Etiquette of Exiles (Senyaza Series Book 4)

by Chrysoula Tzavelas

  It would be so easy to make it a weapon. Hammers were tools, yes, but they were weapons, too. She looked at how big she’d made her hammer: the long handle, the spiked head. It wasn’t a delicate instrument. If she dared call it a tool, she ought to recognize that it was a tool of war.

  She hefted the hammer, felt its weight, felt the steel of it. The fog of the black diamond’s perspective faded. Big hammers were tools too: tools for building railroads, tools for building fences. Tools for, yes, occasionally guarding them. A tool could do many tasks; that was the point of a tool. Her hammer wasn’t for punishing the guilty.

  Branwyn went to the electric kettle on the other side of the room, where she started brewing herself a mug of tea. She stared at the diamond the entire time, and by the time she was halfway through the hot drink she felt fortified enough to wade back into the battle.

  The monster had touched the black diamond, carried it close. And it was a peculiar feature of Machine fragments that when creatures of celestial origin touched them, the Machine absorbed the essence of the celestial. Branwyn had heard that when a Machine sword killed a celestial, they didn’t reincarnate because the sword had absorbed everything that could reincarnate. Machine weapons ate celestial souls.

  The monster had been hale right up until Branwyn had taken the black diamond from him, but it was clear something of his nature had been absorbed by the black diamond. Maybe the two of them were weapons together.

  Possibly the right thing to do was to chuck the diamond into the ocean.

  But that would be losing. Branwyn didn’t like to lose. So she finished her tea and strode back over and placed both hands firmly on the stone.

  This time she was prepared for the wave that tried to knock her off balance. “Railroads,” she said firmly. “Fences. Protection. Tools. You can be useful, not just dangerous.”

  There’s no point in being useful, it whispered. There’s only punishment. Vengeance.

  “The future needs tools, not weapons,” argued Branwyn. “Weapons go looking for fights.”

  So do you, purred the black diamond.

  Branwyn scowled. It was too much like its previous owner. She wanted to pick it up and bash it into the table until it stopped being so annoying.

  Instead she took a deep breath and said, “I only look for fights that need to be fought. I’d rather build something that works than destroy something.”

  Things need to be destroyed, though.

  And on the heels of the stone’s words came her own voice in the back of her head, I don’t look for fights. I’d be happy to not fight if they’d just let me win….

  Flushing, Branwyn pulled her hands away, but the stone caught her thought anyhow, and the web of energy from the stone stayed tangled around her. You need a weapon. They stop fighting if you have a powerful enough weapon.

  “A tool,” said Branwyn and her voice sounded weak and reedy, even to herself. “Change the world. Build the world. We’ll bring energy from rocks and life from fire.”

  You’ll fight. You’ll destroy. You’ll win. You won’t be able to stop yourself.

  Branwyn unscrewed the clamp holding the black diamond and let it drop into her hand. She took up the hammer and brought the stone close to the socket, concentrating on the soul forge again. With effort, she could mold not just the substance but the very nature of Machine fragments. This one was resistant rather than amenable, but that would only make the task harder, not impossible.

  “I don’t have to use you as a weapon.” She stared hard at the magical structure of the hammer and the fragment. “I can make you what I want you to be, whether or not you agree.”

  She thought she heard the monster laugh, and froze. He shouldn’t be anywhere near her, not now, not after what had happened after she’d finished her last project. They’d told her he’d probably be gone for months.

  A knock came, for the second time. The realization it was the second knock jerked Branwyn out of her reverie and brought her back to the mundane world. The door to her studio opened, and Branwyn’s grandmother Tara said crisply, “Time for lunch, Branwyn.”

  Tara had never been a tall woman and age had made her smaller. She had short, immaculately styled silver hair, and wore nice slacks and a classy teal blouse that made her eyes glow. She was, most recently, a writer, and while she normally lived with Branwyn’s mother and siblings, she’d been away from home on a sabbatical for weeks. Her extended trip wasn’t over, but she’d been passing through Pasadena on her way to a conference and made time to check in on the family she normally ruled as undisputed matriarch.

  Branwyn exhaled in a rush, put the stone and the hammer down, and rose to her feet. “Grandma. I’m sorry, I was in the middle of something.”

  “Yes, dear, I know. You always are when you miss a knock,” said Tara, her eyes glinting as she looked over Branwyn’s worktable. “My, what a large hammer that is. Planning to knock some sense into people?”

  Branwyn flushed and grabbed her backpack. “Let’s go.”

  It was a lovely day. They went to a food truck specializing in tacos that parked nearby on Wednesdays. As they waited in line, Tara said pleasantly, “Holly tells me you’ve gotten yourself involved in something again, dear. Something unusual, even for you.”

  Moodily, Branwyn said, “It’s mostly good. I’m pretty sure I saved Penny’s life. And stopped something bad from happening in the process. Besides,” she added with a touch of irritation, “I’m hardly the only one in the family. Have you heard Jaimie’s new song?”

  “Mmm. And seen the video. Videos. But I had breakfast with Jaimie and Holly hours ago. Now I am with you. So. You are getting into trouble. What is your goal?” Tara was a veteran of many civil rights campaigns, and it showed in the way she’d always cut straight to the purpose of any fracas Branwyn waded into. She’d never allowed Branwyn to simply go along with the flow, oh no. She could join the crowd, sing the chant, write the letters, but she always, always had to have a concrete goal she was reaching for. And if Branwyn did, Tara would always post the bail.

  “Educating myself. Self-improvement. You’ve seen some of the faerie videos, Grandma. We have to find a way to deal with how everything’s going to change. Already changing. I’ve got a lead, I’ve learned some things, and I’m going to use them.”

  “And how does the large hammer fit in?” When Branwyn didn’t answer right away, Tara added, “I felt something strange in your studio, Branwyn. You know I wouldn’t say that lightly. But it isn’t the first time in the last few weeks, so I’m inclined to pay attention. Be careful with it.”

  The taco line shuffled forward. Branwyn ran her fingers through her hair. “The hammer is just a hammer right now. I’d like it to be more, but… not a weapon, Grandma. I don’t want to make a weapon, not this time, and the stone I’m working with wants so very much to be a weapon. To make other weapons” She twisted her hair until it hurt, then shook her hands out.

  “Mph,” said Tara. “And your goal is educating yourself, you say? Or is it using things you’ve already learned? You’re not being truthful, dear.”

  “I want to win against the stone,” Branwyn admitted. “Not winning might be… expensive.” She didn’t say that losing to the stone might cost her some of her identity, but that was what she was afraid of.

  It was their turn to order and then wait for the food. Tara was quiet, only offering a few observations on their surroundings, and Branwyn’s thoughts circled round and round the hammer and the stone. After they both got their plate of vegetarian street tacos and some of the delicious lime tortilla chips produced by the truck, they went to sit on a bench.

  After a few bites, Tara suggested, “This stone. You could always walk away from the fight. Really walk away, not just take a lunch break. Unless the stone in question is going to chase you down.”

  Branwyn stopped, her taco halfway to her mouth. “Grandma,” she said in shock. “You never walk away from fights. You’ve been part of so many. You and Great-Grandma b
oth. You had goals and you went for them.”

  Tara snorted, then took a delicate bite of her taco. “Don’t be a child, Branwyn. When was there ever any point to destroying ourselves throwing everything at a brick wall?”

  “But—” began Branwyn, then didn’t know what to say. “I’ve scaled some pretty impressive walls,” she finally managed. “So have you.”

  “And do you think, oh heart of my heart, that the battles my mother and I fought started with us? No, you know better. You took all those classes in college.” She placidly took another bite of her taco. “Sometimes the wall is just too high. Wasting yourself against it steals your power. You end up silenced, in an institution.”

  “But you don’t walk away,” argued Branwyn, still astonished.

  Tara lowered her taco and gave Branwyn a long look. “There are always other battles. Life goes on, Branwyn. It’s important that life goes on. It gives you the energy to walk back up to the wall sometimes and kick it a few times. Or cry on it, if the moment takes you. Either way, you last longer.”

  “So does the wall,” muttered Branwyn. “Nobody should have to cry.”

  “Tears dissolve stone. We’re women, Branwyn. We don’t usually win brute contests of strength, but there are always other ways for the patient. Are you going to eat your lunch, or should I give it to somebody who will appreciate it?”

  Branwyn stuck her lip out, then stuffed half the taco in her mouth. “I hate hearing you say ‘We’re women,’ in that way.”

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full. And I’ve worked hard so that you wouldn’t have to fight the same battles. So that you wouldn’t ever find yourself in a position where you think of being a woman as a weakness.” Tara shrugged gracefully. “But here I find you throwing yourself into battle against something that feels as if it will swallow you whole. Against something you can walk away from.”

  “I want to win,” Branwyn repeated. It would feel so good to win, to make the black diamond bend to her will and behave the way she wanted it to be.

  Tara pilfered one of Branwyn’s chips and crumbled it to feed to some curious crows. “You know yourself best.” The way she took her attention off Branwyn made her feel like she’d been switched off, and Branwyn knew from long experience that the conversation was over. She tried to turn it to other directions, and Tara went along with her for the rest of their lunch. But she couldn’t stop thinking about what Tara had said, couldn’t let go of the shock of it.

  And the worst part was the way her grandmother had ended the discussion. She’d done that over and over again while Branwyn was growing up, and it had become not just an indication of the close of conversation but a promised I Told You So. You will understand later.

  It made Branwyn grumpy, but she did her best to manage it until she parted with Tara. Her grandmother kissed her cheek, hesitated, and then said, “Do you want me to stay with you while you throw yourself at the wall again? I really didn’t like the way I felt in your workshop. It’s not good.”

  Branwyn furrowed her brow. “You think I’ll go right back to it? After your lecture?”

  Tara smiled faintly. “Shall I stay? I might be able to pull you out if you get in over your head.”

  Branwyn made a face. “You have a plane to catch. I’ll be fine.”

  Her eyes glinted again, as if Tara didn’t quite want to leave, but she pulled away. “Very well. Good luck.”

  Once she was gone, Branwyn walked back to her studio thoughtfully. It was odd that her grandmother would offer to stay and help. Usually once she dropped the topic, she didn’t mention it again until Branwyn did. That she thought it was worth bringing up again was worrying. Did she doubt her own arguments, or was she that worried about the stone?

  In her studio, she looked at the stone, resting innocently on the work table as if it wasn’t much of anything at all. The hammer really did look more interesting than the black diamond. It was a good piece of work. It drew the eye.

  She put her finger on the stone and the awareness within it leapt to life, eager to once again sing to her of retribution and victory.

  Branwyn remembered Tara’s faint smile, remembered Tara arguing with her all through her childhood: arguing, then turning away and giving her words a chance to eat away at Branwyn’s conviction.

  She stood stock still, letting the memories wash over her. Then she laughed and turned away from the stone to walk back out of the studio. The black diamond was happy to see her, and that was a start. The rest would come, with patience and slow work, as long as she endured.

  Etiquette of Exiles

  When they released Penny from the hospital after the angel consumed her soul, she had a celebratory brunch with her family and friends. And then she went home, to her pretty little Craftsman house, where she lived all alone.

  Her mother didn’t want to leave her there, not so soon after she’d recovered. But Penny stood firm against the concern of her best friends and smoothed the wavy blue skirt her mother had brought her as a get-well gift. Today, Smile Girl could only smile so much. Too much had changed, within and without.

  Once the door closed and Penny was left alone, she sat on the couch and stared into the blankness of the turned-off television. The paraphernalia of all her projects surrounded her: neat shelves stacked with books and paper, markers and pens, but they didn’t offer her the same comfort they once had.

  Before Branwyn had woken her at the hospital, Penny’s last waking memory was of kneeling, surrounded by fire. She’d looked at a reflection of herself torn to pieces, screamed, and fallen to nightmares. Before that, she’d been dreaming of being cradled in his arms, safe and warm and beloved.

  He was gone now, they told her. ‘Gone,’ the same way a dead fish flushed away was ‘gone.’

  She was safe from him, they promised

  He’d almost destroyed her soul, they said.

  She missed him so much, this angel who had used her as a chess piece and whispered to her of warmth.

  Penny felt complete when he visited her dreams and like a perfect creature when he’d stepped into her mind. When he’d been burning away her soul, all she’d cared about was being with him forever.

  Branwyn had saved her with a construction made from parts of a celestial machine, used it to give her a prosthetic soul. It was nothing like the peace of an angel’s embrace. Lightning tickled her dreams. She heard whispers she couldn’t quite understand, reminding her of secrets she’d never learned. Her friends and family blurred with colorful auras, and Marley sparkled. It was proof of just how much she’d changed.

  They’d all three changed in the short time she’d been asleep: she, Branwyn, and Marley. But Penny hadn’t asked to change, not the way they’d changed her. Not even the way he’d changed her either, not really.

  Yet all this had come upon her, and it was far too late to go back again.

  For weeks, somebody came to see her every day: Branwyn or Marley. Her parents. Other friends. Branwyn’s mother, once. A reporter once. Only once. Penny smiled when she was supposed to, said what didn’t matter. But she wasn’t who she had been, and she couldn’t convince those who knew her best otherwise. Her smiles weren’t as easy, and she was so often distracted by what nobody else could see.

  Once, at lunch with Marley and her mother, she saw a black bird on the back of Marley’s chair, right inside the nice restaurant. It was strange and roused her to distant curiosity. She asked, “What is that bird doing on your chair?”

  Marley frowned and looked over her shoulder, then shook her head. “What bird?”

  Her mother looked at Penny with worried eyes. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Branwyn and the doctors said there would be some… adjustment.”

  That was the only time Penny mentioned the odd things she saw. And she saw so many unexpected things now: the emerald serpents in her mother’s hair, the blood smeared on Branwyn’s face, and the stain on Branwyn’s collarbone. A child down the street with wheels instead of feet.

  Once, she s
aw a naked pixie flitting overhead and was shocked when her mother said scornfully, “These newcomers, they ought to learn proper respect. Wings are no excuse for not wearing clothing when everybody else is clothed.”

  Because the faeries were real, not figments of ‘adjustment.’ They’d come when her angel had gone, then gained ground when Branwyn’s stepfather recorded a song. And what point was there in trying to make sense of what she saw, when faeries returned to the world because of a song? The universe no longer followed the rules she knew.

  It didn’t matter anyhow. When she was on the edge of sleep she could feel her prosthetic soul rubbing against the ragged edges left behind by her angel. She wasn’t part of the world anymore, and she could never forget it. Even when she slept, the dreams that came were of distant, beautiful places that made her feel uncomfortable and lonely. During the day, she played idly with paper and markers, trying to recapture the pleasure she’d once felt while sketching clothes and coloring pictures. Instead, she drew a poorly drawn picture of a black bird, a child with wheels, and other waking visions. She threw them all away.

  One day, her mother called her. “Have you been thinking about it? I really would like you to try this group, Penny.” Her mother was using her bossy voice. “The one Marley found? It looks very promising. They are invested in helping people in your situation. You see, the world adapts,” Viviana added with a happy lilt.

  “Which situation?” wondered Penny. The situation where she was some kind of metaphysical cyborg? Or the situation where she saw things nobody else saw?

  Viviana paused, then said carefully, “It is a group for others who have had… dangerous encounters with the newcomers. Encounters they can’t move past. And you’ve been moping, my darling. I think perhaps you are heartbroken. It would do you good to not be so alone.”

  Ah. Her mother meant the situation where somebody had almost destroyed her soul, and she still couldn’t stop thinking about him. Viviana had worked out most of the truth about what happened to her with shocking ease, as soon as the first faerie sightings made it to the news. Marley had confessed the rest.