by Wen Spencer
“I should have my shit together by the weekend.”
Roach worked the hydraulic controls on the truck and dropped the big steel container within a foot of the wall. “You sure you want two more?”
“Yeah, out front so I can build chutes down from the second and third story.” The kids could work at cleaning out one room to sleep in if things turned sour fast with his condo association. The stuff in the classrooms seemed fairly harmless compared to the trash in the backyard.
“Okay,” Roach said and whistled to his dogs. “Andy’s bringing the second one. I’ll tell him to drop it in front.”
* * *
There were ten tengu in the kitchen. Not a feather was showing, but they were unmistakable from the lean muscle builds, beak-like noses, and the flutter of nervousness that went through them as Oilcan walked back into the kitchen. The center island been cleared of clutter, and they were gathered around it like flocking crows.
“Where are the kids?” Oilcan asked.
“Upstairs.” Riki pointed above his head. “I told Blue Sky to have them pick out rooms on the third floor, write their names on the chalkboard and make out wish lists.”
It was fairly down Oilcan’s to-do list, but the tengu weren’t on his plan at all.
“And the indi?” Oilcan asked.
“My little cousins have them across the street,” Riki said. “Indi are kind of stupid—they’ll eat plastic and other stuff that will make them sick. I figured it would be better to keep them out of the building until it’s cleaned.”
“Why are you doing this?” Oilcan growled.
“Because you need help.”
“Maybe I don’t want your help.” There was no “maybe” about it, but the logical part of him, the part most like his mother and so different from his father’s unreasonable passion, knew that Riki was right. He needed a lot of help to clean out the building and make it livable. He just didn’t want to acknowledge that Riki was right.
“I didn’t think you would want my help,” Riki said.
A reasonable person would stay far away, knowing that they weren’t wanted, but then Oilcan wouldn’t use words like “reasonable” to describe Riki. “Is this some kind of plan to make me grateful enough to forgive you?”
“No.”
“Then what the fuck are you doing here?”
Riki stood silently for a few minutes and then said, “Did you know there were oni children at the whelping pits yesterday?”
Oilcan recoiled as he realized that the elves wouldn’t have let a single oni live; the oni children wouldn’t have been spared. “What does that have to do with you screwing us over?”
“Tinker went into that warren to save your kids. She didn’t go there to kill the oni children. She didn’t want that. She hated that.”
“Leave Tinker out of this!” Oilcan shouted. “That’s—that’s totally different. You wormed your way into our lives. You lied to us. You made us trust you. I told you things that I have never told anyone in my life—not even Tinker. And the whole time you were standing there, going ‘I watched my mother die, too,’ you were planning on killing Tinker.”
Riki flinched as if Oilcan had struck him, but didn’t deny it. He hunched his shoulders and continued, “Tinker went into the warren because that’s what had to be done to rescue those kids.”
“That doesn’t make what you did right!”
Riki nodded. “What I did was wrong, but I had to do it. The worst of it is: if you ask me what I’d do differently, the honest answer is ‘nothing.’ I wouldn’t dare. I got my baby cousin back safely. I got my uncle out of orbit and on the right planet. I got my whole frigging race protected. I wouldn’t change anything, but it still doesn’t make it right.”
Oilcan’s hands clenched into fists against his will. He looked away from Riki and forced his hands to relax. “So this is some insane plan: to make it all right in your head, you’re going to force me to take your help?”
“This is trying to do the right thing so I can live with what I had to do.”
* * *
Apparently doing the right thing involved a small army of tengu. Oilcan saw not a feather and heard no rustle of wings; they simply appeared with ninja stealth. By the time Roach’s younger brother, Andy, showed up with the second dumpster, there were tengu in every room and the dumpster in the back alley was full.
“Already?” Andy said when Oilcan told him. The boy glanced at the big steel container he was about to drop under the largest second-story window. “You still want this one in the front, or should I take it around back?”
With the tengu “helping,” the dumpsters were going to be filled as fast as Roach and Andy could rotate them. At several hundred dollars a load, hauling away the trash was going to run Oilcan a lot of money, and he still didn’t know if Windwolf would allow him to move into the building. It was tempting just to stop all work and wait for permission. Yet if Windwolf said yes, then the work had to be done, and everything was already in motion and running smoothly.
“Here is good,” Oilcan told Andy.
“I’ll grab the full one after I drop this.” Andy worked the hydraulics to lower the container into place. “And bring another empty one back?”
“Yeah.” He wished he could be more confident that he was doing the right thing. Tinker sailed forward so sure and true—it was easy to follow in her wake. It made life a joyful ride. This was like being lost at sea.
If they were going to open an enclave, then they would need tables, chairs, dishes, silverware, food—the list went on and on. He had some money saved. Tinker always paid him well, and he lived rent free, but he had expensive hobbies. If things continued at this rate, he’d burn through his savings fast.
* * *
He was in a cleared corner of the dining room with the pieces of the front door. He’d found a spell in his family codex that would rejoin them. He carefully copied the spell onto the oak. He’d just triggered the last spell to knit together the splintered wood, when stillness ran through the building. He looked up and found Windwolf standing in the foyer with his sekasha arrayed around him.
Oilcan had seen Windwolf helpless, mauled, and bleeding, close to death. Oilcan had also seen Windwolf calling down bolts of lightning like a god. What mattered most to Oilcan was he’d seen the loving way Windwolf treated Tinker. How the elf felt about him, though, was a mystery.
“Wolf Who Rules Wind.” Oilcan gave him a bow and used his full name because he needed to talk to Windwolf about official things.
Windwolf raised an eyebrow at the formality. “I thought I recognized the pattern of chaos,” Windwolf said in English. “But I guess I was wrong.”
“Oh! Yeah, this is all me.” Oilcan slipped back to English since Windwolf obviously wanted to keep the discussion informal. “I’m glad you’re here. I need to talk to you.”
Windwolf smiled wryly. “Yes, you do. I ordered this building to be torn down.”
“I know. I need to discuss with you setting up an enclave.”
“Ah.” Windwolf considered a moment, apparently thinking about the fact that their conversation would be public. He tilted his head toward the faire grounds. “Let us walk.”
Windwolf was nearly a foot taller than Oilcan, but the elf matched his stride as they walked out of the school and across the street to the rolling pasture. Oilcan waited until they were out of earshot before starting up the conversation again.
“I don’t know if you’ve been told, but I’ve taken in the Stone Clan children.”
“Yes, I’ve been told,” Windwolf said. “I know your family will go to extraordinary lengths to protect anyone that lands in your lap. I love you both for your boundless empathy and selfless courage.”
It surprised and touched Oilcan how easily Windwolf used the “l” word. He supposed it was a difference in culture. Still, he could hear the “but” lurking in Windwolf’s voice.
“So, what’s the problem?” Oilcan said.
“I’ve becom
e aware, too, that you often act without knowledge of the inherent . . .” Windwolf paused, searching for appropriate word.
“Danger?”
“Entanglements.” Windwolf smiled. “But, yes, also danger.”
“What am I missing?”
“I’m assuming that if you wish to talk to me about starting an enclave, you’re seeking Wind Clan sponsorship.”
“I think I am,” Oilcan said cautiously. “I need to learn more about it before I can be sure.”
“Basically I would supply you with money to start an enclave. It is not a gift given freely.” Windwolf frowned. “I want to be sure you understand all that sponsorship entails. I do not want to assume that since your Elvish seems flawless you actually understand what I’m saying to you.”
Considering Tinker had accepted Windwolf’s engagement gift in total ignorance that she was agreeing to marry him, Oilcan couldn’t blame Windwolf for being leery.
“I realize it isn’t a gift, that I would be somehow indebted to you,” Oilcan said. “It’s the level of debt that I don’t understand.”
Windwolf nodded and sighed. “I’ll try to explain. I don’t know English well enough to feel comfortable that I’m correctly translating the concepts.”
Considering Windwolf’s English was as good as Oilcan’s, the statement was intimidating.
They walked in silence across the grass. The sekasha had moved away, giving them the illusion of privacy.
“We have songs and legends that tell of a time, long ago, when we were much like the humans. We were nomadic tribes, bound together mostly by blood ties, waging wars with even friends and family over land and beautiful females. But then the Skin Clan discovered their dark magic and built an army of monstrous beings—wyverns and wargs and baenae—that swept over Elfhome, enslaving all before them. The Skin Clan would scatter each newly conquered tribe through their nation. A cousin here. A cousin there. All the children were taken from their parents. No siblings were raised together. They killed our priests and scholars and burned all our books, determined that nothing would bind their slaves together. They could not, though, destroy our hate of them—and in the end, that was what bound us together.”
“This is how the clans started?”
Windwolf nodded. “Two slaves with nothing in common but their hate would pledge to protect each other. And two became three. And then three became four. Secretly. Quietly. One by one, we built a society based on vows.”
“If I give you my word, I will keep it.”
“I trust you, cousin,” Windwolf said. “That is not my fear. It’s the children.”
Oilcan was surprised that Windwolf’s statement hurt like a blow. He wanted Windwolf to be better than everyone that he’d dealt with.
“It is not that I don’t trust them,” Windwolf said gently. “If they give their word, they will keep it. You are, however, about to put them into a terrible quandary.”
“I don’t understand.”
“That was what I was afraid of.”
They had come to the great mooring anchors in the center of the field; ironwood timbers were affixed to bedrock by columns of iron. Windwolf sat down on one of the anchors.
“There are layers—hierarchy—to our loyalty,” Windwolf said. “The most basic loyalty is to the clan. If a battle is pitched between two clans, you fight with your clan.”
Oilcan nodded. It had become blatantly obvious since he took in Merry.
“Our clans, though, are not as united as they seem,” Windwolf said. “That’s where the layers become important. If two people within your clan are at odds, who do you support? The . . . the . . .” Windwolf frowned, once again searching for the right word. “The strongest is the bind between Beholden. Do you understand what is between Tinker and Little Horse?”
There was a loaded question. It was impossible to miss how Tinker and Pony felt about one another. He knew Tinker was struggling with her feelings. Did Windwolf see how much she loved both Windwolf and Pony? Did Windwolf trust Tinker not to betray him, or did he expect to share her heart? “I know that Pony would die for her. She would do anything to protect him.”
Windwolf nodded. “Little Horse was raised as my blade brother. I held him in my arms just minutes after he was born. Whenever I was home, I would spend hours playing with him. We love each other well, but if some strange madness overcame me and I raised my hand to Tinker, I know Little Horse would kill even me to protect her. And if I tried to harm Little Horse, I would expect to have to fight her first. Little Horse is hers and she is his.”
It boggled his mind completely how nonchalantly Windwolf explained it. “Even though she is your domi?”
“We are like this.” Windwolf clenched his fists and pressed them together, side by side. “My beloved and me. The right hand and the left. Domi and domou. We are separate and yet we cooperate to create for the benefit of us both. Neither is greater than the other, because it’s our cooperation that gives us strength.”
Windwolf opened his right hand and held it out, flexing his fingers. “Tinker and Little Horse are like this. They are one. You cannot separate them without harming both. And thus, their loyalty must be first to each other.”
Oilcan nodded although he was struggling with how accepting Windwolf could be toward Tinker loving another male. “I’m not sure how this relates to starting an enclave.”
Windwolf laughed. “That was what I was worried about. This has everything to do with sponsorship. If I sponsor you, between us would have to be a bond nearly as strong as that between Tinker and Little Horse. I would protect you as you serve me. No other tie that you have can be stronger—not even with your cousin.”
Oilcan shook his head. “I couldn’t put you above—”
Windwolf waved away his objection. “That problem is simple enough to circumvent. Tinker could sponsor you, and your loyalty need not be tested.”
“I’m confused now.”
“The problem lies with the children,” Windwolf said. “It was agreed that all humans would be considered without a clan unless they entered into an agreement with an elf. You are a human, and it’s assumed that you have no clan. If you are sponsored, then you would become Wind Clan. And by extension, your household would be Wind Clan.”
The most basic loyalty is to the clan.
“Oh,” Oilcan said. He had assumed that since Tinker was the Wind Clan domi, he was automatically considered Wind Clan. Perhaps the reason all the Wind Clan elves called him “cousin” was because it was the only way they felt connected to him. How did Thorne Scratch see him? Did she think of him as a free agent? Was that why she asked him to take the children? Did she only trust him because she thought he was completely neutral?
“I think you’re starting to understand,” Windwolf said quietly. “The moment you agree to sponsorship, the children will have to decide if they want to stay with you and be Wind Clan or to find another household. It would be one thing if you were an elf. They could choose with the knowledge they would have a home forever. You are a human. The household you form will have a lifespan limited by your own. And it would be nearly impossible for the children to be accepted by another household after you died, since they would have abandoned not only the household of their birth, but also their clan.”
“Couldn’t the household last beyond my life?”
“I cannot give you that reassurance. I do not know these children well enough. My grandfather Howling was head of the Wind Clan for nearly ten thousand years. He would still be head if he hadn’t been murdered. His household shattered after his death; many had not found a refuge until I took them in, over a thousand years later.”
The worse of it was, even if Oilcan lived to be an old man, the children would barely be considered adults when he died.
The rumble of a big truck announced Roach’s return with another dumpster.
“What about the building?” Oilcan asked, standing up. He couldn’t afford to pour more money into the school if he couldn’t move t
he children into it.
“I will tell Maynard that it is free to claim, and you can purchase it for a dollar,” Windwolf said. “We will help you no matter what path you follow. Sponsorship, however, is more than just money. All that is Wind Clan would be available to you. The children need a clan protecting them, and the Stone Clan does not appear willing to maintain a strong presence in Pittsburgh. My beloved and I will be sure that the children are cared for if they choose the Wind Clan. Our ability to protect them, however, is limited if they remain Stone Clan. Speak with the children.”
* * *
Team Tinker had assembled while he was gone. They sat on the front steps and hoods of cars parked in the street in front of the school, waiting for his return.
“What did he say?” Roach asked what everyone else wasn’t brave enough to ask.
“The building is mine,” Oilcan said and waited for the resulting cheer to die down. “We talked about sponsorship, but there’s a lot I didn’t know about it. Both Windwolf and Tinker are willing to sponsor me—”
“Are they going to arm wrestle for you?” Andy asked and got smacked by Roach.
“If the male is smart, he won’t come between Tinker and Oilcan,” Roach said, and there was laughing agreement.
“Both are willing,” Oilcan repeated. “But I need to think it over.”
“I went upstairs to check out the rooms,” Abbey Rhode, the team’s spotter, said.
“She means she went upstairs to slack off,” Roach said.
Abbey stuck out her tongue as everyone laughed. She was often teased because her job was to simply sit, watch, and report. “This place is going to be sweet once it’s cleaned up. It’s really cool that you got the kids to write out what they need—although it impressed on me how little I can read Elvish. I took photos of their lists and posted them online.”
“I’ll translate the lists,” Gin Blossom offered.
“Thanks,” Oilcan said.
“And we managed to get one of the things on the list already,” Abbey said.
