“How is she?” Windwolf whispered in the darkness.
“She woke twice with nightmares of oni.” Pony’s voice came from near the door.
The bed shifted with the changing of the guard.
“Thank you, Little Horse, for keeping her well.”
“I wish I could do more,” Pony whispered. “But I could not keep the dreams from her. May you have more luck than I. Good night, Brother Wolf.”
Chapter 11: Paper Scissors Stone
“I would be happier if one of the other heads took them.” Ginger Wine eyed the trucks arriving with the Stone Clan luggage.
Wolf nodded, staying silent. In truth, none of the heads of households wanted the Stone Clan taking up occupancy at their enclave. Ginger Wine, however, lost the decision because not only was she was the junior-most head, but her enclave was also the smallest, meaning she would put the smallest number of Wind Clan folk out when the Stone Clan turned her enclave into a temporary private residence. The households of the three incoming domana was reported to be less than forty people combined. Ginger Wine’s enclave had fifty guest beds, thus a loss of only ten beds.
“I’ve never hosted someone from the Stone Clan before,” Ginger Wine said. “I hope they eat our food. We don’t have spices or the pans to cook Stone dishes, but I will not have them in my kitchens.”
Wolf could not understand the fanaticism with which the enclaves defended their kitchens. He had had to settle several disputes between his own household and Poppymeadow’s. He had learned, though, that there was only one correct answer. “If they will not eat, they will not eat.”
Ginger Wine chewed on one knuckle watching as the luggage was unloaded onto the pavement. The first trunks off, logically for a war zone, were the sekasha’s secondary armor. Sword and bow cases followed. As Ginger Wine’s people struggled to lift off the shipping containers holding spell arrows, she murmured around her finger. “I want double my normal remuneration.”
“Done.”
Wolf arranged to have his Rolls Royces ferry the Stone Clan domana from the palace clearing. The first pulled up in front of Ginger Wine’s and a single male got out. As there were no sekasha attending the male, this had to be Forest Moss. Wolf couldn’t tell if the male was pure Stone Clan genome. Forest Moss had the clan’s compact build and dusky skin tone. His hair, though, fell shocking white against his dark skin. The lids of his left eye were sewn shut and concave, following the bone line of his skull, showing that the eye had been fully removed. Scars radiated around the empty socket, as if something thin and heated been dragged from the edge of face to just short of the eye. The scar at the corner of the eye, however, continued into his eye. After a score of near misses, that last one had burned out the eye.
The right side of Moss’ face was smooth and whole, including the brown eye that glared at Wolf.
“Forest Moss on Stone.” Moss gave a coldly precise bow.
“Wolf Who Rules Wind.”
Moss’ one good eye flicked over him and scanned the sekasha. Without the matching eye, Wolf found it difficult to read the male. “Yes, you are. And these are your lovelies. Very, very nice.”
Wolf took the comment as a compliment and acknowledged it with a nod. There seemed, however, something more to it — like oil mixed in water, invisible until they separated.
“Otter Dance’s son,” Forest Moss said. “He comes of age this year, does he not?”
What did this battered soul want of Little Horse? “Yes.”
“Tempered Steel.” Forest Moss named Little Horse’s paternal grandfather as he held up his left hand. He lifted his right hand, saying, “And Perfection.” Who was Otter Dance’s mother. He put his hands together and kissed his fingertips. “What a creature the Wind Clan has crafted.”
It was a mistake to respond to Forest Moss’ first comment; Wolf would not repeat his mistake. While the sekasha could be ruthlessly practical, it was insulting to suggest anything but chance had brought the two most famous sekasha bloodlines together in one child.
Wolf gave him a hard stare, warning him not to continue on the subject.
“What a look! But I am mad. Such looks are seen only by my left eye.” Forest Moss touched his ruined cheek to indicate his empty eye socket. He cocked his head, as something occurred to him. “The last thing I saw from this eye was Blossom Spring from Stone being drowned in the pisshole by her First, Granite. The oni had raped all the females from the start. The sekasha had their naekuna but the domana—” Forest Moss sighed and whispered. “Those mad dogs are so fertile they can even spawn themselves on us. Of course — a half-breed child would have given the oni access to the domana genome — so the sekasha had to act. The oni had taken Granite’s arms and right leg, one bone at a time. They thought they had made him helpless, but still he managed to pin Blossom facedown in the sewage. She thrashed beneath him for so long — I would have thought drowning was faster. It was quiet. So very quiet. None of us daring to say a word until it was over. Shhhhh. Quiet as mice, least the oni hear and realized that their rabid seed had taken and carry her off to bear their puppies.”
Wolf steeled himself to keep from stepping back a step from the elf. Was Forest Moss as mad as he seemed, or was this an act to let him be as rude as he wanted? Or was the male deluding only himself, thinking that he was “acting”?
“What of your domi?” Forest Moss leaned close to whisper, his one eye bright. “Did those rabid beasts fuck her? Fill her up with their seed? Will there be puppies to drown in the pisspot?”
Wolf would not validate this conversation by explaining that Tinker would be infertile from her transformation long after the danger of pregnancy was past — regardless of what the oni did to her. “You will not speak of my domi again.”
“I am not the one to fear. All your lovelies standing around you are the ones to fear. They hold our lives in their holy hands, judging every breath we take. They have to be strong because we’re so weak. I fully expect that someday one of them will decide I’m too damaged to live.”
“Hopefully soon.”
Forest Moss laughed bitterly. “Yes, yes, actually, soon would be nice. I’m too afraid to do it myself. I am a coward you know. Everyone knows. That’s why I have no sekasha.”
Ginger Wine had heard the whole exchange. A gracious host, she bowed elegantly and offered to escort Forest Moss to his room, but a tightness around her eyes meant she was keeping fury in check. Wolf’s people might not know Tinker, but she was his domi, and they wouldn’t take criticism of her lightly.
While he suspected the humans might blame Tinker for Pittsburgh being stranded, the elves always knew it was only a matter of time before the odd cycle of Shutdown and Startup would end. Humans never continued anything for long. As long as the Ghostlands didn’t present them with more problems, most elves would see Tinker’s solution as a good one.
Alertness went through his Hand, and Wolf turned to find Jewel Tears standing there.
She wore the deep green that always looked so beautiful on her. Her dark hair braided with flowers and ribbons, most likely taking an hour to create. She had two spell spheres orbiting her. One cooled the air about her. The other sphere triggered favorite scent memories in those around her. The spheres always had made him leery. He knew that it was impossible for the spheres to collide with anything, but he always flinched when they got too near his head. Nor did it help that the one always made Jewel Tears smell like his blade mother, Otter Dance.