by Wen Spencer
"Give her to us." Esme prowled the darkness. She was the color of old blood. Black stood weeping in the woods with her host of crows oddly silent—only a rustle of many wings in the night. "We need her. We murdered time and now it's always six o'clock."
"No. I won't let you have her."
"You're not stopping us." Esme pressed a dark hand to the gleaming shell of Stormsong's shield, the light shafting through her spread fingers like solid spears. "You might be able to keep them out, but not me."
"You're hurting her!" Fear filtered into Stormsong's voice. "Leave her alone."
Esme moved counterclockwise around them, trailing her hand across the shield's radiance, a dark mote on pale brilliance. "There is too much to lose to worry about hurting her."
"Go away," Stormsong growled.
Esme had made a complete circle around them, testing the boundaries of Stormsong's protection. They stood as odd mirror reflections of each other—hair short and spiked—red, dark to the point of almost black versus blue paled to nearly white.
"I won't let you in," Stormsong said.
"We don't have time for this!" Esme balled up her hand into a tight fist of blackness, and punched into the light.
Stormsong's shield failed like a candle snuffed. Tinker fell into darkness.
". . . focusfocusfocus . . ." she whispered into the black.
A world snapped into being around her, but she ignored it to focus on the control panel in front of her. She punched a set of keys, ones she had practiced until her hands ached. Even as she entered the codes, and the world jerked hard to the right, alarms screamed to life.
She hit the intercom pad. "All hands suit up! Suit up!" She shouted, knowing what was coming. "Brace for impact!"
She looked up and found she hadn't seen the full truth. Instead of one colony ship looming in the great blackness of space, the feed from the front cameras showed several ships colliding together—heaving, twisting, and buckling. For a moment, she could only stare—stunned. Compartments of the ships were collapsing like crushed soda cans—their atmosphere spraying out in plumes of instantly freezing gushers.
She wasn't able to stop it. It was going to happen anyhow.
"We're going to hit! We're going to hit!" Alan Voecks screamed those hated words that had haunted her nightmares for months.
Something cartwheeled toward them, jetted on a haze of frozen oxygen. As it grew larger, she realized it was a human—without a space suit. There was time to recognize the face—Nicole Pinder of the Anhe Hao—before the body hit the camera. That screen went to static . . .
Tinker bolted out of the dream. She was tight in Stormsong's arms, panting from the remnants of her terror. "Oh gods! Oh gods!"
"It is over." Stormsong rubbed her back soothingly. "You are safe with us."
"Something went wrong," Tinker cried. "That's what they've been trying to tell me. Something went wrong."
"Well?" Windwolf spoke from the foot of the bed.
Tinker sat up to discover the room was full of silent people, all watching her sleep. In addition to Windwolf and Pony, Wraith Arrow and Bladebite stood guard. "What the hell?"
"There are other dreamers," Stormsong said, as if answering a question Tinker had missed. "One seems to be domi's mother. The others might not be able to reach domi alone, but her mother's blood connection is giving them all access to domi. Domi's mother is quite strong but untrained and with the morals of a snake; she does not care that what she's doing is hurting domi. They are crowding into domi's dreams, leaving her unable to cope with her own nightmares."
"Why now?" Windwolf asked. "It's been eighteen years."
"It might be that becoming an elf awakened latent abilities in domi," Stormsong said. "Or it might be something that happened when the dragon pulled magic through her at the edge of the Ghostlands. I can't stop them. United as they are, they are too strong. Something must be done or they will drive the domi mad."
"Will giving her saijin help?" Windwolf asked.
"Please, not saijin," Tinker whimpered. "I hate that stuff. The oni forced it on me."
Windwolf gave her a look full of raw grief.
"No, saijin will only make things worse," Stormsong said. "Now she can wake up from the nightmare, breaking its hold on her. Drugged, she would be trapped in her dreams."
"Oh please," Tinker cried. "Not that."
"There are some drugs," Stormsong said, "that she can take for a limited time that will keep her from dreaming completely. Someone more trained and gifted in dreaming would know better what to do."
"I like the idea of not dreaming." Tinker crawled across the bed to Windwolf, who took her into his lap.
"You need to dream," Stormsong said. "Dreams are how your mind heals you from emotional harm. The oni rode you hard, but you were able to heal yourself each night and stay strong. Your mother is raping the very core of you. She will destroy you if we don't stop this."
"Can we use some other terms for this?" Tinker asked. "Something nonsexual? This is my mother we're talking about. Ick."
"Find what she needs for now," Windwolf ordered. "I will send for a dreamer."
15: STICKS AND STONES
Wolf made time the next morning to pray at the enclave's shrine. Last night, he'd had the hospice deliver drugs for Tinker and sent a message to the intanyei seyosa caste in the Easternlands, but now there was nothing more he could do for his domi except pray. It filled him with helpless rage that the ones tormenting her were so far outside his reach. He had thought the time he spent wounded and helpless in Tinker's care was the worst possible torment, but this was far, far worse. Even when she had been held captive, there had at least been something he could do, the illusion of making a difference. Now he could only watch as the female he loved slowly went mad.
Worse, he could not even stay with her and comfort her. He needed to attend the formal negotiations between the clans. For the sake of everyone who counted on him, he needed to be centered and calm when he wanted to be raging at the universe. At least he had the comfort of knowing that his domi was in the care of Little Horse and Discord, who both loved her well, and they were supported by the rest of his household. He prayed to the gods that they too lend their aid to his domi.
* * *
Maynard was waiting outside the enclave when Wolf headed to the aumani. "We need to talk," Maynard said in greeting.
"I do not have time." Wolf headed down the street toward Ginger Wine's enclave. It had been decided before the Stone Clan arrived that Ginger Wine's public dining area would be considered neutral ground for the three clans. At that time he had liked the idea of keeping the sanctity of Poppymeadow's—now he wished he could stay close to Tinker, even though she was still sleeping.
"I have a dead cop missing a head on Ohio River Boulevard," Maynard continued in English, falling in step with Wolf. "And people are saying they saw a lot of sekasha in the area before he died. Tell me that this isn't what it sounds like. My people are scared enough without your people killing cops."
Wolf gritted his teeth to control his anger. Lashing out at his ally would not help the situation any. "You have a dead rapist missing a head."
"How could he have raped her? She doesn't go anywhere without her sekasha. Do you know how bad this looks?"
"It was after I transformed her. I left Tinker at my hunting lodge with a full Hand to guard her, but somehow, she ended up back in Pittsburgh with only Galloping Storm Horse." It put Little Horse in a difficult position as there was no way for him to communicate with the rest of the Hand, short of driving back to the remote lodge. "Your police officer forced his way into Tinker's home, stripped her nude, pinned her down, and tried to enter her."
Maynard looked like Wolf had just handed him a poisonous snake. "Tinker says that Czernowski forced her?"
"My blade brother does not know many English words, but he does know 'no' and 'stop' and 'don't.' My domi was threatening to gouge out Czernowski's eyes when Storm Horse intervened."
; "Oh, fuck," Maynard whispered and then sighed. "That was two months ago. Why did they kill him yesterday?"
"The domana are forbidden to take lovers outside their caste other than their sekasha. I made Tinker domana caste because it was the only way we could be together. It also means she is now strictly off-limits to humans. Czernowski would not keep his distance. He stated at the photographer's that he would take Tinker back. Last night, he attempted to pull her into his car."
Czernowski's intentions might have been innocent, but he had crossed the line of Little Horse's patience. Wolf could sympathize only with Little Horse. His blade brother, seeing Tinker spiraling downward, had been given the opportunity to take action—had been given a way to make at least one thing right—had been given a target. In the light of Tinker's imbalance, Czernowski's death had been inevitable.
"Stupid fucking idiot," Maynard growled, but it wasn't clear who he meant. Wolf chose to believe he meant Czernowski. "This was the last thing we needed, Wolf. My people are not going to trust yours after this."
"Did they truly trust us before?"
Maynard glanced away and ignored the question, which meant the answer was "no." "Which one of your people killed Czernowski?"
"Sekasha are exempt from all laws except the ones of their own making."
"So you're not going to tell me?"
"There is no need for you to know."
"What am I supposed to tell the police? Czernowski's family?"
"What is done is done and cannot be undone," Wolf said. "I have other problems to attend."
Maynard acknowledged the dismissal with a hard look but took himself away.
Ginger Wine intercepted Wolf in her front gardens, bowing low.
"What is wrong?"
Ginger Wine's face tightened and she glanced down the garden path. There were only her own laedin caste guards in sight. "These," she hissed in English, "conceited, pompous, arrogant Stone Clan pigs—that is what is wrong. I should have asked for four times my normal fee, instead of twice. The way they eat, you'd think they were hollow."
"I cannot do anything about arrogance and gluttony. Have they done anything wrong?"
She let out her breath in a long sigh, and then stood nudging a rock in the garden path. "It is just everything is—off; nothing seems right. Everyone is tripping over one another, plates are being dropped, laundry is being mislaid, and they eat and eat and eat." She looked pleadingly up to Wolf. "Everyone is frightened of them. We've lived so long with just you and your sekasha, I actually forgot how the world really is, what it is to live in fear."
"Do you want them out?"
She looked away, chewing on her bottom lip. Finally she shook her head. "No. Things are not that bad—perhaps it will settle down after another day or two—once we grow used to them." She laid her hand on Wolf's arm. "Please, domou, get rid of these oni so we can go back to our comfortable life."
He patted her hand. "We will work hard to resolve this quickly."
Ginger Wine gave Wolf a tight smile. "Thank you. Please, let me show you to the dining room."
As they entered the elegant dining room, there was a crash from the far kitchens, followed by loud sobbing. Ginger Wine sighed, begged his pardon, and hurried off toward the kitchen. A large round table with six chairs stood in the center of the room. All the extra tables had been cleared away, leaving the space bare and echoing. While only five domana were attending, there would be fifteen sekasha and a server from each clan.
Wolf considered the sixth chair. Tinker should attend the meeting, but she was in no mental state to do so. He ordered a chair to be removed. Unfortunately, Jewel Tear arrived as the chair was being carried out.
"Your domi is not attending?" Jewel Tear managed to put malice into the innocent words.
"No." Wolf warned her with a look that he did not wish to discuss it further.
True Flame arrived with a shifting of the sekasha and a new contest of rank between them. "So this is where we will be?"
"Yes, Your Highness." Jewel Tear appropriated the role of hostess. She bowed low, displaying her charms to the prince.
True Flame recognized her with a slight cold nod. Wolf's cousin never had approved of Jewel Tear. It had been a source of bitterness between him and Wolf, even afterward, as it had been hard to acknowledge that his cousin had been right all along. Wolf could only hope that his decisions with Jewel Tear wouldn't now taint True Flame's opinion of Tinker.
True Flame glanced at the table and then to Wolf. "Five chairs?"
"My domi will not be able to attend." Wolf wished Jewel Tear weren't standing there, reminding True Flame of his bad choices in the past. "She is—" He found himself at a loss for words. What was Tinker? "—not herself."
"An interesting choice of words," Jewel Tear murmured.
Wolf ignored her.
Earth Son arrived with Forest Moss in tow. They made their bows to True Flame.
All parties gathered, they settled at the table to start the aumani, a formal meeting of clans.
Windwolf was sure that if they captured any oni and needed to torture information out of them, an aumani would be perfect for it. He sat across from Earth Son, studiously ignoring the servants as they laid out the elaborate table settings. Between the Skin Clan's love of elaborate power icons, and the thousands of years during which the clans had needed to conduct meetings in secrecy, elves had had the use of symbology beaten almost out of them. There had to be some deep buried need left in them that seeped out at times like this. How else explain the pure white table runner, the scattering of bloodred roses, the black ceramic place settings, and the glasses of sapphire blue? The lit candle. The smoking incense. The polished pebble. All the colors and the elements of three Clans were subtly present on the table.
They sat in reflective silence until the servers withdrew from the table. True Flame sipped his tea, opening the meeting. They drank, waiting for him to speak.
"So that we can all be of one mind," True Flame broke the silence, "Wolf Who Rules Wind, tell us our past."
Wolf recounted the last few weeks since the meeting of the three clans at Aum Renau. Knowing that he would lose face with True Flame for holding back information, he tried to be as thorough as possible in Tinker's kidnapping, Lord Tomtom's killing, and the discovery of Sparrow's treachery.
"And what of the Ghostlands?" Earth Son asked when Wolf came to an end. "Is your domi's gate still functioning?"
"Perhaps," Wolf admitted. "Something is keeping Turtle Creek unstable."
"Stupidity upon stupidity," Jewel Tear scoffed. "She shouldn't have built them a gate."
"I defy you," Windwolf said, "unarmed and captive of a ruthless enemy, to do better."
"Defy, there's an interesting concept, indicating lack of cooperation," Earth Son said.
"Yes," Jewel Tear said. "I wouldn't have cooperated."
"She cooperated because it's now in her nature to be cooperative," Forest Moss said. "Wolf Who Rules remade her and blessed her with our mothers' curse—to be yielding. Why else would we need the sekasha to guard over us? We cannot stand against anything, especially our own nature. How can you, sitting there with never a moment of stark helpless fear in your lifes understand? Our mothers were bred to lie on their backs, spread their legs, and not whimper too loudly—unless their masters liked it when they screamed. If it wasn't for the steel of our fathers' ambition, we would be cattle in the field."
"You may count yourself one of the cattle, but I do not," Earth Son said.
"Yes, yes, let us not listen to the one that has been under the heated blade. No, he did not have his eyes forced open to the truth just before one was seared out," Forest Moss spat. "You cannot hope to understand what it is like. To lie there unable to move as they ready the tools of your destruction. The first time, oh, you can be so very brave because you don't know what is coming; everything in your imagination is just a pale shadow of the pain. It's the second time and the third, when you've been so well taught, that the very
smell of hot metal makes your heart race. You see the torch only once, right before they strap you down, but the hiss of the gas flame haunts your nightmares for years to come. You lay there, listening to the invisible dance of their preparations, the scrape of boots, the rattle of the cutting blades in a metal tray, the creak of tightening leather restraints, and there's nothing, nothing you can do."
"She wasn't tortured," Earth Son pointed out.
"Clever female knew the truth," Forest Moss said. "The truth you're refusing to see."
"If she didn't do something the gate in orbit would remain functional," Windwolf reminded the others. "The gate we couldn't shut down. Yes, the result poses a threat, but it is now in our realm, where we can deal with it ourselves."
