by Stone Thomas
“I love it,” Mamba said.
“And now,” Valona said, “we begin to rebuild. In time we will visit each realm and build a home in the world of bliss and vigor.”
“But until then,” Isilya said, “how about I get started on some turtlenecks.”
+54
More than two dozen people, including a blue-skinned elf, walked through a rift and entered the outskirts of Barren Moon. The torches still burned bright, even as the sun cast its first few rays of light over the trees and into the clearing.
The Chalmaster rushed toward us. “Where is he?”
“Gorinor won’t be coming back,” I said. “The netherworld claimed his life. The missing women are here though.”
The gypsy leader grabbed my hand and shook it. “When you left, my people laughed. They said any consort of Mamba’s must be a blowhard or a flake. How wrong they were.”
I pulled the Chalmaster close to speak directly into his ear. “Some of the women are pregnant. With Duul’s children.”
He pulled away. “That complicates matters. Come to the Chal tent in ten minutes. I need a word with my people alone.”
He rushed off, and we walked slowly to give him time to convene with the bloodkind leadership. When we entered the tent, the gypsies had all retaken their seats, so Mamba and I did the same. The mommas sat with us, but the non-gypsies waited outside. The Chal could finally continue.
“The gods never had much use for us, and the feeling was always mutual,” the Chalmaster said. “Yet, we find ourselves wrapped up in another god war all the same.”
“This won’t be the last time the gods visit the gypsies,” I said. “Come to Halcyon. Protect Nola and receive protection in return.”
“A generous offer,” he said, “but one that we shall decline. For your benefit as much as ours. A half-gypsy with a sweet disposition is one thing, but all the assembled bloodkinds is quite another. Your people would riot at the sight of us.
“My people,” he continued, “will live and die in the open, not boxed in by walls and fear. Such is our tradition and our choice, though those that forge a different path are no less gypsy for it.” He turned his attention to Mamba. “Mamba Oph. Rise.”
Mamba stood and held her hands behind her back.
“The Chal has arrived at two important decisions,” the Chalmaster said. “First, Gorinor led your bloodkind down a destructive path with no regard for the needs or values of our people. You should never have been sent out against your will, and your exile is hereby renounced. Your membership in gypsydom is reinstated immediately and before all of the assembled bloodkinds to witness.”
“Thank you,” Mamba said. “The Chalmaster is kind and wise.”
“Second,” he continued. “We can’t know what Duul’s demigod children are capable of. Demis are powerful and tend toward fierce loyalty to their deific parent. The gypsy women abducted to the netherworld and forced to bear the children of Duul are a danger we cannot abide. They are exiled immediately.”
The members of the Chal stood stoically while the assembled gypsies murmured and gasped.
“You can’t be serious,” I said. “These women devoted their lives to raising your children, and now you’d just cast them out?”
“Other women will assume the role of momma for each affected bloodkind,” the Chalmaster said. “The decision is made. The exiled shall gather their things and leave.”
One of Mamba’s mommas, the tailor, stood. “We three are the only ones affected. Do not punish the other women for our… affliction.”
The Chalmaster nodded.
“Where do we go?” the disciplinarian momma asked. She turned to the crowd, eyeing a handful of young men and women. They all looked away.
I stood. “You’ll come to Halcyon.”
Mamba threw her arms around me and buried her face in the space between my neck and my shoulder. “This means so much to me,” she said. “When we get home, let’s try some more. We need more little Ardens in this world.”
The Chalmaster spoke next. “Arden Hochbright,” he said. “You brought Gorinor to justice as you promised to do. Name your prize.”
“The circus caravan,” I said.
More murmuring, mixed with gasps.
The Chalmaster shook his head. “The creatures trapped within the caravan are part of a time-honored tradition. The circus is the fruit of our combined hunting efforts and it brings our people together. Choose something else.”
“No,” I said. “Those familiars are not yours to torment. I’m taking the caravan, this much I know. Whether I take it by force is up to you.”
The Chalmaster leaned toward another member of the Chal who whispered behind a cupped hand. “You would attack the gypsies?”
“I would free the imprisoned,” I replied. “It’s sort of my thing. I will defend myself if attacked in the process.”
He locked eyes with me while he considered my response. “Very well,” he said. “The circus caravan is the cultural property of our people. As head of the Chal, and high lawsayer for all gypsy bloodkinds, I place the circus caravan under Halcyon’s care. There shall be no renewal of the circus spectacle unless Halcyon provides its blessing, or until Halcyon falls. Whichever comes first. If harm comes to the caravan—”
“It won’t,” I said. “That’s kind of the point.”
The gypsies murmured a whole lot at that one. I could swear they secretly liked this outcome. They just lived for drama.
“So be it,” the Chalmaster said. “Today, it is Master Arden that is kind and wise.”
+55
We teleported to Halcyon with a train of caravan carts, although hours of unchecked “circus” fighting left many of the carts empty. One of Valona’s mummers and one of Hipna’s snoozers survived. Nola’s seraph guardian, however, didn’t.
Well look what dragged in the cat, Nola said.
I think you’ve got that saying wrong, I said.
You brought Brion back, she said. So it fits. I make up my own sayings now, like: a rising tide lifts all moats; absinth makes the heart grow fonder; and people who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw clothing-optional parties unless they’ve been working out an awful lot.
You have too much time on your hands, I said. Then, turning toward Brion, “Show yourself back to your cell, would you? I need to get the fealty pledges started.”
The lionkin walked toward the prison while the rest of us descended the stone steps to the temple’s entrance.
Nola, I said, we have a problem.
I know, she said. How are we going to spend it all?
Spend what all OH MY GODS! The door to Nola’s temple was repaired. It wasn’t a round hunk of stone to roll away, or a pair of simple iron doors. No, it was a single, giant slab of gold with a large round handle.
The door was cold and smooth. It opened weightlessly on hinges built into the rock. Just inside the temple itself sat a mound of energems of every size next to piles of copper, silver, and gold coins as high as my waist. Nola was nowhere in sight, but Halcyon’s chief administrator was. He stood in front of our accumulated riches with a clipboard in his hand.
“You’re late!” Yurip yelled. He shook his head, but his shiny black hair was too firmly shellacked in place for even a single strand to move. “The polls are open and voting started at dawn. Come, everyone, let’s get your fealty pledges in. You’re too late to register to vote of course, but we’ll add you to the census right away.”
After the last person crowded around Nola’s empty altar, a pillar of soft yellow light erupted from the floor. A chorus of female voices sang three rising notes in harmony. Nola took shape as the radiant light grew brighter. She floated from high above her stone slab altar but descended gracefully with her hands clasped in front of her. Motes of the same yellow light swirled around the pillar, growing into the shape of feathers that vanished as Nola’s feet touched the temple floor.
The crowd clapped for her entry flourish. I couldn’t help but smi
le. Then I remembered. Nola, we have something important to talk about.
Hold on, she said. I’m being adored.
“Goddess of clever insight,” Greggin said, bending down on one knee. “It is truly a privilege.”
“We don’t see many elves in these parts,” Nola said. “I hope the human lands have been welcoming.”
“I’m pleased that you aren’t offended to find an elf in your temple,” he said.
“Nola’s arms wrap around the world and back,” Mamba said.
“Of course they do,” he said, glancing back at Mamba’s rich red skin and long pointed ears before returning his gaze toward Nola. “I would expect nothing less of a woman as radiant and pure as you. When you speak the truth, the heavens themselves bend to listen. The gifts that must have fallen to you by now are among the most cherished in history and I have unending faith that you will wield them with all the wisdom and balance in the universe.”
How come you never talk to me this way?, Nola asked.
I’ve only just learned haiku, I said. I’m still building up to brown-nosing.
Speaking of nosing… She wiggled and scrunched her nose.
“Your grace,” Greggin continued. “It is among the highest honors of my academic career to meet a woman such as you. You are graceful, and elegant, and poised—”
“Blachoo!” Nola sneezed and shook her head, tossing her dark, golden locks side to side. “Why won’t I stop sneezing!”
“My own nose suffers a slight tickle,” Greggin said. “It looks like you’ve had some work done?”
“No,” Nola said. “I did ask Arden for a nose job though.”
“I meant construction,” he said. “There’s a fine layer of construction dust everywhere.” The blue elf strode through the temple, swiping his finger along a few surfaces. “Have you never dusted in here?”
“Do I look like the goddess of good housekeeping to you?” Her eyes darted my way.
“Not at all,” Greggin said. “Martha’s eyes are beadier, for starters.”
Don’t look at me, I thought. My temple custodian days are over!
Maybe I can put these seraphs to work, she said. I’ve conjured twenty, but we still don’t know their signature skill. Maybe it’s dusting.
Greggin’s eyes grew wide when he saw the carvings on the wall.
“I can’t read those,” Nola said, then her whole demeanor stiffened. “I am, as you said, wise and brilliant though. And totally literate, just in case there’s any question there. I don’t know why I feel so insecure about that all of a sudden. Is this what it’s like to be Arden?”
“I can read them,” Greggin said. “I’m fluent in the old language.” He lost no time pulling a chair up to the wall and blowing on the carvings to clear them of dust. He chiseled at some sediment that built up inside the lettering, revealing a long, deep etching with crisp edges.
Nola pressed a finger against her nose to stifle another sneeze. “Does it say something like ‘this is a very respectful place to have a temple?’ Or maybe, ‘if you find this place abandoned one day, please, help yourself?’”
Greggin cocked his head to the side and mumbled something in old-language gibberish. “All it says is ‘No Refunds.’”
“That’s not as profound as I had hoped for,” Nola said.
“I told you, Nola,” I said. “Whorehouse!”
Greggin blushed, turning his blue cheeks purple.
We use our telepathic inside voice for inappropriate outbursts, Nola said.
“Whorehouse,” Yurip said, scratching his chin. “That won’t play well in an election year. Now, before the last votes have been cast, you should go up top.”
“Give us a minute,” I said. Nola, if you’re done being adored, we really need to talk. In the infirmary. “Mommas with me, everyone else hang tight.”
When Nola and the three mommas filed into our little clinic, Lana was the only one there.
“The marbleskin wore off,” I said.
“Not quite,” she said. “I had to ask someone to punch me repeatedly to force the magic to crack apart. When it took all the damage it could, it fell off me like chalk. You’ll want some of this stuff handy. I didn’t take any damage while the potion stayed in effect.”
Can you send Rinka my way?, I asked. With as many marbleskins as she has?
Rinka… Rinka…, Nola said. Just kidding, I know which one she is now. So what’s the big problem?
“There’s no door to close, so just speak softly,” I said. “These three women are the gypsy mommas from Mamba’s bloodkind. Gorinor helped Duul kidnap them so the god of war could… fill them with his pride.”
“What?” Lana asked.
“Duul took them and… is baking his sweet rolls in their hearths.”
“I’m a healer,” Lana said. “Give it to me in medical terms.”
I can read your mind and even I’m confused, Nola said. Out with it!
“He preggered them up against their will!” I said.
Why yes, Nola said. We are overdue for sensitivity training.
“I’m so, so sorry,” Lana said. “These recovery beds will heal any torn tissue. They’ll also speed up the pregnancies if you want this over with. Where does it hurt most? I can ask for more potions.”
“No need,” the disciplinarian said. “He didn’t lay a hand on us.”
“He must have laid something on you,” I said. “Medical terms only please.”
“It was a curse,” she replied. “He cast some kind of spell on the three of us. Our bodies lifted a few feet off the ground and turned utterly black. Then it was done. We didn’t realize until later what effect it had.”
“No,” Nola said. “No, no, no. It’s too soon.”
“What’s too soon?” I asked.
“I can grant boons,” she said. “A boon is a short-lived, mild benefit a deity confers by sharing their godly energy. Stronger gods can cast stronger boons, more often, that last longer. Better yet is a blessing. The Great Mother bestows blessings, and so did my mother Sajia. I’m not strong enough for that yet.
“After blessings come miracles,” she continued. “Only the most powerful gods work miracles. Creating a child from nothing requires that level of power.”
“Duul has always said he would force the women of this world to bear the children of war,” I said. “I thought he was overestimating his sexual stamina with that one. I mean, there’s a lot of ladies and he’s only got one… He only has one right? Can he grow extras the way you would grow back a nose? What are you gods really capable of, anyway?”
“Every time I think I know what he’s capable of, he gets stronger,” Nola said. “He’s working his way up to a mass miracle now. It’s only a matter of time before he can affect more than three women at once. Soon it may be hundreds.”
“Lana,” I said. “You have to help these women. There must be some kind of medication, or a procedure.”
“A procedure?” she asked.
“Yes. Something to terminate the, um…”
Her eyes narrowed.
“You know, to terminate the… unwanted nature of these pregnancies. Can we cleanse them of non-consensual demigodliness? Just leave behind happy healthy gypsy babies-in-the-making?”
“There’s nothing,” Nola said. “If these pregnancies proceed to term, the children will be demigods. They will grow faster and stronger than other children. They’ll have special skills open from birth that relate to their father’s power over war. They’ll inherit some aspect of his divine disposition.”
“But they don’t have to be evil like Duul,” I said.
“He’s not evil,” she replied. “He’s doing evil things. There’s a difference. He wants the gift of war to have a proper place in the world, and I don’t blame him for that. I blame him for the pain and suffering he’s causing along the way.”
“What good is war?” I asked.
Nola stared at me for a second. “There are justified wars. Look at us. We engage in warfar
e to protect and defend a way of life we believe in. We just won’t abandon our morals to win this fight.”
“I’m prepared to love this child,” the disciplinarian momma said. The other two agreed.
“You will have to love these children harder than anyone has loved a child before,” Nola said. “We all will. They may become heroes of this war instead of villains. That will depend on us.”
Nola and I left the mommas with Lana and returned to the main sanctuary.
I went right to Mamba. “We’ll work it out. The mommas are going to be okay.” She squeezed my arm and smiled.
“Arden!” Yurip said. “You need to campaign. The Mayor has. It’s now or never.”
“He’s not a mayor anymore,” I said. “Valleyvale is gone for good. His name is Gruppin and whether or not he likes it, that’s what we’re calling him.”
“Save that punchiness for the campaign trail,” he said. “You also need to bury Jorgo, address the city’s economic woes, and diffuse the mounting tension between the various groups that have settled here. Let’s do that before lunch. I have reservations at the chow house with Carzl and Biddy that I don’t want to miss.
“Oh, and while we’re knocking on doors to get out the vote, we should see if anyone has a baby we can borrow,” he said. “For the optics.”
“I don’t want any optical babies,” I said. “And I don’t have time to campaign. I only have a few days left.”
“Left?” he asked. “I thought you didn’t believe Nola’s premonition would come true.”
“I’m not so sure anymore.”
“Don’t tell the voters that.”
The earth beneath us shook as the hill overhead erupted with a loud, sharp blast.
“That sound,” I said. “What’s popping?”
“Was it a pop?” he asked. “Sounded more like a crack-a-lack to me.”
+56
“It was a cannon,” Nola said. “Vix has been at this for days now.”
