by Jade Alters
I carry River on my shoulder to the edge of the slender canyon, where she sends a few little squeaks into my ear. I kneel to stretch my arm out to the top of a short boulder. River hops down the length of my arm to the rock. She closes her tiny rat eyes in focus. The hairs of her fur stand straight up until her form explodes back to its regular, human form. She shakes off the disorientation of being back in her own skin. When she can open her eyes again, they smile at me with a genuine warmth I’ve rarely seen in her.
“Thanks…for the ride,” is all River can bring herself to say. That’s alright. I know what she really means.
“Anytime,” I tell her. River takes one last deep breath, and slides off the rock to her feet. She stretches her arms behind her head as she takes the lead again, onto a baked-clay path through tall grass.
We leave the crack in the cliff behind for a small prairie, overshadowed by the rugged, multi-faceted peaks of Yosemite. A tiny creek is all that remains of the mighty river that once raged through and carved out this perfect hiding spot for the Ahwahneechee Clan. Now this is a village. That little creek trickles under wooden foot bridges and winds around or under a few tree-trunk-built buildings. The entire prairie is filled with not just the traditional teepees, but hide-walled cabins with log skeletons and a fully wooden Longhouse. People walk about in hide cloth like River’s, but also longer hand-stitched dresses. Men wear short pants of similar hide and beads to the women. In the middle of it all is me, a Dragon clad in khakis and a collared shirt.
I kick up dust on River’s trail over a few bridges and around a big open-fronted building that looks like it might be a store. Some animal pelts hang up with prices scribbled on yellowed paper beneath them. The path to our destination leads behind it, to a teepee strung up on the trunks of four decently thick trees. Smoke billows from the pit in the center of a circle of stones beside it. The smell of spiced meat still hangs in the air around it. My first impression of the place is that it would be a luxurious size for temporary living, but to stay there full time…I’d need a good place to stretch my wings. Then I notice the murals. All along the base and tip of the teepee are pictures, emblazoned in thick, natural paints. The details of crawling and soaring creatures would be impressive even on regular canvas, with an artist’s tool kit. There are creatures complete with bared fangs, colored irises and individually outlined feathers. River draws back the canvas door to reveal an interior bigger than I could have imagined.
An outer ring of packed clay houses most of the hand-made furniture. Cabinets, three beds and even a mirror made from a huge, framed glass shard outline the inside of the teepee. Within that ring is a pit, dug out and flattened in a perfect circle. It has the effect of a different room as I step down the wooden stairs into it, behind River. In the lower level are two big seats facing one another and a table made of bone and hide. The gap in the logs that form the center support of the tent lets in a perfect spotlight of sun for visibility. At our entrance, a gruff old man and a woman that looks almost exactly like River, scrunched up with wrinkles, stand up from the seats.
“Light returns to our lives,” the man grumbles through a smile of astonishingly white teeth.
“Stop. You act like all you do when I leave is sit around and wait for me,” River waves them off. “You don’t need to try and impress Cece. She’s seen me at my worst.”
“That’s just what happens, when you live with someone. Isn’t it, Dear?” the woman asks her partner. He nods a proud frown and strolls over to embrace River. “That’s how you find the best of your friends.” While River’s father hugs her, her mother comes to me. She offers a gentle hand. “I am Serah.”
“Cece,” I answer, and put my hand in hers. Serah’s fingers wrap mine with powerful constriction for a hard jostle, before she lets me go.
“I am Jehan,” River’s father tells me, when she finally unclamps from around his neck. She throws herself at her mother with the same ferocity, while Jehan also crushes the bones in my hand.
“I’m Cece,” I try to grunt without whining. These two could squeeze through a steel beam! When the introductions are done, Serah and Jehan return to their wide seat. Like everything in the tent, the signs of incredible hand-craftsmanship are all over it. The carefully carved pegs that hold the wood together without a single screw. The stain that makes the color of grains pop. The cushions stuffed with some sort of down that blend perfectly with the hide walls of the building. I sit on the identical one across from them, beside River.
“No bill for damages this term. Is it getting easier to control?” Serah asks, without an ounce of shame. If anything, she sounds proud.
“Mother,” River bites back. Sure, it was a sensitive matter between us, once. Most of the incidents of room destruction were, after all, one of our faults or the other. Usually a bit of both. The time when it was part of our daily routine, however, feels like a different life.
“Daughter,” Serah bites back, “you must learn to be proud of yourself for little victories! Those who never win become bitter. Those who keep an eye on the bigger picture never win.”
“Bah,” River blows her off, though I can see in her eyes how deeply the words strike a chord. Not just in her, either. Every little thing her parents have done since we walked through the door has struck something in me. Recollection. Happiness. Pain. It’s all too familiar a sensation. Just like when I used to come home from school to my family on Scott Street. The unnecessary pride. The life lessons… It’s almost too much. I can hardly believe it, but as good as this feels, I almost prefer the awkwardness of Dorian’s company.
“Hey… You okay?” River asks. It must be written all over my face.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I do my best to convince her, which at that moment is probably pitiful. River’s brows curve up at me, then jump to her parents.
“We’re going to go out for a bit,” she smiles.
“But you’ve only just gotten back!” Serah whines. But Jehan seems to speak the same hidden language as his daughter. He puts a hand on his partner’s shoulder to signal her.
“We need to get started setting up the Longhouse. Unless you two got the jump on it already?” River asks.
“No. We figured your friend might enjoy getting to see it,” Jehan smiles.
“That’s what I thought. Lazy,” River mumbles. She grabs my hand and leads me along, right out of the tent.
Cece,
Ahwahneechee Longhouse
“Whoa,” is all I can get out when we walk through the massive open doorway of the Ahwahneechee Longhouse.
The whole place is made from gigantic tree trunks layered in a rising rectangle. The floor looks like it might be made from the same type of logs, cut into rough-edged slivers and lined up side by side. They are big enough to span the entire Longhouse. The long table is raw timber, sanded down to a soft, white and fleshy interior. Balled up in my hands is our first order of business, the long cloth meant to lay over the center of the table.
“Yeah, get your gawking out now,” River says. “You’ll make a fool of me if you do it tomorrow.”
“Afraid I’ll embarrass you in front of your supernatural foreign dignitary friends?” I tease her back, even while my eyes climb the walls.
Above us, a single, perfectly rectangular beam of wood marks the center of the high, vaulted roof. The rest of it is made up of huge sheets of dark, milled lumber. In all of it, I can’t find a single glint of metal. Not a nail. Not a screw. It’s all held together by pegs, holes and notches cut into the wood.
“Would you just give me half the cloth?” River groans. I hold the tablecloth half over the table and let the tail of it drop down to the floor. River and I unroll it down the length of the long, white wood table.
“How many guests are we talking?” I ask River as the gold-trimmed crimson cloth unfurls.
“Two representatives from each family… I think there are fifteen coming this year. Different Magicians, Witches, Warlocks and stuff,” River tells me as the last of
the tablecloth rolls out.
“And stuff… Any Dragons?” I ask.
“Just you,” River admits. “You’re…the first. Not just the first Dragon, either. The first outside of the Big Three.”
“No pressure, huh?” I laugh through the nerves in my throat.
“None at all. I invited you here basically to be a servant, not a guest,” River shrugs.
“You bitch,” I say, cold. Then we both laugh. River wheels a cart over, full of plates and silverware. Thirty plates, all set proper. I mimic River’s chosen arrangement of tools around each with a fork, spoon, knife and smooth silk napkin. It took us about fifteen minutes to get the whole deal done.
After that, I got to see the beauty of Ahwahneechee engineering firsthand, putting together the serving tables along the walls of the Longhouse. We stand up four thick wooden posts with pegs, to fit a heavy slab of wood with corresponding holes on top of them. Tomorrow, River told me, it would be covered with gigantic silver trays of food from every culture of every family in attendance. After that, we set about hanging house banners for some of these families, each one stitched masterfully onto a hanging crimson cloth. When it was all done, River stood at the head of the table, the only place where there was a high-backed chair, rather than the long benches that flanked the table. Her eyes wandered from one set place to the next.
“Don’t worry,” River sighs. “You’re not the only one serving tomorrow.” For a few seconds, I’m not sure exactly what to say to her. Then I remember what she did for me, back at her teepee, without saying a word.
“Hey, you know what always clears my mind before a big test?” I ask. River turns to me, jarred by the randomness of the question. She raises an eyebrow in lieu of a verbal answer. “Go flying. You ever go flying?”
“You serious?” River snorts.
“Dead. Sure, you might shift into a turtle or something. But, for once, you’d have someone there to catch you,” I offer. River chews her lip while she thinks it over. But she knows as well as I do how much good it’ll do sitting around stressing about tomorrow.
River’s form of choice is a peregrine falcon. Nice and easy for me to snag, if something went wrong. It only did, twice. Once, when she finally let herself go and relaxed, River shifted into a goat. Another time, when she was panicked, River became an alligator. A little heavier, but it was still an easy catch.
After that, she trusted me enough to relax. River didn’t shift again, besides into the tiny feathered form of a falcon. She kept pace with me for a while, and even zipped ahead to take advantage of her sleek feathered form. Despite the powerful flap of my canvas wings, I just couldn’t compete. River zipped around me in bee-line dives and sweeps.
The little chirps she let out might be the happiest I ever heard her.
A Good Impression
Cece,
The Ahwahneechee Longhouse
It’s just about the oddest gathering I’ve ever been a part of. It hadn’t occurred to me until now just how different formalwear would be across the different cultures that make up the Academy. Everyone in attendance at the Ahwahneechee Thanksgiving Dinner is dressed to their own version of the nines. Women in sparkling, form-fitting dresses converse with bare-chested men who wear only their prized animal-skin cloaks, complete with intact head. Warlocks with beards long enough to braid in their dress robes line up beside women both in pencil skirts and furred hide garb. They gab about pointless Academy politics and supernatural happenings like we’re at any old gala dinner. And there I am, smack in the middle of it, clad in a hand-sewn dress lent to me by Serah. It’s all a bit much for my eyes to take in.
Each family has sent an elder and younger representative. I can’t tell which of the pair, from any group, is more stressed. The youngers constantly force their hands from their pockets when they realize how undignified the stance is. The elders constantly glance over at their young companions to make sure they haven’t made a mockery of the whole ordeal yet. The swipe of napkins across sweaty foreheads is universal across the crowd. I wonder if it’s always this tense, or if it’s directly linked to the racial tension around the Academy. I also wonder how much they would all squirm if they knew what I’d been up to the past few weeks.
But I push all thoughts of Dorian and the Kyrie from my mind, at least for now. I’m here for the ASTF, to scope out potential sympathizers or even Kyrie members I might recognize. I’m here to make sure the Academy is safe from insurrection. More than that, though, I’m here for River. The poor girl hasn’t rested her feet since the first guest arrived.
Not that I have, but River is on a level of attentiveness that’s totally new to me. She zips from one guest to another, a platter of hors d’oeuvres and drinks perfectly balanced. I want so badly to snap a picture for humility purposes at a later time, but I think River might actually put the tray down to choke me to death. Instead, I do my best to mimic her form and ferry orders I can hardly keep straight to powerful leaders. Tomato-cheese toast for the Witch in the silver robe, a dry martini for the Shifter in the corner with a little too much gut showing… I struggle to figure it all out. The last thing I want to do is screw up one of these orders, but we have a mission here, other than as hostesses.
Signs of supernatural racism are, as it turns out, pretty easy to scan for when you’re a talking point at the party. I hardly have to show up at a fringe social circle before one of them mentions the novelty of having me there.
“Is it true?” a blonde Magician leans in to ask me. If alcohol could be shared secondhand, like smoke, I’d have gotten drunk from the puff of her scotch-breath.
“Is what true?” I manage to get out without gagging.
“You’re the first Dragon ever to attend the Thanksgiving Dinner?” she whispers. The feeling of her lips on the inside of my ear isn’t a memory I’ll savor.
“Sure is,” I tell her, “Another scotch?”
“Please,” the younger Magician under her wing puts a hand on my arm. “Don’t put my mother on the floor.”
“You got it, boss. One water, coming your way,” I wink, and turn to bolt out of there as fast as I can.
“Wait!” the older Magician catches my arm. Damn. I turn back to see what she wants, but she needs no invitation to start talking. “Don’t you feel…weird?” I know what she means by the curious glint in her eye. Don’t I feel weird, being the only one of my kind that’s set foot in the Ahwahneechee Longhouse?
“You know, I didn’t,” I smile back, slip my hand out of hers, and slink away. Alright, curiosity. But no prejudice. I grab River in passing to ask her to bring some water to the woman Magician, so I can avoid her.
“You picking up anything weird?” River whispers, just before I turn to go.
“Don’t you think if I did, I’d tell you? Nothing yet,” I tell her. Then I realize. “You’re nervous about your speech.”
“Shut up!” River hisses, quiet so the powerful families around us won’t hear. I can see the fear in her eyes. Fear of disappointing her family, the hosts of this year’s Dinner. And not just them, but the whole village. I can see the weight of it piling up on her shoulders, crushing her.
“Just keep it short. I’m sure everyone here understands it’s ceremony. They just want to eat, from the disturbing amount of shrimp balls I’ve already given away,” I tell her. River sighs, and we part ways again. I interview guests to the Thanksgiving Dinner as briefly and discreetly as I can, while I distribute sweet, bite-sized delights you won’t find anywhere but at a meal like this.
One older Witch asks if Dragons have any familial traditions like this one. I tell her I have no idea, since I only recently reconnected with my family. Her younger counterpart comments that perhaps more Dragons will attend this traditional meal in the future, because of me. An interesting thought, when I have one undercover foot in the door of an organization who plans to undo all this.
Jehan and Serah point me in the direction of one of the oldest, most traditional Shifter families from the villag
e. Their patriarch wears the well-kept fur of a grizzly bear on his shoulders. He regards me with cold disinterest while I try to prompt him with my tray. Though, seconds later, I hear him remark to one of the other Shifters that I was a “nice girl”, so he’s out.
River and I circle the perimeter of the Longhouse with one another always in one eye for signals. We poke our noses into every conversation we could hope to overhear, to offer food and drink. Again and again, we send one another the same shake of dismissal. The attendees of the Dinner seem unanimously surprised to see me, but none of them angered, or even unsettled. Could something in my life go so remarkably smooth? Could I possibly sit down and eat a nice meal with my roommate and her family, with no incidents of betrayal?
I would have said yes, before I notice the man at the head of the table. The one who will sit opposite River, as representative of the hosting family. Someone I recognize from Sealbreaker matches, the son of Chief Shifter Botan, Rock. Chief Botan himself stands behind his son, one hand on his stoic shoulder. Both of them share the same granite eyes, staring straight ahead across the white and red table before them. I begin toward them. I don’t need to say much, to learn much. A guest on the fringe. One never before seen under the roof of their village’s traditional Longhouse. All I have to do is thank them. That will tell me exactly how they feel about those outside the Big Three.
“I wouldn’t,” a hand grabs the outside of my arm. My instinct is to yank it away, or throw some knuckles. Instead, I clench my eyes and teeth to strain into the most clueless, innocent face I can. I turn to the young man holding my wrist.
“I just wanted to thank them,” I tell him. “For having me as a guest.”
“Your appreciation is implied by your service,” the young man tells me. He’s even tanner than River, with two of the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen. “Sorry. Believe it or not, I’m just looking out for you. You being here is kind of a big deal. A low profile is best. People don’t tend to approach the Chief’s family at all during the Dinner. It might be a bit much if you go up there.”
