the latest surge had begun about five years before that."
Fae and the servant stared at each other, then Fae nodded and turned back to the clan. "Elders, I cannot pretend to know your customs, so I do not know what rules we might break. But you could not have given us a better opening, and we must take it as given."
The warrior nodded for them to continue.
The servant paused to collect his thoughts. "We have...a number of favors we would like to ask, but they all come down to one problem. My employer has, within his household, a child who Benton and Fae believe is a rom—roma—" He frowned and shook his head. "I apologize. I've heard that some find the term insulting, but a gypsy, anyhow." He took a deep breath. "The problem is that we don't know where he comes from, though we think he has been alone for a long time, and we need...information to better take care of him."
The servant looked the warrior in the eye. "If this child is one of your clan, one of your missing children, I believe my employer will send him back to his family if asked. But him and his own boy are quite taken with this child, and do not wish to give him up." He smiled wryly. "He locks himself in his study, of late, looking over books of law and adoption forms, when he thinks nobody's watching."
Fae nodded, mirroring the smile. "And even Zander calls him his 'little brother,' as if the label were the most natural thing in the world."
The smile vanished from their faces, and the servant continued. "But we require your people's help, in either case."
The two quickly summarized what they knew of the child, beginning when Fae had seen him with her cats, adding a few details of Benton's speculations, and ending with the circumstances under which the servant had removed the child from the village. They tried not to elaborate on the attack, but it was clear that they set the anger smoldering in these warriors.
It was the old woman who reminded them to stay calm. "Much as I appreciate the desire," she said in a low growl, "seeking revenge will not undo what those villagers have done to this child. It will, however, make further contact with these people less favorable for our own, or for that child, than it already is."
The one young warrior agreed, though he hated to do so. "I would speak to our Rom Baro, first, but I believe he will be willing to help. This child, though—the description you gave...." He shook his head. "I do not know where he is from. He does not sound like any of ours."
"Ah, perhaps—" The old woman thought for a moment. "Yes, he does sound familiar. That young Blackwell child. Jonny—Jonathon—Blackwell. I remember his father took him away from the clan a long time ago."
"Blackwell?" Fae repeated. "The boy might be this Jonathon Blackwell, then?"
But the old woman shook her head. "Before your time, puyuria. Truth, almost before mine. I only remember him, because the Elders go on about how our best chovihano—that's the shaman, for you—was getting on in years, and had wanted to train Jonny up to replace him. Only the kid's daddy had got scared about these grey demons snooping around, and took his son and ran away from the clan."
"That's not exactly helpful," the servant grumbled.
"No?" the old woman replied. "Well, I don't remember Jonny well enough to know how he'd act—though given what you said this boy's been through, it don't surprise me any that he's all scared—but for his looks, this boy sounds like enough like Jonny as to be his son. Be the right age, anyhow."
The warrior stood up and entered one of the tents.
Another look passed between Fae and the servant.
"Maybe...." the servant muttered.
"Would you happen to know where to find this Blackwell?" Fae asked.
The old woman shook her head again. "Been so long; I haven't the faintest notion where old Blackwell took his boy. But I can ask around, if the Rom Baro agrees."
The warrior returned. "The Rom Baro has authorized me to escort the both of you and one of our healers to this Corbin Revan." He glanced at the old woman. "He has also authorized to help tend to this child, and learn what we can about the boy." The woman nodded, and he looked back at Fae. "When I have verified this Corbin's intentions and reported back to the Rom Baro, then he will determine what information we can provide."
Fae nodded. "Accepted."
—
True to his word, Corbin refused to continue any business in the villages, but when presented with the representatives of the Mulo Clan, he negotiated a deal to trade with them and other Romani clans.
When asked, he eagerly took pictures of the child and passed them along to the clans. Other than the wise woman's earlier suggestion, however, nobody had any idea who the child might be.
The Romani, for their part, continued their business as necessary within the villages; they knew which people were safe to deal with and which to be avoided, and knew a few tricks to punish those who were less accepting.
Fae or one of Corbin's servants often accompanied one of the Romani's warriors on these trips, hoping to learn more of their ways, to improve relations with their people, and to show the villagers that they were willing to accept the Romani.
On one such trip, she overheard a man asking questions. None of the villagers he spoke to recognized the description, but Fae remembered a woman she'd heard about, another Romani who'd been the center of so much trouble.
"You're not the first person I've heard passing around that description, you know," she said, walking up to the man. She tried to suppress her anger at the memory of what she'd heard. And the memory of who had been asking.
He actually jumped, and turned to face her. "Perhaps you know of her, then? Have you seen this woman?" It sounded like he spoke with an accent, though the mask that hid his face also distorted his voice. There was emotion in that voice, but Fae could not decipher it through the mask.
She quirked an eyebrow. "Maybe I have, and maybe I haven't." She inspected her nails. "Didn't know anything when those other fellows were asking around about her. But maybe if I knew why you're looking for her, might be I'd know something of use."
He shook his head. "I cannot tell you that."
"Oh, well," she said with a shrug. "I guess I don't know anything, then."
"Miss, please! I cannot tell you why I search for her...but...." His shoulders slumped. "If I assume your intentions are pure...then it might be for the same reason you choose to say nothing." She shook her head again. "Perhaps then, you could at least tell me who else has been asking questions?"
"Nope. Not without knowing why. Though personally...." She glanced around at the villagers. "Whatever your reason, you don't want to put much stock in the gossip mill, hmm-kay? Especially not when the Romani are concerned."
She turned back to Romani warrior. The masked man tried to call her back, but she ignored him.
The warrior gave her a questioning look, but chose to say nothing.
—
"I still don't understand why he can't heal the same. You told me that Zander's illness can't be healed by magic, but these carvings—"
Fae stuck her head in the door to watch Corbin arguing with the chovihano—again—then gestured for one of the servants to start unloading the cart. The warrior took up his position outside the door.
The chovihano shook his head. "The magic in those carvings is better than I would expect, especially for the untrained. That the boy accomplished such spells by sheer instinct is...beyond imagining. But those carvings do not heal your son, they attract healing to him. Physical healing. Just as the other carvings the boy had made do not cause results, they attract what is needed. But those villagers have polluted this child's soul. Until that is cleansed, his body cannot recover."
Corbin glanced over to where Dr. Perez waited. The doctor shrugged. "I don't know about the 'soul' part, Corb, but from a psychological perspective, he's right. Sort of a...'mind over matter' type of problem."
"His...soul?" Zander asked. "I thought only evil could taint that." Then he blinked. "I mean, like you'd taint your own soul by being evil, not because someone evil hurt decided to hurt you."
"His aura, then," the chovihano amended. "His magic."
"But, elder, you said there was poison in his blood," Corbin continued. "I saw it, I smelled it. You cut open his wounds and sucked it out. You've done that every day since you've come. What has that poison to do with his...." He waved his hands. "With his aura?"
The chovihano rubbed at his temples. "There is a thing...one of the names for it is tulpa. Have you heard of this thing?"
Corbin shook his head, glanced over to see Dr. Perez and Zander's blank expressions, then shook his head again.
"It is a thing that comes to exist, after we have thought hard enough about it, yes?" a Russian voice replied from the door.
Fae and Zander jumped to their feet to face the intruder. Zander rang a bell to call the servants; it didn't take long before those inside heard running feet.
The chovihano merely smiled. "That is one of the more...simplistic meanings, but accurate enough for my purposes." He turned back to Corbin. "The villagers' thoughts were poisonous, and when they attacked the child, that poison entered into him, as though he were bitten by a deadly serpent. But it has been that poison, not a true venom, that I have drawn from his wounds."
"You don't listen very well, do you?" Fae asked the intruder. "Or do you just not understand when someone wants you to go away?"
"Begging your pardon, miss," the intruder said, "but you never actually said to go away."
"What are you doing here?" she snarled at him.
The warrior and the servant returned.
The warrior fixed the intruder with a glare that was almost as dangerous as Fae's. "How did you get in here?"
But if the man reacted to their hostility, it was hidden beneath his mask. "The villagers sent me here," he replied to Fae, ignoring the warrior's question, "after they saw me talking with you."
Fae snorted in derision. "Didn't I tell you not to listen to the gossip mill?"
"Especially not when Romani are involved," he said, "if I remember correctly. Thing is, miss, I never actually said the woman I was looking for was Romani. Or Gypsy, or any of the other names people give them. But you did." Fae didn't even flinch, and the man sighed. "They told me you were involved in some chaos a week back, involving a Romani. They told me some places to go—not all of them involved being alive...or were physically possible, for that matter—and this was the closest."
Fae straightened up a fraction, and she looked the masked man up and down. "Exactly why do I not believe you?"
"Perhaps," the man slowly replied, "because they did not use the word 'Romani.' I believe one of the more...polite names they used was something to the effect of, uh...." He cocked his head. "'Filthy gypsy vermin.' It was...difficult to convince myself not to teach them better manners."
Fae smiled—the anger in his tone was obvious, even through the mask—and relaxed out of her stance. "I was involved in some...chaos, a week ago," she agreed, "but it had nothing to do with the woman."
"Then I will not trouble you," the man said. But as he turned to leave, Zander returned to his seat at the bedside, and the man caught a glimpse of who lay in the bed....
"Doyle?!" He rushed into the room. The Romani warrior moved to stop him, but the man flung the warrior against the wall. The masked man tore off his mask and threw it to the floor, and leaned over the bed for a closer look. "Doyle? What has happened to—" Then he felt a sharp, cold line on his neck, and he stilled.
Fae had jumped at his movement and grabbed a knife from the man's belt, the knife she now held at his throat. "I would suggest, sir, that you back away from him, slowly." She moved the knife a little, forcing him to step back so she could not cut him. "Are you all right?" she asked the warrior, not daring to take her eyes off the intruder.
"I...I think so," the warrior replied, stunned. "Got the sense knocked out of me, is all. Wall decided to remind me why we don't just rush into battle. Guy's stronger than he looks." He shook his head and grimaced. "Looks plenty strong, at that. Probably wasn't even trying."
"You sure you're fine?" the servant asked as he helped the warrior to pick himself up off the floor. "No concussion?"
"Bit of a headache," the warrior replied; Dr. Perez rose to his feet, but the warrior waved him off. "Nothing compared to what the Rom Baro will give me when he hears what a damn fool move I made."
"You...you called him...Doyle?" Corbin said, turning to the intruder.
"It is his name," the other man replied.
"How do you know that?" Corbin asked. "When he came to my home, he said he did not remember his own name. How do you know it?"
"It is his name," the man repeated. "Please, what happened to him?"
"No," Fae said. "No. Not good enough. See...you busted in on us. Nobody invited you, but here you are. So now, you get to answer our questions."
The man spared one ironic smile for Fae, then sighed. "His name is Doyle Blackwell. His father—"
"Blackwell? Jonathon, perhaps?" Fae interrupted, startling the man. He nodded, as much the knife allowed. "Elder, isn't that the name your wise woman told us a few days ago?"
"It is the same," the warrior replied.
"Go on," Fae said to the man.
"I cannot," he said. "More than that I could not tell you. I did not know Jonathon's family as well as I would like; I recognize Doyle only because he looks so much like his father."
Fae made a rude noise in her throat, but she removed the knife from his. She sat down beside Zander and fiddled with the blade, until the chovihano asked to examine it.
"And you know this man," Fae asked, "this Jonathon? You know him well?"
"I should," the man replied, irritated. "He has been my mentor for years, since I was about Doyle's age. Since before Doyle was even born."
"Oh, your mentor," Fae replied. "Well, perhaps you can ask your mentor just what kind of good-for-nothing would leave his child all alone in these parts! Do you have any idea what kind of idiots live in those villages, what they'll do if they get their hands on a gypsy? I mean, you asked what happened to the child, those villagers are what happened to him. You tell your mentor he'd better have a damn good reason—"
"How dare you speak of Jonathon that way?" the man snapped. He activated a device on his wrist and pointed it at her. "He would never—"
"Oh, put that away," Fae interrupted. She glanced at the outstretched wrist, then pointedly ignored it. She stood up and stared down the man. "You tracked me down because you think I have information you want; do you honestly think it's a good idea to threaten me?" His face turned red, but he did not change his stance. "I mean, even if you're bluffing...accidents can happen, am I right? You wouldn't want to take away a possible source of information. Unless maybe this woman isn't important enough."
The man's face twisted in anger and pain...but he eventually broke off eye contact. After a moment, he turned off the device and dropped his arm.
"Do you think maybe now we can have a proper conversation?" Fae asked.
The man nodded.
Fishing for reviews.
What do readers think of the explanation about the carvings?
I don't know if something like that will make it into my original fiction, but one never knows....