Venom in Her Veins

by Tim Pratt

  “We’re happy to have you, Cousin,” Julen said, a little awkwardly. Then he sighed. “Even if you do have a bizarre fondness for sleeping without a roof overhead.”

  “You’ll get used to it,” Zaltys said.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Julen replied.

  The caravan proceeded. Julen was in no danger of surpassing Zaltys’s skill as a ranger, but she had to admit that, interbranch family rivalry aside, the Guardians knew how to train their operatives. He pinned a platter-sized spider to a tree with a throwing knife—smirking at Zaltys and saying, “See, I have ranged weapons too,”—and helped her and the other forward scouts slash down a carnivorous vine that had grown across the barely-visible caravan path, showing no hesitation even when the bloodlike sap sprayed everywhere. He was clearly better suited to creeping through alleys, but he was adapting fairly well to the jungle environment.

  “It’s not so different from the city in terms of sight-lines,” he mused as they ranged off to one side of the path to make sure there were no lurking hazards waiting to ambush the caravan. The trees there weren’t as big as elsewhere in the jungle, but that meant more sunlight could filter down, and as a result the jungle’s fecundity was explosive, with smaller trees and plants growing so close together Zaltys sometimes had to turn sideways to slip between the trunks. “Down in the oldest part of the city especially, the houses are built so close together the alleyways are too tiny for grown humans to pass through at all, and the streets curve and twist, limiting your sight-lines. There are places where the roofs overlap, blocking out the sun.” He glanced up at the green canopy above. “Of course, in the alleys, the worst you have to worry about is a mugger, not—I don’t know—giant flesh-devouring beetles.”

  “The beetles aren’t so bad,” Zaltys said, pushing aside a low hanging branch and its freight of poisonous white flowers.

  “Oh? So what’s the worst thing you’ve ever had to face out here, then?” Julen said.

  Zaltys considered. “It’s hard to say. Deeper in the jungle you’ll want to keep an eye on the trees above you as well as the ground below. There are apes who’ll drop down from above and start pummeling you—we’ve even seen a few wearing fragments of old armor, guards of some abandoned ruin or another, I guess. They killed four of our scouts a few years ago. Krailash says there used to be yuan-ti near the prime terazul harvesting location, but he hasn’t seen any of them in years, and I’ve never seen one, myself. Lots of snakes, but no snake people. I’m sure there are worse things farther from the caravan path—chokers, drakes, trolls and goblins, who knows, maybe even a dragon—but most thinking creatures learned to avoid this route long before I was born. Between mother, Krailash, Quelamia, and Glory, we’re a lot more formidable than just about anything we’re likely to encounter among the trees. All we get are the mindless creatures, blood-sucking vines and giant spiders and the like. It’s a shame. It would be nice to have a challenge.”

  “Really?” he said, hacking at a thorn-encrusted vine. “And I was just thinking it would be nice to have a hot bath.” He paused. “Who’s Glory?”

  The next tenday proceeded well, with Julen’s presence the only notable difference from the previous year’s excursion. Zaltys did her best to ignore the guards that followed her whenever she went into the woods, and rotated through the various scout groups, paying close attention to what the more experienced rangers and huntsmen and reconnaissance experts did, picking up a few fine points of tracking and teaching the basics to Julen, who continued to complain in a relatively good-natured way. One night after dinner—eaten with the guards, fortunately, as mother had given up her attempts at formal dining after that first night—Julen confided to her that learning naturecraft was no more boring than learning the list of approved poisons, and that struck Zaltys as high praise, coming from him.

  They had lessons too, which Julen found annoying at first—“I thought out in the wilderness I could avoid tutors”—but he obviously enjoyed the weapons training with Krailash, though he sometimes fell asleep during Quelamia’s monotone recitations of ancient historical fact. Glory, who’d long ago declared Zaltys hopeless at psionics, pronounced the same verdict on Julen, and settled down to teaching them what she could: which was mostly how to get your way by sweet-talking and manipulation, and how to subtly steer people toward a desirable course of action, and how to make people do what you wanted while making them think a given course was their own idea. After one such lesson—an especially bawdy one, complete with illustrative anecdotes about an emperor brought low by the machinations of one of his own councilors combined with his fondness for lovers of an inappropriate social class—Julen said, “They should bring her in to lecture to the Guardians!”

  “They do,” Zaltys said, amused. “Every year. You just don’t remember her, though you remember the lessons, I’m sure.”

  “Don’t remember who?” he said.

  The caravan did not move swiftly, because it was a large operation, and took time to break camp in the morning and set up in the late afternoon. They couldn’t streamline things much, because the deeper they got into the jungle, the more important it was to have proper defenses set up before nightfall, when the jungle came alive with menacing noises and the things making those noises. They also took a somewhat meandering route, and sent trailbreakers to hack false paths through the jungle (ideally leading to profoundly dangerous dead ends), and spent time covering their own tracks, all in order to frustrate the spies and followers they assumed were tracing their trail.

  After two tendays, though, they’d reached the main terazul harvesting site, and set up the more-or-less permanent camp that would be their home for the next month.

  And that meant it was almost time for Zaltys’s initiation day. Her mother, in consultation with the other elders of the family, had decided Zaltys was old enough to become a full member of the family—no longer a dependent, but an adult in her own right, with attendant rights and responsibilities. It was a significant coming-of-age in the Serrat family, usually celebrated with lavish parties, but Zaltys wanted to celebrate in the jungle, where she felt most at home, and where most of her work for the family would take place.

  The camp as a whole didn’t take any notice of that particular milestone—the caravan was a working operation, with scouts and sentries keeping watch, laborers plucking the blossoms from the terazul vines and filling their baskets, which in turn filled the enclosed carts that had once held food, gradually emptying to make room for more precious cargo as the caravan moved forward. Indeed, the special day was like any other until that evening, when her mother’s spirit boar came and sniffed at her legs and led her back to the center of camp.

  Krailash, Quelamia, Glory, Julen, and her mother were all waiting by the same long dining table they’d used for their formal dinner, though, fortunately, without the crystal and porcelain used that time. Her mother embraced her and kissed her cheek. “My daughter,” she said. “Seventeen years ago, Krailash brought you to me from the jungle, and changed my life.”

  “Mine too,” Zaltys said, to general laughter.

  “You have served the family well,” Alaia said solemnly. “You have worked tirelessly for our prosperity, and proven yourself an asset to the Serrats as a whole, and the Travelers in particular. It is with great pleasure that I formally induct you into the highest circle of the family, as an adult in your own right, with all the rights and privileges that status entails.” Eyes shining with tears, Alaia kissed Zaltys on one cheek, then the other, and embraced her. Zaltys very nearly wept herself.

  “I’d say you’re old enough to take your wine unwatered,” Alaia said, and poured straw-colored wine into a wooden cup, handing it over to Zaltys. “Though not too much. Krailash wants you on patrol tomorrow. For now, though: let’s raise our glasses to Zaltys, trade princess, heir to the Travelers, and ranger of the wild places.”

  They all recited her name and took the ritual drink, and then Alaia said, “I think that’s all, unless
there’s something I’m forgetting.”

  Zaltys didn’t say anything. It was traditional to give gifts to a family member being raised to adult status, and she was fairly sure her mother was just teasing.

  “Oh, yes,” Alaia said after a long moment, giving a small smile. “You probably expect a gift or two. I think we may have a few small things.”

  Glory presented her with a small carved box, which held a ring of delicate blue crystal that glowed with inner light.

  “It’s beautiful,” Zaltys said, lifting the ring from the box and looking at its gently pulsing glow. “This is too nice, Glory, I can’t—”

  “It’s a psychic ring,” she said. “Well, the ring isn’t psychic, but it can grant a tiny bit of power to even a hopeless psionic case like you. You know how I can speak directly to your mind, sending my thoughts into your head?” She nodded to the ring. “With this, you can do the same thing. It continually gathers your mental energy, but sending thoughts isn’t easy, so it will take a day or so to recharge after each use. And it won’t help you receive thoughts, but, well—if you ever need to whisper a secret or get a message to someone without being overheard, this can help.” She closed Zaltys’s hand over the ring. “Happy initiation. Welcome to the horror of having real responsibilities.”

  Next Krailash approached, holding a long bow case, pale wood inlaid with sigils in some reflective black substance like the night-made glass, with hinges of gold. “I have carried this for decades,” the dragonborn rumbled. “It was an inheritance from an elven archer I campaigned with, long before I began working for the Serrat family. Before he died, that elf told me to keep this until I found an archer who deserved to wield such a fine weapon.” He opened the case, revealing a delicate recurve bow made of carefully bent bone and wood and horn. “The bow, I’m told, is made of wood from a tree that grows only in places where the Shadowfell touches the mortal plane, and the bones of a phase beast, and exotic sinews, and other things. It is imbued with old magics. I saw it loosed often in battle, Zaltys, and the arrows that flew from this bow seemed to take no notice of obstacles, flickering to pass through walls and pillars and the trunks of trees, and though the arrows did not always strike their targets, they did strike targets that no other arrow could have reached. Indeed, in one pitched battle when the archer ran out of arrows, I saw him shoot a spear, a short sword, and a fireplace poker from this bow, and they all flew as straight as arrows would. It’s an extraordinary weapon, and wasted in my clumsy hands. But you are worthy of this bow, and I give this to you.” He inclined his head, closed the bow case, and handed it over.

  Zaltys stared at the case. She had very fine weapons, made by master craftsmen, but a magic bow …

  “My gift is a good match for that weapon,” Quelamia said. “Though you may thank yourself, to some extent, Zaltys.” She lifted up a pannier from the ground by her chair and opened it, drawing out a set of deep gray-black leather armor.

  “Is that made from the skin of the shadow snake?” Julen blurted.

  “It is,” Quelamia said. “I had thought, at first, to make you armor enchanted with the magic of the Feywild, but when I was given this skin, and told you had slain it yourself, it seemed appropriate. I am not knowledgeable about Shadow Magic, but I know this armor will fit you beautifully, and should enable you to slip through shadows as the serpent itself once did, and to vanish from sight in the shade, and blows that strike this armor may sometimes fail to land on you at all, passing harmlessly through shadow.”

  Zaltys had been wearing her newest set of supple hunting leathers for over a year, and they had come to seem almost like a second skin, but she would give them up in an instant for something as beautiful as this shadow armor—though she felt some twinge at the thought of wearing the flesh of a serpent that had once spoken in her mind. But wasn’t it almost a way of honoring the snake, of making its death meaningful? “Quelamia … I am honored.”

  “Yes,” Quelamia said serenely, and then departed, apparently finished with the party once her part was done.

  “I want to give you this knife,” Julen said, offering her one of his throwing daggers, hilt-first. It was a beautiful weapon, impeccably balanced, with a jewel at the base of the hilt and a blade that was treated so that it didn’t reflect even a glimmer of light, and would fly through the night invisibly. “It’s not magical or anything. If I had a magical dagger, no offense, I’d keep it for myself.”

  Zaltys laughed and gave him a hug, then looked at Alaia. Her mother raised one eyebrow. “Are you wondering about my gift? Well, it is both a gift, and a burden. You are no longer a child, and so, I have an adult responsibility for you: I am making you head of the rangers and the scouts for the Travelers. You will organize their schedules and direct their actions.”

  Zaltys stared, then practically leaped into her mother’s arms, squeezing her tightly. “Does this mean no more guards shadowing me everywhere?”

  “Not unless you assign them yourself,” Krailash said. “Your mother talked it over with me, and I have no objection. You know this terrain as well as the best scouts we have—better than I do myself, truthfully. Technically you will report to me, as I remain head of security, but in practice, I will let you run things to your liking. Come by my trailer in the morning and I’ll show you how the rotation has been set up, and I can answer any questions you might have.”

  Alaia patted Zaltys’s back and stepped out of the embrace. She’d never been terribly comfortable with physical affection. “Do well with this position, Zaltys, and you will go a long way toward proving yourself worthy of leading the Travelers and sitting in on the family’s high councils.”

  “Lucky you,” Glory said. “Your mother’s gift is more work, and that makes you happy. I’ll never understand your family.”

  Zaltys stuck out her tongue at the tiefling, then took her mother’s hand in her own. “I will not disappoint you, Alaia Serrat,” she said formally.

  Her mother kissed her cheek. “I know, darling. Now, run along with your cousin—I’m sure you’d like to try out your new weapons and make him jealous.”

  “It’s all right,” Julen said. “I’ve been promised father’s third-best sword when I come of age.” He sighed. “You’re lucky to be an only child, Zaltys.” He walked out of the circle of torchlight, talking to Glory in a low voice.

  Before Zaltys could leave, Alaia touched her arm, and drew in close. “Celebrate tonight, my daughter. But tomorrow, come and sit with me. There are some things you should know. Things it’s time you learned. That you deserve to know.”

  “Family secrets?” Zaltys said, smiling.

  “Something like that,” Alaia said.

  After dressing in her new armor and slipping on her new ring—its blue glow was hidden by some properties of the shadowy armor—Zaltys strung her new bow by the archery butts Krailash had set up to keep the troops in practice. In truth, despite her boasting to Julen, the jungle was rough going for archers, since the trees were so dense and provided so many obstacles to a clear shot. But Zaltys had always turned that to her advantage, firing from concealment and from high in the branches of trees, excelling as a sniper and secret hunter. With her new armor and the bow, it almost felt unfair for her to have such advantages.

  But she knew temple guardian apes and shambling mounds wouldn’t hesitate to use any advantage they could get over her, so why should she feel guilty?

  Julen watched her try out her new bow, clapping and making appreciative noises as she tested its capabilities on the straw targets. Night was falling, though, and archery was less enjoyable by torchlight, especially for spectators, so she acceded to Julen’s suggestion that they sit and talk awhile.

  They walked to the far northern edge of camp, just outside the perimeter of carts but well inside the shifting protective fence of guards out in the woods. They sat on a couple of mossy boulders, and Julen grinned. “Look what I have.” He drew a small bottle of wine from a bag, along with a pair of wooden cups.


  “Did you steal that?” He was doubtless trained in a dozen forms of larceny, and it was a nice gesture, but pillaging caravan supplies was a bad idea.

  “No, it was a gift from, ah …” he frowned. “Someone. She said a woman with all your responsibilities should be able to drink all the unwatered wine she wants, and that we should celebrate your new position. I wish I could remember who it was.”

  “It’s okay, I think I know.” Zaltys took the bottle, uncorked it, and sniffed, flickering out her tongue as she did so. The liquid inside had a hint of spiciness, and she knew, even in the dimness, that it would be bright red, some of Glory’s tiefling fire-wine. Something best drunk in moderation, no doubt, but a nice gesture nonetheless. And Glory was right—Zaltys should celebrate. The work began tomorrow, but until then, it was the pure pleasure of achieving one of her dreams.

  Zaltys poured her cousin a cup and then one for herself, and after their initial gasps at the strength of the wine, they sipped in eye-watering silence for a while. Finally Julen said, “I’m sorry my gift wasn’t as good as the others.”

  She waved her hand. “Don’t be silly, Cousin. It was very generous and thoughtful of you, and it’s appreciated. I’ll be sure to send you something when you come of age in a couple of years.” He leaned back on a log. “So. Heir to the Travelers. The backbone of the family fortune, at least, according to the Travelers, though it’s funny, the Guardians say the same thing, and I bet the Traders do too. Still, that’s got to be a weight on your shoulders.”

  “It’s what I’ve been training for my entire life,” she said seriously. “I learned how to supply a caravan before I learned to read. I was taught how to scout the jungle and lay false trails before I was taught multiplication. It will be an honor to serve my family.”