TWO HUNDRED TWENTY-ONE: Here-to-There I

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“I don’t want to be pessimistic, but I’m starting to think nobody’s going to ask us to follow them.” Ryada-bess stood above the rest of their group on top of a wooden fence railing, looking back toward the collection of houses at one end of the narrow, brown-paved road.

They’d left Rapport I shortly after sunrise to be in this spot before the local sunrise, so that a villager in need of help could spot them on the road and invite them to come to the house of the wizard who ran this place, where they would lend their voices and their might to the ordinary people. But the two families that had passed by so far had taken one look at them all and then minded their own business so hard it was almost funny. One man had started commenting loudly on “the health of the o’odee chicks this year” even though it had been too dark for the hen fields on both sides of the road to be clearly seen.

Now, those fields were much more visible, and instead of using the light rods they’d borrowed from the siblinghold to see by, they had been using them as lures. The curious o’odee chicks were waking up and running over to see if the shiny things near the fence were edible.

The System had given Alden a map of this place when he’d requested one. They were on the edge of a desert, in a large village designed around the farming of a few different products. The community was shaped like a wheel, with the wizard’s home and public buildings at the center and roads radiating out like spokes to neighborhoods of houses.

The wizard was proud of it. Alden didn’t have to meet her to know this whole thing was a serious passion project. As soon as he’d requested the map, he’d gotten a bunch of images and reading material that had been created to go along with it. All the neighborhoods were mini oases, there were three-dimensional images of the historically accurate mud bricks that clad the exteriors of the buildings, and they’d just held an event similar to a science fair at the children’s school based on the theme of finding new uses for o’odee feathers.

These things are so ugly-cute it’s ridiculous, he thought, waving one of the lights back and forth slowly and watching a bubble-eyed, baby almost-ostrich weave its neck to follow it. Most of the chicks were a few posts down in front of Bithe, but one stubborn one kept opening its beak and sticking its head through the slats toward Alden. Alden wanted to feed it, but the only obvious o’odee food around were some mothlike bugs. He could have caught one if Bithe wasn’t somehow hogging them all.

Is he a moth whisperer? Is he giving off a scent they like?

The laconic knight had them fluttering around both his hands, just waiting to be caught, crushed, and poked into the mouths of his impressive collection of o’odee chicks. He looked bored to tears doing it…but he kept on doing it.

Alden vacillated between thinking Bithe was actually unhappy to be here and thinking he just didn’t have much energy to expend. Maybe his affixation had knocked him on his ass, and all the stuff he’d done this morning was nice for him but too much trouble to smile about.

“People traveling by vehicle may be waiting until true dawn. Or some could have been delayed in their preparations for their journey,” Stuart said. He stood a few steps behind Alden, busily rearranging the numerous casting tools and ingredients he’d brought. He’d changed into the uniform the votaries at the Rapport school wore, minus the heavy cape. And he’d aded a quantity of jewelry, wands, packs, and pouches that Drusi-otta would approve of.

Though she might be concerned that he’d been reading a manuscript on how to use one of the wands before they left.

“I will be happy to find a house in need of help this morning if you want me to,” Stuart continued. “I can go and express our willingness to assist them in moving along.”

He’s offering to burst into some family’s house.

Alden was sure Stuart would burst in as nicely as anyone could, but he was still getting a fantastic mental image of this highly-accessorized version of the Primary’s son peeking through someone’s kitchen window while they ate first meal, trying to decide if they were in need of three newling knights, one human teenager, and a freshman LeafSong student. A freshman LeafSong student who was going to be the best votary ever just for today, by capturing some needy ordinary class members and helping them whether they were ready or not.

“Maybe I’m the problem,” Alden said, even though he didn’t think he was the only problem here. “I can stand behind you all with my back turned when the next person passes, so it’s not as obvious that I’m a human to a casual eye.”

Reduce the weird by one for these poor travelers.

“It will be fine,” Emban said, even though she was fidgeting more than Stuart, without the excuse of having a hundred new tools to figure out. “If nobody else passes this way soon, we’ll hop over this part of the event and start in the village meet. Stu has spoken to people involved with planning, so we’re not unexpected by everyone.”

She stared at Stuart until he noticed.

“We’re expected,” he confirmed. “By the organizers on the other end. We are not expected by the <<village master>> here because the organizers thought our presence would be more exciting for her that way.”

This was another reason Emban had chosen this Here-to-There over any others she could have found. The village master, who Alden was thinking of as Mayor Wizard, was a happy participant instead of an angry politician being dramatically abandoned by even angrier former supporters. She sounded like she might be a fun, old geek who couldn’t support a community of this size much longer. So some of them were leaving her in the style that matched this home she’d built, with no hard feelings on either side of it.

“I hope we will be exciting.” Ryada rose onto her tiptoes atop the rail and threw her head back. “Emban, Bithe, be exciting to our people with me today!”

Alden didn’t know what it was like to hang out with an open and charming person in the existence-to-existence way that had multiple knights interested in building something deeper with Ryada. But he liked her company in the realm of more mundane interactions already. She defaulted to perky, like a few other people he knew, but she had something observant underneath that shone through. He’d hardly known her for any time at all, but he’d heard her make an insightful remark or ask a thoughtful question to every person here.

Like when they’d all been standing around in the dark, waiting for the first travelers to appear on the road, and she’d suddenly said to Stuart, “You and Alden are weaving a friendship. What kind of oaths will you swear to each other? Do you know yet?”

That was how Alden found out this was not only an appropriate question to ask an Artonan adult who was being very vocal about his friendship weaving, but also one Stuart had been deprived of opportunities to answer. He was proud to say that their friendship weaving was going well and he looked forward to swearing oaths—multiple—to Alden. However, he was considerately delaying discussion of those oaths so that their relationship proceeded in a more human-style fashion.

On his own time, though? Stuart was totally reading books on great historical friendships and the contracts that had supported them in their flourishing. And he and Alden had already agreed on some friendship goals. For example, neither of them would lose affection for the other because of mistakes.

Alden did remember agreeing to that. It had been after handing over all those study journals he’d borrowed from the top library.

He just hadn’t realized Stuart was quietly cataloguing such moments and building a file in his head of Friendship Things Alden May Swear To Do With Me.

Emban and Bithe both seemed judgmental about even the possibility of a future oath not to hold mistakes against each other. If Emban saying, “You haven’t known him that long yet,” and Bithe giving Alden a weary look could be taken as their opinions. But Ryada had come over to Alden and opened up her coat to show off a small friendship tattoo below the front of her shoulder. It was shaped like a letter “U” with a squiggle inside, and it was a contract between her and her squadmates to live one day every nine years in honor of the others.

Emotions could wither, she explained. Actions could water them back into bloom. It was impossible to forget what a person had once meant to you if you committed to recognizing that meaning again and again throughout your life.

Alden leaned away from the fence so that Ryada could stroll past on the railing again. She went to admire Bithe’s collection of chicks and make a soft version of the laughing sound that o’odees were known for. All the chicks looked at her except for the one that was certain food was going to appear from Alden’s knees.

After a moment, he realized everyone was looking at her except for Stuart, who was trying to force people to hurry up and come down the road just by staring really hard at their houses.

Emban moved to stand closer to her squadmates. “It will be a good day even if we don’t get invited by the people of the village until after the announcing and the challenging.”

“Of course it will,” said Ryada, still making funny noises at the chicks.

Alden had decided he would help Emban’s cause today by trying to create pockets of semi-alone time for her and Ryada, so that if she was feeling ready, she couldsay, “Hey. How about seeing if we’re deeply compatible as authority partners so we can have better affixations somehow and destroy chaos even harder together?”

Only she’d say it better than that. He hoped. She’d had more time to plan.

How many times do people try out deepening with someone in this way without it working out?

A lot, he guessed. That was the reasonable assumption since it was both desired and rare.

Still, taking this step had to require a bit of bravery. He was over here getting anxious about what kinds of ancient tomes on friendship Stuart had been studying, and Stuart hadn’t even formally suggest a friend promise to him yet.

He’s working hard on it in his own head, but me being able to do magic like a wizard isn’t being taken into consideration.

He can’t take it into consideration because I haven’t told him.

I haven’t told him because I haven’t known him long enough to trust him with something that huge yet.

No. He wished that was it, but he knew it was just an excuse that made him feel better. Because if length of friendship was the real issue, then the problem would eventually fix itself.

The truth was that Alden trusted the Artonan a crazy amount considering how briefly they’d known each other.

He trusted Stu-art’h to try to do the right thing.

The problem is that I might not be the right thing. I might be a wrong or dangerous thing in the eyes of a knight of the Mother Planet, even if I don’t mean to be.

What Alden wanted was proof Stuart wouldn’t think that way. He needed it. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever get it.

I hate thinking this way so fucking much.

Back to something more doable—a pocket of alone time for Ryada and Emban.

“Hn’tyon Bithe?”

Bithe hadn’t given Alden permission to drop the title. Possibly, he feared that saying that many words would sap the last of his motivation.

One eye slid slowly over in reply.

“My o’odee chick seems…” Alden couldn’t bring himself to call the creature bonking its beak into his pants leg stupid. It was his. It had chosen him over the Artonans. “Hungry. This one’s hungry, too. Would you mind sharing your flying bugs?”

He was pleased that Bithe stopped leaning on the section of fence right beside Ryada and Emban and slouched toward him. He’d doubted the request would work. Bithe could have told him to bring his human-preferring chick over to join its more sensible brethren.

There you go, Emban. Find your moment and your courage.

Bithe bent forward to insert a moth between Alden’s knee and the little o’odee. He didn’t look so dour when his face was hidden. He was wearing a longer but lighter version of the knight coat in a dull red, with sage and cream colored string wound into his hair to match his squadmates’ coats.

“I think this one is stupid.” Bithe plucked another moth out of the air and smashed it before poking it into the o’odee’s beak.

“No! It was smart enough to come to the fence. I bet there are much less intelligent ones still out there in the field.” Alden could spot some eggs now. Like pale basketballs resting in the depressions the hens had made in spongey clumps of vegetation. “My o’odee is great. I’d feed it flying bugs myself…if I could catch any. How are you doing that?”

“These are a type of vatha,” Bithe said, twisting one of his hands in front of himself as he watched the moths dance. “My skill is called The Vatha Lantern. That which <<mesmerizes>> only to burn. I asked for it to be stripped of some <<modernizations>> others have chosen so that I might start with it closer to an older form. But I wasn’t expecting this. The vatha have been coming to me for a few days now, whenever I think of myself in a certain way.”

Alden squatted low to look closer at Bithe and his moths. The vatha had brown wings with scalloped edges. Bithe wore three rings on the middle finger of each hand, and an orangish yellow auriad was wrapped around his left forearm.

“They come even when you’re not using your skill?”

“In some ways, we are always using our skills.”

Okay. Alden could go there. Your skill was you, so it didn’t go away when you weren’t using it. Even when you fatigued a part of yourself, it didn’t disappear or empty out like a gas tank.

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Alden was The Bearer of All Burdens even if he’d gotten too exhausted to make reality bend to his will. He was continuing to exist in reality, so in some way, no matter how little magic he was doing, he was still a place on the map of the universe imbued with unique qualities. And those qualities could presumably affect or be perceived by other things that existed.

Still, what he’s saying is amazing. It’s like me meditating on the nature of my skill and…having luggage feel drawn toward me?

Vatha were clearly more suited to being entranced than inanimate objects were. He was impressed anyway.

“That’s special,” he said. “You have a sign that you’ve chosen your skill well.”

He meant it earnestly. It was something he wished he could say to himself more often than he was able to. And Stuart wanted people to compliment his skill choice so much he’d let Alden write unsigned words of encouragement in the back of the study journal—the one nobody else would comment on—before he returned it to the library.

So Alden wasn’t at all prepared for Bithe to stand and look down on him, his tired eyes suddenly alive with something fiery as he said, “Many people choose beautiful skills for themselves without receiving signs.”

Alden froze, one hand suddenly going white-knuckled on a fence rail, stomach tightening. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to say the wrong—”

“If you don’t know the right thing to say, then stop <<mutilating>> our language just to make wind.”

What did I do? He’s so mad at me. Was the word “signs” insulting somehow?

He was so upset that Bithe was so upset that he didn’t realize the others had noticed the situation until Stuart sprang in between the two of them, brimming with outrage if his posture and the wand in his hand were anything to go by.

“You are making a lot of wind with your mouth, and it has the <<putrescent smell>> of wind from a lower <<bodily orifice>>!”