by Wen Spencer
"Considering the speed at which the court moves," Pony said, "you may not have missed more than the formal greetings and exchange of gifts."
Sparrow fidgeted. "No, something has happened; I've never seen the court like this. The queen has her full guard with her and two dreadnoughts." She glanced sharply at Pony, as if she had said more than she intended. She picked up another gown. "Change into this one and give me that gown to have altered."
It was more difficult to wriggle out of the tight bronze silk than it had been putting it on. She handed it out to Sparrow and slipped the next one on. While she disliked the notion of her wearing a dress, she had to admit that the gown was a lovely mottled green. She came out from behind the screen, smoothing down the skirt, to find Sparrow gone.
"What are dreadnoughts?" Tinker asked Pony, glad she didn't have to look ignorant in front of Sparrow.
"Gunships," Pony told her. "Very big gunships."
"Here, hook me up in back."
He hesitated a moment before crossing the room to fasten the little hooks.
She found herself blushing as his fingers brushed her bare skin. In the full-length mirror, she could see their reflection, him leaning over her, the muscles of his arms rippling under his tattoos.
She looked away, for some reason embarrassed by the intimacy shown. She hunted for a safe subject to talk about. "The Wyvern female triggered her spell tattoo for some type of shielding. Do yours trigger defensive spells too?"
"Yes. The shield is to protect you from damage you can't avoid. They are a last resort; but they can not be taken away from us, short of removing the skin from our arms."
"The Wyverns' are red."
"Red is the Fire Clan's color."
"The queen is part of the Fire Clan?"
"She is head of the Fire Clan."
"And Windwolf is Wind Clan?" Getting a nod, she asked, "Does that make me Wind Clan too?"
Obviously this was a "why is the sky blue" question. Someone could tell her a reasonable answer, but it stumped Pony. "You were human, and humans don't have clans, so there was no other choice but for you to join the Wind Clan."
She looked down at her spill of mottled green silk and the tips of her bronze slippers peeking out from the edge of the skirt. "Why am I not wearing blue?"
Pony indicated her dau by touching his own forehead. "That speaks of your alliance. But it is not necessary for a domana to announce their clan; only the lesser castes do."
Tinker frowned, recalling all of the blue Sparrow was wearing, from the cerulean overdress to the ribbons woven in her hair.
"Why is Sparrow in blue then?"
Pony clicked his tongue in an elfin shrug. "Sparrow has issues of her own making."
* * *
They reached Aum Renau just before sunset, and the palace sprawled glorious in the shafts of deep gold sunlight. It crowned the steep hills along the river—white limestone with mullioned glass windows, partially obscured by towering trees and a riot of flowers.
"Aum Renau," Pony murmured beside Tinker as the gossamer closed on the palace.
"As viceroy, Windwolf usually stays here? Does the palace come with the appointment?"
Pony nodded to the first question, and then shook his head. "It is his, not the crown's."
Your boyfriend is rich, Tinker thought, and then winced as she remembered that—as far as the elves were concerned—Windwolf was her husband. We're going to have a long talk about that.
Typical of elfin design, the palace seemed to be a linked series of buildings incorporating the natural landscape. Beyond the structures that crowned the hill, more buildings stepped down the eastern exposure, tucked onto ledges and around a steep waterfall. In one wide flat area, jarring against the green and white, sat a courtyard filled with tall stark black stones.
"What are the stones?" Tinker asked, pointing them out.
"Nothing for you." Sparrow focused on storm clouds moving toward them. She made a slight hurt noise and headed toward the control cabin.
"They are the Wind Clan's spell stones," Pony told Tinker, glancing after Sparrow, and then he too focused on the storm clouds.
The dark forms converged in a manner not natural to clouds, although far too large and dark to be other gossamers.
"What are those?"
"Dreadnoughts," Pony said.
As the airships drew closer together, she saw that they were a product of elves' contact with man. Instead of a living ship like the gossamer, the dreadnoughts were fully mechanical, obviously a blend of airship and armored helicopter. The barrels of heavy guns bristled from the black hull, reminding Tinker of the spiked hide of a river shark. The two dreadnoughts blocked the airspace over the palace and flashed out a warning on a signal lamp. A few minutes later, having apparently received some communication back from the gossamer, the dreadnoughts pivoted and moved off.
"How odd," Pony murmured, his eyes narrowed in speculation. "I've never heard of the flagship being challenged before. Sparrow is right; something has happened."
* * *
The gossamer tethered at an airfield in a wide hilltop meadow, some distance from the palace. Horses and a coach waited. The Wyverns, still bruised and sulking, mounted the horses. The ground crew unrolled a carpet from the elevator to the carriage in order to save Tinker's hated slippers from harm. Pony had to help her mount the tall step up into the coach without entangling her long skirt. Inside one could hold a party; facing leather-upholstered bench seats allowed eight adults to sit comfortably.
"Slide over to the other side," Pony murmured as he made sure Tinker's gown didn't catch in the doorway.
Annoyance flickered over Sparrow's face as she stepped into the coach. She sat on the right side of the bench instead of making room for Pony. The bodyguard climbed in, latched the door, and settled on the bench opposite the females.
Minutes later, the reason for Pony's suggestion and Sparrow's annoyance became clear. They traveled along a wide avenue designed with views in mind. Around each curve was a new beautiful vista of the valley. The river ran wide as a lake, reflecting the sun. Stone walled enclaves sectioned up the west bank into orderly squares and rectangles. Virgin forest blanketed the far eastern bank. A ship was sailing upriver, the wind filling its sail colored Wind Clan blue, leaving a V-shaped wake behind it. A great white bird drifted over the water, giving desolate cries.
"What kind of bird is that?" Tinker asked.
Pony leaned forward to peer out the window. "A chiipeshyosa." He then directed her attention to the wooden docks lining the river. "Those smaller boats were built in Pitsubaug," he used the Elvish word for Pittsburgh, "and taken down river to the ocean, then around to here. They are steel-hulled, and use fuel-cell engines."
But then the palace came into sight, and Tinker lost all joy of the experience. The last few hours of Sparrow's and Pony's frantic tutoring had done nothing but reveal her ignorance of formal elfin culture, making her feel like a junkyard dog about to go on parade.
The front entrance had a portico of stone arches heavy with climbing roses. From there, they walked through a series of hallways—wide, airy, filled with sunlight, polished marble. Elves stood talking in small groups, all dressed in elegant splendor. Recognizing Sparrow, they would fall silent and bow, but their eyes fixed with curiosity on Tinker.
"Am I that odd looking?" Tinker whispered to Pony.
"They are merely curious to see who has captured Windwolf's heart."
"Me?"
"Yes, you."
And that gave her the courage to walk into the great gathering room full of beautiful females and males.
The room had been designed on a large scale, meant to be impressive. A grove of ironwood had been cultured into a straight row. The thick tree trunks vaulted hundreds of feet straight up before branching into a canopy of green. Polished granite formed the floor, and whatever made up the ceiling was lost somewhere overhead. Elf shines drifted in the shadows, gleaming motes of living light.
La
rge as it was, the room hadn't been designed to hold the number crowded into it now. Thankfully they were focused on the other side of the room, where a heated debate ranged. As Sparrow murmured something to a male in the queen's colors waiting at the door, Tinker recognized Windwolf's voice, and she edged sideways to see through the crowd to spot him.
He stood near the front of the hall, his hair unbound in a shimmering black cascade down his back. He wore a bronze that matched her underdress and a duster of the leaf pattern of her overdress. The sheath of his long ceremonial sword cut a slash of deep blue across his back.
"Earth Son, your proposals are like setting a forest fire to bring down one black willow," he was saying in High Elvish, in carefully chosen words. Between his clear, deep enunciation and slow pacing, Tinker easily followed what he said.
Earth Son was a male in a rich green, taller than Windwolf, but more slender. He was flanked by sekasha tattooed in Stone Clan colors. "You deny the Seer's Sight?"
"I am not saying that." Windwolf's voice filled the space with a deep grandeur that was unmatched by his opposition. "Certainly I have seen shadows of the oni against the wall. Even the humans are dreaming of tengu." At least that's what Tinker thought he said, although she didn't understand it fully. "Obviously their spies have reached Elfhome."
"We must take steps to protect ourselves."
"Slashing about madly will only take out our allies."
The press of bodies shifted and Tinker lost sight of the two speakers.
"Allies?" Earth Son's voice filled with scorn. "The humans? All evidence points that they are in league with the oni!"
"What evidence? Do you have proof that you are keeping hidden from me? If so, I demand that you bring it forward now. I represent the Wind Clan here; I will not be kept ignorant."
"The human Pathway is punching a hole through our defenses, leaving us open to attack! They are acting in conjunction with the oni."
Tinker shifted sideways just as Windwolf paced into view, in profile to her now. My husband. Gods, that sounded so weird.
"You are conjecturing that creating a tool is the same as gifting it?" Windwolf rolled his hand lazily, indicating one unsound statement following another. "Do you blame a smith for the crimes of a thief?"
"Ah!" Earth Son cried as if he won some great victory. "So you at least admit that the oni are using the human's Pathway?"
Windwolf sighed visibly and shook his head. "I do not deny that is possible, but I will also remind the court that the oni are as mythical to the humans as we were." He paced back out of sight. "It's undeniable that individuals or even groups of oni have reached Earth, why else the legends, but where are the screaming hordes? They are not on Earth."
"Do you think you've been told the truth? Do not be naïve in thinking humans understand honor."
Tinker shifted and caught sight of the two males again. They stood now only an arm reach apart, intent as duelists upon each other.
"I have found," Windwolf said with a dangerous rumble, "the percentage of honorable humans is the same as elves."
As Earth Son stood still, apparently considering whether he'd been insulted or not, Pony whispered to Tinker, "The Stone Clan have lost power since the Pathway to Pittsburgh opened. They have always advocated that the humans be forced to close the Pathway."
That helped clarify the situation! Now, why was she here?
Windwolf too took advantage of Earth Son's silence. "I have done all in my power to ensure that I know the truth. We of the Wind Clan have learned the human tongue and I have sent members of my household out to Earth proper to travel it extensively. If the oni are on Earth, they have concealed themselves well. They have passed out of the minds of humans, out of their nightmares, and nearly out of their language."
"But they are in Pittsburgh now."
Windwolf's face went bleak. "Yes. That is undeniable. How they came to be there, that is not known."
"The human Pathway opens to Onihida!" Earth Son cried.
"No!" Windwolf's denial rang through the hall. "If it opened to Onihida, the oni would have flooded out, unchecked, long ago. Look at this wilderness and think of their numbers. If they had clear passage, nothing would stop them! The only reason they would be using subversion would be because frontal attack is not possible."
"You speak as if you know this as truth."
"I know that the sun is hot, the stars are distant, and rules of warfare follow certain logic, regardless of the world."
"There is a door, open but not open." A female spoke in a cold, dispassionate tone, and all turned to look at her. In the shift of bodies, Tinker picked her out. She was willow-slender, dressed in pale moth white, with a glistening red ribbon tied over her eyes and trailing down over her gown like a trail of blood. "Darkness presses against the frame but can not pass through. The light beyond is too brilliant; it burns the beast."
"Can we keep the door from opening?" someone asked.
"No. It is only a matter of time. But if it is a time of our choosing, then the beast will be slain. If we do nothing and let the darkness come when it will, all will be lost to night."
The very lack of emotion was chilling. The room had stilled to utter silence, everyone straining to hear. Tinker caught Pony's shoulder and pulled him down to whisper in his ear, "Who is that?"
"The intanyai seyosa," Pony whispered. Literally it meant "one who sows and harvests the most favorable future of all," but what did that mean?
Sparrow hissed them to silence.
"How do we choose?" the same questioner asked.
"Bind the pivot," the intanyai seyosa said. "If the pivot be true, then the battle can be won. If the pivot proves false, all will be lost."
"Is the pivot here?" the questioner asked.
The female raised her hand and pointed. Elves parted like water, stepping back out of the way, and the finger did not waver. Where moments before Tinker could barely see the blindfolded elf, suddenly there was a clear path between them, and the female pointed straight at Tinker's chest.
Let there be someone behind me! Tinker shifted sideways as she glanced over her shoulder. No one stood behind her. When she looked back, the finger still pointed straight at her as if laser guided.
"Shit," she whispered.
Windwolf gave her a look of dismay and alarm. He turned back toward the front of the room. "What is the meaning of this?"
All other eyes remained on Tinker. The hard fixed interest was daunting. She wanted to hide, but there seemed to be no place to take cover. Pony must have sensed her fear; he stepped in front of Tinker to shield her with his body.
Gratefulness profound as love filled Tinker, and she reached out to lay her hand on Pony's back. He glanced over his shoulder at her touch and whispered, "Neither Windwolf nor I will let harm come to you."
"Calm yourself, cousin," the questioner commanded. "Let her come forth. We wish to see her for ourselves."
Pony gave Tinker a querying look, and she nodded, even though she still felt like bolting from the room. She couldn't hide behind him forever. He stepped smoothly to one side, and—as they practiced on the gossamer—they walked toward the queen. At least the seer had cleared them a path.
There was no mistaking Queen Soulful Ember. Not that one could truly mistake her, for she sat while everyone stood, crowned with a ruby-studded circlet. There seemed to be nearly visible power emanating off her, like the pulse of a heavy engine against the skin. Tinker expected her to be beautiful, but that was too meager a word for the queen. Soulful Ember was glorious: skin a radiant white, hair so gold it was metallic, eyes so blue they seemed neon.
Pony stopped and went down to one knee. Tinker carefully measured out the two extra steps beyond him that her rank allowed, and then gave a deep bow. Windwolf came to stand beside her, and she wished she could find his presence more comforting. He was at least a familiar face, but he obviously didn't know what he'd gotten her dragged into.
The queen studied Tinker for a moment, glance
d to Windwolf as if puzzled by his choice, and asked, "How old are you?"
"Eighteen."
"You're only counting the days you've been an elf?"
Tinker frowned, trying to translate it, then shook her head. "I'm eighteen years old."
"You said nothing, cousin, as to how young she was. She's just a baby."
Tinker flushed with anger, and snapped, "I am not," out of habit, and then winced as she remembered to whom she was talking. "I'm an adult."
"Did you know she was the pivot when you had me summon her?" Windwolf growled.
"We suspected her," Queen Soulful Ember said without apology or anger in her voice. "The pivot would be marked with the Wind Clan dau. That is why we demanded that Lifted Sparrow By Wind accompany you originally. It was not known that you'd taken a wife."
"I don't understand. What is a pivot?" Tinker said.
"As there are layers of worlds, there are layers of future," the queen said. "Paths can be taken to lead to very different outcomes or just the same conclusion via a different route. Usually it is the action that chooses the path, not the person acting; any messenger can deliver the important message, and any sailor can lose the vital ship in a storm. When only one person can guide the future, they are a pivot."
"Are you serious?" Tinker looked to Windwolf. "How can you know the future?"
"It is the nature of magic to splinter things down to possibilities," Windwolf explained. "Spells merely guide the outcome to the desired path. In the presence of magic, the ability of humans and elves to guess the future becomes the ability to see possible futures."
"Lain says fortune telling is mumble-jumble," Tinker said.
Windwolf looked pained. "Yet Lain sees the future in her dreams."
"You brought me a tengu, and wanted me to bandage it," Lain had said the night Tinker brought her the wounded Windwolf. "I kept on telling you that it was dangerous, but you wouldn't listen to me. . . ."
And Tooloo had known too. "He'll swallow you up, and nothing will be left."
They had seen, in some fearful way, that Windwolf would unmake the human Tinker, leaving an elf in her place.
