“Enough.” She said it aloud, startling a stray cat at the mouth of an alley.
You have been Tirribin for your entire existence, Ujie told her.
Perhaps that had been true, but Droë wasn’t certain she was Tirribin anymore. She wasn’t even the “girl-thing.” She had become something she didn’t recognize: part-Tirribin, part-human, part-child, part-coward, part-exile, alone, confused, sad. Whatever she was, she hated it. Change carried with it uncertainty, perhaps peril. But at least she wouldn’t be this anymore.
Droë angled toward the waterfront, followed a narrow strip of pebbly shore to a broader strand. This she traversed, her feet cushioned in cool sand, starlight and the gibbous moon lighting her way. Her heart beat very fast, like the wings of a hovering falcon. Her hands shook.
Apprehension had given way to anticipation, even excitement. She had started down this path some time ago, and after delays of her own making, she was glad to tread it again.
At the far end of the strand, she scrambled over a jumble of huge rocks to yet another sandy beach. Here, alone, she halted to stare out over the Inward Sea toward distant Ensydar. Lightning flickered across a bank of clouds. Thunder mumbled a response. The rain would reach Rencyr before long. For now, the world seemed balanced: storm and clarity, lightning and starglow. She stood on a knife’s edge.
She took a step toward the water.
“I would speak with one of the Most Ancient,” she cried, her voice swallowed by the pounding surf.
Droë wondered if any would answer. Her resolve to act meant little if no Arrokad swam in these waters.
She shouted her summons a second time, and after waiting, once more. She would not call again. Thrice made it a true supplication. More would be rude.
Wind whipped her hair. Lightning brightened the foamy swells and the boulders around her. Thunder rumbled in the sand beneath her feet.
Something broke the water’s surface, tiny and distant.
Droë fought the impulse to flee.
Whatever it was vanished, only to rise again, closer now and recognizable. A face, framed by dark hair.
It dove, surfaced nearer still, swam in her direction. As it neared the shore, it stopped swimming and advanced on foot.
It – he – emerged from the sea like an animate statue. His skin was alabaster, his shoulders wide, his body tapered to a narrow waist. His legs were darker, and Droë realized that he had covered himself with scales, rather than appearing naked. A kindness and a relief, unexpected.
His face was as sculpted and perfect as that of a Tirribin. His eyes were pale and serpentine, much like Ujie’s. Indeed, he could have been her brother.
Water ran down his body as he stepped from the surf and halted in front of her.
“There is a price to be paid for summoning my kind, even for one such as you, cousin.”
“I know. What price?”
“We shall decide, you and I. Why have you summoned me?”
She opened her mouth to answer, but no words came. Instead, to her shame, she burst into tears. For some time, too long, she could not speak for her sobbing. The Arrokad regarded her, unmoving and apparently unmoved.
When at last she found her voice, she apologized.
“What is your name, cousin?”
“I am Droënalka. Most call me Droë.” She would have expected a human or another Tirribin to reciprocate, but such conventions did not apply to the Most Ancient Ones. Either he would tell her his name or he wouldn’t. His to choose.
“Do you seek a boon, Droë of the Tirribin? Is this why you summoned me?”
She hesitated before nodding.
“I see. That, too, carries a cost.”
“I know that,” she said, wearying of being spoken to as if she knew nothing. “I’m Tirribin. I understand the commerce of summons and boon.”
A canny smile revealed gleaming sharp teeth. “Better. That is the spirit I expect when treating with Tirribin. I had begun to think you simple.”
“That’s rude.” But his teasing made her feel better, more like herself.
“Yes, I suppose it is. I am Qiyed. You showed great restraint in not asking. I know how much your kind care about etiquette.”
Her cheeks warmed.
“Tell me more of this boon you seek.”
“I- I don’t know how.”
“That is intriguing, but I do not wish to remain on this strand for long.” Lightning flashed, and thunder followed, sooner than she had expected. “A storm comes, and I long to swim with it.” Another sly grin. “Have you ever done this?”
“No.”
“Would you care to?”
She reflected with distaste on her swim from the ship. “I don’t think so, no.”
“Very well. Quickly then.”
Where to begin?
“There is a Walker. I’m told I knew him when he trained in the palace at Trevynisle.”
“You have come from the northern isles?” he asked, surprise in the question.
“Yes.”
“And what does that mean: ‘I’m told I knew him’?”
“He traveled back in time, and created this misfuture we’re in now. The humans have fought over Hayncalde in Daerjen. One supremacy has given way to another.”
“I knew nothing of this.”
She canted her head. “Payment for my summons?”
He bared his teeth again. “Clever, cousin.” He considered this. “Done. That part of your debt to me is paid in full. Go on.”
“This boy – a man now, no doubt – I’m told we were friends, and I’ve come to suspect that… that perhaps I cared for him even more than that.”
His eyebrows rose. “This is unusual for Tirribin, is it not?”
“More than you could know,” she said, the words tumbling out of her. “I am… I have always been fascinated by love, by passion. The act, the emotion. Everything about it.”
His brow creased, but his grin remained. “You would have me teach you of such things?”
“No. I would have you…” She broke off, swallowing. Her gaze slid to the clouds behind him, to the flicker of light in their depths. “I tire of being Tirribin, of being a child, of being denied the… the fruits enjoyed by other sorts of creatures. I wonder if you might change me.”
He gaped. Cunning as he might have been, as all his kind were, he clearly hadn’t expected this.
“I don’t know if your power runs that deep,” she said, filling a yawning silence. “I have spoken of this with another Arrokad, and…” Her words came haltingly; Ujie might not wish for others to know of their conversation. “And this Most Ancient One suggested it might be possible, though inadvisable.”
“Allow me to understand,” Qiyed said. “You wish to be brought to mature form.”
“That’s right.”
“I assume you also wish to remain Tirribin, to retain your time sense, your abilities.”
She hadn’t given this much thought, but didn’t wish to admit as much. “I do,” she said, hoping she sounded certain.
“Well, cousin, I will confess to being astonished, almost beyond words.” His forehead furrowed again. “You are set on this course? You have considered it from all perspectives?”
“I… I have thought about it a great deal.”
“You could never go back to being Tirribin in the way you are now. You would be unique, but also alone. You would be a creature unto yourself. That strikes me as a lonely existence.”
“I’m lonely already.” She regretted the words as soon as they passed her lips.
Qiyed studied her, not with sympathy as she imagined Ujie might, but with cool appraisal. The wind rose and a bolt of lightning stabbed the sea. For the moment at least, the Arrokad had forgotten the storm and his desire to swim in it.
“I might be able to do this thing. It has never crossed my mind to try and so I do not know. It could be a risk allowing me to try. Do you understand?”
His response frightened and thrilled her.
“I do. What price such a boon?”
“No price. Not for now. In time, if we do this, and if you are pleased with the result, perhaps we can revisit the matter. In the interim, we would… become friends. And perhaps you would tell me more about this misfuture. Access to your time sense would be payment enough. Is this agreeable to you?”
“Would I have to come into the sea with you?”
He laughed at that. “You might enjoy it, Droë of the Tirribin.” He shook his head. “You would not have to do anything you are not prepared to do. In time, you may wish to experience the surf as I do. Until then, you can live on land as you have, and I will swim the sea as I have. You may summon me at will, without cost.”
For the first time since reaching the shoreline, Droë allowed herself a smile. “Thank you. That would be… Those terms are acceptable.”
“An arrangement then, freely entered and fairly sworn.”
“An arrangement, freely entered and fairly sworn.”
He nodded. “Good then.” Lightning illuminated the strand and sky. Thunder boomed. “I take my leave, cousin. Until next we speak.”
“When?” she asked before he could turn from her. She sounded too eager. Fortunately they had completed their negotiation.
His grin, fleeting though it was, raised bumps on her skin.
“Tomorrow night would be fine. Or the next. I will leave it to you to decide.” He pivoted and waded back into the surf. When the water reached his chest, he dove, the scales on his legs catching the gleam of lightning like a fish tail. Droë watched him swim away, envious of his comfort in the swells, the memory of his beauty, of his powerful chest and narrow hips, like the aftertaste of the sweetest years.
A few raindrops pelted down on the sand and on her. In mere moments, the skies had opened, soaking her hair and her shift. Droë didn’t mind. She remained by the shore. The storm roiled the water and she lost track of the Arrokad. After a time, she started back to the city. She was hungry again. Few humans would be abroad in such weather, but those who were would be careless, in a hurry. Easy prey.
Droë didn’t return to the shore the following night. She didn’t wish Qiyed to think her too eager. She couldn’t say why. She had revealed much in their encounter, and she would have to share far more in days to come. Before long, the Arrokad would know her better than any creature ever had. This made her uneasy, which might have been why she kept away. She didn’t go the next night, either.
By the third night, she could wait no longer. They had an arrangement. Reneging on a bargain struck with one of the Most Ancient would be as perilous as any change in her form.
Besides, she had made her decision.
The night was warm and still. A thin haze obscured most stars and smeared the moonlight. The surf at the strand was much calmer than it had been several nights before. Droë walked to the water’s edge, allowing low waves to lap at her toes.
“Qiyed! I would speak with you!”
She called only one time, assuming she wouldn’t have to repeat her summons.
Within a spirecount or two, he broke the surface of the water far out to sea, and swam toward shore, his body undulating like that of a porpoise. She marked his approach, noting as he drew near that he had changed somehow. She wasn’t certain what was different until he reached the shallows, stood, and walked in her direction.
Her face heated. No scales this time. He was naked, unashamed, glorious.
“I sense your discomfort, cousin,” he said, halting several paces short of where she stood, seawater eddying around his knees.
She had seen naked humans many times, male and female. She had thought nothing of speaking with Ujie. Why should this bother her so? Was it because he was so beautiful? Was it because of what they intended to do?
“Shall I change my form? Cover myself as I did when last we spoke?”
Droë stared at the seafoam gathering around her ankles. “Yes, please.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw him making a sweeping motion with his pale hand. Magick whispered against her skin.
“Better?”
She looked up. He was scaled again from his waist down.
“Thank you.”
“I have spent little time with Tirribin in all my centuries. Your kind are most peculiar.”
She scowled. “That’s rude.”
“I merely meant that you are children in more than just appearance.”
He stepped closer to her. He smelled of brine and seaweed and rain. She breathed him in and looked off to the side.
“I am told that your kind do not breed as we do,” he said. “Is this true?”
“Yes. We simply are. We spend our years, but then we replenish them. We don’t age, we don’t die unless we kill each other, and we don’t reproduce as humans and other Ancients do.”
“Is this why you wish to change? Do you wish to have a child?”
She shook her head, still avoiding his gaze.
“So it truly is love that you crave.”
Droë made herself face him. “Do Arrokad love?” Before he could answer, she added, “I mean, do you experience the emotion? I know that the act itself is integral to what you are.”
“Is that a judgment, cousin?” Amusement shaded his tone.
“It’s an observation.”
“A valid one, I suppose.” A drop of water wound a crooked course over the muscles of his arm. “Yes, we love. And anticipating your next question, I have loved and been loved.”
“Who?” she asked. She was being rude, but she couldn’t help herself. And wasn’t this part of what they had agreed to begin together?
“Many. I have lived a long time. I have loved many of my own kind, male as well as female.”
“You don’t love them anymore?”
His slitted eyes surveyed the shoreline. “I remain fond of many, but love is impermanent.”
“Not for humans. Not always.”
“True. Humans live for a breath and are gone. We – your kind and mine – we live long lives. Too long, I believe, to confine ourselves to a single love. It is something you should consider. This human you love will be here for but an instant. Your change will last forever.”
“Do you have offspring?”
“I do,” he said. “That is different as well. My sons and daughters have lived for centuries, as I have. They have not been my children in any meaningful way in a very long time.”
“Do you love them?”
“As a human parent loves his offspring, you mean?” He shook his head. “I do not believe so. It is pleasant when I see them. Most of them. I have a son who I do not like at all. The rest…” Another shrug. “The rest are no more or less to me than other Arrokad I have known.”
Droë pondered this, frowned again.
“My responses have troubled you. Are you reconsidering our arrangement?”
“No,” she said, thinking her voice sounded odd.
“It is all right if you are. To be honest, I am still uncertain as to whether I can do what you have asked of me. The power required might well prove beyond my capabilities. I would not consider it a breach of our arrangement if you were to withdraw from it now.”
She faltered, unsure of herself. Again. She had thought she might become something akin to an Arrokad, but with time sense. Now she wasn’t so sure. In preying on humans, she had come to know them: their habits, their customs, the many flavors of their love. She wanted to love one being for a long time. If she were to have offspring, she would want to love them as a human mother did. But an immortal human? With time sense? Frozen in time once more, but at a more advanced stage? As Qiyed had told her when last they spoke, she would be alone and unique.
“You have doubts,” he said.
“Yes, but I don’t want to end our arrangement. Not yet.”
“At some point it may be too late to do so. Thus far, I have done nothing for you. That will not always be the case.”
“I understand.”
“Very well. You summoned me again. Why? What did you think would happen tonight?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “If you were to try right now to begin to change me, what would you do?”
Qiyed stared at her, eyes narrowed. “I would begin slowly. An undertaking such as this should be approached with care.” He took another step, closing the distance between them. He started to reach a hand to her brow, but stopped, a question in the quirk of an eyebrow. “May I?”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
His touch was as cool as a forest rill, light and gentle, yet insistent. Awareness of his presence flooded her. His scent, the chill and damp radiating from his body. He held three fingers to her forehead for a tencount, and more. The cold spread through her, calming, pleasant. It eased her mind.
When he pulled his hand away, she sighed and opened her eyes.
“To answer your question, I would begin with a soft push. It would barely be noticeable. You appear now as a child of perhaps eight or nine, as do all Tirribin. With this push, you might seem more like nine or ten. Few would notice. You might not notice either. One of your kind could read in your years more than are really there. You are young for your kind, yes?”
“I suppose.”
“This might be less apparent to other Tirribin after I attempt this. In most respects, though, it would not change you in any significant way. That said, in another two or three days, when next I touch you as I just did, I might sense the change. And having done so, I might then have a better sense of what to try next.”
“Could we stop after you do this? If I don’t like it?”
He didn’t answer right away. “Yes. This time. And perhaps two or three times more. But after that, we will reach a point beyond which asking me to stop would be a violation of our arrangement. And beyond which halting the process may become impossible.”
She shuddered and folded her arms over her chest. She raised her chin, though, and said, “Then do it.”
CHAPTER 20
20th Day of Kheraya’s Ascent, Year 634
Qiyed didn’t ask if she was sure. He didn’t ask her permission to reach for her brow again, or make any attempt to change her mind. He lifted his fingers to her forehead, somehow finding the exact spots he had touched before.
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