Excerpt
Episode One
Where Pardonus of Comastee meets his end; and his daughter begins her seed sowing
1
Poison can be found under any rock in every world. The question is whether the discovery is to be used for good or evil. Some poison can benefit in limited dozes, while others spell death under any circumstances. Even an apple seed can choke a cat, while a tomato belongs to the world of nightshade. So, it takes a knowing mind or a twisted heart to parse one weed from another and declare use based on taste or outcome. This is true in every world and can be found under any rock worth lifting.
2
He was stout and draped in gorick skins, purple strips trailing to the tall weeds. As he picked the herbs and gathered the fungi, he muttered to his little daughter, who sat beneath a Sittiquo tree. She listed and learned as she was commanded to do, her father insisting on it, now that her elder sisters were banished from Cetronia and Comastee. Hope ran high in the old man’s heart for his daughters, only to face the disappointment when their bodies succumbed to an odd ailment engulfing them in inertia. He feared their demise. Only their removal across the Forling might save what remained. He feared that this youngest daughter might develop the same symptoms, but so far, she remained intact.
Pardonus trudged through the high grass near Comastee, his eyes scanning the soil for the charmed herbs he needed. Then he spied a knotted weed with a crimson red berry atop. He bent, and then plucked it. Holding it to his eye, he grinned. Pardonus was the last pure specimen of his race. Once a noble tribe, he watched the population thin, and then dwindle to a handful, and then to none. He tried to preserve the line as best he could by courting a Cetrone maiden — the Scepta of Lord Enitachopco, but the first kindlings had gone badly — seven daughters all to dissolved to ragamuffin dolls; and now they were across the Forling. But this last child was intact and sharp as a Sittiquo thorn.
Pardonus shook the herb, a dust spray trailing the berry.
“Gorbisanti,” he shouted. “Do you hear me? Gorbisanti.”
“I hear you, father,” the child said, looking at the herb, but not stirring otherwise.
“How is it used?” her father chanted. “Come, come. Do not hesitate. You must know all when it comes to herbs. Tell me now.”
“It is the berry of suggestion and command, father.”
“Good. Good. One spray inhaled can place a man under your command, your suggestions eating into his brain beyond his control. You can make a paste or a potion too, but those require more manipulation and is harder to introduce without suspicion.”
“But more potent, father.”
“True. It is not a frequent visitor to the grasslands, so when we find it we . . . “
Suddenly, the ground shook. The child stood, terror registering across her face. Her father turned toward the nearby wood, shading his eyes with his cuffed palm.
“Hide,” he shouted. “It is upon me. The Bati-gati is upon me.”
3
“A hideous creature,” Nayowee muttered as she rummaged through the Yugda for herbs. It had the heft of three Gufa, she thought. Ran on two legs — thick leathery legs, too fast to outrun. Its green eyes bulged from a giant head with giant jaw and giant teeth — razor teeth. It had been the only time she had seen the creature that tore her father apart, cutting him in two at the waist. The beast swallowed him by degrees, while Nayowee hid behind the Sittiquo. “He taught me well, but it was his time. He inhaled the spray and was too intoxicated to do more than fall and be eaten.”
Nayowee reached down, her body already bent over her cane. She grasped the root of a red berried weed, yanking it from the ground.
“Gorbisanti,” she muttered. “What luck to find you here when I need you most.” She cradled the herb, careful not to shake it and intoxicate herself. “A basket of these and I could rule this land — this cruel place.”
Nayowee closed her eyes, her mind crafting a plan. The scenario grew, fanned by her discontent — by her anger at her mistreatment. Instead of lording over an asi-asa of renown, her structure, sturdy as it was, was built in this wilderness where few came. Only the hired Fumarca with the Brothers were within earshot, draping the new branchee-wanchee on the Filamog trees that dominated the lower slopes of Mount Taotarhiti. And this asi-asa was built not by pure Cetrone hands, but Yunockers daring to help. Nayowee complained, but it fell on deaf ears. This was a unified brigade now — no concern for purity. She fumigated the healing place to expunge the impure elements. It took weeks and daily chanting from her priestess crew to complete the cleansing.
The asi-asa stood apart from the people — all people. No longer was it central to daily life. Life in Montjoy was blended, few others than Cetrone regarding Nayowee as anything more than a relic of an ancient religion and apart from their own culture. Galling her was the presence of new asi-asa, called sqwallenfells, where healing proceeded using some of her secrets and a blend of Yunocker and Zecronisian craft. These sqwallenfells served more people than the asi-asa and was under the superintendence of an upstart Cetrone woman named Naniyusgi.
“An unqualified bitch,” Nayowee muttered as she continued to gather the herb. “Encouraged by Yustichisqua.”
At the thought of Yustichisqua and his rise to prominence, Nayowee shuddered. At every turn the Son of Kittowah opposed her, backed by Lord Belmundus. Hadn’t Enitachopco promised her reign over the Yodanado? She counted on harnessing her elder sisters to continue the Comastee line. But no. Lord Belmundus managed to sweet talk Enitachopco into allowing the Yodanado their independence.
“Damn their eyes,” she spit. “Damn them all.”
Nayowee had taken a resolve to make one last plea to the Elector, but, unlike her easement in Cetronia, she had no way to get about and everything in this sprawling place was too far for her to reach conveniently. It was a matter for consideration. She was offered a Seecoy, but she refused to operate it. Yustichisqua suggested the Culpeeper brothers create a broomstick for Pardonus’ daughter but, besides the insult entailed, Nayowee demanded private transportation — a full time chauffeur. This had been denied her. The solution finalized was: when she needed to get about or to a place beyond her coping, she would use a s’foon to call for a Seecoy. Of course, she refused to operate a s’foon. So, a beacon fire was readied near the asi-asa to summon a Seecoy and driver when needed. And not just any driver. She insisted on a Danuwa.
“Marigowld,” she shouted.
A withered woman appeared, one of several withered women — her priestess crew. Marigowld drifted above the ground, reaching her mistress. She was wreathed in blue light, an acquired trait for these priestess’ and, except for a sheer gown, she was naked beneath. She bowed, her orange hair trailing the ground.
“Yes, my lady,” she replied.
“Light that damn beacon. I mean to go to the Ayelli Hill and browbeat my grandfather. Surely some easement can be made to advance the spirits of this land.”
“The spirits have been left behind, my lady.”
“Not so, bold one. That assessment will be your undoing.”
If any other had suggested such blasphemy, they would be struck from the hearth and expunged from the rolls. But Nayowee had few priestesses’ remaining from the old guard and scant hope for replacements in the New Day. So, she nodded to Marigowld and listened.
“I speak true, my lady,” Marigowld said. “We cultivate the spirit of the trees from the saplings that grow, and they grow well. But surely, they feel neglected. Surely, they wait for the Cetrone to worship them as is the custom.”
“It will happen, if I have anything to say about it. The spirits left behind still call to us and their children across the Forling. Mend your views and serve me.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Light the damn beacon and summon the lackey.”
Marigowld drifted to a wood pile — three stories high and deeply fitted. She raised her arms and sang:

“Dun-a-yi-sdi for-tlu-mor-i
Lu-pa-mu-tlu Di-plu ous-gi.”

The wood pile awoke, glowing faintly at first, but then shot a flame four times as high as the stack, clearly visible at a great distance.
“Good,” Nayowee said. “I hope I need not wait long.”
She finished picking the last Gorbisanti, and then entered her new asi-asa, grumbling about everything and everyone.
4
It did not take Nayowee long to pound the Gorbisanti into dust and wrap it in Sittiquo leaves. It could find many purposes now. First, however, was to mix a wee bit into a bottle of brantsgi. She knew what she was doing. Once completed, she poked her head from the asi-asa, and then grinned.
“Which one comes, I wonder,” she murmured. “It matters not. They are all susceptible.”
It was Tosawa who buzzed in on his Seecoy landing near the beacon, standing impatiently for his human cargo to come and embark. But Nayowee did not come. Instead she waited until he came to her.
“Mother Nayowee,” Tosawa said. “I am here to do your biding.”
“You are,” she cackled. “And a fine evening is coming for a cool flight to the Ayelli.”
“It is too late for such a passage.”
“Not so,” she said. “I mean to speak with the Elector and to catch his vesper council. I know the best time to pay my respects to Enitachopco. Do you question this?”
Tosawa grunted, and then came closer.
“I suppose it must be so,” he grunted.
“Do not be so ill disposed to adventure and travel, even if it is with an old croak like me. Come, come. Wet your whistle before we depart. I have a fine strewsberry brantsgi at my disposal.”
Tosawa sighed but followed the sorceress into her lair. She admired his attire, her eyes dancing over his asana, although she didn’t voice it. She grasped the bottle, and then poured a good doss into an earthenware cup.
“I just had some, so you shall drink alone. The stuff goes fast to this old lady’s head.”
Tosawa grunted again, took the cup, and then drank. He grinned at the finish, the brantsgi fine tasting despite its passenger dust. In fact, it was the berry that added the strewsberry flavor to the brew.
“Unusual,” he said.
“More?”
“No, this is fine, but if we must go, we must go now.”
“Young warriors are always rushing. Is that the curse of being under Yunocker thumbs now?”
Tosawa grunted again, turned, and then departed. Nayowee snickered but followed. She spied Marigowld near the beacon.
“My lady,” she asked. “Will you be gone long?”
“As long as I wish, but do not expect me tonight or tomorrow. The journey makes me ill sometimes. I will depend on Enitachopco’s hospitality to set me up for the return.” She turned to Tosawa, who already revved the Seecoy. “Must I climb into this contraption on my own two feet?”
Tosawa hopped out and lifted the old woman into the vehicle, setting her down carefully in the back.
“Are we ready?” he asked.
“I am not driving the thing. How should I know?”
Tosawa grasped the wheel, and then nodded to Marigowld. The Seecoy lifted off the ground, finding its forward track.
“Not so fast,” Nayowee complained. “I shall be too ill to conduct my business. Or has the brantsgi effected your driving.”
“I am fine, Mother Nayowee. We must drive steady if you are to reach the Ayelli kaleezo before vespers.”
“I thought maybe it was some new Yunocker regulation that spurred you on.”
“The Yunockers do not rule the Danuwa.”
“Of course not, although Praetor Ringcarus must certainly trump most of your commands.”
Tosawa jerked the Seecoy just as it cleared the Yugda. Nayowee whined, but not really. She was worm wheedling now and had found her first fissure.
“Ringcarus must be honored,” Tosawa said. “He is a clever warrior.”
“Warrior? He was a follower of Tarhippus. How could he survive to become an overlord?”
“It pleases Lord Belmundus.”
“But you and your brother Danuwa won the day. Yet the rewards go to Yunockers like Ringcarus and those creatures Mopps and Vinck.”
“They are not Yunockers.”
“All the worse for the choice. Think on it. They are Semyon from Protractus. Why are they even here? Why are they made mighty leaders?”
“Lord Belmundus . . .”
“Lord Belmundus. Of course, and he cannot be questioned.”
“If it pleases you, mother, I prefer we ride in silence. Lord Belmundus is my liege-lord; and I am sworn to uphold his name and will. If you smear his reputation, I will be forced . . .”
“Forced to what? Beat me? Throw me out over the Byybykyyip? What are these outlanders to the children of the light? Why are the Golden Eight merged into the regulati and the Palace Guard?”
“We are all under Lord Yustichisqua’s command.”
“The son of Kittowah? I remember when he was a half pace away from being a Trone. I recall him as a crawling worm in Lord Belmundus’ shadow. Yet now he is a lord.”
Tosawa turned to his passenger and scowled.
“I should not be hearing you speak so.”
“Because you know it to be true. You know that the Golden Eight should be separate and purely Cetrone, that they should be commanded by the Danuwa, and that the regulati should cavort under the outlander’s whip. You know it to be true, and yet you dissemble at the thought. Has the tlugu clan produced such surefire temerity that Tosawa should not be better than Mopps and Vinck?”
“Vinck is a bit pernicious,” Tosawa muttered. “He is always quoting passages from some outland book and never pays respect to Cetrone ways. But . . .”
“But what, Tosawa of the tlugu?”
Tosawa grunted, and then turned back to his driving. He had drifted off course, but now reached the deep rift of the Ayelli Hill. After changing directions, he turned to the old woman. She could see he wanted to say more, but despite the urge, he remained silent — tense, but silent. Nothing more was said for the remainder of the trip.


Episode Two
Where Nayowee interrupts the vespers and manages to tangle with Little Bird
1
Persistence is a virtue when it is persistence. When it is nagging and insistence, it is much like a beetle crawling into a rose and eating the beauty away from the petals. Much can be ignored but if put aside too long, only a rotting flower will remain and an ugly stem. So, the wise face the nagging and crush it flat. Unfortunately, even the wise find such nagging hard to eliminate; and lauds the moment when it is silenced. But like persistence, insistence is never silenced, hiding as it is beneath the cover of bloom.
2
The royal Kaleezo broke the sky atop the Ayelli Hill. It was a Gurt promise which pleased Enitachopco, its rainbow spiral embracing the clans colors, arising to a conical point, a golden beacon at its crest like an eternal waddly wazzoo resisting nightfall with light.
Nayowee grunted at its sight. It looked like a kaleezo to her mind, but only after a fashion. The impressive variation was not Cetrone and thus a heresy not to be borne. It approached fast, because Tosawa accelerated, fired by his eagerness to end this journey, no doubt. Nayowee would have him slow the contraption, but she too wanted to arrive in time for the vespers. So, despite her queasiness, she continued to heckle Tosawa with a shower of doubts about his overlords. She tried to shore up his confidence with self-worth, but Tosawa kept his silence, landing inside the Kaleezo’s vast antechamber.
“We are here, mother Nayowee,” he stammered.
“Get closer, my child. Am I to hobble a great distance to see my grandfather? I would be too late.”
Tosawa sighed but flew the Seecoy to the edge of the hall.
“Better?” he muttered.
“Much better. And you remember what I have said, brave warrior. It is a grace to be cherished and a nettle to be downcast when those who have risen on your shoulders continue to stand upon your back.”
Tosawa hopped out of the vehicle, and then guided Nayowee through the arches into the new Kaleezo’s hallowed halls. The spiral inside matched the one outside, the smoke from the Elector’s pipe filling the hall sweetly. Enitachopco sat center hall, his brothers in a semi-circle about him. Standing silently to the side was Lord Belmundus with Littafulchee and their daughter. Elypticus emerged from the shadows, Yustichisqua at his side. When they saw Nayowee, they collectively twitched as if spying a spider emerging from the shadows.
“Nayowee,” Lord Belmundus said. “To what do we owe this honor?”
“No honor, Lord Didaniyisgi. I come to petition my grandfather for some small boons that would make an old lady happy.”
She turned to Enitachopco, who acknowledged her with a nod. The brothers also nodded.
“The hour is late, daughter of Pardonus,” Enitachopco said. “You are welcomed here but know that we have laced our heads with the smoke and might find your complaints pernicious to our taste.”
Nayowee approached, bent on her cane, her herb bag swinging from her neck timed with the swaying of her chin wattle. She smiled, and then bowed, if one could bow, when already bent.
“I see my uncles are content. The foreign life suits you well, Elejoy.”
“I am content,” Elejoy replied.
“So, the fuss has been forgotten? And Coweeshee, you never wished to leave Cetronia or the shadow of my asi-asa. You too enjoy the breezes on the Ayelli Hill?”
“They are sweet and lovely, drenched in the scent of the Scaladar Roses.”
“A sickening aroma, I should say,” she replied with a choke.
“But surely,” Tucharechee said. “Surely the great Nayowee does not travel so far to assess our happiness.”
“Ah, Tucharechee is still the pin prick in the pot allowing the essence to escape in a river of discontent.”
“Should I be anything other than a prick,” he replied, laughing. “We all know your complaints, Nayowee. You list them as often as the suns rise and the moons set.”
“Then list and learn again, uncle. My comfort should count for something.”
“It does,” Enitachopco said. “Vent or take the pipe and rest your case.”
Nayowee waggled her hand and pounded her cane on the Kaleezo’s floor.
“You promised me guardianship of the Yodanado,” she snapped. “And what do I find? I find that my sisters are kept prisoners in the Kalugu. Euforsee has been refused reunion with her kith and kin.”
“Not refused,” Lord Belmundus said. “Requested.”
“But . . . but . . . that cannot be, Lord Belmundus. Euforsee is the eldest. Her magic is far older than mine. She and I are compatible on all points.”
“She has lived so long apart and has shepherded her sisters for an age,” Harris replied. “She has asked to be left where she is and not to be distracted by your . . . by your new magic.”
Nayowee pounded her cane again and turned to her grandfather.
“It was a promise, Enitachopco. I made this a condition for my removal.”
“So you did and so it shall be, when I see fit.”
“But why delay?”
“You are not far seeing, granddaughter,” he replied. “Euforsee has the gift of seeing. In a time when Grimakadarian threatens the peace of Farn, the Yodanado and Euforsee’s foresight becomes a strategic gift to the nation. I would keep the Yodanado apart from all and only handy to me and mine.”
Nayowee grunted. She couldn’t further this argument, especially since the promise would be kept at a later date, which might be a few centuries hence.
“But must I be kept so far from the heart of Montjoy?” she asked. “My asi-asa is useless to the people, who never traverse the Yugda.”
“You wanted to husband the Sittiquo,” Yustichisqua pipe in. “The Sittiquo will thrive only in the Yugda, failing in the Yuganawu.”
“How was I to know that when I made my request? But you, Son of Kittowa, who pressed for this arrangement, you would have seen to it that I was pushed to a remote spot. Now the healing is assumed by new asi-asa that cater to all manner of folk.”
“The Sqwallenfells,” Yustichisqua stated. “Good work for all the people.”
“But in the hands of an incompetent Cetrone woman who was but a Trone a short time ago. What does she know of healing except what she has stolen from me as a guess when she applies herbs willy-nilly without proper blessings or prayers? It is egregious to think that the holy is profaned by Yunocker yeasty cures and Zecronisian cutting rituals.”
“You would deny the folk of Montjoy the benefit of cures and relief from ills and pains and fevers?” Enitachopco asked.
“No, grandfather. But cures administered without spiritual benefit is dark magic and will manifest woes in the most unlikely places and unbidden times. A child who swallows peppergamen for a chronic cough and is relieved, may very well return home to find his mother dead from the black tewic or his father’s head swollen with gasperitis. The spirits take their toll when denied. This curious Trone woman should desist. Healing should be in the asi-asa and administered by myself or my priestesses.”
“Naniyusgi is a blessing to us all,” Yustichisqua said. “She is teaching others. Her methods are spreading and helping. We have opened Sqwallenfells at the Ryyve Aniniya and one at the Golden Eight barracks, much to the comfort of the warriors.”
Nayowee turned violently toward Yustichisqua.
“You see what has happened,” she snapped. “The soldiers of mongrel races are benefiting from Cetrone herbs and potions, yet they are saved to lord over us once again.”
“I do not understand,” Yustichisqua said.
“The Golden Eight should not be commanded by Yunockers, but by Cetrone. Former enemies like Ringcarus and foreigners like Mopps and Vinck should be relegated to the low ranks and not made commanders. The leaders should be Cetrone.”
“But that is indeed the case, Nayowee,” Belmundus said.
“Lord Yustichisqua is Cetrone,” Littafulchee added.
Nayowee sneered, but then upon seeing Julia’s concerned look, melted into a sweeter disposition.
“That is true,” she said. “Would that your Danuwa were accorded more respect. But who am I to know military matters.”
“Yes,” Yustichisqua snapped. “You do not hear me tell you how to mix your potions, do you?”
She bowed grudgingly to Little Bird, and then turned again to Enitachopco.
“Perhaps I should be content with my lot, grandfather.”
“You should,” Enitachopco said. “But any little comfort you require, you always have recourse to me.”
“I mean to stay the night and perhaps a day on the Ayelli Hill and will need a simple bed and a plate of sweet gelisgi or even mashed mongerhide as these old teeth find chewing a chore.”
“Of course,” the Elector said, waving his hand. “But also, since you are here, you might visit your grandmother’s resting place.”
“I fear the Temple father.”
“I know you do. But the spirit of Greary Gree has not been seen in an age.”
Nayowee shuddered. She noticed quick eye action between Lord Belmundus and his lady wife and realized the spirit had been afoot.
“I will consider it,” she said. “Sometimes when things are long overdue, they are drawn by the ugliest patch on time’s quilt.” She bowed. “Lightning never outruns the thunder’s blast.”
“Then if you are better contented,” Enitachopco concluded taking up the pipe again, “take your ride to Mortis House and you will be shepherded to a comfortable accommodation and embrace of soft nourishment.”
Nayowee nodded her thanks to the Elector and his three brothers. She even grinned at Yustichisqua. She hobbled to Tosawa and the awaiting Seecoy, the grin changing to a toothless grimace, her blood in a raging boil.

Episode Three
Where the Thirdling of Zacker and a Thirdling of the Ayelli exchange views; and where parents discuss such exchanges
1
Moonlight guides the way through shadow — shadow of night and shadow of soul. Scent captures the moment and delivers it deeply into the heart — heart of feeling and heart in motion. Still, the map to such doings is unclear, something to be deciphered by oldest minds — minds of sages and minds in circumspection. But when the truth is finally illuminated, it is the moonlight that winds both the night and the soul.
2
In streams of pale pink moonslight, Julia walked in the Garden of the Scaladar Roses, Elypticus strolling beside her, humming a sweet melody. Julia liked the sound of his voice, tenor and infinitely appealing to her ear. She had known few like him because, in the newness of her world and in Cetronia, no other Thirdling dwelled. Yet, Elypticus was not Cetrone, but Ayelli, sometimes tripping over his words and always watching out that her step was sure and her well-being secure.
At first, Julia thought it was an assignment from her mother, Arquebus’ son being an asset to the Dodaloo. But Julia thought better of it now. If it was Elypticus’ duty, it was not an onerous one. If it was an assignment, it was unobjectionable. Still, in the moonslight, with Elypticus’ smooth features reflecting the night’s glow, Julia was content in his presence.
Her heart stirred, her hand releasing his.
“Is something amiss?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “Only I cannot but think that I take up too much of your time now that you have returned home.”
“Nonsense,” he replied. “I enjoy your company.”
“But would you not prefer to race with your brothers or go on a hunt.”
“I like hunting,” he said, his head drooping. “Indeed, I do. But I have learned many things throughout the realms — many practical things on the seas and on the islands. But successive adventures soon become routine.”
“So could escorting me about the Ayelli hill.”
“Do I tire you?”
“Not at all.” Julia laughed in her charming giggle, and then grasped his hand again. “You are always here, but an arm’s-length away. It is a comfort.”
He hummed again, and then grinned.
“You speak of the hunt. Do you know how I met your father?”
“I would love hear you tell me.”
“The hunt,” he said sharply. “When Lord Belmundus first came to this world, he was stranded at Plageris on the Bottleblue Sea. He was quite confused — angry even. He met our Pod as we hunted the Terrerbyrd. In fact, he attacked the terrerbyrd with his boot.”
“Truly?” she laughed.
“Truly. He chucked his boot at the thing’s head and it flew away . . . not the head or the boot, but the bird. It was then Great Kuriakis took your father to heart and confidence calling him . . . Boots.”
“I have never heard him called Boots.”
“Yes. Boots of Montjoy. A proud title, but rarely applied since he has risen to greater titles. But rank has never turned his head. On that day I took him on his first Cabriolin ride over the Bottleblue Sea. We flew into the jaws of a giant misancorpus. You should have seen him.”
“Father was frightened?”
“No. I say it is not so. He was confused, that is all. Lord Belmundus fears no man or beast. I say it.”
Julia sighed.
“I wish to know him better.”
“He is a good man and made me his Danuwa, he did, which I did not deserve. I was too flighty and lost to anything but play. But he taught me responsibility and loyalty and prudence. He saved my life, he did.”
“Truly?”
“Yes. We were captured and imprisoned in the Katorias where I swore I would drift to the Pulveris Springs. But we managed to escape; and he assigned me to Garan the Gucheeda and that is how I came to be a seafarer and came to the Dodingdaten and to the . . .”
She placed her hands upon his lips.
“Where is the Pulveris Springs?” she asked.
“Do not worry about such places, my lady.”
She smiled at the reference, but pouted soon after.
“I mean to know about the Pulveris Springs,” she said.
Elypticus sighed.
“We do not live forever. It might appear so, but we can be . . . be killed. War can take us and a fall might send us into the next world.”
“There are Thirdlings in that next world?”
“So it is said — a golden river that kisses our spirit and keeps us safe for eternity until we can be reborn in another realm or in the outlands. Some say it is a veil that transforms us to a different life. Others say it is a way to disperse us into another form. It is a mystery.”
“I still do not understand this place. Do we visit there and come back to see our friends and families?”
It was his turn to stop lips.
“Our lives are filled with much happiness and time to sing and dance. When that time ends, it sends the songs to a dark corner and the dancing to glimmers. Let us not speak of such things on such a cool and peaceful evening within scent-range of the Scaladars.”
She clasped his hand, squeezing it.
“Do not leave me then, for I fear those springs and would not be lost to them.”
“I believe if you ever go there, I will chase across the divide to spend eternity beyond the veil with you.”
“Truly, Elypticus? Would you protect me even then?”
He kissed her hand.
“I would, sweet Julia.”
Julia found his other hand and pressed it to her heart. She had never felt this way before and wondered what the tingle was and how it came only when she was in Elypticus’ presence. He must have powerful magic. She wasn’t sure whether these feelings were good, because they made her think of strange compulsions.
She disengaged.
“Is this the way a guardian should act toward his charge?’ she asked.
“It is the Thirdling’s way,” he answered. “It is new to you, but you will find it quite to your liking. The music is slow and the lances are gently thrown, the targets found, soft and sweet.”
“And have you cast such gentle lances?”
“I have and know the way of it. And if the world is kind to Elypticus, he will be the first to show you the way of it.”
“I am frightened by it.”
“A natural thing.” He bowed, and then touched her hand again. “But time is on our side.”
“Even if the Pulveris Springs stands at our shoulders.”
“Even so.” He embraced her. She resisted, but then gave way to a kiss on the cheek. “Even so. All Promise and Prophesy withheld assures Thirdlings luxury in the course and repetition without alloy. We are a race denied of everything but the trying.”
She sighed, and then propped her head on his shoulder, slowly strolling in the pale pink moonslight seeking the next subject in love’s lesson book
3
“She’s too young for this,” Harris whispered.
He and Littafulchee had been standing at a distance observing their child. Elypticus’ intentions could not be mistaken by either father or mother.
“It is the way of Thirdlings,” Littafulchee replied. “She is fully grown.”
“In body. I can see that. But she has no experience. She’s still a child in thought.”
“In many ways, yes. But in other ways her instincts are normal. I know the way of Thirdlings, having been in their service for so many years.”
“Well, it might be so, but Elypticus is . . . well, he’s fine as far as it goes. But he’s excitable and has been around the block.”
“I do not understand you.”
“It means, he’s far more experienced than Julia. He’s lived a life at sea and flopped about in ports and with island women. He’s probably been with dozens of Thirdlings . . .”
“And others too. Perhaps even men.”
“No. Not Elypticus.”
Harris wondered. He knew that Thirdlings often toyed within the same sex. After all, they were mules and, with little threat to procreate, what difference did it make. He supposed they might kindle non-Thirdling women, but he never considered it, until now. Perhaps Elypticus had a passel of children in a Makronesian village.
“None of this matters,” Littafulchee said. “You are just jealous that he has known her longer than you have.”
“Perhaps. And can you blame me? I didn’t get to cradle her in my arms or see her first step or hear her first words. I was here keeping my finger in the dike so that Montjoy might survive its grievances.”
“That was and is your destiny, my lord,” she said. “As for your sacrifice, understandable as it is, you shall have another chance at it.”
She tugged his hand toward her belly, and then placed it flat on her dome.
“You mean . . .”
“Yes, you have kindled me again and have not been long about it.”
He hugged her fast, and then showered her with kisses.
“Perhaps a son,” he stammered.
“Perhaps. But who can predict these matters. But know that it shall be cradled in your arms this time and you shall see and hear it as it bursts to full growth.”
“A short but happy joy.”
He kissed her under the pale pink moonslight, and then escorted her into the shadows.
4
“She should have been my apprentice,” Nayowee snarked, bundled close to the thorns and watching the Thirdling couple from afar. “And that one; Elypticus and his foul blade tried to foil me at my zenith. He is owed something for that. He is . . .”
“Why so late and so hidden?” came a voice.
Nayowee, startled at first, gazed up at her intruder.
“Why it is the Son of Kittowa? I might ask you also why you stir so late in the bushes.”
“I do not stir, Nayowee. I am on my way home and, seeing you so low to the ground, grew wary of your activity.”
“Grow wary somewhere else, Yustichisqua, or should I say, Lord Yustichisqua.” She groveled. “I am always on the lookout for herbs and spices for my brew pot. Florisanti is known to grace the roots of the Roses of Scaladar.”
Yustichisqua hunkered down. He gazed at her hand, and then to her sightline.
“I see no herbs, but I do see Mistress Julia and Elypticus.”
“Perhaps they are on the lookout too.”
Yustichisqua shook his head.
“I suggest you find your quarters. The night air can chill; and I would not have you ill on my watch.”
“Are we all on your watch Little Bird?” she snickered. “I suppose I should be thankful you are on the lookout too. No need to worry. Just run along. I will be finished shortly and seek my grandfather’s hospitality.”
Yustichisqua shook his head again, and then gazed toward the Thirdling couple, only it was another Thirdling couple now. He was upstanding.
“I suppose your herb bag needs filling whenever you determine it,” he snapped. “But be less secretive. You never know when a nervous Stick might mistake you for a slitheren and strike you by mistake.”
“You never know. You never know.”
Yustichisqua rattled Gasohisgi and shook his waddly wazzoo before departing up the path toward Mortis House.
“You never, never know, Son of Kittowa,” Nayowee snorted under her breath. “You too might find repentance in my herb bag.” She looked to the other Thirdling couple. “Now, what do we have here?”
Opportunity for mischief was upon the garden path in the pale pink moonslight.