I do hereby write that

These words are laid to paper

By the hand of

Asthura Relissa Durran

 

Begun:

10^th July

795 AcO

 

Aged thirty-six human years

Being born of

14^th June

759 AcO

 

 

Translated by: Avaristo Ral’s’or

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

            The carriage in which I sit is hot and stuffy – very nearly suffocating – and every bump in the road jolts its entire frame; and therefore me.  My back aches abdominally up its length and my shoulder blades throb with suppressing my wings.  I am irritatingly aware of every single droplet of sweat that trickles down my face and neck.  The unreasonable confines of my dress constrict me, and the corset restricts my breathing as well as pushing my chest up to what I believe a highly immodest and unhealthy position. 

            But what else is one to do when they are soon to meet their husband’s parents?  Well of course being crammed into such discomfort does not come with all such circumstances; but then, not every Kafriis woman marries a Human either.  I’m given to thinking that this is because they have a damn sight more common sense than I.  But that’s never been my strong area anyway.  I’ve always been one to follow my heart and tell my head to take a holiday.  Notable though, is the fact that until only three generations ago we Kafriis were creatures of the heart; listening to it for guidance when in trouble and otherwise living free-spirited.  In more recent days we try to ignore our feelings, imitating the Elves, who are creatures of the mind.

            However, my husband is neither Elf nor Kafriis.  He is a Human; neither of heart nor mind, but a stunning combination of both, as well as body.  Such interesting creatures are Humans.  They are taller and more solid than Kafriis: heavier, slower, and earth-bound.  And at the same time shorter, thicker, and squatter than the Elves.  But Humans too, it must be said, contain a grace and beauty all their own.  Their strength both in one and many is astonishing, and they have an inborn stubbornness to match my own.  Just such a stubbornness lies within my husband, Varathan, and many a time have I encountered it. 

            No sign of the aforementioned trait is visible in his features as I look at him.  He is accustomed to these carriage rides – tortures I’d call them – being Human, and has fallen asleep.  He is small and fine-boned for a Human, and he is gangly.  He lies back against the side of the coach, chin resting against his chest.  He ankle rests against the edge of the seat and keeps his leg from sliding down; his knee bumps gently against the back of the seat.  His other leg – his right – is bent at the knee and limp against the carriage floor.  Streaks of sunlight flicker in through the thin – but insolating – fabric of the curtains and across his face, sporadically flashing the red in his hair into prominence.  His long lashes spread against his fair cheeks that never lost their boyish spatter of freckles.  His eyes are blue just like the sky – I know them well, for Kafriis only ever have eyes in varying green hues (my own are a vibrant green that is sharper than average), and I cannot help but look at them when I’m not busy.

            I cannot help but feel again the total joy and amazement as my eyes lock on the small form stretched against Athan.  He has his father’s golden curls – the red doesn’t show yet – and his gangly proportions, plus my petite build and fierce green eyes.  His cherubim mouth hangs slightly open in his sleep as he is tucked against his father, held close by a slack arm – an arm that will tense to protect until its death against any threat to the boy; our son.  He is so very precious to us for he is nothing less than a gift from the Gods themselves; a prayer answered that no one thought would be heard, for it is not Nature’s intent that Humans and Kafriis would bear children between them.  But there he is: a miracle.  My miracle.  I remember how many months Athan and I debated about a name before he was born, for we did not know whether to name him as a Kafriis or as a Human.  In the end we decided it would be best for him to be named as neither, and so he is called by the OutIslander name Killis, meaning “borne of a ray of light”. 

            I sigh and stick my head out the coach window, irritated that even the movement of the carriage cannot generate a cool breeze.  The midsummer air is too heavy and thick for any sort of relief outside of the shaded forests!

            “Driver!” I yell.  He ignores me.  Some Humans still don’t like to acknowledge Kafriis has having intelligence, even after four hundred and fifty three years of co-existence with us.

            “Driver!!” I try again, but with just as much – if not less – success.

            I think the thing that pisses me off the most is and ignorant racist idiot, which I expect provoked my next comment.

            “Hey, you ignorant, self-possessive, low down, good-for-nothing, egotistical slob who couldn’t tell a horse’s ass from his whore’s face!!” I holler.

            That gets his attention…

            He whirls around, face flushing in anger.

            “What did you just call me, plickbyrd?” he demands.

            ‘Plickbyrd’, as I have come to understand, is the Human slang word for a Kafriis, putting us on an equal – or lower – level with the namesake, which are small, nattering and mindless birds that frequently brain themselves on trees trying to scare out edible bugs.

            “I’m not fond of repeating myself, nor do I care for being slanged!” I yell angrily.

            He shrugs nonchalantly.

            “Can’t pretend to care what you’re fond of!”

            “Well you will when I beat the daylights out of you–”

            His mocking laughter cuts me off.

            “ – and have you dismissed!”

            He falls silent immediately, the color draining from his face as he stares at me.

            “You wouldn’t–”

            “Want to try me?” I ask sweetly.

            “You can’t fire me!  You just a woman!”  And a plickbyrd woman at that; the words go unsaid but not unheard.

            “Where I’m from things work differently, and,” – I don’t let him cut me off this time – “you seem to be forgetting that while I am a Kafriis, my husband is Human!”

            He pales still further.

            “Well since you’re finally being half civil now I’ll return to my original purpose, which wasn’t, in fact, to get in an argument with you!  I wish only to know how much further to our destination?”

            He thinks for several moments before answering.

            “Ten minutes,” he mutters, turning back to his duty.  I pull back into the carriage and sit down, hugging myself tightly, jaw clenched.

            “I’ll fire him when we arrive,” Athan says as he sits up, gently freeing himself from the limp grasp of Kili and moving to sit beside me.  I wish I were the type of all-loved lady who says: “No, it’s all right.  Do not fault him for his upbringing.  His words do not touch me!”  But to my shame I would not say the words, even for money.  I want to see the bastard writhe in pain or to get run over by his carriage after I’ve pushed him into its path.

            Varathan lays a calming hand on my cheek.  His palms are cool and dry despite the temperature.

            “Don’t dwell on it, tan naemp fuwa,” he soothes.

            But the pain writhes within my chest.

            “The world will never change, will it?”  I ask, my voice betraying the hurt I feel.  He pulls me close.

            “Not in my life time – or even yours,” he says, stroking my hair, “But it will change – things always do.  Some changes happen in a rush and some take time.  People do not change so quickly, but perhaps Kili’s children’s children’s children shall walk on equal footing with everyone else.”

            “I won’t be around to see it,” I reply.

            “Why not?  I thought part of the basis of Kafriis religion is reincarnation?” he comments, politely not saying (truthfully) that we Kafriis are no great upholders of divine worship.  We tend to do greater honor to the things we can touch and know and the appreciations of everyday life…  And yet I’d prayed to something to gift me with a child.  And undoubtedly I’d been bestowed an answer.

            Athan is rubbing off on me too much, I decide.

            “Maybe so, but remembering one’s previous life is not part of the deal,” I remind him at last as I pluck absently at the dress fabric that seems determined to stay half plastered to me.

 My thoughts turn now to meeting Athan’s parents.

            “I’m not going to meet them immediately, am I?” I ask, worried.  Something tells me that in our current states of dishevelment we do not look as though we’d spent the journey with him sleeping in the seat opposite to me as I sat awake with my thoughts.

            “I don’t think so.  My parents have always used the heat of the afternoon to get work done to do with the business.  They entertain at night when it cools off.  We should have a chance to freshen up and then meet them at dinner.”

            I nod.

            “Well let me wake our little hell-raiser here so he’ll have a few minutes to get the crankiness out before stepping out of this thrice Gods-damned sweat box!” I say

            “That bad, is it?” he laughs and kisses my forehead before allowing me to move to Killis.

            “You can stretch your wings later tonight,” he remarks casually.

            “And what makes you think I need to fly?” I snap.

            “Well, for one your tone in that reply, and I can see how tense your shoulders are – actually they look faintly bruised from here.  And I know you Kafriis and your love for flying – can’t say that I blame you for it; if I had wings I’d fly too.”

 

                                                      

 

 

As expected Killis is grouchy and disagreeable when I wake him, balking at being disturbed.

            “Faewa! Tan jfat!” he wails.

            Go away; I’m sleeping!

            “Nah, nah, Kili, tan jefr!”

            Calm yourself.

            I stroke his soft hair and pull him into my lap, straightening his shirt and vest, buttoning up the latter after tying the top of the first.  I comb his hair into some semblance of order with my fingers as he rubs his eyes with his knuckles and yawns.

            “Pama, jub, yes?” I murmur.

            “Ruma fuhj?” he chirps.

            Are we there yet?

            “Haem.”

            Close.

            “You must speak English now, Kili, all right?” Athan explains.

            “Kili nods.

            “Yes, lepam – I mean papa!” he switches languages obediently.

            Athan smiles and strokes his son’s curls.

            “Good boy.”

            “Well, I’ve managed to wrestle your son into some amount of order; what about you?” I look Athan over speculatively.

            “You could wrestle me into just about anything!” he smirks.

            “You’re such a pervert!” I tease, more than partially serious as I rebutton his collar and tie his neckerchief.

            “Well you married me,” he points out, chuckling.

            “And there’s not been a damn day since that I’ve regretted it – even if your hair won’t lie flat like it should!” I add, trying to smooth his hair down with next to no success.

            “I’ll let you… teach it a lesson later?” he murmurs, reaching out to pull me to him           but I stop his hands.

            “Later indeed!  Let the head on your shoulders do the thinking just for once!” I scold.

            “He laughs, showing the dimples at the corners of his mouth, then lets out a mock sigh.

            “You’re so cruel to me…” he tries to look piteous.

            “Oh, I’ll bet!” is my sardonic reply.

            The coach stops before he can win my pity and the driver hollers.

            “We’ve arrived!”

            “Well,” Athan grabs the door handle and twists it, “here goes nothing!”

            He drops out of the carriage, landing with surprising ease on the ground.  After a moment he offers his hand to help me down.  Normally I would refuse but these Human dresses are cumbersome and I cannot descend with dignity otherwise.  Once I’m safely on the ground I reach up to take Killis into my arms.  The carriage is built for Humans, who are much taller – I stand only five feet by their measurements.  Athan closes the door and the carriage rumbles away as I turn to look at the mansion in which Athan’s parents, as well as his older sister and her family, live.

            The mansion is huge, built of white geienstone, and consisting of three floors and countless rooms.  Two large pillars on either side of the painted double doors hold up a small roof.  Five steps lead up to the doors, lined on either side by low shrubs.  The lawn is kept short by one method or another for a huge distance on either side of the house before it abruptly becomes forest.

            I don’t like it.  It’s too white and glaring.  Too unnaturally neat, but it does not phase Athan.  Of course it wouldn’t; he grew up here after all…

            “Too white,” Kili says softly and I nod in reply.

            “Well…” Athan says, “All there is to do is walk up to the door!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

A wave of cool washes over me as I step inside the mansion.  Its cool, stone walls keep the heat and humidity out.  I breathe a deep sigh of relief and wince at how loud it sounds in the great main hall.  But for all of the splendor – rich tapestries adorn the walls and potted plants are placed here and there, veins of gold race through the geienstone – the house does not impress me.  It is too synthesized.  All it is is a blatant show of accumulated wealth, which in the end represents nothing of personal gain.

            Athan stretches leisurely and looks around the familiar surroundings.  The servant who’d let us in – I assume he’s what Athan has called a ‘butler’ – bows to Athan – openly ignoring me – and motions to a hallway leading from the entry.

            “Shall I go inform the Master of your arrival?” he asks in a drawling monotone voice.

            “No, thanks.  I remember my way around, no need to bring them here.” Athan answers and receives a lethargic nod.

            “What you can do, though, is allow me to introduce my wife and son to you.” he adds.

            The man barely manages to cover his surprise.

            “Asthura, this is our butler” – so I guessed right – “Mackley.  Mackley, meet milady Asthura and my son, Killis.”

            Mackley bows to me this time, obviously flustered.

            “Well go announce our arrival, shall we?” Athan smiles at me and leads me away with an arm about my shoulders.

            “Such polite people your parents employ!” I exclaim angrily.  Athan gives me a light squeeze.

            “They’ve just never been further than the edge of town, so they’re very close-minded,” he explains.

            I snort softly but am too tired to take up any sort of argument.

            “So are there any formalities expected of me?” I ask; I don’t want to be caught off guard by something I should have done.

            “I suppose you’ve never curtsied?” Athan inquires after a bit of thought.

            I shake my head.

            “Hmm… Well, they go something like this as I recall…” he puts the middle of his right foot against the heel of his left and holds out imaginary dress folds to his sides.  He lowers himself at the knees and inclines his head and body, then rises again after several seconds.  I frown a bit, thinking the whole idea rather foolish, but it cannot be so difficult… can it?

            I set Killis on his feet and try to imitate Athan’s actions but my knees wobble and I tumble forward into his expectant arms – he knew I would fall.  He chuckles.

            “Better than my sister did when she was learning – she fell just putting her feet together!” Athan recounts.

            “Well I can’t very well fall onto your parents, hmm?”

            “Then try again!”

            I retry the series of movements, with only the success of catching myself before I fall.  Killis, who has been watching me intently, mimics the curtsey, doing far better than I by not falling.

            Athan laughs.

            “Well done, Kili!  But men do not curtsey, for we don’t wear skirts!” he explains to his young son.

            “We bow; like this.” He again places his feet together but this time he bends his arms against his torso – on in front and one behind – and bends at the hips.

            Kili giggles and sketches a perfect bow of his own, curls bouncing about his head.

            Athan rumples the golden curls in congratulations.

            “Too bad I can’t teach your mother as easily, eh?” he remarks lightly.

            “Well perhaps you like to… ‘teach’ me later?”  I ask, raising an eyebrow in mockery of his turning everything I say into a sexual innuendo.

            “I plan to!” he exclaims, the familiar mischievous glint sparking in the depths of his eyes. “But for now you must try again!”

            I grumble something and try a third curtsy, this time shaking but not falling.

            “Hmm… Good enough,” Athan says.

            “I could slap you so hard right now…” I narrow my eyes at him.

            “But think of the child!” he cries in an over-dramatic voice.

            Kili looks up at us in puzzlement.

            “C’mon, Kili,” I take his small hand in mine, “We have relatives to meet, hmm?  Let’s leave the goofball to his gimmicks.”

            I start off down the hall, walking in fake stiffness.

            Athan struts up beside me, mimicking Mackey’s rigid posture and doleful face.

            “Welll then miiilladyy,” he drawls. “If you wiilll not haaave your huuusband wiitthh you, perhaps Iii maay be of assiiisstance?”

            “How did your parents ever manage to resist locking you up and throwing away the key?” I joke at him.

            He grins widely, dropping the façade and shrugs.

            “I’d have raised all hell ‘til they let me out, I expect!  That and I’m their heir, so they couldn’t very well off me!”

            “Lucky for you, then, that you were born male, an?”

            He nods.

            “Though I’ve always thought I’d make a decent woman…” he muses.

            “If your curtsies are anything to go by, then no wonder!  How about this; let’s you and I trade places and you be the wife so I can bow!” I offer.

            “You mean you’d be willing to give up all the modern comforts of fashionable skirts and frills all for me?” he squeals in feigned delight.

            “Oh, there is much I wouldn’t do to get the hells out of this corset!” I exclaim. “I hate it!”

            He smiles appreciatively down at my chest.

            “I like it…”

            “You would!” I point out dryly.

            “Well you can wear a dress with a higher neck if that style annoys you so badly–”

            “It does.”

            Fine, I’ll see what I can do about it, then.”

            I nod in acceptance of his offer, wrapping my free arm around his.  He bends his elbow about my hand in the custom of Humans and smiles at me.

            I can’t help but smile back.

 

 

                                                                                                                                                                       

 

 

 

            We meet his sister and her family in the back yard.  They are gathered about the general area of a huge tree of unfamiliar type on the far side of the yard, enjoying the weather – it is not so out for them as it is for me.  A woman with strawberry blonde hair sits on a blanket under the tree, reading a man who lies stretched out beside her in a crimson outfit similar to the one Athan wears.  I guess him to be Athan’s brother-in-law.  Two boys run about and roughhouse near the same tree.  The bigger boy has black hair that is straight and hands to his chin in a shiny mop.  The smaller boy has dirty blonde hair that reaches the tops of his ears.

            “My nephews, Camlo and Dovidas,” Athan explains.  I nod.

            “And the two under the tree are your sister and your va dmupam?” I ask.

            He nods.

            “Samina – my sister – and Zorion – my brother-in-law,” he says, telling me who is who, for he knows how little knowledge I have of human names and whether the are masculine or feminine. “C’mon, I’ll introduce you to them!”

            I walk with him across the lawns, damning my shoes for every pinching step and wanting desperately to go barefoot.  Kili shrinks more tightly against my skirts the closer we get.  He seeks to hide among the folds, being the shy child that he is.

            “Don’t worry, Kili, they won’t bite!” I try to reassure him.  He doesn’t seem to believe me.

            Samina sees us coming and lays her book down in her lap, staring at Athan like she’s just seen a ghost.  Zorion stares also but his gaze is directed at me.  It makes me uncomfortable.  Camlo and Dovidas stop their wrestling and stare at Kili with intense interest.

            Samina rises slowly, regarding her brother with some indecision.  She seems to make up her mind and immediately breaks into a run at Athan.  He opens his arms to her, face lighting up and she rushes to him to form a tight embrace.

            “Varathan, it’s you!  It’s truly you?” she gasps.

            “Well who else would I possibly be?” he asks, good-natured and loving as always.

            “You’ve been gone so long; five years!”

            “I couldn’t come home any sooner; I’ve got my own life to live now.”

            She releases him, smiling and wiping tears away with the sides of her fingers.

            “You’ve not changed much… Though you’re taller, I think, and your hair is longer…”

            “You’re not any different either, Min.”

            Her gaze turns to me in open curiosity.

            “And this is your… wife?” she asks hesitantly.

            “Believe it or not! Asthura: Samina. Min: Asthura.  And Killis is around here somewhere…”

            “Killis?”

            “My son!” Arath announces proudly.

            I move my skirts to reveal Kili’s frightened face.

            “He’s shy,” I say in simple explanation.

            “A-h-h,” Samina looks at Kili, then at me, then at Athan. “But I thought that Humans and Kafriis…”

            “He’s a miracle, Min!  Come,” he grabs her hands and tugs in the direction of the huge tree, “Introduce me to your boys!”

            “But you already know them…”

            “Last time I saw them Dovidas was two and Camlo just a tiny babe!”

            He releases her to jog over to Zorion, who had risen slowly, and gives him a brief embrace before talking to him.

            “I’ve no idea how you did it, Miss Asthura, but you changed him!”

            I can’t tell if she means that in compliment or scorn.

            “Umm just Asthura, please…  But ‘changed’ him how?” I ask, vexed.

            “Well, Varathan hasn’t been so… alive for many years – since our elder brother Durriken was killed,” she explains solemnly.

            “He – you – had an older brother?” I exclaim, the knowledge slamming into me with about the equivalent force of a boom gale. 

            Samina nods, then looks at me, and I can see the lingering pain in her eyes.

            “It must still hurt him inside, then,” she says quietly, “if he had no told you…”

            I nod in understanding.  Losing a loved one is unspeakably cruel to the heart, I am well aware.

            “Please, allow me to introduce you to my family and let us have the pleasure of your – and Killis’ was it? – company?” she offers with a smile.

            I find myself smiling a bit in return and liking the second human of the many I have met.

 

                                                                                             

 

 

 

 

            Zorion is a tall man, standing about six feet three inches; he towers over me.  He is thin but not gangly like Athan, more as though he has just recovered from a recent illness.  His cheeks are hollow and his eyes are sunken but bright.  They are rather astonishing, in truth, reminding me of a puddle of oil I saw spilled in the sunlight once.  They have the same rainbow on gray effect.  His hair is night black and I would assume is usually shiny, but today it is more dull than normal, and makes his skin look ghastly pale.  Over all he looks terribly tired but determined to stay awake to spend time with his family and prove his resilience.

            As dark and sickly as Zorion looks, Samina is the opposite.  Her blue eyes are bright and lively and her cheeks are tinged a healthy pink.  She fairly glows with the sun setting off the red in her hair as it does to Athan.  She has a ready smile and a gentle heart; I can see why Zorion married her.

            Their children bear striking resemblances to their parents.  Dovidas’ dark hair is combined with blue eyes, giving him a piece of each parent.  He’s relatively serious for a seven-year-old, trying to be like his naturally taciturn father.

            Camlo is his brother’s opposite, just as Zorion and Samina seem opposites.  The younger boy laughs and squeals and talks almost constantly, always begging an ever-patient Dovidas to come play.  As they are two years apart most games that appeal to one appeal to the other as well, to the luck of their parents.

            They regard Kili – who sits huddled in my lap – with eager interest, sizing up his worth as a possible playmate and partner in mischief.  Dovidas seems to be reaching the conclusion that Kili is too much younger than himself – they are, after all, four years apart.  The realization that he is two years older is slowly dawning on Camlo and it’s not hard to tell that he’s already scheming what trouble to get himself and Kili into as soon as they are out from under adult supervision.

            Kili does not seem so eager to be left to get to know them, so I let him remain huddled against me.

            “Varathan, it’s good to have you back,” Zorion admits in a deep, rich voice.

            “It’s good to be back, Rion!” Athan exclaims as he lowers himself to sit on the blanket to my right.

            Zorion’s gaze comes to rest expectantly on my husband, but the man is too busy looking happily about the yard, a stupid grin on his face.

            “Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Zorion waves a hand at me.

            “Hmm?  Oh! Pardon my manners; my brain has run off to the orchard I think…” Athan apologizes. “This is my wife, Asthura, and my son, Killis.”

            Zorion looks at me, his eyes sharp as they absorb my flaming red hair and green eyes.

            “She is a Kafriis?”

            Athan nods, missing, in his exuberance, the tone of voice in which Zorion spoke.

            “And you’re Human,” I observe back, using the same tone.

            The man’s eyes instantly turn icy towards me and his face hardens as though it were stone as his body tenses slightly.  Our eyes lock and hold.  I suddenly feel frozen despite the heat and wrap my arms about Kili.

            “Do you have wings?” Samina asks, not in mockery but in open curiosity.

            “All Kafriis do,” I reply matter-of-factly.

            “But I’ve never seen a Kafriis with wings!” she says.

            “We don’t make a habit of showing them to Humans,” I try my best not to say the word with malice.

            “Why not?”

            “Because some Humans kill us for the bones and feathers,” I tell her bluntly.  She gasps and pales.        

            “But that’s… murder!” she cries.

            I shrug.

            “Depends on who you ask it seems.”

            “Whatever do they use the… the wings for?” Samina is just as horrified by this revelation as Athan was, even less so, actually.

            “The feathers are used for trophus cloaks, arrows, and brushes.  The bones are used for wind chimes, flutes, ornaments… There are many different uses,” Zorion enlightens her.  He pops a luu fruit into his mouth from a basket beside him.  I wonder why he would eat such a sour thing.  His wife does not take this knowledge as calmly as he; in fact he looks like she’s about to be sick.

            “I had no idea…” she presses her hand to her forehead.

            “Many don’t,” I say plainly. “But it’s the way of the world these days.”

 

 

                                                           

 

 

 

 

            The heated flush fades from Kili’s cheeks as he sits in a bath of cool water.  His eyes are brightening as he is released from the oppressive heat and they glitter with inherited mischief.  He giggles and squeals as I pour water over his head and tries to squirm away as I soap his hair.  I don’t know what it is in a boy that makes him resent soap until they’re older, but they’re all born to it.

            “Nai huv!”  Jura nama!” I yelp at Kili as he seeks to splash away from me.

            Hey now! Get back here!

            He shakes his head stubbornly.

            “Ten rap tete temahp puhhjnp.  Ten hap da jfah!”

            You’re going to meet Papa’s parents tonight.  You must be clean!

            He continues to shake his head.

            “Killis Durran!  Nama!” I holler, jerking a finger at the bath rim in front of me.  I realize finally that his eyes have traveled up over my shoulder and are wide with dear.  Frowning I set the soap down and stand, then turn.

            Zorion stands there, watching Kili coldly.

            “Yes?” I demand.  His attention flickers to me, eyes glaring down along his nose.

            “Such a rudimentary language, Kafriis,” he observes.

            “I wouldn’t think you spoke it,” I spit.

            “I do not, but a friend once explained it to me.  I don’t see how you understand anyone in speaking it.”

            “Well I wouldn’t expect a Human to grasp it! If you’re only here to tell me you’re bad with linguistics then you can leave now.”

            He snorts.

            “How very rude you are.  I simply came to tell you that dinner has been arranged to commence in an hour.  Don’t be late.”

            With that he turns on his heel and leaves.  I relax my hands from clenched fists, the palms sore from where my nails had dug into them.  I return to kneeling by the tub and Kili returns to me.  We finished the bath in silence.

 

                                                           

 

 

 

           

“Here, I’ll get it tan fuwa,” Athan murmurs as he takes the pin from my hand and secures my hair.  He takes up the next pin and fixes up another lock with practiced ease.  

            “I used to do Min’s hair for her before she could manage on her own,” he offers by way of explanation to my puzzled expression.

            “I though Human men weren’t supposed to know such things.  You’re supposed to hunt and stick your chest out… and hate soap,” I add in an afterthought.

            “Yes, generally,” Athan laughs. “But my circumstances were different.”

            “Your brother was the male child while you were growing up?” I ask softly.

            Athan falls uncharacteristically silent as his hands fall to rest on my shoulders and his eyes flood with remembered hurt.

            “Samina mentioned him to me; I shouldn’t have said anything…”

            “No, it’s okay… I should have told you about him years ago, I guess… But yes, you’re right about him being raised as the heir.  He was four years older than me, bigger, stronger, and usually a great deal smarter,” he gives a faint, rueful smile.

            “So my parents let me do what I would once Durriken was old enough to start learning things an heir should know, and I spent a lot of time helping Samina; she had a hard time learning to be a social female.”

            I nod minutely and Athan picks up another pin to continue my hair.

            “There might be foods served tonight that you can’t eat or shouldn’t.  My parents will have no idea what to have cooked and what not to, so don’t think that they’re trying to poison or embarrass you,” Athan tells me and I’m grateful for the heads up.

            “Is it possible for me to sit away from Zorion?” I ask

            Athan frowns a bit.

            “Umm… Maybe.  I’m not sure what seating arrangement will be in place.  Why?”

            “Uh… He and I don’t get on well,” I explain.

            “Oh.  All right, then… There, just need to put this on…” he fixes a bow sort of thing – that I’d been wondering the use of – over the pins to cover them.

            “Sgora!” He announces triumphantly in Shoak Elven.

            “Pehqj.”  Thanks.

            I stand from the chair and kiss him.

            “Now, where’s Kili?” I ask.

            “I left him trying to tie his shoes; I figured it would keep him occupied for awhile,” Athan answers, mouth turned up in amusement.

            I laugh.

            “Gods know he’s probably made a terribly mess of the laces by now!  Go untangle them, hmm?” I give him a shove at the hips towards Kili’s adjoining room. “And don’t dally!”

 

 

For the first time I am grateful for the separation between men and women in Human customs.  It places Zorion far away from me at the other end of the table, as men sit at the norn end and women at the sorn.   Athan’s mother Alyssa sits on my right at the foot of the table and Samina sits opposite me on Alyssa’s right.  Ruanaidh, Athan’s father, rules at the head of the table with Athan on his right and Zorion on his left.  Kili sits between Athan and I; Dovidas sits beside his father and Camlo by his mother. 

            “Oh, here, dear!  You simply must try this!”  Alyssa exclaims and offers me something I don’t recognize.  They are small leaf-like things, covered in a glaze.

            “Erm… What are they?” I ask.

            “They’re lindira shoots,” she says.

            “Well… All right,” I pick one up and take a bite.  The leaf is faintly sweet while the glaze is spicy.  It is warm in my mouth, and delicious and I say so.

            Alyssa smiles widely, displaying her white teeth.

            “Our cook truly is something special!  She’s from the norn, you know; makes the most wonderful dishes!”

            I nod. 

            “On what… cultural foods do Kafriis dine?” Zorion asks, having been keeping half his attention on our conversation it seems, in order to make a fool of me.

            “A lot of it would kill you, I expect,” I barely keep the snap out of my voice.

            “Good thing I don’t plan to eat any of it in the future,” he replies coolly.  I’m relieved when he is drawn into conversation with the men by a comment from Ruanaidh. 

            Alyssa’s attention turns from her son-in-law to me, her expression apologetic.

            “Try not to let him bite too deep, dear.  He’s strained to even be that pleasant right now,” she tries to excuse him but the attempt does little good.

            ‘Pleasant?!  You call that pleasant?!’, I want to scream, but restrain myself to civil conversation.

            “Oh?  And what is wrong with him?” I ask, truly interested for reasons beyond me.

            “He’s recovering from ruzab sickness,” Alyssa says by way of explanation, obviously expecting me to know what she means, luckily it takes her only a moment to realize that I don’t.  “He was attacked by a pyre perhaps a month ago.  A Grand Healer cleansed most of the poison from his blood, but there is still residue.  It makes him very ill and weak.  It’s a wonder he’s even alive at all!  I doubt any of us can relate to how pained he is right now.”

            Indeed, I can see him beginning to shiver from exertion, but I don’t mention it.  Obviously his family knows that he’s pride will not allow him to show his weakness, and in order to save it they pretend not to notice.  I feel a flicker of pity and respect kindling within me, but the flame only stays small.

 

 

 

            I jolt as an equally spectacular thundering boom that shakes the house follows a particularly bright flash of lightning.  My muscles are tense and my shoulders ache to an extent where my entire back throbs.  If this damn storm hadn’t come up I would have gone flying tonight!  But alas, it rages around me and all I can do is huddle beneath the blankets until it passes. 

            I hate thunderstorms.

            I yelp at the next boom, even louder than the last.  Too late I clap my hand over my mouth.  Athan stirs beside me – damn him for being able to sleep like the dead through these things – and blinks at the ceiling. 

            “Sorry I woke you,” I whisper in a small voice.  Damn I feel like such a coward!

            Athan’s beautiful blue eyes focus on me and I calm, thinking of the clear sky as I look at them; then another flash of lightning illuminates the room in strobes and my nerves fray again.  He smiles and pushes stray hair out of my eyes. 

            “I don’t mind,” he murmurs, “Quite the boomer out there, huh?”

            I nod and huddle against him as he puts his arms about me.

            “Damn, I’m going to be a zombie tomorrow…” I begin to sigh, though it turns into a yelp due to a clap of thunder.

            “Your back is burning…” he remarks as he starts to knead the kinks out, his hands cool as always.

            The fear of the thunder ebbs somewhat and it seems the booms are growing quieter as I relax.  Gods, what would I do without Athan?

            “Ruri? Bebi?” a small voice squeaks from the doorway. 

            I look over my shoulder to see Kili shaking in the doorway, clutching his pui, a stuffed eitar, tight enough to burst the seams.

            “Ah, Kili.  Nama, deda,” I extend a hand to him and he toddles over and climbs up onto the bed, crawling in between Athan and me.  I wrap my arms around him and he cuddles around his pui.  Athan chuckles and strokes Kili’s hair.

            “Ten fyqa ten rupam – jnuj jema” he says in his limited Kafriis.

            You’re like your mother, afraid of thunder.

            “Hopefully not so much once he’s older,” I say and Athan nods in agreement.

            “I was afraid of thunder too, once upon a time,” he recalls.

            “Really?  You never told me that before, Sir Never-Fear!” I poke him in the stomach.

            “Perhaps because I was expecting that reaction, hmm?” he chuckles, then sighs, looking at the smaller version of himself curled against my breast. “I do love him so much it almost hurts, but sometimes damn…”

            It’s my turn to chuckle.

            “Wish he weren’t afraid of thunder, hmm?” I poke him again.

            Athan sticks his tongue out at me. 

            “It’s really not fair, you know!  You women get all the restraint!” he runs his hand through his hair and stretches out in the bed.

            “Not all, just some – not to mention anchors,” I motion Kili.

            “An anchor no one ever wanted so bad in the history of the world!” he exclaims.

            Finally we are silent, perhaps quieted by the increasing gaps between the claps of thunder.  Presently the thunder is just a soft and distant echo.  The rain patters against the roof and lulls me to sleep at last.

 

 

            Sunlight filters softly through the window, creating a rectangle of quiet warmth across the bed.  A breeze floats through the room, billowing the thin curtains.  The air is fresh and cool, the heat and mugginess having been cleared by the thunder.  Though I hate thunder I have to admit that sometimes I am grateful for it.  I stretch in the bed, noticing that I am the only occupant.  Likely Kili woke up early like he always does and Athan got up with him so as to let me sleep.

            Indeed, what would I ever do without him!

 

 

 

Samina walks beside me, chattering away pleasantly as we enjoy the comparatively cooler day.  My shoes dangle by their laces from my hand – I took them off the moment I could stand them no longer.

            We stroll through the orchard that grows on the est side of Durran lands.  The leaves rustle overhead, dappling the sunlight in an ever-shifting pattern.  The breeze runs fingers through Samina’s golden hair, making it glint, liquid in the sunlight.

            “What kind of fruit do you grow?” I ask, looking at the blue and yellow fruit in open curiosity.

            Samina looks surprised by my question.

            “Vailum,” she says, and reaches up to pull down an impressive example, then places it in me hand.

            “You’ve never seen them before?”

            I shake my head.  I turn the fruit over in my hands.  It is firm and astonishingly smooth – I nearly drop it.

            “Try some,” Samina offers.

            I sniff the vailum, but it doesn’t smell poisonous so I lick the skin.  I cough in surprise as my eyes water.  I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth several times.  Samina looks amused by my reaction.

            “That bad, is it?” she asks.

            “No, it’s wonderful – I just hadn’t expected it to be so sweet!” I exclaim.

            “Ah, yes.  I’d forgotten that you taste things differently than we do.”

            “Well what does it taste like to you?” I ask, mildly intrigued.

            “The skin doesn’t taste like anything, but the inside is somewhat hard to describe, actually.  It’s… very sweet and… milky,” she has a hard time finding the right word.

            I look speculatively at the fruit for a moment before taking a bite.

            It’s enough to make me reel.  Samina steadies me, laughing.

            “I imagine they’re something crazy for you if just the skin was so sweet!”

            I nod in affirmation.

            “Remind me to never let Kili eat these!”

            Samina laughs.

            “Judging by what they do to my boys, he definitely shouldn’t!” she says.

            “You let them have some?  Do you tie them down afterward?”

            “I don’t give them any, but they’ve been known to sneak in here and steal some!”

            It’s my turn to laugh.

            “Well, what should I do with this?” I wave the fruit in indication of it, “I can’t in my right mind finish it!”

            “Bring it with you,” she picks another fruit, “We’ll feed them to the uuluu.”

            “ ‘Uuluu’”? I ask as we start walking again.

            “You must have seen them before; some of the best breeders are Kafriis!” she exclaims.

            “Jref tfeja is a very small place, and it’s deep in the forest.  We don’t have that much contact with the outside world.”

            “Ah, well, then you’ll be very enlightened when you return!”

            “Mm.  If I could go back, I would be.  But because I am married to Athan I am not able to return.  I cannot return there as the wife of a Human.”

            “Oh… I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” Samina says quietly.

            I shrug.

            “I don’t mind much, as long as I have my men I’m happy.”

            Samina nods.

            “I know what you mean.  Men must be the only creature in the world that is attractive because they’re pig-headed, foolish, egotistical maniacs!”

            We smile in mutual agreement. 

            “Well after so many years married to me I’d have expected you thought more highly of me than that!” Athan drops down out of a tree a few paces in front of us, a large vailum fruit that is missing a piece in hand.

            “What in Hells were you doing in a tree?” I exclaim, surprised no small amount by his appearance.

            “Oh, I climbed up after a fairy!” he says.

            “You expect me to believe that?” I say incredulously.

            “He’s telling the truth, Asthura.  The little buggers” – she barely manages to use the word rather than swear – “go nuts for vailum fruit and love to eat it right on the tree, leaving the cores for us!” Samina explains.

            “Ahh, I see,” I nod, “So you were chasing the faerie away?”

            “Fairy, fuwa.  There’s a distinct difference.”

            “There is?”

            Athan nods.

            “Faeries bite and are venomous, as well as magikal, while fairies are friendly – if annoying – with no magik.”

            “How do you tell the difference?”

            “Faeries have four wings like a drakenfly.  Fairies have two wings like flutter-bys,” he says.

            “I’ll keep that in mind next time I go to catch one of the little buggers,” I promise.

            “Good.  Faerie bites sting like hell!”

            So, where’re you headed?”

            “To fee the uuluu,” Samina tells him.

            “Ahh, you’ll like them, Asthura!” Athan tosses his vailum deftly back and forth between his hands.

            “Just as long as vailum fruit doesn’t make them as hyper as it would me!”

 

 

            The uuluu turn out to be large beasts – almost as big as Elven warhorses.  In appearance then are a cross between a wingless dragon and a horse, with a dragon’s scales and a horse’s anatomy.  The males are huge, quiet and gentle with soft eyes of metallic hues and bright, shining scales.  The females are the complete opposite.  Their eyes are bright and sharp and there scales are dull.  Three long, wickedly pointed horns form a ling down their faces.  They have sharp upper teeth and equally dangerous tempers.

            I will not go within sight – they cannot see very far – of one.

            Findelle, the unbelievably tall handler, introduces each uuluu to me as we make our way across the pasture.

            “An’ thisa woulden been Riguel, he’as ouren onalee Elven-breed beastie,” Findelle tells me in his smooth, but heavily accented, speech.

            “He’s beautiful,” I stroke his forehead, under the gaze of his kind, but clear, golden eyes.  I wonder at a jagged scar that mars the left hind leg that he seems to favor as he licks the vailum juice off my hand.  He grabs the fruit in his mouth before I can offer it.

            “He’as no gooden!  Justa sitas arouna alla day, liken a rock!”  Findelle scowls at the uuluu accusingly.

            “Why do you keep him then?” I ask.

            “Because he saved Zorion’s life, and because he is lame he would be killed otherwise,” Samina’s voice comes up behind me and I turn to her. “Zorion rode him during the Border Skirmishes.  He took an Elven barb-spear to the leg during the second year.”

            “Not unusual,” I say.  Barb-spears are the most common death among mounts and fighters alike when fighting Elves.

            “Mm, perhaps.  But you see, it happened during a night raid on Zorion’s encampment.  Twenty Elves assailed them; killed three of Zorion’s companions and Zorion almost joined the fallen.  Riguel escaped with Zorion despite the wound and took him to the healer’s hut in the last village they’d passed through before collapsing.  He saved my husband’s life,” she hugs the uuluu gratefully, “If not for him I would be a widow.”

            I stroke Riguel again, reassessing my impression of their intelligence.  I’m not overly ecstatic that he saved Zorion in particular, but I am glad for Samina’s sake.

            “Damna thing justa eatens up mya gress!” Findelle complains vehemently.

            “Which we pay you to feed him,” Samina points out dryly, “Come, Asthura.  The men are over at the female pen.”

            She gives Riguel a final pet before leading me away.

            “Why would they want to hang around those… bitches?” I ask, baffled.

            Samina shrugs, grinning at my choice of word.

            “It’s not something that I understand.  Something about the ferocity, perhaps?  Myself I don’t feel the attraction to something that can rend a person in two.”

            “Suppose if we tried to kill them they’d enjoy it?” I joke, making her chuckle.

            “Perhaps, but I don’t want to try and then end up succeeding!”

 

 

            “What is he doing?!” I hiss at Samina, following her caution to be quiet around the females.  Athan is showing Kili and his cousins around the pen, actually moving among the uuluu.

            “Showing them the uuluu, teaching them the do’s and dont’s of females,” she grins at me but it fades immediately when I don’t return it.  She squeezes my hand where it rests on the fence.  “Don’t worry, he knows what he’s doing, and the females won’t act unless provoked.”

            “ ‘Provoked’?”

            “Irritated or startled,” she says.

            “How easily do they startle?” I ask.

            “It depends on the breed.”

            “Oh.”

            Athan guides his wide-eyed followers throughout the pen, occasionally pointing or motioning slowly.  Zorion comes up and leans against the fence beside Samina, looking deathly pale against he black wisps of hair that have fallen loose from his thong. 

            “Athan has always been the only one able to be so relaxed in there.  That’s why the uuluu don’t pay him much attention,” he comments.

            I nod and then am just about startled off my feet when a loud bang! resounds from behind us.  The uuluu are at least equally surprised.  Their heads snap up in unison and several of them bellow.  The whole group starts stamping in agitation.

            Athan shouts something to the boys, jabbing a finger in the direction of the fence.  Camlo and Dovidas make to run immediately, but Kili is too scared to move away from the protecting presence of his father.  The brothers don’t get far, though, before a brown female blocks them.  Her eyes roll wildly as she shakes her head about threatening them with her horns.

            Zorion springs into action, ducking through the fence and taking a headlong, adrenaline powered run at her.

            “Fuck off!” he screams at her and rams his full body weight against her shoulder.  The female stumbles sideways, stunned.

            “Run!  Run!!” Zorion commands his sons and stumbles after them to the nearest fence.  He nearly immediately collapses to the ground, face flushed with over-exertion.  Samina cries out wordlessly and runs to them.

            My attention snaps back to Athan.  He shoves Kili toward the fence, telling him to run.  Kili hesitates then breaks into a run.  The brown has recovered her balance and moves into his way.  He immediately changes his direction, running toward me; I am at the farthest fence.

            “Kili –” I choke out.

            A large gray female smashes Athan sideways as he tries to get away after Kili.  A second black uuluu knocks him to the ground, screeching.  This already has me about to crawl through the fence when a huge dark gray sights Kili.  She does not hesitate to wheel about and charge after him, heard lowered to put her horns through him.  Athan tries to get back up but receives a vicious kick to the ribs that sends him sprawling.

            I don’t hesitate to duck through the fence.  I feel somewhat detached from everything as I run toward Kili.

            “Ruri!” he shrieks as he sees me.  His foot catches on a rock and he tumbles to the ground.  The uuluu bellows in triumph and pulls her head back to run him through.

            I scoop him up and jump to avoid her horns.  My feet come down onto the back of her head and I launch into the air, feeling my back relax as my wings beat down with enough force to know the crazed beast to the ground.

            Athan is trying weakly to get to his feet, looking like a rag doll someone has dragged over the Second Hell Gate and back.  His right arm hangs limply at an odd angle from his shoulder, and blood flows from a deep gash above his eyebrow as well as from the corner of his mouth.  I land beside him, spreading my wings to their full span.  I expect to something that cannot see me properly I look menacing, for the uuluu that had been harassing him bellow in surprise and run off.  I partially close my wings; ready to flare them out again should any more uuluu venture too close.  None do as I set Kili down and help Athan to his feet, supporting him to the safety outside the fence, Kili following wide-eyed behind us, clutching to my skirt.

            Zorion limps over, favoring his left side.  I imagine it is quite bruised after slamming into several tons of solid muscle and scales.  Samina follows close behind, ready to release her son’s hands and steady him should he falter, but knowing better than to offer support if he could possibly move under his own power.  Dovidas and Camlo grasp their mother’s hands in silence.  Camlo draws strength and reassurance from his shaking parent, but Dovidas looks more as though he realizes that Samina needs comfort from him more than he needs any from her.

            “Well…” Zorion rubs his left arm gently, “I won’t complain if that never happens again…”

 

 

 

 

            The cause of the entire ordeal manifests itself as a short, rotund man with blonde hair that is streaked gray, and a bushy mustache.  An even shorter, mouse-y man follows in his wake, carrying a large satchel from his thin shoulders.  The large man seems to be in a good mood, partially induced by the flask of spirits that he carries.  He takes a swig before continuing what he had been saying to his companion.

            “Jolly good bang, wouldn’t you say, Ansel?  Definitely a success, definitely!  I don’t believe I’ve yet heard one like that.  Care to have another go?” he prattles.

            “Erm… Perhaps later, Father,” he brings the man’s attention to us, “I believe you’ve rather caught attention…”

            “Eh?” the man’s attention swings from his son to us and he focuses on Zorion, his face lighting up. “Zorion, m’boy!  How are you?  It’s been such a long time indeed!”

            His mood doesn’t spread to Zorion, who is looking as angry as I’ve ever seen a man.

            “Perhaps you ought to see a healer, you look frazzled, rather frazzled!” – and indeed Zorion does, his jacket ripped and his hair come loose all around his face, lips drawn into a thin line – “Oh, will you look at that specimen!” he cries delightedly to Ansel, pointing at me.

            Zorion wastes no time in stepping over to the man.  He pulls back his good arm, hand clenching into a fist and slams it into the man’s face.  I hear the satisfying crunch of a broken nose and Zorion turns to his family to usher them back to the house.

            Ansel steps neatly out of the way so as not to be borne to the ground under his father’s weight.  The man’s nose gushes blood all over his face, and his shirtfront has been sloshed with alcohol.

            “Wow!” he cries, “He’s really grown up into a fine young man, eh, Ansel?  He packs quite a punch, quite a punch…” 

            He gingerly touches his fingers to his face and seems vexed at the blood that stains them.

            “Can you manage him?” I ask Ansel, as he helps his father to a sitting position.

            “Um… Well yes, I suppose,” he stammers.

            “Good.”

            My wings fade from sigh and I start making my way to the house with Athan, barely able to resist going back to give the man’s nose a second break.

 

 

            The man is, in fact, Myles – Zorion’s uncle – making Ansel his cousin.  I don’t think that I would have ever guessed on my own that they’re related.  Ansel is only a few inches taller than I, and thin like a daeh pole.  A pair of too-large lenses with a crack in one side is constantly sliding down his nose.  His hair is a mouse brown with a white tuft at his temple that is the result of a nearly deadly smash to the head when he was little.  Black and blue ink stains spatter his hands; his fingers are entirely colored.  His pale skin speaks of a scholar man’s life spent indoors – in fact he keeps his father’s accounting books.

            “What was that ‘jolly good bang’ that your father was talking about earlier?” I ask him as he creates several stacks of books on the large table at which I sit in the library.

            “Hmm? Oh, it was a firecracker,” he answers, grunting as he heaves over several thick tomes.

            “What’s a firecracker?”

            “Well… here,” he reaches into his satchel on the floor and pulls out a dented paper tube about the length of my hand.  He pushes his glasses back up his nose as he sets the thing in front of me and plunks unceremoniously into a chair at my right.  I pick the firecracker up gingerly and turn it over in my hands.

            “I don’t see how it could make such a sound,” I say.

            Ansel pulls his stork-like legs up under him on the chair, sitting on them to give him added height at the table.

            “They’re made out of woodchips and ground-up firestone, mixed with wynde.  You set the fuse on fire and the firestone and wynde reacts and you get a huge bang, as well as a small flash if you’re lucky,” he explains.

            “Why did you set one off near the uuluu pen?” I try not to demand.  Apparently I fail.

            “I can’t begin to apologize for that!  Father must have taken one from my bag when we were resting at the inn for lunch, and set a match to it.  He’s rather –” he searches for a word.

            “Eccentric?” I suggest.

            “ –Absent-minded,” he finishes.

            “Why?”

            “My mother died when I was very small.  Father was overwhelmed with grief for years, though he’s a lot better now than he used to be.

            “My condolences.”

            He shrugs.

            “I don’t let myself dwell on it,” he admits; then adds – thoughtfully – pushing his glasses up again, “I might end up like father if I did.”