CHAPTER IV
Now that she was more apropriatly dressed, Palas had time
to really think about everything that had happened, and she just
couldn't make sense of her feelings. On the one hand, she wanted
to thank Mojere for what he had done, for all the love he had
shown, for putting up with her while she was recovering. On the
other hand, she wanted to punch him. True, she knew that he was
guiltless in the matter, but somehow he was the easiest persom to
lay blame on. Knowing that had he not cared for her, it would
have been her father--gods fobid!--or one of their tenuous
extended relations doing it didn't make it any easier, or any less
embarassing.
Up to this point, Palas's method of dealing with the inner
chaos that described her emotions had been fairly simple. She
simply ignored it, and used anger as an outlet for her confusion.
Generally, she found that this made her feel better. This time,
though, there wasn't anyone she could really get angry at. The
ones who were really at fault were dead, after all.
That left her in a bit of a quandry. The only one who had
anything to do with the matter was also the person who had held
her and cared for her until she regained her wits. Perhaps she
could have gotten angry with him still, had it not been for a small
part of her, hidden away as deep as she could push it, that still
thought of him as "Mojo." Indeed, she felt slightly lost without
him being there, and she had to curb a sudden desire to call out
to him. Without someone to get angry at, Palas had no way to deal
with her embarassment, and that left her in a new and uncertain
position. Palas looked over to where the... clothing... she'd been
wearing was wadded in the corner, and felt a wave of disgust rising
within her. How could she have let herself be so helpless? How
could she have put such a burden on her brother?
It was her own fault, she decided. After all, had she stayed
in the elven village as she should have, she never would have come
across Annista, kicked by her own mule, and would never have
revealed to the humans that she possessed magic. The Purifiers
would never have come for her, and she'd never have overdrawn, never
would have had her reaction. Another, part of her whispered that
none of it would have happened if she'd been like the others, or
perhaps better yet, if she'd never been born at all. If she'd been
a normal elf, and never felt the sweet touch of magic, so much in
her life would have been better. She wouldn't have to hide herself,
wouldn't have to pretend to be less than she was simply to satisfy
the sensibilities of those who lacked her gift.
She remembered the first time she'd felt magic's caress, back
when she'd been a child, hardly more than three years past twenty.
The exhilaration, the ecstacy, the wonder, all so beautiful, but all
tainted with the fear of discovery, with the shame of knowing that she
brought danger to her people simply by existing. She remembered how
it had felt at first, the burning need to grow closer to the magic,
the desire to display her skill, to take pride in what she had
worked so hard to learn; the nights she lay awake, the weaves and
flows of magic playing through her mind like a symphony, keeping her
from sleep.
Then, too, she remembered the night her first teacher, a
human woman named Almathea, had been dragged from her house in the
middle of the night. Everyone, men, women, childen, even the elves-
-perhaps especially the elves--were forced into the streets to watch
as the Purifiers tortured her, stripping her clothes away, tying her
spread eagle between two posts, whipping her, always questioning her.
Often they asked nonsense questions; Questions about glowing rocks
and glass balls, asking what it was like to consort with deamons, and
what sort of shoes did the Deamon-King Shenegal wear. There was
little to distinguish the serious questions from those made up on the
spot to confuse her, and indeed, no matter how she answered, the
torture only increased, in full view of everyone. The one question
they came back to time and again, though, was whether or not she
knew of others like her. They hinted, in a vauge way, that her
torment would be lessened if she could give them someone else to
share it with. Palas cried out in fear and terror, but her wail was
lost in the shouting of the mob. She never forgot the faces she saw
that night, not once in all the decades since. The barkeep and the
cobbler, the butcher and the blacksmith, these she had almost
expected to see cheering at the spectacle; they'd always been
outspoken in their hatred of magi and elves. There were others,
though, unexpected voices, so many that a great part of her faith
in humanity died that night. Goodman Jamal, the baker, a somewhat
round, kindly old man she'd once seen cry over the death of a cat,
was screaming from them to kill her, and Palas knew he didn't mean to
end her suffering. Lady Kilian, the Speaker's daughter, educated in
the courts and palaces of the Eastern half of the continent, laughing--
laughing!--as they whipped a woman who had been accounted a close
friend. Despite the torment, despite seeing her friends turn on her,
still, Almathea did not betray Palas. That, too, was something Palas
would remember always.
In the end they burned her, though what had been left by then
could hardly have been called alive. After that, there had been no
more temptation to flaunt her magic, and all too often visions of that
night held her awake, instead of visions of magic.
Why? Palas asked herself, not for the first time, why does my
existance infuriate them? I can't help that I was born with this
power, any more than I could help being an elf, or a woman. Why is
life so cruel? Palas realized that she was on the verge of breaking
into tears again, and her moment of self-pity was washed away by
renewed anger as she rubbed the unshed tears from her eyes. Gods,
she chided herself, bad enough that I've been treated like a child for
a month already. I don't have to keep acting like one.
A soft knocking drew her attention away from her morose
thoughts.
"Palas?" Mojere called, "Are you well?" Palas did her
best to make herself look more cheerful.
"You can come in, brother dear. I was merely thinking."
"Well, that is something to be thankful for, to be sure." Mojere
said as he ducked through the curtain, then he added, smiling, "I
suppose it is true what they say, then. There truly is a first time
for everything. Ouch!" Palas hit him on the shoulder, just lightly
enough that he knew she wasn't really angry at him. "Well, if there
was any doubt before, that removes it. You are back to your old
self again." There was a brief uncomfortable silence as Palas
realized she wasn't sure how to react to that statement. What was
more, Mojere wasn't quite sure whether he meant it with relief or
with a vauge disappointment. Neither noticed the other's moment of
confusion, which was probably for the best.
"Well," Palas finally said, "I'm dressed. So... now what?"
Mojere smiled.
"Well, I imagine you could go back home."
"Home? Oh," Palas almost blushed at her lapse, "You mean my
home. Yes, I probably should be getting back. After all this time,
I'll probably have some phenominal dusting to do." Palas fought back
the fear that struck through her when she thought of going back to her
own place and being so... alone. Some of what she was feeling must
have shown on her face, because Mojere suggested that she could stay
the night, if she wanted, and go back home in the morning.
"However," he added, "I would like to have my bed back tonite.
I know it must seem that I am an ungracious host..."
"Mojeresheristola Taltonius, have you lost your mind? Ungracious?
After everything you've done? I really will have to pin your ears back
if you keep talking like that!" Her brother grinned.
"Good. Sleeping on the floor has given me a soreness in my back
that a good night of rest in a soft bed would do much to cure."
"You slept on the floor?"
"Where else would I sleep? Do not fear, I put down the
spare blankets, so it was not cold, or very uncomfortable. Besides,
I found it wise to be near you during the night."
"I am almost afraid to ask, but: why?"
"Because you would wake up late at night, and if I was not there,
you would cry and I would have a very hard time getting you back to
sleep." Palas nodded. That wasn't unbearably embarassing, after all.
At least, not comparatively. Palas did spend the night there--and the
next two, as well, which drew comment from Galantamel when he came to
see how she was doing--but she did finally manage to move back to her
own home, although she was sorely tempted when Mojere offered to let
her stay yet again.
The first night back in her own bed was terrible for her. She
woke almost constantly throughout the night, more than once calling
out for her Mojo to come get her, and twice more she woke to find
herself crying uncontrollably. Somehow the night seemed to loom around
her, pressing in, frightening her despite her repeated self-assurances
that there was nothing to fear. The sun had advanced far in its path
when Palas finally got up the next day, feeling less rested than she
had before trying to sleep. Fortunately, the next night was slightly
easier, as was the night after that, and by the end of the week she
was, if not exactly comfortable on her own, then at least no longer
reduced to abject terror. Indeed, at the end of the week, she only
woke twice during the night, and only once crying for her brother.
She wasn't sure which was worse, the fact that she couldn't sleep the
night through without her brother, or that she now managed to feel
proud about the fact that she only cried out for him once during the
night.
It was, she decided, the fault of her dreams, though to be honest
that was hardly a fair judgement, since she could remember so little of
them. She had a fairly good idea of what went on in them, though, from
what she did remember, and she knew with great certainly that Mojere
figured strongly in each and every one. She wanted nothing more than
to banish everything after her fight with the Purifiers from her
memory, but for some reason she was forced to relive the experiences
again and again in her dreams. In a way, it was worse than having
gone through it the first time, since she could sometimes remember
part of the dreams, while her memory of her month with Mojere was
completely blank. Many of the dreams merely left her embarassed, or
even angry, but sometimes she would wake and feel an empty, nameless,
aching need, and these were the times when she was unable to hold
in her tears. Almost as bad were the times when she woke with a
feeling that WAS easily identified, some strange, childish craving, and
these were the times when she cried out for Mojo to come and make
everything right for her. It wasn't right, Palas pouted--though anyone
suggesting that she pouted would have been better off placing his head
into a hornets' nest--it wasn't right that she should be made to
suffer over something she had no control over.
Her crisis was temporarily resolved a few days later. She was
invited to have dinner with her father and brother, at her brother's
home. Her father commented on how much better she appeared. She nodded
and said that she felt completely recovered. Both her father and her
brother were quick to repeat Galantamel's warning not to use magic.
She assured them that she had no intention of getting near magic
again for a good long while, at which her father laughed and her
brother merely smiled. When the meal was done, their father left,
saying that he, unfortunately, had to get back to his duties. Palas
said that she would stay a little while longer, to help clean up. In
truth, she had finally worked up the nerve to talk to Mojere about the
problems she'd been having, and was more than a little uncomfortable
doing so in front of her father. She turned to Mojere, still a little
uncertain of where to begin, but sure that he'd know what to do.
The next thing she knew, she was waking up in her brother's arms
again. The second she realized where she was, she leapt away in a
panic. She looked down and was very much relieved to find herself still
dressed as she had been.
"How long?" Was the first thing she thought to ask.
"About an hour. How could you?" The incriminating, angry tone in
his voice surprised her and, truth be told, frightened her nearly to
tears.
"I didn't mean to!" She cried, "It just happened! I.. I don't
know how, I mean, I..."
"How can you work magic without meaning to?" He demanded. The
question doused her fear with confusion.
"Magic? But, wha.. What do you mean?"
"Well, how else would this have happened? You must have cast
something, and thrown yourself back into your reaction." Palas shook
her head.
"I haven't touched magic since I recovered, Moj... Mojere." She
saw doubt on his face, and sighed. "Even had I wanted to, brother
dear, I couldn't have. Until just recently, I wasn't even able to feel
magic, and even now I can only barely sense it, much less draw upon it."
"Then how did this happen?"
"I don't know." Palas paused a moment before asking the question
that, for the moment, concerned her even more. "You.. you aren't mad at
me are you?" Mojere shook his head.
"For what? If you have not used magic, what is there to blame
you for?"
"Well, I just, I mean, at first I thought you were mad at me
simply because, well.." She realized she was babbling a bit. Mojere
noticed, too, and guessed the cause.
"No, I was not angry at you because I had to take care of you
again." He exhaled in a way that was almost a chuckle, "Besides, I am
used to it by now." More seriously, he continued, "But I think you
should see Galantamel."
"No!" Palas exclaimed, then tried to cover it by explaining, "That
is, I'm fine now, and there was no harm done, and we've bothered him so
much as it is." She saw that her brother wasn't buying it. "Fine, I'll
be honest about it. I don't want to see Galantamel."
"But, Palas, I am worried about you."
"If it were for a week, or even a day, I would agree with you. But
an hour? Surely an hour isn't worth bothering him?" Mojere sighed.
"All right, you win. But if this happens again, you will go to
see him, whether you agree to or not." Palas nodded.
"Of course. But I'm sure it won't happen again."
Palas was wrong, however. The next day, she went to see Mojere on
the pretext of retrieving a few articles of clothing she'd left behind.
She was barely inside before she collapsed, sobbing, into his arms.
Mojere had actually been half-expecting something of the sort, and led
her back into the bedroom, where he sat down on the bed and let her
cling to him until she recovered. When she did, she agreed to go see
Galantamel the next day, not that Mojere gave her much choice, of course.
Mojere also told her in no uncertain terms that he was going to go with
her. Palas strongly protested.
"But, Mojere, it's bad enough I have to tell Galantamel about it,
I don't want you there, watching!"
"Then I shall wait outside while you speak to him." Mojere was
adamant, "There is no way I will allow you to make the journey by
yourself."
"Why not?" Palas demanded, "I've made the trip at least a
hundred times! Are you afraid I'll get lost?"
"Palas, you have regressed to being a child twice in the past two
days. What if you do the same tommorow, and I am not there to help
you? What if it happens when you are half-way to Galantamel? Do you
think that you could find your way there, or back here, as a nine-
year-old?" Much as Palas hated it, she couldn't find fault with his
argument, and was forced to let him make the journey with her.
Galantamel, however, was just as mystified as they were. He could
find absolutely no reason why Palas should still be suffering occasional
relapses, but he told them that if they continued, or became worse, they
could return to see him. They were back four days later, to report that
the Relapses, as they had come to call them, had indeed become more
frequent, so much so that Palas had agreed to move back in with Mojere.
At Galantamel's request, they described each occurance, and when they
finished he just nodded, as though hearing exactly what he'd expected,
though that was something he did habitually, even for things that were
completely surprising. Just before they left, he sent Mojere outside so
he could speak to Palas in private.
"What is it, Galantamel? Have you thought of something to help
me? If so, then you can certainly say so in front of Mojere." Her
lips curved in a mildly amused smile, "After everything that's happened,
I don't think I'll ever be embarassed around him again."
"I wouldn't be too sure of that, girl." Galan said, making the
smile vanish from Palas's face, "I think I may indeed know something
about what is happening, and I think you should hear it before you
decide whether or not I tell your brother."
"Well, what, then? What could be that terrible?"
"It is not terrible, really." Galantamel admitted, "I merely
noticed that your 'Relapses' only happen when you and your brother are
alone." Palas thought for a moment, and realized that he was right.
"All right, I'll accept that." She said slowly, "But what does
that mean?"
"How well do you sleep at night?" Galan's question took her
completely by surprise.
"I... well, I guess I sleep fine, now." She hesitated a long
moment before continuing, "Although I will admit that for a while, I
did have trouble at night."
"What sort of trouble?" Galan asked, sounding as though he
already strongly suspected the answer. As Palas told him about the
terror and tears she's gone through, he just nodded sympathetically.
"I thought so. Let me guess, your problems sleeping ended as soon as
you moved back in with your brother." Palas studied her shoes, looking
a bit embarassed.
"Yes, they did. How did you know?"
"It wasn't that hard to guess. How often do you have these
Relapses now?"
"It changes from day to day, but I do have them a lot at night."
"I take it that you are sleeping in the same room with your
brother now?" Palas's back stiffened, and she got a fierce look in
her eye.
"We haven't..." Galan hurriedly cut her off before she could
finish.
"I wasn't even suggesting that. I'd have known if you had."
Palas's brow furrowed.
"Really? How would you know?" She sounded slightly nervous.
"Oh, no, I haven't been watching you magically," He assured her,
and Palas sighed in relief. Knowing that her brother had changed her
clothing while she was regressed was one thing; thinking that someone
unseen might have been watching was quite another. "But you can tell a
lot about people by watching how they act around one another. There
are a thousand combinations of slight movements and gestures that at
times are more revealing than sorcery. Lovers act a certain way when
they're together. It's hard to describe exactly what it is about them,
but if you know how to see it, you can almost always tell. You two most
certainly do not act like lovers." Galan smiled, making his expression
as gentle as he could, "There is something between you that I have never
seen before. Mojere reacts toward you as he should; like a brother. A
brother who percieves himself as being very much older than you, I might
add, and somewhat more protective than would be expected. You, on the
other hand, act toward him like..." Palas shook her head.
"Don't say it. I think I know what you mean."
"Do you?" Galan said, in a way that strongly suggested the
question was rhetorical and the answer negative, "Well, then, Palas,
have you ever considered that perhaps these Relapses of yours are
happening because you want them to?"
"That's rediculous!" Palas shouted.
"Is it really?" Galan asked quietly.
"Yes! Why would I make myself do something so humiliating?"
"I can think of a few reasons."
"Like what? What would possibly make me do this?" Galan looked
at her face, and shook his head.
"I'd rather not say. I think I've already gotten you angry
enough with me for one day." Palas made an effort to calm herself.
"No, I want to know. If you are right..." Palas shook her head,
"No, you're not. But I would like to know why you would think such a
thing."
"If there were a natural cause for your Relapses, they wouldn't be
happening so conveniently, Palas!"
"Conveniently?! You think this is convenient?"
"Would you rather they happened while you were just walking down
the street? Or when you were alone?" Palas glared at him, but shook
her head. "Something inside you recognizes your brother as someone who
will understand and take care of you, and thus, when the two of you are
alone..."
"Okay, I can accept that perhaps it isn't happening completely at
random. But I can't believe that this is happening because I want it
to! I just can't!" Galan put his hand on her shoulder.
"Can't, or won't?" He asked, gently. She shook his hand off.
"Look, I wouldn't be saying this if I wasn't reasonably sure that it's
true. I've done everything I know to do, and there is absolutely nothing
wrong with you, physically or magically. In fact, your magic has even
replenished faster than it should have, no doubt because of these
Relapses." Palas's eyes lit up as she siezed on an idea.
"Maybe that's it! Couldn't my body simply be mimicing the effects
of the reaction to speed up the recovery process? I will admit, I have
sorely missed the feeling of magic since I began recovering." Galan
pondered that point for a moment, making a humming, thoughful sound.
"Perhaps," He said, "You may be right, though that would still
leave a few things unexplained. If you wanted to recover your magic
badly enough, you might do something like this without thinking about
it. It doesn't explain the way you are reacting to your brother,
though."
"Of course it does." Palas said, "He takes care of me, and... well,
it's very hard to forget that feeling, even after I've come back to my
senses. Isn't it to be expected that my view of him would change, at
least a little?" Galan thought that over, then nodded.
"Yes. I suppose that would only be logical. If that's true, then
I apologize for embarassing you." Palas smiled.
"Don't worry about it. I'm nowhere near as easily embarassed as I
used to be." Galan returned her smile.
"I imagine not. However, the slight difference in how you explain
it doesn't change my recomendation."
"Slight difference?" Palas exclaimed, "I think it's a huge
difference!"
"Whatever!" Galan said, sounding just a touch angry, "Unless you
don't want my advice? That is why you and your brother came here, isn't
it?" Palas made a placating gesture with her hands.
"Sorry. Please go on."
"Right. I suggest that you and your brother sit down and actually
plan a time for this to happen. That way..."
"Plan it? As in, do it on purpose?" Palas said, "Are you joking?"
"Not in the least. I think it's safe to say that these Relapses
of yours will continue to occur. Whether you want them to happen or
your mind is simply trying to recover your spent magic, you and your
brother might both find it more convenient if you set aside some time,
perhaps an hour a day, or several hours every few days, and simply allow
it to occur then."
"But I don't want it to happen in the first place! Besides, what
makes you think I can do it if I want to?"
"Well, why don't you just try it? I don't really think it's that
hard, is it? In fact, I'd be willing to bet that you have a hard time
not allowing it to happen every time you're alone with him." He looked
questioningly at Palas, who avoided his eyes, but nodded. "I'm farly
sure that if you had a time when you knew for certain that you and he
would be alone and he would agree to take care of you, the times in-
between would become a lot easier to deal with." A long silence
followed, while Palas thought.
"I'll try it, I guess." she said at last, "If you're right about
me, then your arguments make sense. You'll forgive me, I hope, if I
say that I'd rather you be wrong."
"Of course."
"And another thing," Palas said, almost before he'd finished
speaking, "What made you think of all this? I mean, I understand you
knowing about the magic, but what makes you so sure of yourself in
this?" Galantamel shrugged.
"You elves like to laugh when I say this, but I've lived a long
time. Maybe I haven't lived as long as you, but then, I'm human, and
you have to remember that it's different for us. When you grow old and
die before you get to see your first century, you have to learn quickly.
I know you may be offended by this, but if your elven years were
translated into human experience, you'd still be in your twenties,
perhaps less. You get centuries to learn from your mistakes; we don't.
I gave up being jealous of your people's immortality a long time ago,
because when it comes down to it, humans do more living in their
short time than you elves do in all your thousands of years." Galan
shrugged again. "The length of your life isn't what matters. It is how
you use the years that you have that is important."
"The way you say that almost makes me sad to be an elf. It sounds
like you humans get to have more fun." Galan laughed.
"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that. You may not have noticed, but
you think more like a human than any elf I've ever met."
"Well, I am still a Quickling, so I suppose that's to be expected."
"Perhaps. However, I must admit, I think I've been a corrupting
influence on you."
"How do you mean?"
"Well, why is it that you still use contractions, while most
elves give them up by your age?" Palas shrugged.
"They're convenient, so why shouldn't I use them? I mean, why waste
time on..."
"Exactly my point!" Galan interupted, sounding triumphant, "You're
the only elf I've ever heard say anything about wasting time! The idea
that time is something precious, something that can even be considered
wasted, never even occurs to most elves."
"Okay, so even if I actually do have all the time in the world,
some things are more worthwhile than others. What's so hard to
understand about that?"
"Have you ever tried explaining that to your father?"
"Hells, no!" Palas said, shocked. Galan laughed again.
"You see? But I think you should probably go back home now. I
know you elves aren't supposed to get impatient, but let's not keep
Mojere waiting longer than necessary, alright?" This time Palas
laughed along with him.
"You're right, I should be getting home. And thank you for the
advice, even if I hope you're completely wrong."
"It's all right. That's perfectly understandable." Galan
suddenly let his face slip back into it's usual look of ferocity, "Now
get out of here! I've got important work to get back to." Palas knew
from long experience that it was an act, and placed a kiss on his
cheek before leaving. As she walked out, Galan made a show of
scrubbing the kiss off.
"What do you find so funny?" Her brother asked, when she joined
him outside.
"Galantamel. Are all humans so strange, or just the ones I know?"
As they started back for home, Mojere nodded.
"Humans have always been a mystery to me." Mojere hesitated for
a moment. "Palas, I have to admit that I was listening during part of
your conversation."
"You were WHAT?"
"I did not mean to, at first. I was just going to check on you,
since you had been in there so long, but then I heard what you were
talking about. Palas, do you think that he is correct? Is it possible
that you are doing this on purpose?" Palas stopped, and took a deep
breath, as though she were about to plunge into deep waters.
"I would very much like to say no, brother dear, but the fact is
that it may be true. I have no way of knowing. How long did you
listen?"
"Not long. I would not have heard as much as I did had you two
not been shouting at the time."
"I hadn't realized that we were shouting." Palas said, and then
quickly changed subjects, "Mojere, do you think I speak too quickly?"
"Well, sometimes you do think without speaking about what you are
saying, yes." Palas was quiet as she tried to understand what he meant.
When she did, she laughed.
"Oh, I get it. A joke. Very funny, brother dear, but that wasn't
what I meant. I was asking if I talk too fast." It was Mojere's turn to
be confused.
"Too fast for what? I can understand you just fine."
"No, I mean, do I talk faster than I should? As an elf, I mean."
"Well, you are an elf, so I do not see how you can talk faster
than an elf should." Palas nodded as though satisfied, deciding to
give up.
"I don't know if you heard," Palas said, returning to the original
subject, "But Galantamel gave me some advice about my problem." Mojere
nodded.
"I heard. It sounds like a good idea to me." Palas halted again,
trying to keep her mouth from hanging agape. Mojere stopped too, and
smiled at her, "Well, I do not know how you feel about it, but I think
it would be nice to know when it is going to happen, rather than being
surprised by it."
"But..."
"But what? Would I not be taking care of you either way?"
"Well, yes, I suppose so." Palas said, slowly. "I don't know, I
just wasn't expecting you to be so... open to the idea." Mojere
shrugged, but began to look very serious.
"Palas, I have a confession to make to you."
"Yes?"
"I do not truly mind taking care of you. In fact, the past few
weeks I have felt better than I have in decades." If possible, Palas
looked even more shocked than before.
"But... why?"
"Because I am not lonely anymore. It is hard to explain,
precisely, but there is something deeply satisfying about having
someone who needs me, and who trusts me as completely as you do."
Palas started walking again, and Mojere kept pace beside her as they
journeyed in silence. After a few minutes, Palas spoke up again.
"I'm not quite sure how I feel about that. I mean, I suppose
that so long as I need you to take care of me, it is good that you do
not hate it, but from what you say it almost sounds like you enjoy it!"
"I suppose that, in a way, I do. You do not know what it is like
to have someone look up at you with such utter adoration, such faith,
what it is like to feel so strong and protective. When you are as a
child, everything is so simple. You have simple problems, which I can
easily make right for you." Palas supposed she should have felt
uncomfortable with that, but for some reason all she felt was relief.
For what, she couldn't say, and she found that more than a little
unsettling.
"I," Palas began, then sighed and tried again, "I would like to
not deal with this right now, brother dear. I suppose we should try
Galantamel's idea, but I don't like it. It seems too much like I'm
admitting that he's right." Mojere laughed, and surprised her by
sweeping her up in his arms.
"And what is wrong with him being right? If you are doing this
intentionally, who is going to call you to account for it? Not I,
certainly. The only person you have to clear this with is yourself."
Palas didn't answer, which wasn't terribly surprising. She was already
snuggling into his chest, after all. Mojere laughed again, which drew a
muffled half-whine from his sister, who was disturbed by the shaking of
his chest, on which she was resting her head. "Poor little Palas," He
whispered down to her, and Palas tried to curl up tighter and snuggle
even closer to him at the sound of the softness in his voice, "Do not
fear, little one. I will make everything right for you."
"Mojo no play fair." She said, not sounding at all as though she
minded. Mojere carried her most of the way home, but she managed to
wake up for a little while when the reached the outskirts of the
village. Mojere put her back down on her feet, though she needed his
arm around her to keep her steady, and they were lucky enough that none
of the people they passed noticed anything odd about the two of them
walking in such a manner--or, if they did, they were at least polite
enough to keep it to themselves. Palas was making a valiant effort at
staying awake, but her eyes kept trying to slide shut, and for the
life of her she couldn't see why she couldn't just let them. Every
time she began to sag beside him, however, Mojere would whisper softly
to her, and tell her that if she could only stay awake a little
longer she could sleep in a nice, warm bed. The way he said it made
it sound so inviting that she just had to try a little harder, but she
finally lost the struggle a few steps away from Mojere's door.
Fortunately, there was no one around to see, and her brother carried her
inside and tucked her into bed. The only problem with that was that
Palas had her arms around him, and refused to let go, even though she
seemed to be asleep. He finally gave up and sat down beside her, and
they spent the rest of the night that way, he sleeping sitting up and
she snuggled contentedly beside him.
Mojere woke the next morning when he heard a groan beside him.
He opened his eyes and found Palas rubbing her eyes and face vigorously.
She noticed that he was awake, and he yelped as she socked his arm.
"That wasn't fair!" She said, and a second later giggled and
tried to snuggle up next to him again.
"I believe you may have mentioned that earlier. I am sorry if I
have made you uncomfortable. I did not realize that you would react so
strongly." Palas forced herself to coherent thought again.
"How did you think I would act, you lumox?" She sighed
contentedly, taking the bite from her words. "I suppose I should thank
you. I do feel good." If Mojere was confused by the conflicting
messages in her words and actions, he didn't show it.
"You are most welcome, and it pleases me that you feel good.
When would you like to do this again? If we are going to do as Galan
suggests, we should set a regular time." Palas shrugged.
"Actually, I think I'd rather you just surprise me with it, like
you did last night. That way, it will be more to your convenience, and
I won't be wondering if I'm doing it at a bad time. Besides, it's more
fun that way." Mojere smiled.
"That sounds suspiciously like you are admitting that it does
please you." Palas nodded, though she seemed amazed with herself for
agreeing.
"I guess maybe I do. Like you said last night, as long as you
don't mind, the only person I have to worry about is myself. I suppose
that it'd be silly to begrudge myself being happy, wouldn't it?" Mojere
nodded. "I'm glad you agree. Now, what do you say we get up?" Palas
smiled. "In fact, I think I'll fix breakfast, for once." Mojere
laughed.
"So you repay me by trying to poison me?"
"My cooking isn't that bad!"
"Well, no, I suppose it is not quite that bad. Merely inedible."
"Mojere!" Palas's voice rose warningly.
"All right, there is no need to threaten. You can make breakfast
if you so choose."
"You'll eat my cooking, and you'll enjoy it!" She jabbed a
finger into his ribs to punctuate her command. Mojere did his best to
look grave and serious. He failed so miserably that Palas nearly
laughed out loud.
Only a few days later, Palas was jerked awake by shouting in the
streets. She sat bolt upright, startling her brother into wakefullness
as well.
"Palas?" Her brother said, sitting up to put his arm around her
shoulder, "What is wrong? Is there something I can do..." Palas shushed
him, reassuring him that she was still at her normal age.
"Listen!" Palas whispered, and this time they both heard it.
"Strangers in the village. They sound like humans." Mojere said,
"This can not be good." Outside the sounds of mounted men grew louder,
and a faint but unmistakable roar and crackling could be heard. They
looked to the window, and their fears were confirmed by a reddish glow
outside, though it was still too early for dawn to be brightening the
skies.
"The village is on fire!" They both lept out of bed. Even as
they did so, they heard a crash as the door was smashed down. Three
men, dressed in the grey and black of the Republican Guard, cut their
way through the curtained doorway of the bedroom.
"You will come with us." One of them said, "The entire village is
being taken. There is no point in fighting. We have no wish to harm you,
but we have our orders. You can surrender, or be subdued." Palas's eyes
took on a hard, fierce look that made Mojere hasten to whisper to her.
"Not now, Palas! There may be a time for that later, but right
now we can not afford for them to know that you are a magess." Palas
reluctantly refrained from summoning the power to destroy them, seeing
the merit of her brother's words. The Guardsmen watched the exchange
disinterestedly.
Mojere spoke up so they could hear him. "We will not resist, if
I can have your word that you will not harm her." Palas shot him a
surprised, shocked look. The Guardsmen looked at each other, and some
subtle, unspoken communication seemed to occur. The one who had spoken
before turned back to them.
"I cannot vouch for her safety after she leaves our custody, for
that will be for the magistrate to decide. I cannot and will not
interfere with the justice of the land. I have my duty. But within
these constraints, I will agree." He went down on one knee, and pressed
his fist to his chest. "Sir, you have my word as a Guardsman that this
woman will take no harm from me or any other Guardsman, for so long as
she is in our custody. This I swear, on my honor, on my life, and on my
sword."
"That is all I can ask." Mojere said, "We will not resist.
"Mojere, are you crazy?" Palas demanded in an angry whisper, "What
do you think you're doing?"
"Saving your life, I hope. These are not Purifiers, Palas. These
are Guardsmen, and whatever else can be said for them, they will honor
their oath above and beyond all else. Or would you rather try to fight
them all? Even if you did succeed in killing all of them, more would
come. You can not fight the entire Republic!" Palas huffed in
frustration, but nodded. The Guardsmen allowed them to gather a few
extra garments and personal effects, though they searched through
everything to make certain that they weren't trying to conceal any
weapons, then escorted them outside.
The prison wagons were waiting.
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