“She tattled!” Kayla cried.
“She did!” Vasiht’h said. “She woke the Mother from her making-dreams and said, ‘My mate has stolen the gifts!’” He leaned forward. “It may surprise you to learn that Aksivaht’h was not displeased.”
“What?” Kuriel asked. “How come?”
“My mother would have been,” Kayla added darkly.
“Well, She wasn’t,” Vasiht’h said. “Because Juvreth’t was trying to do the best for his race, and believed that having all the gifts would keep them safer. It was hard for Her to punish him for this. She brought him forth and said, ‘Your keen smell you may keep as your reward for boldness. And your keen sight you will keep as a reward for your cleverness. Since wings and legs you wanted, you will have them… though not in the way you wanted, as a reminder that you do not always receive what you wish for in the way you might wish it. You will, no doubt, find some way to profit by it anyway, and that lesson is a valuable one. However, your keen hearing I will take, and take twice—you will be deficient now in it—for there must always be a balance.’ And then She sent him down to the world, him and his mate, and they were shaped as you see me now.”
“But what about the coat?” Nieve asked softly.
“Ah, you were listening carefully!” Vasiht’h said, smiling. “Aksivaht’h had forgotten about the colored coat… She had been in the middle of a very productive dreaming, and wanted to return to it. So She sent the two down, but paid little attention to how fast they were falling, and they were falling too fast! So together they aimed for the stars to brake their fall. The night sky blackened them as they fell, but the stars they used skidded off their backs and breasts and burned them to a clean white. And that is what became of the colored coat… it’s under here. Somewhere.”
“We should check!” Kayla said, and Meekie turned a little to spread the fur on Vasiht’h’s foreleg.
“It looks black all the way down,” she reported.
“It was a very dark night, and a very long fall,” Vasiht’h said somberly. And twitched. “That tickles, arii!”
There was nothing for it but to be tickled then, because three of them tackled him, and he obligingly laughed until his side ached before waving them off. When they turned speculative looks on the Eldritch, Jahir held up his hands and said, “Ladies, did you tickle me, I might faint.”
“It’s that Eldritch constitution of his,” Vasiht’h agreed.
“That was a good story,” Persy said. “Did they have other adventures?”
“Yuvreth’t and Slesvra? Oh yes. I’ll tell you more of them next time,” Vasiht’h said. “There’s even one where they briefly get their colored coats back.”
“They’re so lucky,” Amaranth said. “I’d love to have my hair back the way it was.”
“What was your hair like before?” Nieve asked. Vasiht’h flicked his ears forward to catch the answer.
“It was a pretty cinnamony brown color,” Amaranth said, and sighed. “Now it falls out all the time.”
“Especially after treatments?” Jahir asked, voice quiet, and Vasiht’h marveled at how much empathy he could put in such an understated tone.
“Yeah,” Amaranth said. “Sometimes I think I’ll never have my hair back.” And then she blanched. “Oh, Nieve, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean—”
Nieve laughed and touched her bald head. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”
“You don’t?” Amaranth asked, surprised. “Did you have hair before?”
“Sure,” Nieve said. “A light gray color. It was down to here,” she touched her collarbone. “About. My gran, she used to tell me it looked like a dove’s wing, but I’ve never seen a dove.” Nieve shrugged. “But I lost it pretty soon after I got sick, and that was a while ago.”
“You don’t feel… well… ugly?”
“I did in the beginning,” Nieve said. “But then I saw an old lady in the hospital, and she had no hair either. And she had a tattoo of an open sky with swirling birds and leaves on her scalp, and it was the most beautiful thing… and I thought, well, maybe hair isn’t the only beautiful thing you can have on your head.” She thought. “I’d like a hat, maybe. Lots of hats.”
“Or crowns,” Jahir offered, with what Vasiht’h thought was a perfectly straight face, one he maintained when the girls demanded he describe all the jewels of the Eldritch treasury for them.
As had become custom, the two of them shepherded the children into their beds before making their exit. Berquist—who had become Jill to Vasiht’h by this time—was sitting outside, cradling a cup of coffee on her knees. Their arrival surprised her, for Vasiht’h caught a hint of her exhaustion in her face before she put it away. “Rascals in bed?”
“And dreaming of crowns and tiaras,” Vasiht’h said, and glanced at Jahir before saying, “I don’t think you’ll have trouble with Amaranth from now on, either.”
“Oh? What magic did you work there?” she asked, incredulous.
“We didn’t do anything,” Jahir said. “We listened while they solved their own problem.” At her glance, he finished, “Amaranth regrets the condition of her hair.”
“The condition of her—oh…” Jill sighed. “Yes. I can understand that.” She smiled, wry. “I should have asked.”
“You cannot be mother, therapist and healer-assist to six children and expect perfection,” Jahir said.
“Of course I can,” she answered. She snorted. “I’m a nurse. It’s what we do.” She set her coffee cup aside. “But you’ve made my job easier, and I’m grateful. If there’s anything I can do, tell me.”
“There is something,” Jahir said, and Vasiht’h glanced at him, wondering what he was up to.
“That being?”
“When we first met the children they were outside. Kayla tells us when the weather is clement and their health allows, they can go to the hospital park, which is how they escaped.”
“That’s true,” Jill said. “Being outside is good for them.”
“Could we take them on an outing?” Jahir asked.
Vasiht’h wasn’t entirely certain, but he thought there was a touch of wistfulness in the Eldritch’s voice. Perhaps Jill heard it too, because she studied Jahir as she said, “What sort of outing?”
“There is a place that serves ice cream,” Jahir said. “It is four doors down from a Pad station…”
“Ice cream!” Jill said. “I don’t even know if they can eat ice cream. We have a nutritionist to create their meal plans.”
“You could ask,” Vasiht’h offered.
“I could, but… ice cream? In fall?” she said. “The weather…”
“If the weather’s bad, we don’t have to do it,” Vasiht’h said. “We could bring them the ice cream instead. Make a party of it.”
“But if they could go themselves…,” Jahir said, trailing off.
“They talk a lot about how much they miss going outside,” Vasiht’h said.
She looked from one of them to the other and sighed. “Fine, I’ll talk to everyone that needs talking to. But no guarantees.”
“That’s all we ask,” Jahir said with a bow that left her staring at him.
Vasiht’h was silent as he paced his roommate to the hospital entrance, where he paused so Jahir could dress for the weather: midnight-blue scarf, black gloves, gray coat. The Glaseah even remained virtuously quiet for part of the walk home, feeling the cool damp air like a blanket on his second back and feeling a touch of pity that the Eldritch had to wear so many layers. He was in the middle of wondering what Jahir would do when it got cold enough to snow when the Eldritch finally spoke.
“They have so little.”
“I know,” Vasiht’h said. “It was a generous thought. It’s why I jumped in on it.”
“And I thank you for that,” Jahir said, tucking his scarf closer to his throat and then hiding his gloved hands in his pockets. “Perhaps she was right, however. It is rather cold for sick children to be out.”
“If it is, the sta
ff won’t let them, don’t fear on that account,” Vasiht’h said. “You’ve put the notion in their heads that an outing would be nice, and something will come of it.”
“One hopes,” Jahir murmured. “Vasiht’h? The creation myth… you hold to it, though the Glaseah were engineered by the Pelted?”
“I guess that depends on what you mean by ‘hold to it,’” Vasiht’h said. “We know it’s not literally true. But what creation myth is? And does it matter if we made it up after or before we figured out how we were made?”
“I would think it would matter a great deal, in the same place where such myths ring true,” Jahir said.
Vasiht’h looked up at him, saw only the edge of his jaw and the mound of the scarf against it. “The one part that matters is true, though. The Mother Goddess did make us. She dreamed us, and the Pelted scientists smiled in their sleep, and when they woke, it was to design us, just as She’d suggested.” Vasiht’h turned his face to the sky. “Juvreth’t and Slesvra fell from the sky, Juvreth’t and Slesvra fell from a dropper into a petri dish, it’s all the same in the end. There are a lot of ways for genetic engineering to fail. The ways that the Glaseah could have failed in particular are even more numerous, given how strange a combination of things they made us out of. But we didn’t fail. And that’s enough miracle to prove a deity to me.”
They walked up the lane to the library apartments and were almost at the door when Jahir said, “Some would say that needing proof of one’s deity is a flaw in one’s faith.”
Vasiht’h grinned. “Those people don’t know Aksivaht’h. I challenge them to go tell the Goddess who thought the universe into existence not to use their own brains.”
“A fascinating goddess, I should think, your Aksivaht’h.”
“She’d like you,” Vasiht’h said with a chuckle. When Jahir glanced at him quizzically, Vasiht’h passed through the door and said over his back, “She likes mysteries.”
Jahir laughed and followed him in.
CHAPTER 10
It was not yet the week for Sehvi’s call, but the wall was displaying a priority-family tag. Vasiht’h looked up from his data tablet and frowned, then padded to the door to check the great room. Jahir wasn’t back yet, but he should be soon… it was already late afternoon.
He closed the door and sat in front of the wall. “Accept the call.”
And there, in glorious dark gray and white with a bright red sash wrapped diagonally over her teal vest, was his mother, looking perky and curious. “And here is my son! Hello, lovey. Have I interrupted anything?”
“Just a review,” Vasiht’h said, showing her the data tablet and struggling with sudden worry at the unexpected call. “Is there anything wrong, Dami?”
“No, no,” she said, waving a hand. “At least, nothing terribly serious. Your grandmother had a bit of a heart problem yesterday and went through surgery. She’s fine today, prognosis is excellent. She’s already giving the staff a piece of her mind about the blandness of the hospital food.”
Vasiht’h blew out his breath in a rush. “Oh, thank the Goddess.”
“It’s nothing to be worried about,” she said. “Your grandparents are just old. Bodies get cranky as you age.” She grinned. “Ask me how I know this bit of wisdom.”
“Let me guess,” Vasiht’h said, trying his best innocent expression. “You researched it.”
She laughed. “I wish. But no, I wanted to tell you that she might appreciate a note from you for when she’s out of the hospital… and to find out how you’re doing.” Apparently his expression was eloquent, because she grinned. “And no, your sister hasn’t been telling tales.”
“I didn’t think she had,” Vasiht’h said. “I’m guessing mother’s intuition.”
“One of Aksivaht’h’s uncatalogued gifts,” his mother agreed. “Passed on from Great Mother to mothers everywhere. So? I assume you’re not quite settled yet.”
Vasiht’h winced. “And if I said… no?”
“Then I’d say I wasn’t surprised,” she said, startling him. She laughed, more kindly. “Oh, lovey. Don’t you think I know what it’s like growing up in our family? I raised you all, you know. And I’m aware that not quite knowing what you wanted out of life when all around you your brothers and sisters were striking out like arrows to a target must have been difficult. I was hoping, in fact, that getting away from us would help you clear your head a bit. Maybe hear that voice inside yourself more distinctly.”
“Really?” Vasiht’h said, staring at her.
“Really,” she agreed.
“But why… didn’t you tell me that when I left?” Vasiht’h asked, mystified.
She laughed. “Would you have believed me? Or would you have been offended? Or resentful?”
Vasiht’h made a face. “Why do you know everything?”
“I don’t,” she said, smiling. “But what I do know, I know fairly well. You take my meaning, then.”
“Yes,” Vasiht’h admitted. “I would have been angry. I would have believed that you thought I was too weak to know my own mind unless I was out from under the influence of other people. But… that’s… what you said. Right now. Isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she said serenely. At his expression, she lifted her brows and prompted, “But you’re not angry because…”
“Because it’s true,” Vasiht’h said, “and I’ve been out here long enough to be relieved to have the opportunity, and to know that it wasn’t necessarily a reflection on me as a person, but on me as I was then, and the situation I was in?”
“I can see you are taking to your studies very well,” she said, satisfied.
“I guess people aren’t always ready to hear something,” Vasiht’h said. “You can tell them the exact same thing at different times, and if you tell them too early, they don’t really hear you. They hear something on the inside of their heads.” He nodded. “I understand.”
“Good,” she said. “And now you can tell me all about how that’s going for you.” She put her chin in her hands in a mannerism she’d bequeathed to most of her children.
Vasiht’h grinned. “All right. As long as you’re fine with the uncertainty.”
“If you’re still uncertain in five years… then I’ll be concerned,” she said. “For now, you’re just making your way, lovey. Trust the process.”
“So, midterms are coming up,” Vasiht’h said. “How do you feel?”
They were sitting at the gelateria patio, watching the pedestrian traffic pass by. The cold was sufficient that Jahir almost wished for cider—a reminder of winters at home, and a warmth more than physical—but the calico behind the counter had talked him into adding hot water to his espresso and given him a bigger cup to drink it from so he could warm his gloved fingers on its walls. This he was doing while making slow progress through a scoop of mint gelato, and he was not insensible to the irony of having chosen a flavor that made his mouth feel colder when he was already chilled. “About my prospects for passing the examinations?”
“Yes?” the other said. “Are you nervous?”
Jahir considered. “I fear I am too tired to be nervous.”
Vasiht’h laughed. “Well, that’s one good thing about being busy, I guess. I’ll have to remember that when I’m seeing patients. ‘When in doubt, tire them out and their problems will seem less urgent.’”
“It does seem to work that way sometimes,” Jahir said.
“Are you sleeping enough?” his roommate asked, eyeing him. “You seem more than normally tired. Is it the gravity again?”
“I assume not, or Healer KindlesFlame would have noticed,” Jahir said, though he was surprised—and disarmed—that the effects of his not-quite-nightmares were obvious to the Glaseah. “He believes I am overexerting myself in my studies, but seems to think this is normal for first year graduate students.”
Vasiht’h’s brows rose. “Is there some reason Healer KindlesFlame would know you well enough to be able to tell when you’re not well-rested?”
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“I have lunch with him every week,” Jahir said. “We made the agreement subsequent to my first and only visit to the clinic… he wanted to watch me for issues.” He tilted his head. “Is there some reason you know him?”
“Know him!” Vasiht’h laughed. “He was the last dean of the medical college!”
Jahir paused. “He never said. I knew he taught classes, but nothing else.”
“Ha!” Vasiht’h said. “Tricky of him. But maybe it’s not the sort of thing that comes up in conversation. ‘Hi, nice to meet you, by the way here’s my curriculum vitae.’”
“I fancy not,” Jahir said, idly tapping his fingers on the mug in an absent piano exercise. “He is very fond of his work at the clinic, so I imagine he stepped down from the role.”
“All the deans serve for limited periods,” Vasiht’h said. “He had a good run, but you’re right… he was glad to go back to the clinical setting. Though as you noticed he still teaches.”
“I suppose it’s comforting,” Jahir said. “Knowing that no matter what decision one makes, one can correct it.”
The other fanned his ears forward. “Wondering which program track to choose?”
“More wondering what life will look like after school,” Jahir said. He studied his companion, curious. “Do you know what you’ll do when you’re done here?”
“Not the slightest idea,” Vasiht’h admitted.
“And yet you have been in school at this university for five years,” Jahir said.
“I know,” the other said, rueful. “My mother tells me not to worry unless I’m here for another five… but by that time, the program director will have kicked me out of the university, with or without a degree.” He sculpted the top of his gelato with the tip of his spoon. “Really, there are only two choices… become a professor, or become a therapist.”
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