“No!” Shanti exclaimed, struggling out. “I will not be tied and delivered like a package!”
Molly’s face contorted into an expression of half confusion, and half frustration. “My lady, you have to put on the proper attire to meet the Captain!”
Shanti pointed at the material. “That is something women wear? Why?”
“It supports the breasts, cinches the waist, and makes the figure just exquisite, dear, you’ll see.” Molly stepped forward again, fabric stretched out in front of her like a fireproof blanket and Shanti the flame.
Shanti danced to the side, clumsily banging her hip on the corner of the bed in her attempt to evade Molly. She rethought fleeing. “No, thank you. No way. Are women here insane? Are their lives so easy that they have to invent challenges in their dress? That device cuts off breath. I am weak enough as it is.”
“This is fashionable, my lady!” Molly shook the fabric at her.
“Fashion, ah yes. A fool’s game, if I am not mistaken. No, I am good as I am. Give me a wrap or cover for the morning and I should be fine.”
The fabric dropped slowly as Shanti’s words sank in. Molly’s gaze drifted down Shanti’s body. An eyebrow quirked. “As you are?”
“Yes, some pants would do me fine. Possibly some that covered my entire leg, but I will take whatever you have. This region is hot, so I need not be completely covered.”
“Pants? You can’t wear pants! Like a man? Oh no, dear. No, no. You can’t appear in front of the Captain without appropriate clothing. I will bend on the corset, which is… well, you are not from here, so okay. But pants? I couldn’t. How would that reflect on me?”
Shanti looked down at her starved body, moderately covered by white garments. “I don’t understand. Why I am wearing this if not to…wear it?”
Molly shook her head in exasperation and tossed the corset on the bed in a temper. She carefully snatched up the green dress. “You will be presented in a dress, and that is final. I will not look the fool in front of the Captain, no matter your plans.”
Anger was so uncustomary of the homely woman that Shanti was struck speechless. Before she could protest further, enough fabric to double as a sail cascaded over her head.
“At least you’re skinny and shapely so the dress still looks decent,” Molly was saying as she worked the dress tightly around Shanti’s middle. “I don’t know what we’ll do about the breasts. You’re young, and they’re perky, but they’re nowhere as high as they should be.”
A metal contraption made a zzzzziiiiieeeee as it worked up her back, securing Shanti into the “fashionable” death trap.
“Now.” Molly stepped in front of her to survey her work. Her eyes lingered on Shanti’s chest, her eyebrows falling. Shaking her head, she moved forward, one hand grabbing the top of the fabric over her breasts, the other reaching in to grab boob.
“What are you doing?” Shanti exclaimed as she struggled back, trying to get the woman’s hand out of her top.
“You need to move them to the top of the dress! You can’t have them squished down the middle into your waist!”
“I’m fine as I am. I don’t want young people getting the wrong idea, seeing my breasts.”
“You just can’t—“
Shanti slipped steel into her voice. “No. This will do. I am not here as an ambassador, so I will not strive to adhere to customs. I am a traveler who wants to be on her way.”
Molly’s eyes burned, but, thankfully, she backed off.
It gave Shanti another dose of humility. If she could barely fight off a middle aged, pudgy nursemaid, how would she defend herself against fighting men?
Deep in thought, she didn’t realize Molly was leading her further into the modest house, which she had learned was a residence that occasionally gave aid to those in need or recovering from a malady. Suddenly she was standing in front of a full length mirror and Shanti got her first look at the fashion.
She looked like a shimmery green monster.
The tight bodice hugged her skin, leading down into a skirt shaped like a bell that reached entirely to the ground. It was adorned with layers and ruffles. Then there were the sleeves. Huge bunches of fabric puffed up, nearly to her ear. The only skin exposed was her arms and chest, where her breasts were apparently supposed to pop out like a child’s toy.
“Why such heavy garments in a hot climate?” Shanti wondered aloud. “And why the peep show but fear of nudity?”
“Well…this is the fashion.”
“Fashion excuses common sense?”
Molly shook her head in frustration again, not daring to travel along the logic road when it pertained to looking the part.
Shanti could always strip if it came to fighting, not that it would help much in her current state. Still, slipping out of the dress would at least mean she’d be able to breathe when they took her down. “Fine. Can we go?”
“Just a minute, dear, almost time. We won’t have time for breakfast—I didn’t anticipate dressing taking so long.” Shanti earned a scowl.
“Why are you not wearing a similar monster costume?”
Molly scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Molly left Shanti standing in utter confusion as she hurried to the kitchen. Shrugging, Shanti had her first look around. Then she gawked. The first thing she noticed was all the leather and wood. It was everywhere. She was familiar with the wooden items—her people had excellent woodworking techniques and trees in plenty—but the leather was something with which she had little experience. Her people weren’t farmers. Their leather items came from wolves and smaller animals, or were traded for extravagant sums. Yet Molly, who didn’t have much, or so she said, had a full set of leather furniture. Not to mention many artifacts that were metal. By Shanti’s standards, this room was cloaked in wealth.
Shanti sauntered over to the couch, the gobs of fabric adorning her person so loud she’d have to ask her enemies to plug their ears so she could sneak by. What a ridiculous fashion these people employed. Like most ceremonial dress, it was completely without purpose. It was also extremely uncomfortable. It was work just to wear the stuff.
Shaking her head, she felt the leather. Soft as an infant’s backside. And squishy. It was more inviting than a feast.
As she was about to sink into the welcoming leather, Molly screeched. “You’ll be all creases!”
“Do you stop sitting after you get dressed up?” Shanti asked in confusion, butt halfway to the cushion.
“You have to know how to sit, or else you’ll look like a day old kitten!”
“Your people trap themselves in garments that don’t allow them to breathe, let alone move naturally, showing parts of skin that make young boys crazy, then forbid sitting unless a new approach is learned? Are you playing a roark on me? A…what’s the word…joke?”
Molly was shaking her head again, dragging Shanti to the door while shoving a biscuit into her mouth. “The Captain expects it.”
“Ah, so the Captain is responsible for these torture devices. And no one has rebelled? Called down his service?”
“He’s not—just—it’s fashion!”
They stepped outside onto a clean cobblestone street, where every so often a large metal pole reached into the sky with thick candles nestled into a decorative steel cage at the top. Shanti noticed a man walking through the street with a long metal rod, reaching up into the metal cage to extinguish the small flame. The street held many small abodes like Molly’s, most with activity now that the sun rose, but a few without.
“Is this a main path?” Shanti asked curiously, taking in the stonework that overlaid the ground.
“Street, you mean? This is one of four main streets, yes. The smaller streets aren’t lined with candles—just the main ones. That’s why I live here—just in case someone from out of town needs a place—”
Shanti deafened her ears, a skill she’d learned within the first half day in that small room with the chatty woman. She turned her thoughts, instead, to her
surroundings. One main path of four. Rather wide, too—big enough for two teams of horses pulling a cart each. It was a city, but not an incredibly large city. Harder to blend in with the difference in coloring and feature, but not impossible.
“Miss Molly.” It was a youth’s deep voice not yet filled out into the drum of manhood.
Shanti spun quickly. Her mind blossomed open, the net of her consciousness spreading out around her in a ten span radius—shockingly small for two days of rest. She should’ve done it earlier, though. She needed to stop being a tourist.
A large, young man strode toward them, arms swinging with lanky abandon. Wide shoulders nearly taking up the whole of the footpath, his muscles were already defined though he was probably only Marc’s age. Shanti had no doubt he would only get bigger. He had the potential for great strength and prowess, but now he walked more like a floppy puppy that still needed to grow into its feet.
“Xavier!” Molly said in a gush. “Who would’ve thought I would get all the promising new boys stopping by!”
Xavier. Shanti had heard that name before—the man she had taken down. His mind shed pleasant expectation, happy to meet a stranger and enjoy the morning walk. He harvested not one ounce of fear. He not only did not know her capabilities in mind or body, but he thought her harmless. And if she were wearing that corset, not able to breathe, sit, or bend at the waist, he surely would’ve been correct.
She retracted her Gift, backing away from mind contact. She needed the strength. Plus, moving like a stick man held together with yarn, two strikes would be enough to take him to the ground. Even in this horrible green dress.
“I’m supposed to escort you. Sorry I’m late—“ His gaze hit Shanti and he staggered forward, hands half reaching either to fall or grab.
Shanti kicked her shoes off—horrible stilt type things that increased her height but decreased her ability to walk—and her fingers tugged down the metal at her back, ready to tear the thing off and engage.
Then he smiled. “Sorry, ma’am. Last time I saw you, you were a pile of dirt. You clean up well.”
Shanti hesitated, and then got her fingers slapped away by Molly. Shifting and reclaiming the tiny square of metal, she said, “Do your people have problems with washing? I found the soap acceptable.”
“He’s saying you look pretty, dear,” Molly explained, swiping Shanti’s fingers away again before re-securing the dress.
“Pretty.” She couldn’t help the monotone in her voice. At one time in her life, she’d cared about such things—about men and mates and what it meant to be desired. She was only twenty-four, but even still, those days were gone, along with her people. Now, she’d rather be invisible.
“Say ‘thank you’,” Molly muttered disapprovingly, noticing Shanti’s shoes scattered across the cobblestones. Her answering scowl was fantastic.
“Thank you,” Shanti said without emotion. It would behoove her to stick within custom—to stay within the good graces of these people—until she could move on and regain that invisibility. Still, she didn’t like the reminder of days lost. Or being noticed sexually. Not anymore.
After a tsk, and some shoe orchestration, Molly said, “Let’s move. The Captain hates tardiness. And rudeness…”
A short walk later, they approached a large square building with very few ornaments. In fact, besides a plain, burnished metal door knocker and weathered door knob, it was completely nondescript. And because it was so plain, standing next to domestic dwellings with scrolls and embellishments, it stuck out like a barge amid sailboats. Someone wasn’t very clever at disguises with this office.
Xavier hurried forward, and Shanti danced off to the side to keep outside of arm’s reach. He opened the door with a flourish, waving them through.
Shanti stopped altogether, beckoning him in before her, spreading out her mind again. Her awareness crawled across the space within, mostly empty of any heat signatures or brain patterns, until the far right. It was like the sea washing up a beach, the foam of her mind lapping at the awaiting consciousness.
She strained, trying to reach farther. The effect had her limbs shaking and forehead beading in sweat. Hot pricks dug in her temples. She should’ve waited longer than two days to attempt this meeting. Not that she’d planned to meet at all...
Xavier, unaware of her mental employment, tried to dislodge his smile and failed. “Ladies first.”
“Yes, I saw to that,” Shanti replied distractedly, wondering how many awaited her. “Molly has entered. Please—“ Shanti gestured again for Xavier to go first.
“Ladies first,” Xavier repeated.
His smile was starting to get irritating.
Shanti looked at him sternly, deciding. He wasn’t planning to budge, but she wasn’t planning on traipsing in front of him in stilts and green puffy wrapping. She might as well just offer herself for his amusement.
She settled for removing her shoes, handing them to the youth, and using his confusion to slip inside, dress binding halfway down her back in case she met trouble.
As she crossed the threshold a splash of deep crimson reached toward her feet. Fearing blood, wondering if Xavier was currently closing the door to her tomb, Shanti hopped over the offending color with nimble grace, landing on weak, half-numb legs. She staggered, crashing into a plant in a pot, her Gift sputtering with lack of concentration and insufficient energy.
A quick glance told her that what she’d thought was a dead body spilling its life blood, was actually a large flower at the corner of an extravagantly ugly rug. Also extravagantly large. It reached from the door to the men, housing two glorious leather couches, quality beyond what Shanti had ever seen and certainly ever experienced, and two chairs to match. An expertly crafted table squatted among that cluster of relaxation. Along the sides of the room, lining the walls, were more tables, a few plants, and large tapestries she wouldn’t waste her time burning. Riches and wealth beyond what many could boast clustered in this room. Also a distracting lack of quality art. The skills of this People were somewhat skewed.
Righting herself and brushing the billowing fabric straight, then trying not to squirm with the dress grabbing at her legs, Shanti raised her eyes to her waiting audience. It was better than she’d expected. The long rectangular room held an array of fighting men at its head, all flocking around the focal point, a large wooden desk where a dark haired man sat. To the left stood three men of a battle hardened caliber. Straight and hard, they wore their weapons like their shirts, analyzing her with hard eyes. Their line was arrow straight, jutting out from the focal point, ready to meet her head-on.
The first man in the line was a block of muscle with a face like a bull. Next in line stood a striking man with a crisp blue uniform, crease-free and pristine—probably a very organized man. Last was a middle-aged man with gray temples, regal and self-important—lots of experience.
To the right wobbled a bunch of kids learning to stand still, that weasel Marc among them. If they’d ever been in a fight she would’ve been surprised. Wide eyes adorned fresh faces, gazes darting from her to their shoes, in equal parts fear of their fighting counterparts and fascination with her, the foreign woman.
Molly had scampered off to Shanti’s left, halfway down the richly furnished room. Xavier joined her momentarily, his smile finally and completely wiped off his face. At least she had that going for her.
Walking calmly on the smooth finish of an expertly sanded floor, Shanti let the feelers of her mind reach forward ahead of her, finding the men nearly in range. Her focus shifted to the focal point, a man slightly her senior leaning back comfortably in a massive leather chair that would make cows proud to give their lives. His intelligent eyes were a beautiful pale blue, matching the sky in color and clarity, but much deeper, their rim a dusty blue. Wavy dark brown hair brushed the tops of muscular shoulders. His eye-opening attractiveness was somewhat diminished by the tight, severe set of his jaw and corresponding intense gaze. He had an agenda. His life was probably an agend
a. He might be loved, but Shanti bet it wasn’t for a sense of humor. As a leader, he was much too serious by half, a trait she’d seen diminish even the best leaders’ abilities.
Shanti stopped moving forward at about fifteen paces from the desk, which was still embarrassingly shy of her mental ability to glean any real awareness of the Captain. Wisps of vague intent washed into her consciousness, but the feelings were pale representations of their origin. When at full strength she could reach a kilometer or more, but now that it so ardently mattered, she was as good as useless.
“Welcome to my city,” he began gently, his voice deep and graveled. “It seems you’ve avoided all personal questions while in the city thus far.”
She titled her head in greeting with a marginally bent spinal column, denoting acquiescence, or possibly weakness. She hadn’t recognized the name of the city when she’d asked Molly, which meant she was unfortunately ignorant to their customs. She did know the generalities of the Mountain Region from her studies, however, and knew that they adhered to respect, but nothing so severe as groveling. Hopefully polite conversation, the reedy weakness of a female, and her foreignness would have her spit out of this place with a label of “not important.”
“Unfortunately, yes,” she responded in a soft tone. “My business is mine alone on this journey. I hope you understand.”
Pulses of irritation slapped her from the man to her left. The first in line, shorter than the men behind him, shifted in irritation.
Shanti’s focus flicked back to the Captain when he said, “We’ve performed a service for you. Two, actually. In repayment, you’ve landed young Marc in some serious trouble. I don’t think a little history, given in good faith, would go amiss.”
Shanti kept her tone level, deflecting his curiosity as subtly as possible. “I thank you for your help, but it’s probably best for all involved if I carry on. Business, such that it is, isn’t something to chat about idly. I’m sure you can agree, no doubt being in possession of your own trade secrets.”
A small flame kindled in crystalized blue eyes. “Trade. I see.”
FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy Page 31
