Demons of the Flame Sea

by Jean Johnson

  Squinting a little, he checked it for signs of magic or illusion. The carpet-thing glowed. So did the man. Not in the sense of him hiding his true appearance, thankfully, but the man radiated non-native magics. The alien energies pushed against the natural anima of the region, half-smothered by them. In comparison, the carpet glowed stronger; woven with yet more extra-dimensional energies, it had clearly been made on a third world somewhere, neither by animadjet nor by Efrijt.

  “He is not a human, and he is not native to this realm,” Ban stated. “That carpet or ground-cloth rolled up on his back has a lot of energies bound up in it. They are not his energies, and they are not this world’s energies—wherever it is from, the carpet he carries is far more compatible locally than his own energies, for all they’re both outworld in origins.”

  “Careful, or you’ll turn into Éfan with your loquacious knowledge,” the Fae woman teased lightly. She squinted, licking her lips, and sighed after a moment. “It has the flavor of transportive magics. That may be how he was able to follow you here, despite how fast you moved and how little you stopped for rest.”

  “I was hoping to have gotten far enough ahead of anyone that I could have had one night of peace,” Ban muttered.

  “What are you staring at?” Rua asked the two of them. Parren made room for the older female, and gestured at the tall, broad-shouldered stranger. “. . . A big human?”

  “He has orange eyes,” Parren told her. “And pointy teeth. Just the lower ones, but . . .”

  “Efrijt.” Rua didn’t even hesitate to name the race. Wrinkling her nose, the agriculturalist sighed. “Well, it cannot be helped. They’re like a fungus; they spread anywhere they think they can find their precious liquid metal.”

  “I think he followed me home,” Ban murmured, and eyed Rua. He and she had struck up a friendship in the decades since establishing the pantean here. “Do I have to keep him?”

  Caught off guard, Rua threw her head back in a peal of laughter, her goldenrod curls spilling over her shoulders. The illusion of solid cliff wall only blocked sight, not sound, and her loud mirth turned a few heads their way. Realizing that, she quickly covered her mouth and nose with her hand, only to snort inelegantly in trying to stifle her laughter.

  A moment later, Parren gaped at Ban—or more precisely, gaped at his grin. “You . . . you have a sense of humor?”

  “Yes, he does.” Chuckling, clapping him on the shoulder, Rua pushed him toward the mouth of the chasm. Once upon a time, he had climbed these very walls in a running leap to get away from those who sought to confine him. This time, he did not run away.

  Behind them, Parren murmured in Faelon, “. . . I’ll fetch Jintaya.”

  Exiting the spell-hidden ravine, he strolled with Rua to the sheltered fountain. Now that high summer had passed, the evenings felt distinctly cooler, allowing the heat radiating from the flaming trough overhead to feel comfortable rather than oppressive. In the golden glow it cast, faintly pungent with the smell of many hemp wicks burning olive oil, the Efrijt’s orange eyes almost danced like flames themselves.

  “Painted skin . . . You must be the one they call ‘Death.’ I am not impressed, never mind terrified by you,” the Efrijt muttered, eyeing Ban in his plain black kilt and simple thong sandals. He shifted his gaze to Rua. She wore ankle-high boots, loosely gathered trousers, and a tunic that fell to her knees, split down the sides at her hips, woven from finespun wool dyed oniongold by the locals. “And you. A Fae. Are you the leader of this group, this . . . Taje Djin woman they give two titles to whenever they speak of her?”

  “Jintaya is her name, though the locals have added the title at the end to us as a local sign of respect,” Rua corrected. “And no. She will see you soon enough. I am the one they call Rua-taje. This is Ban-taje. Who are you, Efrijt?”

  “. . . Anzak Urudo,” he replied.

  Rua narrowed her goldenrod eyes. “What is your rank, Efrijt? And what is the name of your medjant? Or are you claiming you are un-Housed and without rank?”

  His lips pulled back, baring the tips of his small but sharp tusks. “Taro Anzak Urudo,” he clarified. “Of Medjant Kumon.”

  “Well. That makes sense. We’re not particularly high on their priority list,” she explained to Ban and the listening villagers, a mix of humans and Dai-Fae offspring. “The taro is the lowest-rank of a medjant. It’s not an insult,” she added firmly when the taro in question curled his lip in a sneer. “Someone is always at the bottom of any list, just as someone is always at the top.

  “Your presence here means your medjant considers its commerce more important than investigating our claims—you were the one they felt they could spare for the journey. Of course, you wouldn’t be a member of an adventurous medjant if you weren’t competent in unfamiliar circumstances,” Rua finished. She offered him a slight smile. “Being taro is nothing to be ashamed of in this situation.”

  “If you seek to flatter me to try to win a more favorable contract, you flatter the wrong person, Fae,” the Efrijt replied, his lips twisting into a chilled version of a smile. “With such knowledge at hand, you should also know a taro has no say over such things.”

  “I enlighten the members of the Flame Sea as to what your title means, Taro Urudo,” Rua told him. “We will be dealing with the rest of your medjant soon.”

  “Ah . . . Rua-taje?” one of the others asked. Ban recognized her as Luti, daughter of Lutun and Parren. It had been half a year since he last saw her, and she was round with child. He wondered idly if it was a human child or another Dai-Fae; the Fae were being careful about incestuous intermingling, but in Luti’s case, she was not related to any of the male Fae as it was.

  “Yes, Luti?” Rua asked.

  “What is a medjant?” the middle-aged human inquired, glancing at the stranger in their midst. “It does not sound like a tribe. Is it?”

  “Hardly,” Anzak scoffed. “A medjant is far superior to any tribe.”

  Rua frowned at him, quelling his arrogance. “A medjant is a group of people who work together to create or sell something. They can have members who are related, but each member must prove their worth and usefulness to the group as a whole. There can be hundreds of Efrijt in a medjant, but at the bare minimum, there must always be at least three. It has to do with how they manage their leadership and settle disputes.”

  “You are well-informed for a Fae,” Anzak told her.

  Rua merely smiled. “We have dealt with your kind before.”

  He eyed her again, this time more speculatively. “So. You are the Fae negotiator.”

  That made her snort. “I’m the agriculturalist. I tend those plants that are wanted, and rip out the bothersome weeds,” Rua warned him, in the guise of casual conversation. “I inspect the herds to keep the healthiest and most tractable beasts . . . and cull the unhealthy and the unruly ones.”

  “I could not have put that better,” Ban praised her. “Well said.”

  “Parren is right,” Rua replied, eyeing him speculatively. “You are becoming loquacious.”

  He gave her a slight bow. “When I travel, I assure you, my eloquence goes right back down.”

  “No wonder you do it so often,” she teased, regaining her mirth.

  “Are you flirting?” Anzak asked them, dark brow arched in wary confusion.

  “We are friends,” Ban stated, and saw at the edge of his vision how Rua’s jaw sagged briefly before she snapped it shut in a silent smile. “Friends tease one another.”

  “Aren’t you lucky,” the Efrijt growled.

  “Taro rarely have friends,” a new voice stated. Gliding forward in that smooth pace of hers, Jintaya joined their group. “Efrijt culture tends to be very stratified, with those at high levels standing upon the efforts of those at lower levels, but without much in the way of courtesy or acknowledgment for how they got so high. Anzak Urudo, that is your name, Taro?�
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  “It is. Who are you?” he asked bluntly.

  Rua introduced her, continuing to use the local human tongue as a courtesy to the outsider. “Taro Anzak Urudo, this is Taje Jintaya-ul.”

  “Leader Mother, leader-of-all?” he repeated, arching a dark brow. His apricot-bright eyes slid down over her layered gauzelike gowns, her blond locks plied in ropelike twists, her serene smile that kept her from seeming too still and cool like a statue, but instead gave her warmth and life as a real person. “You claim to be the Fae leader?”

  “She doesn’t claim anything,” one of the Dai-Fae called out. “She is our leader.”

  “He doesn’t challenge me on that point,” Jintaya demurred. “He asked if I am the leader of all Fae. I am not. I am, however, the leader of this Fae Rii pantean. We have laid our claim as a protectorate over this land, and I am in charge of it.”

  “So why does he challenge you?” Taje Tulan asked, moving up behind the Efrijt. She had aged well, her black locks only partially touched by gray, her skin brown from the sun but not heavily wrinkled. Hazel eyes flicked over the stranger. “I sensed an insult in his words.”

  “Taro Anzak Urudo, this is Taje Tulan of the Flame Sea, leader of the local human residents,” Jintaya introduced. “Taje Tulan, this is Taro Anzak.”

  Anzak turned to eye the newcomer, and grunted. He did not bow his head politely to the slowly graying huntress and tribal leader. Tulan in turn eyed him like a new animal in her hunting grounds, unsure of how much trouble he might be.

  While she did so, Jintaya explained to Tulan what the Efrijt was. “His people are like the Fae in that they wander into strange and far-flung lands in search of new goods . . . but unlike the Fae, they are not inclined to find the best of a situation for all parties involved. Mostly, they just want advantages for their own kind.

  “So, he challenges me. He tests me because if the leader of one medjant, someone of the rank of a sejo, agrees to discuss business with the taro of another, the lowest ranked member of that medjant, that would be an indication of a weak sejo.” She paused a beat while he gave her a sneer of a smile, then added, “I will not discuss business with a kuro, never mind a daro . . . and least of all a taro. Literally least of all. You are, however, permitted an offering of hospitality. Taje Tulan, are there guest quarters and food to spare for our visitor?”

  “There are, and bathing water besides,” Tulan agreed. She looked around at the others, and selected one of the teenagers over by the lip of the flower-petal fountain at the center of the structure. “Tuki, stop plotting with Anuda over how to prank her brother. You will be this man’s guide, tonight. Anzak, you will pay him for food and lodgings. The water is free, here in the Flame Sea,” the tribe’s leader added politely. “We would not refuse to slake your thirst with it. The rest must be bartered for with items or labor, however.”

  The teenager sighed and trudged forward, before bowing toward the stranger. “Welcome to the Flame Sea, stranger. I will show you where we bathe, and where to find sweet water for drinking.”

  “I suggest you offer to clean your quarters in exchange for your place to rest. You don’t look like you have much else to trade,” Tulan added, eyeing Anzak up and down. “Unless you want to trade that dusty rug on your back?”

  “No. Nor my clothing,” the Efrijt added. “Such things are not for trade. Nor will I work like a pack beast. I am Efrijt.”

  “You’ll have to pay your way somehow,” the taje retorted.

  “He will pay in information, Taje Tulan . . . if he has enough of it to trade,” Jintaya added, giving him a speculative look.

  The Efrijt looked so disgruntled by that dismissive assertion, Ban felt a brief flare of sympathy. Whoever and whatever Taro Anzak Urudo was, he didn’t like having to deal with verbal torment. It was not, however, nearly enough to make Ban forget twenty-three years of physical and emotional torment, from being left behind in a very unpleasant place by this outworlder’s distant kin.

  “Tuki, take him to the upper west guest lodgings,” Tulan directed. “Feed him something from the porridge pot the scouts eat out of.”

  “Yes, Taje. This way, stranger,” the teenaged boy said, bowing and gesturing to the side.

  Ban watched the two males leave. Tuki, being Dai-Fae, flicked his hand, conjuring an anima-sphere. Unlike a full-blooded Fae, it didn’t zip into his body to be absorbed. After forty-plus years, it didn’t zip into the nearest Fae to be absorbed, either; they had learned how to control the absorption of such things. Instead, the spark-ball hovered, shimmered, and solidified into a moonlike sphere, casting a light golden glow that allowed the two males to walk in safety through the darkening twilight.

  Switching to Faelon, Ban asked under his breath, “Is Éfan watching him through a scrying bowl?”

  “Parren is,” Jintaya replied in kind. “They’ll take turns through the night to keep an eye on him.”

  “Good. I don’t want him doing anything unwatched,” Ban told her. “I’m sure they watched me when they realized I wasn’t a typical human visitor.”

  “I’m sure they did. Ban . . . for tonight . . . would you feel comfortable sleeping beside me?” Jintaya asked him.

  He stilled for a long moment, weighing his reaction to her question. It wasn’t for sex. Fae were explicit about such things with new partners. Her offer simply meant companionship in sleep. Trust, in sleeping next to each other. A trust he had not given to others in centuries, if not millennia.

  “Yes. I would like that,” he told her.

  She smiled, pleased.

  Rua cleared her throat, changing the subject. “How are we going to handle meeting with the Efrijt? Are we going to have them come here? Or go there?”

  “Either way, it’s a long journey,” Ban pointed out. “Slip-discs will make it bearably short, but it’ll be memorable in the eyes of anyone who sees us moving like that.”

  “Don’t you usually fly around that way?” Rua asked him, arching a golden brow.

  “Yes, but I also usually cloak myself to blend into my surroundings,” he pointed out. “I only let myself be seen when I wish to intimidate someone, or am within reach of our home territory. You will want to do the same.”

  “We will, yes,” Jintaya agreed. “I do not think we should go to them until we have the negotiators on hand, and they have had a chance to settle in for a few days. It would also be good to know how the Efrijt grasp and manipulate the local magics. He could be traveling light because he can conjure food from rocks and sand.”

  “Or one or more of those three pouches on his belt could be an enchantment-expanded kind,” Rua pointed out shrewdly. “Allowing him to pack a lot of food and water.”

  “Whatever that rug is, it holds a lot of magic,” Ban pointed out.

  Jintaya shook her head. “It’s an anshalak, or anashak . . . something like that. I cannot remember the exact name for it, but they use it like slip-discs, only they can sit as well as stand on it just so to make it move. They can also be used to protect and ward against insects and bad weather while sleeping. Very useful magic.”

  “How is it we don’t have any, if they’re that useful?” Rua asked, quirking her brow.

  “Because we establish a pantean when we visit a world, and make our own far superior shelters. We don’t travel nearly as much as the Efrijt do, either,” Jintaya told her. “At least, not in this pantean. We ended up having the locals come to us, and for the rest, we have Ban for that.”

  “I would not mind a safer, softer bed from time to time,” Ban muttered.

  “. . . Are you discussing the stranger?” Taje Tulan asked in Adanjé-lon, the local human language. “Is he safe to have among us?”

  “He seemed rather arrogant,” Anuda pointed out, having joined the others when her partner in teenaged mischief had gone off with the Efrijt. “I do not believe he thinks highly of us.”

&nb
sp; “He doesn’t,” Ban assured her. “Efrijt are very proud.”

  The teen girl snorted. “I could have told you that. You call all of them Efrijt, and yet you also call just one of them Efrijt, instead of Efrij. They consider themselves a plural wherever they go, even when there is just one.”

  Jintaya shook her head. “The plural form for a word in their language does not end in t, like it does in yours. But you are both right, they are very proud. That may be why the Efrijt call both one and one hundred of their kind the same thing.”

  There weren’t a lot of tribe members gathered at the fountain, no more than twenty or thirty, but they strained to listen to the conversation, no doubt to gossip about it with everyone else later. At this time of year, dusk was the hour for cooking food, when the heat of the day made a hearthfire bearable. Still, the visit of the orange-eyed stranger in their midst was more than enough to provoke curiosity and concern in the tribe, enough that each family seemed to have one person from it lingering at the main fountain in an attempt to find out what was going on, and their leader knew it.

  “So why is he here?” Tulan asked, after glancing at the faces of her fellow humans. “He is not like most of our kind, and yet he is not like yours, or his,” she added, gesturing at Ban. The tribal leader eyed the Fae leader. “You say his kind are here to trade for whatever they can get, but he has not mentioned what he brings in trade.”

  “Ban found the Efrijt living among the Red Rocks Tribe,” Jintaya explained. “They seek a dangerous type of metal ore that can poison a human, or even poison a Fae, but which to their kind is not poisonous.”

  “It’s like how onions are poisonous to desert cats, but Fae and humans can eat onions just fine,” Rua added in explanation, when Jintaya’s words caused a few frowns of consternation. That lifted brows in comprehension. Desert cats were popular as pets, to keep rodents and insects out of the food stores.