Trickskin

by Amelia R. Moore

  Hurt flashed across her face, but she never lost her patient understanding. “It was never important to me, Lailoken. You were my son the moment your father put you in my arms.”

  “He’s not my father!”

  Her expression remained infuriatingly stoic.

  “And you’re not my mother!” he hissed, fleeing before he could see if that shattered her calm.

  Loken shook off the memory with great effort and tried to center himself, taking a breath. Danika’s perfume, like fresh rain and flowers. He buried his hands in the bed, running the sheets through his fingers. It still felt strange to do with scales, and the reminder of his nature nearly initiated another panic attack.

  Finally, when it no longer felt like his mind was tearing itself apart, he figured out what he wanted to sign. It may not have mattered to his mother, but it did to Loken.

  And he wanted one person to understand that.

  ‘I ran away. Monster be alone.’

  Danika’s eyes filled with sorrow. ‘Family?’

  Even as Loken thought of his mother, his brother, and his father—(They’re not yours.)—he signed, ‘No family.’

  And it was entirely his fault.

  Grief welled in his chest as he wrestled with shame and guilt.

  Nora slipped away, but Loken didn't notice until she returned with a hideously hand-knitted sweater. It was green with a little owl that was wearing a floppy, red hat with a white tip. She handed it to him, and he took it delicately, as if afraid he might rip it. Was this...was this one of those holiday themed sweaters Nora had teased him about Mrs. Naiara making him? She’d knitted him one? After all this time?

  He looked up, openly puzzled.

  ‘Family,’ she signed firmly.

  Suddenly, every inconvenient emotion Loken had repressed felt since discovering he was adopted (kidnapped) combined with the physical and mental anguish of being tortured for nearly a year.

  He wept and didn't have the will to resist when Nora and Danika hugged him.

  His father had always told him crying never solved anything, but Loken had to admit that he felt lighter when he woke up, as if at least part of a great burden had been lifted. The fear of rejection still lingered, coupled with the shame he carried through daily life, but it was lesser than it had been in recent memory.

  Morning light poured in through the window on the far wall, but he didn’t get up. From where he was, he could see that Nora had slipped away to sleep on the nearby couch (and she was still sound asleep), so it must have been Danika snuggled against his back. Physical contact. When was the last time he’d allowed such a thing, apart from the fleeting hugs he stood stiffly through when forced?

  It took another hour for the women to rise, and Nora did so far more quickly than Danika. When the suite door closed behind Nora, Danika grumbled in irritation, turned over, and continued sleeping. Loken kept her company, content to doze because it meant he didn’t have to face the day...until Nora returned with a tray holding three plates.

  Pancakes (cut into tiny pieces), a smoothie, and some yogurt, for each of them. There was even a plate of scrambled eggs.

  The smell of food had Danika rolling out of bed, and they helped him to the dining room table. After both of them ordered him to “be careful,” he ate. The pancakes were too difficult for his stiff jaw to chew, so he drank the smoothie instead. Though he managed to get down a few bites of egg, he finished breakfast with the yogurt.

  ‘Want be clean?’ Danika asked him once she and Nora had cleaned up. She gestured towards the bathroom.

  Cleanliness was one of his habitual needs, so he didn't hesitate to agree. With both of them helping, he managed to reach the bathroom. When they remained, he realized he'd misunderstood how this was going to happen.

  Though they'd declared themselves family last night, he wasn't comfortable with the idea of accepting their help here. While he really did think of Nora as he might a sister—Mrs. Naiara treating them both like her own brood helped cement that—he knew he didn't think of Danika the same. Not to mention that this would be the first time he saw himself bare in his Drakain form, and he needed to do it alone.

  So, after they helped him to the giant tub, he dismissed their aid. Neither looked happy to go, especially Danika. Once the shower was running (she refused to draw a bath) and she’d made sure a towel and fresh clothes waited within reach, she departed.

  Finally alone, he removed his pants with minimal difficulty, peeled off the bandages on his arms, and stepped into the shower. He’d never quite gotten used to the idea of bathing under a waterfall; soaking in warm water was perfectly adequate. However, after months of captivity, the warmth and gentle spray felt divine.

  It was harder to ignore his Drakain form when he was alone with it, and though he still loathed his appearance, he no longer felt the urge to peel the scales from his body. At least, not presently. The horns were another matter entirely. When he tried to lay his forehead against the wall, he ended up with a headache for his efforts after slamming them into the tiled surface. If he could, he would have ripped them off.

  Loken tried to remember what the Drakain he’d seen on Draferia had looked like. They’d had horns too, hadn’t they? When he tried to recall, his mind twisted their appearances into snarling beasts charging towards him—eyes burning like smoldering embers.

  Anxiety shot through him. He turned the shower off and struggled to the mirror, desperate for a look at his eyes.

  Emeralds stared back at him, more vivid amidst a background of green scales than he was accustomed to. His face, however, was unrecognizable. Ridges above his eyes added to his new, reptilian-like features, and his face was sharper, nose and jaw protruding ever so slightly. Like a muzzle. He internally shuddered at the comparison. Teal scales accented his throat, jaw, and just under his eyes, where the color faded to turquoise. Feathery onyx locks—similar to his Evoir form—fell from his head and looked out of place with his obsidian horns.

  “Loken!” Nora called with a knock at the door.

  Before he could piece out how to tell her he was well, she walked in with her eyes averted.

  After handing him a towel, she signed, ‘Okay?’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied. No was closer to the truth, but he didn't want to worry them. She gave him space, and he took a moment to collect himself.

  That's when he noticed that in addition to his toiletries, there were now floral and fruit scented bottles: lotions, hair products, and more. Exactly how long had Nora and and Danika been staying in his suite on Nolan’s estate?

  The clothes they'd chosen for him were easy to get on without help (baggy and comfortable), and once he was dressed, Nora helped him back to bed—which now had clean sheets. On Rellaeria, he'd had his every need attended to. Maids took care of his room, and cooks prepared his meals. Since coming to Earth, he'd been fending for himself more or less (apart from when Danika cooked for them both). It was strange to be waited on again.

  He wasn't certain he cared for it.

  “Ian Nolan,” Danika said, spelling out his name in ASL before continuing. ‘Want to help you.’

  ‘Help?’ he prompted.

  “Maedir,” she said. ‘Heal.’

  ‘How?’ How could a non-sorcerer human help?

  She gave a half frown. ‘Hard to say.’

  Hard to say? Hard to explain, she likely meant. He could see why that would be so. Their vocabularies in each other's languages were quite limited, so how could he expect to communicate magical or scientific theory?

  ‘You know how heal?’ she asked.

  Apart from rest, the only other remedy Loken knew of for magical exhaustion was to visit a magically infused area and absorb the energy. Well, it was the only method that didn't involve intimacy. Yet, whenever he'd used those methods, he'd at least been able to feel the maedir currents around him.

  Currently, he was magically blind.

  He gave a noncommittal shrug, which Danika huffed in frustration at.

&
nbsp; Nora gestured to the suite door and spoke indecipherable words.

  ‘Others want to see you,’ Danika signed, translating for Nora.

  ‘Others?’

  “Raaum, Eloy, Patrick, Ian, and Jeremy.”

  They were all here? Waiting to see him? He didn't know how he should feel, but humility and anxiety mingled inside of him. These humans had helped rescue him, and Nolan had provided Loken with a secure location to heal. Maybe there were complex motivations behind it, but Loken couldn't deny that he'd benefited.

  ‘Okay,’ he signed.

  After they wrapped his arms—his healing was far weaker than he anticipated—they helped him to the elevator that led to the common floor. As soon as the doors opened, he shrugged off his helpers and slowly headed to the nearest couch. He didn’t have the courage to meet the gaze of anyone in the room, so he kept his eyes on the floor and pointedly didn’t look around.

  As he sat, Raaum ruined his plan and came to stand in front of him. Remembering their last interaction, he pondered if she wanted to say ‘I told you so’ but lacked the vernacular. Finally, he met her eyes. Surprisingly, her expression lacked anger. She was as good at maintaining a mask as he was, but the look she gave him was full of relief.

  Eloy slipped to her side with a knowing grin, saying something that was likely a joke, and Loken could only roll his eyes.

  Nolan called something out, the room laughed, and Eloy grinned sheepishly.

  The air in the room was light, but despite their welcoming, he couldn’t have felt more alienated. Like he was observing the entire room from afar. Something separated him from them—something so tangible Loken was certain that if he raised his hand, he would feel a glass barrier.

  What was wrong with him?

  (There’s always been something wrong with you. Now, they can see it too.)

  Suddenly, it felt like everyone was staring at him. Not that he could blame them. Unlike him, they hadn’t been exposed to other sentient races, and a Drakain was a far cry from an Evoir.

  Morose from that particular recollection, he searched the room for Danika.

  When their eyes met, she came to sit on the couch, and he was thankful for it. She was, after all, his main way of communicating with them. For the first time, he was thankful they wouldn’t expect him to speak because he had little desire to converse.

  Nolan spoke, and Danika attempted to get Loken’s attention, perhaps to translate. Loken, however, was fighting to center himself in the now. Inundated by the activity and attention, he wondered if he could slip back to his room unnoticed.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone pass something to Danika. Her struggle to adjust it snagged his attention, and he saw it was a large, old tomb. The title made his heart leap into his throat in excitement: The Spellcrafter’s Compendium.

  In Aeir.

  How had they gotten such an old magical text from another world? Lestat? If so, then how had the madman come across it? Was this the reason the Aernin sorcerer had come to Earth? To search for this tomb?

  He gestured for it, and when Danika placed it on his lap and the others watched, he realized this was their intent all along. This was likely how Nolan proposed to help heal his magic. Did he think Loken could find an answer in this tomb? Unfortunately, Loken knew without looking that such wasn't likely.

  Still. It had been over a year since he held a magical book of any kind. It was a feeling beyond description for a scholar such as he to be reunited with his passion. Uncaring of the eyes on him, he opened the tomb to the first page, not wanting to miss a single secret this book might hold.

  To my wife whom encouraged me to write out our theories: to understand magic is to understand the universe itself.

  -Arna

  He skimmed the forward, a warning to novices who desired to recreate the spells in the theoretical section. Loken was no novice, so he took little note of it and looked at the table of contents.

  “Loken?”

  He looked to Danika.

  ‘You can read?’

  In addition to inclining his head, he gave a dismissive wave of his hand. What self-respecting sorcerer didn't read Aeir?

  Nora tugged on his arm, and he met her amused look with a scowl. Why was everyone determined to interrupt him? Couldn’t they see he was busy?

  She gestured to those in the room. ‘Found more.’ She pointed to the book.

  This time Loken wasn’t able to decipher what she meant right away. Found more...books? Oh. They had found more books. He tapped the tomb and signed, ‘How say?’

  Danika stepped in to sign the word he assumed meant book and spoke it as she did

  “Book,” he repeated. ‘Found more books?’

  This time, when she repeated his question aloud, he parroted her words. “Found more books?”

  Nolan laughed and made a comment that had Danika rolling her eyes and throwing a pillow at him.

  Loken turned to glare at the inventor, just in case the laugh was at Loken’s attempts to speak English. He’d long ago learned to ignore the jeers and taunts of his peers for being bold enough to try. There was no shame in the pursuit of knowledge. So what if he’d rather read than whack things with swords?

  He discarded the past from his thoughts and focused on reading, welcoming the reprieve from his own mind. The others talked around him, but it was easy to ignore their prattling. Although it was clear that they wanted to ask him questions as much as he wanted to ask them questions, they appeared content to leave him be. Likely they were hopeful, as he did, that he would find help from the book.

  Yet, still healing as he was, he only managed to read for an hour or so before he began to doze. He hadn't even realized he'd fallen asleep until Nora prodded him.

  ‘Have to go,’ she signed slowly, not nearly as practiced as Danika.

  He nodded and stiffened slightly when she reached in for a hug.

  ‘I be back,’ she added before offering him a smile and departing.

  That was when Loken realized Patrick was awaiting his attention. Of everyone in the room, his presence was the most surprising. They'd only met twice. Why had he helped Loken? A misplaced sense of heroism? Had it been a favor for another agent? Or did he expect Loken to repay him?

  He spoke and glanced to Danika, presumably to see if she was translating.

  She did, echoing the words aloud. ‘He says hope you feel good soon.’

  ‘How say thank you?’ he signed to her.

  “Thank you,” she enunciated.

  Loken looked to Patrick but also glanced around the room, knowing he owed more than one of them a debt.

  (How would they feel to know they wasted their time? You still wish you hadn't survived. Ungrateful. Worthless.)

  “Thank you,” he said, looking from Raaum, Eloy, Nolan, and finally to Jeremy.

  Nolan replied and grinned. Loken took Eloy’s eye roll to mean that he didn't miss anything of importance.

  The others went about their business, coming and going from the common floor as needed. Loken remained on the couch, reading as much as he could before sleep pulled him under. It was frustrating to be so weak, and by the time he'd finished reading the twenty-ninth spell the book detailed, he was disheartened. Nothing helpful. Not a single spell. Yes, he'd been expecting that, but it still ignited a vortex of hopelessness in his chest.

  He was mentally and physically exhausted, his jaw was beginning to ache, and the desire to scratch as his arms had returned. It wouldn’t help, but the act seemed to give him an interlude from the intrusive thoughts. Loken knew the desire was illogical at best, unhealthy at worst.

  It was maddening.

  Unable to refocus, he searched for Danika. With an open floor plan, it was easy to see from the living room into the kitchen, which was where he spotted her. She was dicing greens, and Nolan was watching her while nursing a glass of amber liquor. Raaum and Jeremy, however, were missing, and he hadn’t noticed their departure.

  When he caught Loken looking, N
olan lifted his glass and said, “Want won, Spiro?”

  Loken stared impassively, unable to decide if he was irked or amused that Nolan continued to yap at him as if he understood.

  Then, Nolan made his intentions clear when he walked over and held out a tumbler of amber liquor to him.

  His fingers closed around the smooth glass before he could debate it.

  “Dringking withah alean,” Nolan said, voice brimming with approval before he raised his glass again.

  Loken ignored him and tried the liquor, pleased if not a little overwhelmed by the flavor. Thankfully, despite the lengthy captivity, taste (unlike touch) didn’t seem to overload his senses. The liquor was weaker than he was accustomed to, nothing like he’d find on Rellaeria, but it was acceptable. He downed the glass and gave Nolan an unimpressed look.

  Glancing to Danika, she caught his eye, put the knife down, and signed, ‘Money,’ before gesturing to the bottle.

  Oh? It was an expensive liquor? Loken raised his glass and tapped the rim.

  Nolan laughed, grabbed the bottle, and joined him on the couch.

  Loken caught a disapproving look from Danika, and had it been anyone else he would have ignored them. ‘What?’ he asked.

  She gestured at the bottle. ‘No good for—’ Her hands dropped abruptly in a sign he didn’t recognize.

  Loken furrowed his brows, searching for context clues. Alcohol wasn’t good...for what?

  At his look, she gestured to his head.

  He froze.

  (She can see it—the lingering madness.)

  Loken turned away, forcing himself to breathe, and found Nolan had already refilled his glass. Pointedly ignoring Danika’s judgment—as if her opinion meant nothing—he took a sip. If he wanted liquor, he’d have it. Did she think their friendship meant she could dictate what he did? Loken knew how to manage himself.

  He placed the drink aside—because he decided to—and returned to the tomb.

  Though vaguely aware of steady sizzling and delicious smells from the kitchen, he continued to read...and finally found something of interest.

  His breath caught in his throat.