Heroes at Risk

by Moore, Moira J.

  “Yes. A design will determine the nature of the luck you’re seeking. In wealth, in health, in love and so on.”

  “And is there a limit on the number of designs?”

  The merchant frowned. “Not that I know of.”

  “You have several repetitions here.”

  “Ah, those are partner bobs. Two people, wishing for the same thing, means twice the luck for both.”

  “Really?” Taro grinned, and I began to feel nervous. “What are these for?” He held up the bob.

  “Luck with cards.”

  “Don’t need it.” He pointed at a design still on the display. “And that one?”

  “Many children.”

  Taro apparently desired no luck in that area, either, for he moved on to the other bobs. He found none of the harmony bobs appealing, in meaning or style. So we left the merchant stall empty-handed. Which was a relief to the merchant and fine with me. I didn’t want matching jewelry.

  Except he dragged me directly to another jewelry stall. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Taro.” It was a fashion. Taro in the past had sneered at those who felt compelled to follow fashion. He himself was always stylish, but never fashionable.

  “What? They’re funny.”

  “They’re childish.”

  “Too much maturity makes you old before your time.”

  “No matter how old I get, I’ll always be younger than you.”

  His response was to pinch my ear.

  “I’m not wearing one of these harmony bobs, Taro. They’re ridiculous.” And while I wasn’t overly concerned with what I wore or what others thought of it, that didn’t mean I went out of my way to attract ridicule.

  Besides, wearing a piece of jewelry identical to what Taro wore, it was too suggestive. People who were promised to each other in marriage wore matching jewelry, or those who belonged to some kind of organization. Either way, I’d look a complete fool once Taro went back to his licentious ways.

  “So don’t wear it if you don’t want to. But you’re getting one with me.”

  I sighed. “Yes, milord.”

  We went through three more stalls like the first one, and they didn’t have anything that appealed to Taro, either. The design, the metal, or the meaning put him off.

  It was the fifth stall that had what he was looking for. And I should have predicted that such would be the case, because this stall looked different from the others. There were no guards, and the only solid wall was the one at the back. Apparently this merchant wasn’t overly concerned about thieves, for the wares were pinned to slanted boards that faced outward, rather than inward like at the other stalls.

  This merchant, unlike the others we’d so far encountered that day, didn’t seem worried about the loss of revenue to us. He greeted us with a smile that appeared genuine. He looked different, too, now that I bothered to really look at him. His brown hair, surprisingly curly, was worn longer than was the fashion for men, and his blue eyes fairly beamed out of a face that was masculine but sensual, his full lips curled as though he were gently amused at something. Perhaps us. His posture was relaxed, his clothes loose and colorful and designed for comfort rather than style. Something about him felt odd. Not dangerous or unpleasant. Just odd.

  He was extremely handsome, an embodiment of all that was lush. There was something about his face that made me want to reach out and touch, starting at those amazing cheekbones with a side route to the enticing mouth and along that beautifully defined jawline. Really, everything about him was just so inviting. I folded my hands together to keep them still.

  I looked to Taro, wondering what he thought of this toothsome young man. My Source didn’t seem to have noticed him yet, focusing instead on the jewelry.

  He found a bob he liked almost immediately. A simple silver chain supporting a symbol that looked like a sidewise number eight, only slimmer and elongated.

  “It’s the wrong metal,” Taro said regretfully. “Silver doesn’t suit you.”

  “It suits you, though. And you’re the one who’ll be wearing it.” I liked the look of it myself. It was nonfussy, but elegant, and something about the figure implied balance. I liked the idea of balance. It was calming.

  “What does this one mean?” Taro asked the merchant.

  This was the first time Taro had addressed the merchant directly. I watched his face, waiting for the coy smile, the spark in his eyes. There was nothing, no recognition of the merchant’s beauty. What was going on?

  “Eternity.”

  “Eternity? An eternity of what?”

  “Maybe it means something like immortality,” I suggested.

  Taro frowned. “Never understood the appeal of living forever.”

  “But eternity is not limited to immortality,” said the merchant. “It can symbolize the desire for everlasting youth, or love, or the success of one’s family, through every generation. It can refer to a search for knowledge that spans all existence, or an understanding of one’s connection to everything else. Its meaning can adapt to the desires of the wearer.”

  That didn’t make sense. Objects didn’t adapt to their users. They were what they were.

  “We’ll take these,” Taro told the merchant, and he moved to pin the thing on my chest before I could move to stop him.

  The merchant was faster. “No, no, my lord,” said the merchant, surprising us both with the use of Taro’s former title. “There is a way to be doing such things.”

  That couldn’t be good.

  “Please.” From beneath one display the merchant pulled out a very short stool, a second one from beneath another. “Sit.”

  One couldn’t properly sit, the stools were so low. It was more like kneeling on the mat, with the stool supporting the buttocks. Taro and I ended up facing each other a short distance away from one another.

  He wasn’t going to sacrifice a chicken or anything, was he?

  He got our names first, my two and Taro’s string of them. He lit two candles, setting them down on the mat, one before Taro, one before me. Beside each candle he placed a black feather, a silver ring, a triangle of smoky incense and a bowl of clean water.

  “Think of what you wish would last for an eternity,” the merchant said. “If both of you desire the same, the power of the symbol will be brought to bear. If you do not, the bobs shall be nothing more than pretty pieces of silver.”

  That was all they were anyway. “We don’t need to put you through all this trouble,” I said to him. I didn’t add that I had noticed a few curious onlookers pausing outside the stall, wondering what was going on. Taro and I no doubt looked like a couple of right fools.

  “If you’re not to give me the proper coin,” the merchant said coolly, “you might at least observe the appropriate rituals.”

  That told me.

  To make us even more uncomfortable, the merchant started to walk, circling us. “Think of what you wish to be eternal. Don’t speak of it, for you will feel guarded in what you say, and may shape each other’s wishes. Only if you are identical and sincere in your desire can the casting work.”

  Ah, so when the casting didn’t work, it would be our fault.

  But just as a mental exercise, I thought about what I would wish to be eternal. Not my life. I couldn’t imagine living forever, continuously watching everyone I knew die and die and die. To have an unlimited thirst for knowledge might be useful, but it might be discomforting, too, to want more and more information and never be satisfied. Like an addiction. I didn’t care about having an unlimited amount of possessions, though that might be useful for any children I might have.

  Actually, I did know of one thing I would wish to last forever or, at least, as long as I lived. It was a weak and childish kind of wish. I couldn’t even form the words in my mind.

  The merchant stood beside Taro, a bowl in one hand and a knife in the other. “If you would take the bowl, my lord.”

  “What are you planning?” I asked sharply.

  “Just a few drops of h
is blood, to be mingled with yours.”

  “No.” I didn’t know why that idea offended me so much. It just did.

  “Relax, Lee,” said Taro. “It’s harmless. Unless you think I’ve got some fearsome disease I’ve been hiding from you.”

  “Of course not.” If he did, I’d no doubt already gotten it. “It’s just barbaric.”

  “Spoken like someone who has no understanding of the process,” said the merchant. He wasn’t sarcastic or snide or condescending. Just gently amused. I didn’t know that I liked appearing amusing to other people.

  Taro took the bowl, in his right hand as the merchant hinted, and held his left over it. The merchant carefully sliced into the fleshy part of Taro’s palm. Taro hissed in reaction, but shifted his hand over so the first drops of blood landed in the copper bowl. The merchant pressed the bob into the bloodied palm, curling the hand into a fist.

  Then the merchant was beside me, and I rolled my eyes at the childishness of it all. I took the bowl and let the knife cut into my palm. I felt it, but it didn’t hurt. One of the benefits of being a Shield, I didn’t feel things as much as other people did. I held my hand over the bowl and watched the blood drop down.

  I actually felt a little odd. Almost a little faint. Which was stupid. I’d never before been squeamish over the sight of blood. But this was causing some kind of buzzing sensation under my skin, and I didn’t like it.

  The merchant put the other bob in my hand and balled my hand into a fist. He took the bowl from me, mixing the blood within it with the tip of his knife. He dribbled a drop of blood into the wax of each of the candles, right by the flame, then set the bowl on the floor, an equal distance between Taro and me.

  “To the river from the north,” the merchant said, much more loudly than he needed to. “To the river from the south. To the river from the east. As they join together, let Dunleavy and Shintaro join together in their will and their desire.” Lovely. It had only needed that. He walked around us, continuing to speak in what seemed like a blending of a poem and a speech. “As the waters flow together to a single end, so will the blood of Shintaro and Dunleavy.” At times, he would pause beside one of us, picking up the feather, waving it in the smoke of the incense and returning it to the ground. After he had done that with each feather three times, he slid the rings onto them and placed them both on the ground, never lifting them again.

  I looked at Taro. He was smirking.

  And then the merchant stopped. “My lord, you may pin the bob on Shield Mallorough. Go directly to her; don’t step outside the circle. Wash the bob off in the bowl beside her feet. Then dry the bob on the inner wrist of your left hand before pinning it directly over Shield Mallorough’s heart.”

  Taro did as instructed, and with the lightest touch pinned the bob over my left breast. No inappropriate fondling.

  “Please return to your post, my lord. Shield Mallorough, if you would do the same for your lord.”

  That made Taro snicker, again. He was enjoying this far too much. With a straight face I repeated the actions required by the merchant, ending by pinning the bob on Taro’s chest. It suited him, I had to admit. Smooth and elegant, just like him.

  “And now,” the merchant said once I’d returned to my stool, “each of you remove your candle from its setting and stand. Each of you approach the center bowl. Now douse the flame in the blood.” We did so, and I, for one, was feeling silly. “Put the candles in the bowl, and stand straight.” And we did. “It is done.”

  The applause startled me. An audience had formed. Lovely. I had no doubt they totally misunderstood the significance of what we had done. Which was to humor the merchant so Taro could get his meaningless matching bobs.

  Taro had his hand shaken by many. I was given flowers. And someone pressed a wrapped package into my hand, which I would later discover held a loaf of spice bread, gushing best wishes for a happy future.

  Oh, aye, totally misunderstood.

  And no, there would be no embarrassing repercussions from this.

  Chapter Three

  “All right, that’s enough for me,” I said to Taro, my voice low because we were still surrounded by well-wishers. “Let’s head back to the residence.”

  “What? Why? We just got out.”

  “We have what we came for. You wanted to get some jewelry, and we got some jewelry. Let’s go home.” They were still watching us. What did they expect us to do now? The show is over, people.

  “Lee, we’ve been away for over a year. I don’t want to be shut up in the residence.”

  “People are going to be watching us because of that spectacle.”

  “So? That spectacle wasn’t my fault.”

  “I didn’t say it was.” Though it was, sort of. If he hadn’t insisted on requisitioning harmony bobs, we wouldn’t have had to endure that ridiculous ritual. But then, I could have refused, so it was sort of my fault, too.

  “And you had no problem being a spectacle on that damned island.”

  I glared at him. That wasn’t fair. “I wasn’t a spectacle.”

  “Oh, no? Leavy the Flame Dancer. You couldn’t be anything but.”

  “My making a spectacle of myself put food on our table,” I hissed.

  “Which was more than I could do, right?”

  “Stop putting words in my mouth.” What was wrong with him?

  “All I’m saying is that you’re letting other people’s interest control what you do. Why do you care whether other people stare at you?”

  “How can you not care?” Who enjoyed being stared at by strangers, every move made and word spoken judged and possibly communicated to someone else? “Maybe you’re used to having strangers speculate about you, but I’m not, and I don’t plan to get used to it.”

  “You’re overreacting. I just want to go shopping.”

  “And I don’t. I’ve done enough shopping.”

  “Fine.” He sketched out a little bow that somehow managed to appear sarcastic. “I need clothes, so I’ll be off. I hope you enjoy your afternoon.” He turned on his heel and strode off. Most of the crowd either followed him or dispersed.

  Having an argument in front of an audience was humiliating. What had gotten Taro so upset? So what if I wanted to go home? Taro knew hundreds of people he could go shopping with, if that was what he wanted. Why did he have to turn it into an argument?

  There were still a few people watching me, wondering what entertaining thing I would do next. Repressing the embarrassing urge to smile or wave, I turned away to head back to the residence. I felt like I could sense their eyes boring into the back of my head.

  As I passed the jewelry stalls we had examined earlier on, I looked for signs of other such rituals being performed. There was nothing. I even watched a couple purchase a pair of harmony bobs and they were required to do nothing more than hand over the coin and pin the bobs on each other. So that blue-eyed merchant had done all that to Taro and me just for the hell of it. I felt even more of a fool. No wonder so many people had been watching. The display had no doubt appeared positively freakish.

  I caught a carriage for the rest of the way back to the Triple S residence. I could have walked the distance easily enough, but the streets just felt too crowded, and I needed some space. That was one positive aspect of Flatwell; there was always space and it had almost always been quiet.

  I hated being stared at. I really, really did.

  I entered the residence with a sense of relief. Standing in the foyer were Source Claire Firth and her Shield, Dee Stone. They were ladies in their fifties who loved to drink and dance and have sex with a lot of people. They were a delight and a hoot and I was happy to see them. I’d managed to miss them since returning the day before. “Firth, Stone, how are you?”

  “I am well,” Stone answered.

  And Firth said, her words treading on Stone’s, “Is it true that you slept with Shintaro last night?”

  I stared at her, shocked speechless by the question.

  “Hush,
Claire,” said Stone. She was blushing.

  Firth wasn’t. “Answer the question, Dunleavy.”

  I finally found my voice. “I will not.” How dare she interrogate me? She had no authority over me.

  “Oh, so you’re ashamed of it, are you?”

  “I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of.” But I did feel odd. Yes, it was suggested one shouldn’t sleep with one’s partner. This reaction, though, was unexpected, especially from one I considered a friend.

  “Haven’t you?”

  “It is simply none of your business.”

  “What goes on in our house is our business.”

  “Now’s not the time, Claire,” said Stone, grabbing Firth’s arm. “We’re going to be late for our watch.”

  “We’ll be discussing this, Dunleavy,” said Claire. “All of us will. And we have every right to. Because it’s wrong.” And then she let herself be dragged out by her Shield.

  It wasn’t wrong. It was merely foolish. And while, if I had thought about it, I would have expected some ribbing, outright disapproval was a shock.

  Oh, what a day.

  I went up to my room. My luggage, still packed, was on the floor in the center of the bedchamber. No time like the present to get that done. I pulled out the trousers and shirts I’d worn for most of my travels, the two gowns I’d worn again and again before the Empress in Erstwhile, and the sandals I’d purchased with money I had earned on Flatwell. My one skill, besides Shielding, was dancing the benches. That had been a skill of value to the troupe with whom we had traveled. But bench dancing couldn’t be done in ordinary, loose-fitting clothes, not on Flatwell. Oh, no. There had to be drama. There had to be flair.

  The costume consisted of two pieces, a brown halter that left the midriff bare, and a scandalously short skirt. Copper beads had been sewn onto the brown material. Not by me—I couldn’t sew to save my life—but by the woman whose assistance was the only reason Taro and I had managed to survive at all.

  The clothing wasn’t the entire costume. There had been cosmetics, too. Shadowing my face, bringing out the color of my eyes, coiling down my arms and legs in temporary tattoos. All of it applied, before every performance, by the same woman who had sewn the beads.