Interlude: Dreams in the Desert, part 4

Llorinda’s fingers on the laces at his hips tickled. He wanted to bat her away, but he understood her need to make sure everything looked just so. He’d asked her to do it, out of the same fastidious need. And because she was the only female who’s eye he trusted that he actually could ask such things of.

“You’ll be fine, Meron,” she said lightly, eyes still on her work.

He wanted to scowl or give some curt reply, but the annoyance in his aura, and the anxiety underneath, were clear enough. Though he held his aura more closely than his neighbors—especially after visiting the h’somu in the mountains—skin to skin contact would tell her almost his every thought. It didn’t help that she was one of his oldest friends.

Or rather, it did help. Llorinda’s presence, her support by extension, did much to soothe his frazzled nerves. She didn’t say, “I know,” didn’t give the laces a firmer tug than necessary to drive the point home. She just quietly went about her work, sitting back on her heels occasionally to judge their evenness, and let him stew in his own dread.

It’s just a dance, he told himself. Just one stupid little dance you’ve practiced a hundred times. With his nerves this ramped up, he was just as likely to call the fire on accident as with the ceremonial dance. Either way, the central fire would be lit for the year, and his people’s prosperity would be assured.

The only real question was whether or not his dignity would survive the winter.

“Up or down?”

He started from his thoughts at Llorinda’s question, and stared stupidly down at her until she asked again.

“U-up, of course,” he said.

She nodded and began to lace the pants just under his knees. Her lack of comment prompted him to continue. “It’s traditional, isn’t it? Cuffs are worn high for any fire dances.”

Llorinda nodded again, holding one end of the cord in her teeth as she worked. Once free of the burden she answered. “I know how to dress a leh’shcarmn for a ki’ramn. I was asking you how you’d prefer to be dressed.”

He paused and mulled over her words, knowing she’d made the distinction for a reason. Was it belittling his skills, calling his footwork into question? If he wore them down, his calves wouldn’t be painted with the gold markings that would glint in the firelight, showing off the steps.

No, that wasn’t it. Llorinda would tease him about just about anything, but not things of real importance. He was truly nervous about this, and she would know it, and wouldn’t undermine his confidence.

So what was she asking? She hadn’t stopped lacing the cuff up around his knee, like he’d asked, so why even say anything? Would she be willing to take them back down if he changed his mind? He wouldn’t want to make her redo the all over again—

And it wouldn’t be like her to waste the effort, if she thought he really might. So she knew he wanted them up, but wanted him to think about why.

Was he wearing them this way, simply because of tradition? What was he trying to prove? Yes, the night was about proving their reijye was a capable areta
<!– –>

<!–Areta? Which word do I really want there? –>

, able to call the magic of his birthright and fit to lead them. But most of them had seen him call fire at one time or another before, albeit informally. So what was this evening really about?

How would you prefer to be dressed?

She was asking him to present his real face to the people, he realized. His friend was challenging him to be more than icon and leader to the people he lived and loved with. To stop holding himself back, to truly dance when he called the fire.

But could he do it? Could he let his people in, let them see the pain that hovered just behind his smile, darted in the shadows at the corners of his eyes, sighed out with his every laugh and joke?

“I prefer them laced down.”

“I know.”

Still she laced them above the knee, moving on to fix the next cuff.

“Your cakes taste like dirt.”

<!–Ch 15, drinking tinctures –>

Raith made a face as Llorinda passed him a bun, frosted in honey paste. That self-pleased smile touched at the edge of her lips, and he always wondered what she was thinking when she wore that look. It couldn’t be pride in her work. Raith was right. They did taste like dirt.

Marl stumbled forward, helped along by Larai’s knee, and blushed furiously. Llorinda smiled prettily, batting her eyes and turning a little rosy herself. He wondered when the two of them were finally going to get together. Marl had fancied her all growing up, and the feeling only seemed to be deepening.

“G-good morning, Miss Llorinda.”

The other baker apprentices surfaced in a flurry of giggles, trying to look busy setting out the morning’s ware, but they were almost as gossipy as dancers. One stuck her thumb right in the middle of a fruit tart. She’d been too busy watching their group to notice.

He was never sure what drew their attention. The infamous Four Winds, his band of closest friends, or the strangely reserved romance between Marl and Llorinda. Both sights were sure to yield excellent gossip.

Larai mimicked Marl’s greeting in a high falsetto, tossing his head and looking for all the world like the stork he was nicknamed for. He wanted to throw a fish at him and see if he’d catch it with his teeth or his face.

Raith elbowed him, coming to Marl’s defense. “Manners are just as important to have as to hear,” he chided him, pushing him away from Marl and Llorinda. Larai stammered, “But you just said they taste like dirt!”, struggling to get around Raith’s corralling.

“That I did, and they do, but there’s no call to make fun of them. Good morning, Miss Llorinda.” He never looked back as he literally pushed Bird to another stall.

He walked away himself, shaking his head. He heard Marl behind him declaring that he loved Llorinda’s baking, and thought this year’s h’Cheres cakes would be the best year, echoed by another twitting of giggles from the other bakers.

He just smiled and ate his breakfast, chewing on the grit.

<!–Ch 15, drawing during the show –>

A hot wind blew across the desert, but it was a gentle warmth compared to the blaze from before. It carried the smell of sun and spices, a bustling marketplace somewhere far, far away. The heat wrapped around Seth, chasing away the chill that been trying to settle on him after the campfire had gone out.

For the first time since falling asleep, the creases in Seth’s forehead eased. He didn’t quite smile, but he was finally resting easily.

Previous: Chapter 12, part 3 Next: Chapter 13, part 1


Character Art: Lena (WC)

Another watercolor! It’s Lena!

Oh, she just looks so soft in this. I love it! Also, Lena is flashing some of her second skin, snow leopard. It’s an ancient custom that Nica picked up from her family, and passed on to her nest. It also makes for a really neat addition to portraits. 😉

Chapter 12, part 3

In which things are tried on for fit.

Naj watched her feathers flex, eyes going soft in wonder. Then he caught himself staring and ducked his head.

“They are magnificent,” he said, nodding his head to her wings. “Forgive me if I’m distracted from time to time. I’ve never seen coloring quite like yours.”

Nica paused in her movement, eyes going to her wing nearest him.

Serpents were often divided in their responses to her feathers. While she was raised as a serpent, and behaved like one, they were the one reminder that she wasn’t. Her family had never minded, and had treated her feathers as beautiful as scales, but not all serpents felt that way. Before Asylum, she’d been turned away from several nests just for bearing wings. The prejudice was common enough that few serpents ever sought out her nest, even now.

Centuries after the war between their people, and neither really trusted the either. It was petty and depressing, making her miss her family all the more.

She extended her wing towards him, low so that the joint was no higher than his shoulder, the long primaries spread back along the floor. There was a small twinge of shyness that accompanied the motion. While some serpents would overlook her wings, it was rare any praised them. “Thank you.” Her voice was quiet, but pleased.

He marveled at their dexterity, and the beautiful patterns revealed when she stretched them this way or that. “I’ve never known anyone with red in their wings,” he said softly, eyes drinking her in. Their posture seemed somehow demure, and he wondered at the softness in her aura until he recognized it as shyness.

Oh! I’m sorry—this is awfully intimate of me, I shouldn’t have assumed–”

He pulled himself back, settling back over his own crossed legs and stretching his spine up straight. “Sh-shall we begin our meditation?”

It was silly and vain of her, but it was nice to have someone admire her wings and she was a little dismayed when he drew away again.

He was such an odd serpent, unlike anyone else she’d met. Not shy of her wings, but shy to be too intimate.

I didn’t mind.” Nica smiled, but straightened her own posture, tucking her wings against her back. “I’m ready.”

He flushed slightly at her smile, and it carried with him into their next lesson.

You recall our starting position?” he asked, hands folded neutrally in his lap.

Mm…” She hummed, shifting position as she closed her eyes. At her back, her wings flexed as she thought, feathers ruffling and resettling with her movements.

Her hands formed cups, one palm up and the other palm down. “This one or…” She shifted, both cupping upward and crossing at the thumbs, “this one?”

Her eyes opened as she looked for his answer.

He mirrored her current position, eyes alight. “Either is correct, depending on your intention.” His smile quirked into a grin. “I can simply tell you, rather than play further guessing games. I just wanted to see what you remembered.”

Nica raised an eyebrow, her smile warming. “I don’t know that I’m very good at guessing games.”

Well, you did remember the starting postures alright. The first, Are proper, is more an invocation, a pause to reflect and balance before beginning. This, while it does contain Are on a smaller scale, is more useful for manipulations.”

He twitched his cross thumbs at her in a reminder.

We need to open our channels so that energy from without has easier access to our stores within.”

He closed the fingers on his left hand, shutting down the forces of slowing and stillness. Then he touched all of his right hand fingers to his right thumb.

Unless you want to give the energy a specific element, any of your dominant hands will do for accessing Li. Feel anything?”

She eyed his fingers, noticing that he was using all rather than a specific one. Nica thought about it, then followed his motion. There was that odd pulling sensation again.

Yes.” Her voice was soft, but not quite breathy.

Naj frowned. He felt nothing. Perhaps his power deficit was too great. However, if Nica could balance herself, he would be satisfied. He still wasn’t certain he even wanted to return to his own unnatural balance.

Feel the power move through you, listen for places where it snags and eddies. Those are places where your aura stores energy, and they need to be refilled. Simply focus on them, for now. The attention should be enough to direction for your purposes.”

Mm…” She frowned slightly at his words. She could feel movement, but it was so slight it was hard to read. Finally, she shook her head, saying so. “I can feel it, but barely.”

Just focus,” he encouraged. “The more you focus on it, the stronger the feeling should become.”

He wished he could see auras like some, but that was not among his gifts. He couldn’t help her anyways, but it would be nice to know that his student was making progress.

She hummed and closed her eyes again. Focus on it. Ariella always said patience was her worst trait. Nica took a breath, then another, until each breath sank deeper into her core. She felt the edge of her aura, washing gently against Naj’s.

The movement traveled inward and she followed it, feeling where her aura swirled over and into her own skin. As she focused on it and nothing else, she could feel an emptiness inside, as if she were a quilt made of empty pockets. It was a disturbing feeling, but she tried not to shy away from it.

Instead, she carefully investigated each one, slowly realizing her energy was falling into them, but not necessarily leaving again. They seemed to be situated over each of her chakras and she hummed again curiously.

As she pulled her attention back out of them, she realized her aura was sliding back towards her, drawing inward though she hadn’t called it back.

Nica broke the connection as she opened her eyes, frowning slightly. “I can feel where it’s collecting, but it also feels like my aura is falling into it. Is that typical?”

He nodded, glad to know things were progressing as they should. “In avians, yes. You are undoubtedly serpent in heart, but as you said, your magic draws on a hawk.”

It’s slightly disturbing to feel my aura recede unintentionally.” Nica shifted her wings behind her uncomfortably. At least she knew it was typical for an avian – though that made her wonder how he knew. She’d forgotten for a moment that a serpent might not know. He seemed rather familiar with avians though, and she pushed the through aside for another time.

I don’t doubt it.”

He pushed his own aura towards her until they were brushing again, letting his sympathy and support shine through it.

Embrace it—this is something your energy does naturally, just not quite to this extent or as quickly. But your body will know what to do. Trust it.”

Nica took another breath and nodded. She tried to focus on it without closing her eyes this time and found that now that she knew what she was looking for, it was easier to feel. Her aura was still sliding into her, but to a lesser extent.

It seems to be slowing.”

How are you feeling, then? Better?”

He was so lost. Naj had no business being a teacher, and he knew it. Without a dance or a deep meditative state, he couldn’t connect to her aura fully enough to see its state for himself. He could read the surface coloring, easily, but it’s deeper health still eluded him. And he doubted Nica’s knew what to look for, if such manipulations were as new to her as they seemed.

A little?” She broke the connection to rub her hands over her arms. “I’m not quite as tired, but I’m actually a little chilled, which is odd, for me.”


Naj redoubled his efforts to pull energy into his own reserves, and found the room barren.

Perhaps you’ve simply collected all this space has to offer….”

He shrugged, giving up on his own mediation posture. “At least you know the art of it now?”

True…” Nica wrapped her wings around her shoulders, the cold making her aware of her lack of clothing. Many shifters cultures didn’t consider nudity to be taboo or something to be hidden. Serpents were one of those, often considered lascivious by other shifter races. Nica often found the rumors to be greatly exaggerated, but it was true that serpents considered clothing to be more decorative. Then again, they also were typically found in temperatures that facilitated that idea. The downstairs was kept in the low to mid eighties for that reason.

She didn’t mind being nude currently, but it was highly odd for her to have a chill at all. It seemed sharper for it somehow. Avians ran naturally hotter than any other shifter and she wondered how the shift in her aura had made a difference.

Her posture worried him. She looked so guarded with her wings wrapped tight—did she have some concern she wasn’t sharing? Was it embarrassment? With her aura pulling itself in so close, he couldn’t read it. He reached out a companionable hand to pat her thigh. She was cool to his touch.

His touch. The passionate hawk woman was cooler than a serpent running on empty. This was not good. What to do?

You’re uh…” He rubbed her leg, flicking his gaze to it. “I think you’re more than a bit chilled.”

Nica shivered, feathers ruffling. Her hand covered his, squeezing it. She tried to smile in reassurance, but it ended in a grimace. “I’m not sure why, though.”

It had to be the energy empty room, he was sure of it. In times like this, he’d have called on his nestmates for help–

And why shouldn’t he? They were in a perfectly good nest—better, probably, than the fallen serpents he’d been thinking of. And they all belonged to Nica. If anyone could help her regain what was lost…

I think it might be best if we go upstairs. There’s just not enough power lingering down here—for either of us.”

Her eyebrows rose as she met his gaze. Lingering power? She had assumed the meditation was meant to balance her own energies, but this was beginning to sound more like when Dev fed. It made sense, in its own way…

Nica’s eyes flicked to the ceiling, looking past the colored tapestries. “We’re probably halfway into the first show right now.”

He nodded, pushing to his feet. “Should be fairly leveled out by now then. It’ll be good intermediate practice.” He held a hand out to her, doing his best to smile despite his worry.

Nica took his hand, standing slowly. “Intermediate practice?”

She made it a question as she moved towards her closet. “I suppose we should get dressed then.”

Well yes–wait what?” His mind couldn’t keep up with the abrupt shift. Once it did grind into gear, however, another thought was quick on its heels.

I, uh, I’ll need some assistance with that. Kain is washing everything I own…”

The crimson button up and dark slacks were literally his only possessions. He’d lost his shoes at some prior point he couldn’t recall.

She smiled, hand on the doorway. “I’m sure we can find something that will fit you.”

Gesturing for him to follow her, she moved further into the closet. Her mind began to turn as she did so though. She had quite a variety of clothing, between dressing for various occasions as well as costuming. Nica wasn’t worried about finding something that Naj could wear, though the fitting might be a bit off.

She was, however, caught on his words about Kain washing everything he owned. She needed to schedule an appointment with Liza for him, so the tailor could get started on his own wardrobe. She handled the nest’s costumes, and quite a bit of their personal clothing as well.

Nica ran a hand over some shirts hanging, then opened a dresser that held pants. “Feel free to look around, see if anything sparks your interest.” She pulled out a pair of capris that fell open at the knee. “It might not all fit, but I’m sure we can find something.”

I’ll contact Liza in the morning, she tailors most of the clothing for the nest – that way you can have something properly fitting in a style you like.”

He eyed the elastic fabric she pulled on, noting how it molded to her curves, but it didn’t seem stiff enough to offer any support. Pleasant on her, probably less attractive on his attributes. He’d have to steer away from anything that tailors, given their differences in build. He sorted through the drawer while she talked, pleased to hear that tailoring at least was still in style. He might have lost most of her serpent temperament, but he was still classically “snake-hipped”, and so required a slimmer fit than most.

Thank you. I quite appreciate that.”

He pulled out a bundle of rust-red fabric and suede laces. If these were what he thought they were…

A soft smile filled his face as he shook them out. The fabric billowed out from the waist band, brought together at the hips and ankles by laces. They were a traditional serpent cut, easily transitioned from full pants to a shorter fit more suited to flame and sword dances. He imagined the rich red color, which faded to a more orangey clay at the hems, would look stunning against Nica’s plumage. The red was wrong for his own scales, but he wouldn’t be shifted upstairs anyways. Naj held them out for Nica’s approval, hoping she wouldn’t mind his selection.

May I?”

Nica smiled as she took in the pants he was holding up. “Please do, I was hoping I’d have something that caught your eye.”

She debated wearing something a little more decorative, but with her chill and the tinge of weariness… Comfort was her preference tonight. She picked up a rich green halter, slipping her wings away before putting it on. A black silk overshirt followed, draping over her to tie loosely in the front. It accented her curves with the way it fell, even as it covered her, leaving only a few glimpses of the emerald underneath. The cloth didn’t chase away the chill entirely, but it did help.


His smile was quiet, but pure. As he slid the breathy cotton fabric up over his hips, a content sigh eased from him. They felt like home. The simple act of lacing first one side then the next made his very skin fit more snuggly around him. The slit legs flapped open around his calves, waiting to be laced similarly.

Up or down?” He asked, eyes twinkling.

Mm…” She wrapped her arms around herself with a smile. The pleasure in his aura was nice, easing some of the tension out of her shoulders. “I think either would look good on you. I typically prefer them down.”

“As did I.”

Naj went down on one knee, pulling gently at either end of the lacing to make sure they were even. Then he gave a little half-tug more on the right, to account for the length that would be eaten up by the knot. He hadn’t taken such care with the top laces—had he ever laced them up for himself? This action felt habitual, ingrained by centuries of practice. But he hadn’t given his other laces a second thought.

His brow furrowed as he worked at the laces, surprised when no memory came with the action. It felt like there should have been one.

“…I think.”

Nica frowned when he did, his previous happiness fading. She moved towards him, one hand brushing his shoulder in an offer of comfort that didn’t interfere with his lacing. She didn’t question his doubt, simply replying, “It is a popular way to wear them.

He nodded, twisting the expert knot without hesitation. He remembered it, even if he didn’t remember remembering it. He moved to the other ankle, playing and adjusting again, but lengthening the left cord this time.

How are my hips?” he asked absently. “Even?”

They look even from here.” She rubbed at one arm as she studied his thin frame. “Though it’s hard to know for sure until you stand.”

Another twist and he stood with a snap, spreading his arms and giving a little turn. His grin was back when his gaze returned to his face—the small breeze behind his knees even that gentle motion had cause filled him with the joy of a thousand dances.

Nica chuckled at his showmanship, smiling as she took him in. “They look good on you.”

She made a small circuit around him. Her fingers touched the laces on his hip briefly, then she nodded. “And even.”

A small sound of pleasure slipped from him at her touch. It was smooth and cool, like a polished stone. Cool—oh yes. He needed to stop playing around get her upstairs. His gaze raked the rows of hanging shirts, and he felt his mind slip to the half-panicked indecision of choosing bowls.

He took a gulp of breath, then blew it out slowly. “Don’t suppose you have the matching top?”

A blip of panic brushed her and she leaned in to slide her hand along his waist. “I should…”

She hummed slightly, then reached past him, pulling a red top from a shelf. “Here it is.”

He was surprised to find the shift in Nica’s collection—she obviously favored backless styles. For obvious reasons, he thought with a smile, as he remembered the vibrant feathers shifting behind her. But she was a lover of serpent traditions, and the outfit seemed plucked straight from his memories.

The fading of the dyes followed up the armless shift, moving from rusty red to a deep crimson at the shoulders. The lacing pattern also continued, running up his ribs. They had clearly been cinched down at the waist, left to flare at the hips, but it wouldn’t take much work to adjust them. It would simply be difficult to do it himself.

He took the garment from her, then held it back out. “Could you, uh…” He chewed at his lip before finally asking. “I need help adjusting the side cinches please.”

Of course.” She waited until he put the garment on,then worked to straighten the lacing until it suited his frame. As she pulled it around him, her fingers working without thought, she couldn’t help but notice again how thin he was.

It tickled. He did his best not to squirm or laugh, but the delicate brushes of fingers and lacing over his ribs were nearly unbearable. Still, he’d asked for help, and he wasn’t about to make this more difficult. But oh, did it tickle.

When she’d finished and stepped back, he caught sight of himself in the mirror on the back of the door. He was a shadow of his old self, entirely too thin and pale, but… He was, at least, a shadow of his old self. The simple, richly dyed cotton wrapped around him like a hot wind, blown out of a desert long dead and forgotten, stepping out of the sands time had already let slip by.

It underscored how far he’d fallen, but seeing himself standing there, he couldn’t ignore the small steps he’d already taken. He smiled, startled at how odd it looked on his face, then smiled again. It looked good on him. He should smile more often.

He turned back to Nica, eyes soft and shining. “a’parn’o.”

Her hand was touching his shoulder before she thought about it, a smile at his happiness on her lips. His emotion wrapped around her like an embrace and the need to touch him was too strong.

You’re welcome.”

This. This is what a nest was about. The marriage of their joy, building and exalting into something more, wrapping them in a sense of good will that did much to soothe his raw aura. Which reminded him of why they were dressing in the place, He offered up his arm, smile still suffusing his face,

Shall we?”

She slipped her arm in his gratefully. While she was feeling better, she was still tired. Part of her wanted nothing more than to curl up under heavy blankets and sleep for another eight hours. She knew though, if Naj was recommending going upstairs for the ambient energy, it would do her more good.

Let’s.” Nica squeezed his arm, glad to see him relaxing. It made something within her also begin to relax.

Previous: Chapter 12, part 2                       Next: Interlude, Dreams in the Desert, part 4

Character Art: Seth (WC)

Cait started painting portraits! Of course she started with Seth. 🙂

I’m excited to see where these go. Cait has a great eye for shapes and shading. 🙂 Medium is watercolor, but that’s about all I know. If anyone has any technical questions, let us know.

Chapter 12, part 2

In which Naj explains a thing or two

Nica pulled him closer, her lips pressing against his shoulder. Her eyes flicked up at the feel of someone on the other side of her door and she opened her wings enough to see a dark hand slipping around the tapestry.

It was Nat, the lanky woman balancing two bowls as she entered the room. “Hey.”

Her voice was soft, pleasant as she she glanced between the pair of them. Nica drew her wings further back, so she and Naj were framed rather than embraced by them.

“Hey, Nat.” Her gaze flicked to the bowls in her hand and Nat smiled. A twinge of something unpleasant came and went in her emotions, but Nica didn’t comment on it and Nat ignored it, as was polite.

“Kain said you guys were waking and asked me to bring you a couple bowls of stew. The show’s about to start though, so I need to get back upstairs. You need anything else?”

She handed off the bowls and tucked some bottles of water at their feet. When Nica shook her head, Nat smiled, a little more genuine this time and left.

How long have we slept?” Naj asked, puzzling at Nat’s word. The passage of time should mean something to him, but “show time” was too nebulous an idea for him to ground in. But surely Nica would know. He looked to her, trying to smooth out the worried pinch to his eyebrows.

Nica rubbed a hand along his arm at his concern, then untangled enough to reach for one of the bowls of stew. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t each much yesterday either.

If the show’s about to start, it’s probably near five. So eight hours, little more.”

He made an mmm sound that didn’t say much, but his attention was now completely on the smell of food. The hollow feeling roared to life within him, demanding to be filled. It’s aroma was rich and layered, earthy and spicy and a little wild, and old. Modern food just didn’t smell the same anymore, not since they’d left Europe. It was as if something of the land it grew in was imparted to the finished dish, and this smelled like home.

Naj tucked in with a greedy pace, eating as if he hadn’t eaten in months. It’d been a while since he’d been this magic starved, body desperate to replace a spiritual lack by whatever physical means it could. It would help, much as the sleep and warm bath had, But he wouldn’t be set to rights until he went above and beyond that, and a sudden thought occurred to him.

How are you feeling?” he asked, once he’d choked down the overly large bite he’d just taken. It seemed a shame not to linger over such food, crafted with care and old skill, but there was still so much to be done before they were out of the woods.

On a deeper level, how are you feeling?”

Tired,” Nica answered without thought. Weary was probably more accurate, but there was a heaviness to her muscles that told her they had been pushed past their preferred limits. Her core self held the empty feeling that only happened when she’d tried to do too much with too little fuel.


“And a bit stiff,” she added as she took a bite of stew. For a moment, her eyes closed, savoring the flavor. Kain must have had it on the stove all day. If the food made it to tomorrow, the spices would marry even further.


“How are you?”

He stiffened, the precursor to a serpent stillness, but he willed it away. He would need to stay open to her aura shifts as he broached this subject.


I need to finish the meditation we started this morning, more now than ever. We are empty, but with a little direction we can fix that.” There was the slightest stress on the we as he changed his tactics mid-thought. “I’m beginning to question the wisdom in such exercises, but at the least, we should set to right what meddling I’ve already done.”

The question in his voice hung unspoken in the air, waiting for her response one way or the other. Nica was so damned good at sitting patiently and waiting for the entire story or lesson before absorbing it and thinking on it—an admirable trait in a student, but maddening when Naj hung on her every nuance for guidance as to how to proceed.

She raised an eyebrow, chewing slowly as she mulled that over. The meditation from this morning? He never had really answered her one its purpose… And now he blamed this morning on that meditation.

Nica nodded thoughtfully. “And how does the meditation help this?”

A slow breath to steady himself was all the hesitation he allowed. “The storm you danced was made real by the energy we fed it—you, unintentionally, mine deliberately—and it had left us lacking. I believe your ramn got the better of you because you are unaccustomed to carrying such extra power, and so didn’t know to hold it back from your weaving. We all instinctively clutch our lifeforce close, but once a vr’era has purchase in this world, it consumes what it can in its quest to become a part of reality-”

He stopped, wondering if he was losing her. He had lifetimes of study behind him, and she was just barely coming into her own, magically speaking. He had no idea how much training or years she had under her belt, but it wasn’t enough.

The important part is that such imbalances are dangerous, and I should not have been so careless. It has been many years since I’ve danced with anyone of skill, and I have forgotten how grave a responsibility it can be.”

His thoughts flicked along faces and people half-remembered–to the d’Ahnkkhna, to his mother, the nests in the Dai—all forces to shape the world, for good or for ill. But to what purpose?

Nica hummed idly as she thought that over and ate. Energy. It all came back to energy. Ariella had mentioned it in places, but she’d always dismissed how much energy Nica could bring to it… Perhaps those had been more than idle cut downs. Their meditation raised energy… It explained why she’d felt so energized going into the dance, though she had put it down to nerves and agitation at the time.

It was a mistake for both of us, I think,” she answered slowly, not liking how much responsibility he was taking for their combined actions. She was the leader and as such, she should have been more aware of what had been happening on his end. A good nest leader guides and directs rather than orders. Ariella ran her nest like it was something militarized most of the time. While it felt good to be out from under her thumb, Nica was still acting as if she were merely another member of the nest and not a leader of her own. Still, it would do neither of them any good to take all the blame herself. Everyone learned by mistakes and taking someone’s from them to spare their feelings only hurt them in the longer dance.

I should not have danced alone. I knew what I was calling, but it was foolish to do it alone for the first time before being sure of my control.” She gave him a small, wry smile. “And I should have asked for a better understanding of what we were doing this morning. It’s taking me more than the usual day or two to get back into the habits of my own nest it seems.”

She still didn’t understand.

Her words said she did, but the lack of fear told him he hadn’t expressed how deadly this could be. There was a reason the Dai worked in nests—it kept complex spells from falling when any one member was consumed by it. She was treating this like a dance—wait, what did she mean by back into her habits?

You’ve been gone?” he asked abruptly.

Nicas eyes tightened at the edges. Again, he somehow managed to remind her that he was a stranger to her nest, to her. It was odd, nothing she could put her finger on. The question was a fair one, she’d brought the subject up in a round about way. Perhaps it was his tone or something about his aura, but it was beginning to bother her. She needed to speak to Kain, sooner rather than later. The big cat always had a better sense of a situation than she did and she was beginning to suspect there was something more at play here.

“I’ve been at Ariella’s nest for the last two years.” Her instinct said to be vague, but how long and where she’d been weren’t secrets to her nest. Besides, she didn’t like feeling as if she needed to keep secrets from one of her dancers like this.

Ah. Away to gather new skills to bring back to her nest, no doubt. Perhaps this wasn’t as unsalvageable a mess as it seemed. If she’d been willing to endure the rigors of falcon training… Still, he wanted to make sure she understood exactly what they were dabbling in. He set his stew bowl to the side, giving her his full attention.

You do understand that vr’era are not simple illusions? Aret’vir’ramn and ramn’tr’vr’era are as alike a feathers and scales.”

Nica could feel her brow furrowing and she tried to smooth her expression as she reached for a bottle of water. Aret’vir’ramn? The words were unfamiliar to her and she wasn’t sure what Naj was referring to. He was clearly following a train of thought though.

Not simple illusions… She didn’t understand. It made her uneasy and a little annoyed, but she tried to let the emotions go rather than dwelling on them. They wouldn’t help her figure this out.

I’m not sure what aret’vir’ramn references, so I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean.”

Naj stared, confused at her confusion. He hadn’t realized she didn’t speak pri’mn as a native tongue– she certainly seemed fluent enough.

Forgive my mistake. I didn’t realize. The aret’ramn are magic dances? And virar, to see?”

She was agitated, and he most certainly didn’t want to patronize her, but if she didn’t understand…

She took a long breath and picked her stew back up. At least they were both confused now. “I understand what the pieces mean, simply not what the string is referring to… It isn’t a term I’ve heard used.”

Damn. He had tried so hard not to offend. “ei’meht’a, eija. Forgive me. I’m not sure how else to explain. I had assumed you were familiar with the branch of dances pertaining to spellwork and the calling of power– I was taught they are called the aret’ramn. Is that no longer so?”

Her eyebrows rose as she thought that over. “Yes… And no.”

She frowned, putting down the bite of stew she’d been about to eat. “Many of the dances that might have involved magic are simply referred to by their elemental name now. The word for magic itself is rarely if ever used, so as not to draw too much attention to it when speaking.”


It made a good deal of sense, and it simply underscored to him just how much time had passed. Possessing a magic was almost required to claim most birthrights, but then, most of those kingdoms were gone now anyways. Melancholy settled over him, bowing his shoulders. He was… homesick. He hadn’t been homesick in very, very long time.

Nica didn’t understand him at all. How had he missed the persecution of the magic users? If he remembered a time when magic was freely spoken of…

But she did understand being sad and she couldn’t help but reach out a hand to squeeze his shoulder.

He leaned into her touch, then straightened his shoulders when he realized what he’d done.

I am alright. My mind is still prone to wandering, it seems. Forgive me.”

She nodded, drawing back to her bowl. “It’s perfectly understandable, you don’t need to apologize.”

“It is not so bad, when I don’t feel so empty–” His words cut off in a fervently whispered swear. “I am a fool. A fool that cannot hold a thought for more than a moment. I was trying to assess what I can safely teach you.”

I think you were explaining what you were referencing with the two different terms. From what little I understood, an illusion dance is merely a type of magic dance.”

She’d admit, his inability to hold onto what he had been thinking did make her feel better. At least more equal in the conversation. Though Nica was curious what he meant by safely teach her. All he’d taught her so far was that meditation.

He nodded, settling into a cross-legged position. It helped him think. “That is correct. Areta can be translated to mean “calling forth” or “summon” as much as “magic”. It simply references organizing what is already there. In a way, our meditation this morning was an aret. We took the power raised by dancing and channeled it into specific forms.”

vr’era, shadows, belong to the realm outside of existence. Era is the il’li pair to Are. So to dance with your eye to the void, ramn’tr’vr’era, is to pull from the nothing.

Nica nodded, still not seeing where the misunderstanding was stemming from. “An illusion dance.”

zt– No, that is not it. Where did creation first come from? Are came from Era, and so do vr’era. And s’era, and chim’era, and so on. Everything that Is comes from Nothing, and with the extra power I helped you harness, you were able to cross the barrier from ideas into being.”

Eyebrows high, she finally set aside her bowl. Her fingers almost reached for her water, rising to rub her temple instead. “Are you trying to say that I literally danced the illusions into existing? That isn’t possible.”

“Yes! That is it exactly.”

A triumphant smile ghosted across his face, eaten almost immediately by a frown at her negation. “You stood with me beneath a rainstorm of your own making, and you tell me it did not happen?”

“I-” She frowned rubbing her head harder. It did nothing to help the headache forming. “I don’t remember a rainstorm. I remember it being my intent, but a real rainstorm would have soaked the stage…”

She closed her eyes, but the harder she reached for the distinction, the more vague the thought became and the more her head throbbed.

This was a mistake. They were fighting, both growing more unhappy by the moment, and getting no where.

“I have told you what happened. I cannot tell you otherwise. If you would find your eijye’s word more trustworthy than mine, by all means, let us go ask him.”

Without her eyes, his hurt was all the more obvious. She sighed, fingers running through her hair as she looked up.

“I don’t – I don’t know what happened.” Her voice softened. “But that sort of power – I’ve never heard of someone able to do that. It’s a legend and if anyone could do it, the ability was lost centuries ago. I just don’t believe I’m capable of it.”

She was quiet at the end, looking away. Her frustration had spoken more than she’d meant to and while she didn’t regret it exactly, she needed to stop speaking before more was said.

He let a ripple of red scales cover his torso, both as a visual aide and for the comfort, “I assure you, that power is very real, and I watched you call it, and kept you from falling to it.” he whispered.

Nica watched him with a sideways glance. Abruptly, her muscles let go of the tension they’d been accruing and she reached for the water. This was absurd.

She was sounding like Ariella, declaring absolutes. He was right, red cobras were also supposed to be little more than legend. And if he understood what had happened… Then he could help her be more careful.

“Thank you for that.” Nica offered him a small smile. “I owe you.”

He stiffened at that, pulling back with wide eyes. “You owe me nothing. You are my eija.”

“I’d also like to be your friend.” Her smile widened, amused slightly by his reaction. That was a term she’d scarce heard, so few used it anymore. “You can relax, Naj, at least a bit – no one’s keeping score.”

She stretched one wing, working a taunt muscle looser. “I just realized I hadn’t thanked you.”


He was saying that so often lately. But this nest he found himself in, so familiar but so vastly different… He couldn’t keep up.

But he understood friendship, and he understood gratitude, so he’d start from there.

Are’era. All is as it should be.”

He gave her a warm smile and let his scales melt back into his skin.

“As your friend, then, may I teach you how to fill what has been taken?”

“That… Would be welcome.” Nica stretched her wings high, feeling the exhaustion creeping in at the edges. Despite the long sleep, she was still worn out. At least the headache was fading.

Previous: Chapter 12, part 1                                 Next: Chapter 12, part 3

Interlude: Dreams in the Desert, part 3

There was always fire burning in the big pit in the middle of the rei’sumae, no matter how hot it was outside. Even if it was a simple bed of coals, buried under a fine layer of ash, the fire was never allowed to completely burn out.

He sat before the pit, little face screwed up in concentration. He could feel the fire beneath the ashes, but he had no idea how to call it. It was fire. It didn’t listen. It didn’t come bounding gleefully into the room when you whistled, didn’t alight on an arm held out to the sky, didn’t beg for fish scraps when it followed you to the river. It was fire.

And yet, his mother said this was his lesson for the day. Call the fire. She sat at the far end of the long room, calmly working at her loom, seeming to ignore him. He knew better—den’Shelena saw everything. Like the great eye of Dareiya herself, mother’s namesake, the moon saw day and night alike, in darkness and light. Nothing was hidden from her.

But the fire remained hidden from him. He wanted to cry. Wanted to yell at the fire, to kick and rage and command it to rise, as he’d learned to command his scales. Was that the trick to it? Did he need to touch his serpent self?

Tentatively, he let a ripple of pale scales slide over his hand. His mother coughed, and he jerked back, tucking his hand guiltily behind him. But she kept weaving, picking up a shuttle of crimson thread, and he turned back to the fire. His hand was sheathed in red scales now, and when his mother remained silent, he reached out and brushed the ashes from the coals.

Mother had taught him to be very, very careful of his manners.

All growing up, hours in the long house had been spent practicing greetings and gestures, the languages of their neighbors, along with the dances and magics and stories of their own people. He felt confident he could handle anything, even with his adult’s wrappings still unfinished on his mother’s loom. Surely it was long enough by now?

But even without the ceremonial garment, his parents had agreed that he should travel with his father’s group to the h’somu Danhkkhna. It was probably better this way, actually, because dressed in the wrappings of a child, his mistakes could be more easily forgiven—Oh yes, overhearing that little bit of conversation had done wonders for his meditation, practicing to clamp his aura down tight so as not to offend their avian neighbors with his emotions.

And what of their offense to him, hmm? Why should he have to pretend to be something he was not, cut away a part of him so precious, so as not to be seen as improper? What exactly was proper about pretending not to be moved by the world around him? Mother said it would be a different story if they were coming to the longhouse—but of course, that would never happen. If a leh’Danhkkhna’ra came here, it would be a serpent member of their ranks. And even that was unlikely—why visit a small village on the borders of leshkan and lefu holdings, instead of visiting their respective strongholds?

And yet lah’Seth
<!– –>

<!–Lah’Seth or ei’Seth? H’Seth? Fuck me–>

<!– –>

was expected to make the journey to the h’somu. And his son was expected to come with him.

But we don’t even want to be a kingdom, he’d complained to this mother. Why do we have to act like one?

Because we want the right not to be a kingdom, she’d answered, and left the longhouse without another word.

She wouldn’t return for another three days. And by then, he was finally emptied of everything.

Hannah was a piece of the sunlight itself.

Her mother, h’eija of the priesthood was even more radiant, shining with a light that came from within, but Hannah was still young enough that she merely glowed with power, rather than blazed.

Her golden wings had been the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Standing behind her mother’s seat, an intricately carved stool with no back that let her wings spread wide behind her, Hannah was almost lost in the golden haze. She held herself so perfectly straight and still, he had wondered if she were part of the carvings. Though, honestly, he’d wondered that about everyone in the room. They could be standing in audience before an assembly of statues, cold jewels and precious metals wrought into the image of living beings, but completely devoid of life.

Then Hannah had shifted, ever so slightly, to get a better look at their party.

He wouldn’t have noticed it, except for the small flash of light as her mother’s blaze reflected off a razor-edged feather in Hannah’s wing. He told her this as they lunched on the balcony, after the formal introductions were over. She’d been dying to know what had draw his attention to her, over all the glittering throng of the priesthood. She’d stood perfectly patient throughout the rest of the audience, and even kept up the image of polite but detached interest through most of lunch. But finally, her curiosity got the better of her, and it had colored her aura with the slightest of tint. In a serpent, it would have gone completely unnoticed. But it was the first inkling of emotion he’d gotten off of any of these cold, beautiful people, and he’d pounced on it without a thought.

He’d apologized profusely, but that slip had allowed Hannah to finally breathe, and for the rest of the afternoon, they’d talked quietly and still politely about each others peoples, but he had finally felt like he was talking to another living person, and it had done much to put him at ease.

He thought of the little golden girl for weeks afterwards, a million questions he’d wished he’d been brave enough ask niggling at him in the night. Don’t you get lonely, locked in your own skin like that? What’s it like, being groomed to rule but not knowing for a certainty that it will be your duty? How do you work so closely with serpents and not laugh or cry or yell like they do? Why had our parents talked of allegiances, and fealties, and duties?

Are we going to be enemies some day?

<!– Ch 14, why must it be unraveled? –>

Bird passed him another stone, and he hurled it violently into the river. It didn’t skip lightly, as all of Bird’s had, and he didn’t care. He hadn’t wanted to play this stupid game in the first place. Bird sighed and heaved to his feet, popping his back with a stretch.

“Alright, rei’shkan, let’s have it. You’ve taken enough of your rage out on the river. Time to talk.”

He scowled and thought about throwing himself in the river, but he knew Bird would never let him hear the end of it if he had to half-drown himself saving his best friend.

“I don’t want any of it, Bird. You know that.”


That man had no sympathy. And he had to admit, Bird was fully a man now. Sometime over the summer, when he had been in the mountains, his friend had grown up without him. Why he had had to go and Bird had been allowed to stay, he didn’t understand. Bird’s second form actually bore the mark of the king cobra. Who cared that he himself was technically closer to the royal line? Who cared about royalty this far out into the woods anyways? The fact that Bird still called him simply rei’shkan, cobra, was probably the only reason he hadn’t slipped his guard and cousin and went off to brood on his own. reijye Xane Kismeron lah’Seth’ra felt less like an actual name than it ever had, and more and more like the ropes he knew it to be. Whether harness or noose, he hadn’t yet decided.

Bird poked him in the back with the butt of his spear, earning his lanky cousin a growl. Bird only met it with a snort.

“Brooding’s done now, unless you want to go to be the h’somu and join the priesthood. I’m sure they could use another savage to watch over their little hatchlings.”

With the fluid grace and alarming speed of his animal form, he sprang from the ground and punched Bird firmly in the face.

“Don’t talk about Hannah!”

Bird looked up the dirt, crooked grin on his face, blood trickling down his chin.

“Finally, he speaks.”

He didn’t answer, fine tremors running through his limbs. If he spoke now, he would burn his cousin alive. Or pound his head into the dirt until his brains spilled out. Or both. His cobra temper had finally had enough.

Bird pushed himself into a sitting position, but otherwise didn’t move. He wouldn’t be the one to start this fight. Any more than he’d already done with his words.

“If she’s that important to you, do something about it.”

Apparently, Bird didn’t feel he’d said his piece yet. It was all he could do to calm his own anger, so he remained silent. Bird took that for an invitation to continue.

“You’re of royal blood, lah’Seth’ra. It may not count for much among our fathers, but the h’somu thought enough of it to invite you over me. You’re eligible for the priesthood, the real priesthood, and not just some glorified baby sitting job.” After a slight pause to taste the air, he added, “You could work together, as equals. H’il’li.”

Finally, he was calmed enough to speak.

“You know I can’t, Bird. I don’t have a twin, like my father. The line is completely dependent on me. My threads haven’t been on Fate’s shuttle for a long time. I’m already locked by warp and weft. And what has been woven can’t be unthreaded without tearing apart all else, the good and the bad.”

And why must they be unraveled?” Bird said immediately, giving him no quarter. “It is you that hold to them, not the other way around. Let them go, and dance.”

It was so easy for his cousin. Bird would never be expected to lead, never be called on to sit on any serpent throne—the real one in Obsidian Castle or the just as heavy but never acknowledged one of his father’s people. Bird was the person who understood him the most, and even he couldn’t grasp the impossibility of his suggestion, his devil-may-care dare to dance freely. He couldn’t. He could not, so that his people could have the choice to. He gave the freedom they held so very dear, so that at least someone could dance. So that they could take that freedom for granted.

Suddenly, he was very, very angry. His rage flickered across his skin, lines of fire racing up and down his bare limbs and middle, his face. The fire burned all along his body, because it had no where else to go. He couldn’t direct it outward, at any effigy of his imprisonment. He couldn’t flame and rage at the cage that held him. So he burned, brighter and brighter like a falling star, spending its all in one last desperate dive to the earth.

When he’d burned himself out, Bird covered him with a blanket against the growing chill of the night, and climbed a tree to keep watch over their camp.

The fire raged across the white desert, re-charring trees that had already stood empty and black. Only the large dark rock by the lake, and the man sleeping in the hollow of it’s lee, remained untouched. The little campfire at Seth’s side went out, starved for oxygen as the larger inferno blazed on, razing the already desolate landscape.

Seth’s lips dried and cracked in the heat, and whatever other words he’d been about to say died. What tenuous grasp on wakefulness he’d had was stolen away, as the fire stole his breath, and he collapsed again into unconsciousness.

Previous: Chapter 11, part 2 Next: Chapter 12, part 1