"Brother Sun and Sister Moon C: 11-14" by Sandra Leigh Wagner

;

       A sound in the room brought Brian to sudden consciousness. It took him a moment to get his bearings in the unfamiliar surroundings, to remember where he was and why. The room was spacious, larger than his parents’ farmhouse, and richly, though tastefully decorated. There were diaphanous curtains hanging from a large ring over the head of the bed which obscured his view of the person who had entered the room. He swiped at them, trying to find where they parted so he could see. “Who is it?” he asked, seeing the body moving back towards the door.
       “Forgive me, m…. Brian,” Tuweal stammered, catching himself. “I had not intended to wake you. The princess asked you only be brought if you were not resting.”
       Brian found the opening and slid off the bed. “I’m not resting any more. And I don’t think you woke me. Power naps are supposed to be short.” He crossed to the pitcher of water he had discovered earlier and poured some into the basin, splashed his face and ran his wet fingers through his rough curls. “I’ll be ready in just a tick.”
       “I shall wait then. Have you rested enough to be refreshed?” he asked politely.
       Brian felt surprisingly refreshed. At the very least, he was ready to see the princess again, to acquire a few answers he did not yet have. “I did.” Drying his face on the provided towel and running a silver comb through his hair, he sat on the edge of an ottoman to put his shoes on and hesitated.
       “Is there a problem, Brian?” Tuweal asked, noticing the look on his face.
       “I’m debating which I’d rather suffer, tight shoes or the stares I’d get going barefoot. But, I am the princess’s guest. I’m not going to do anything to make her look bad,” he sighed and started to pull on the left shoe.
       Tuweal quietly reached out and took them away from him. “Then yield to comfort, my lord,” he said, falling back on formality. “There are lords and even ladies who never wear shoes, as it brings them closer to the earth they work with. You have professed frequently that you are a ‘farm boy’. No one will think poorly of you in the least, nor think you backward.”
       “You sure?”
       “Positive.”
       Brian heaved a sigh of relief. “Then lead on, my good man… ord,” he caught himself. Tuweal gave him a half smile as they left the room. “Listen, where I’m from there is only one race, we’re all men. So if I slip up once in a while, please don’t take offence.”
       “I shall not if you shall not take offence to being called lord,” he countered.
       Brian laughed. “Take offence, no, but I reserve the right to feel out of place. It’s like putting a tiara on a pig.”
       “A pig, my lord? Never. You strike me more as the… plowhorse type,” he chuckled.
       Brian could tell the ord meant it in a good natured way, that he wasn’t being snide. He clapped him on the shoulder. “Good. So long as we understand one another.”
       He was led to an airy chamber off a window lined corridor. He glanced out the windows as they passed and saw a jewel-bright ocean stretching out far below. Tuweal opened the door for him and stepped aside, gesturing for Brian to go in alone. Brian shook his hand, thanking him and walked in to what was apparently half library half study. He’d seen smaller reading rooms at the public library in Chicago. The ceiling was high and vaulted, painted with celestial vistas, though the simple yet elegant furnishings seemed to be trying to downplay the ostentatiousness of the castle as a whole. Near the center of the room was a large, carved desk upon which were several maps and papers, at which sat Silouan. She seemed in slightly better health and much more comfortable in the flowing gown of rose and gold which she wore. Sitting on the edge of the desk was a man that could only have been her brother.
       Brother Sun was about Brian’s height, almost, and Tuweal had been right that he was slightly less broad, though no less muscular. He was compact and well cut, as were his clothes. He was dressed differently than in Lady Veleda’s vision, in cloth of gold and embroidered velvet, though he somehow managed to make the fancy clothes look casual. He put Brian in mind of a Lord Byron or Shelley, an incurable romantic poet with an almost unhealthy dose of wanderlust. Of course, that was just the impression Brian got. He could be far off base.
       At the moment, he was busy arguing with his sister, a pastime Brian knew only too well.
       “Sil, you should have known better. I mean, casting the portal while injured is one thing. Casting it with inferior and improper components while injured quite another. And the foreign energies… who knows how they’ll affect you in the long run...?” he trailed off as he noticed Brian’s presence. He turned to glare at him, looking him over from head to foot and judging what he found.
       “Soliel,” Silouan began in a long-suffering voice, “This is Lord Brian Valantyne, the knight I spoke of who rescued me from the Hunter.”
       The prince did not take his golden eyes off Brian, seemed to be trying to look within him as well as without. “You’re lying.”
       Her hand hit the table, “What makes you think…”
       “There’s always a hesitation in your voice when you leave out key details.”
       She glared at him. “That’s not lying.”
       He shrugged. “I can read in between the lines, sister dear. So this is the reason you want to go marching back to Night.”
       “Preferably at the head of an army. Ahrimon and his infernal line have done enough damage out there. It is time we had an Ord of Night who had their eyes upon their purpose, not their personal pleasures.”
       “And you are not just saying this because he tried to kidnap you?” he asked casually.
       “He didn’t try, Sol, he did. I escaped, and it nearly cost me my life. It will cost me my honor if we do not do something to help that poor woman.”
       Brian felt a need to interrupt at this. “I wouldn’t describe my sister as ‘that poor woman’, ever. More than likely, your Ord of Night has his hands full with her. However, if he is less than tolerant of insolence, we need to rescue her before she gets herself killed.”
       “It is hard to say,” Soliel murmured. “His father… I would have said yes in a heartbeat but we don’t really know that much about the son.”
       “Layla is not a woman to be cowed or threatened. Hellcat is a good way to describe her. If she figures out she can annoy someone, she’ll push that button every chance she gets just to watch the fireworks.”
       Soliel frowned. “Hellcat? Pushing buttons? I…” he glanced down at his sister, “don’t understand.”
       She shrugged. “Some things just don’t translate I’m afraid. They use some words differently.”
       This reminded Brian of one of those niggling little questions that had been pecking away in the back of his head. “All right, infinite worlds, infinite possibilities, I get that. What are the chances, though, of finding the one part of my world that speaks the same language?”
       The prince gave a short laugh, bringing a flush to his cheeks and making him feel like a bumpkin. His sister, however, did not laugh, though she smiled. “I cast an understanding.”
       “When?” he frowned, trying to remember. “I think I would have noticed…”
       She shook her head. “You were very much preoccupied at the time. Then, when we made the portal, the understanding was part of the gate itself. The first language you heard after leaving the gate would be the one you understood. Some things, however, defy translation. Your people have a most annoying habit of using commonplace words to mean things that have nothing to do with the original word.”
       He gave an embarrassed smile, sat down in a nearby chair. “Yeah, even we sometimes have trouble keeping up with the slang. So what is the plan to rescue Layla?”
       She sank back in her chair, even her hair, whose tips had been subtly active suddenly went limp. “That is what Sol and I were discussing before you came in. It will be tricky. I think we should march in and remove him entirely, but he disagrees.”
       He looked up at the prince. “And why do you disagree?”
       Both men measured each other for a moment, blue eyes warring with gold, finally Soliel rose, arms crossed and began pacing. “Because I am not convinced removing his keeping is the right choice.” He turned on his heel to face Brian briefly, “I am not saying we should not rescue your sister. I agree that it must be done and soon. I just do not see a reason for taking his mantle, and neither will the council if you cannot convince me.”
       Her eyes narrowed, the tips of her hair beginning to lash like a cat’s tail. “Then I shall just have to convince you.”
       He spread his arms, mockingly, “You are welcome to try. What did you witness that convinces you his keeping is in danger?”
       “Nothing, everything,” she growled. “I did not see much, I was locked in a tower with the windows boarded up for three days. But what I saw disturbed me to the core.” She shivered.
       Brian noticed Soliel soften every so slightly at that tiny sign of weakness. He suppressed a smile.
       “What did he want with you? What did he expect it would gain him?” Sol asked.
       “Would you believe he wanted to negotiate a marriage contract?” From Sol’s reaction, he found it very hard to believe. “And get this, he said I didn’t even have to live with him, just for so many months out of the year. And he wasn’t even going to negotiate for children, or for marital relations… outside the initial consummation, of course.”
       Sol frowned. “What did he want?”
       “For me to make him my Dark Side.”
       “He doesn’t have to marry you for that,” he scowled.
       “What is your Dark Side,” Brian asked. “And why would he want to be it?”
       “Has she explained her position?” Sol asked before his sister could say anything.
       “Yes. That she is elected by a Mandayn council.”
       “Well, she is the moon, that is her mantle, what it governs, she governs.”
       “Got that,” he nodded.
       “Good. The Dark Side of the Moon has powers of its own, powers that without one, Moon has no access to. And sometimes we do very well without,” he added, glancing pointedly down at Silouan. “However, it is a mantle only the Moon can give. And the council hasn’t got a thing to say in the matter. However, as he well knows, you don’t have to be married to the Moon to become their Dark Side.”
       Silouan gestured to a far wall where hung several portraits. “My predecessors. Some of them were married to their Dark Sides, some were related. Others were just dayns with whom they were very close. There must be some kind of connection. What he doesn’t seem to realize is that I don’t just decide ‘you will be my Dark Side’. I don’t choose at all. It’s something that happens, a connection that’s made.”
       “A connection you and he will never have even if he forces you to marry him,” Sol finished. “So none of this makes any sense. If he persists it will cause resentments which mean he will never become your Dark Side.”
       Silouan stopped him with a raised finger and an expression of hesitation. “What?” he asked, suddenly worried.
       “There… there is a precedent. And it may be what is driving this play,” she rose, crossed to a bookshelf with purpose and began searching the rows. Brian watched her with fascination as her hair moved as if through water, not air. A few stray tendrils even trailed along the book spines as if helping her search. “It is possible, though rare and unlikely…. Ah!” she exclaimed, pulling down a heavy volume, blowing the dust off and bringing it to the desk. She flipped through the pages until she found what she was looking for, and passed it to her brother. “There, the story of Chander and Morwen.”
       Sol glanced at it, “Oh, I remember these two. Didn’t Chander’s grandfather put something in their marriage contract that basically guaranteed neither one would ever end it?”
       “Yes,” she said, taking the book and passing it to Brian who glanced it over.
       The couple had started out liking each other well enough, but after a while started to resent one another. Then Chander was elected Brother Moon and matters grew worse. Neither party would release the other, not wanting to give up whatever it was their contract gained them, which the book did not specify. Eventually, she became the Dark Side and remained a thorn in his side, a literal negative aspect, for the rest of his life. When he died suddenly in one of the high towers of what no one ever learned, they immediately suspected that Morwen had done it. But when they barged in on her chambers in her keep some miles away, they found her dead as well.
       “So, if the Moon dies, the Dark Side dies too?” Brian asked, handing back the book.
       Sol shook his head, pouring himself a glass of wine from a nearby decanter. “It all depends on the dayn and the relationship they had, whether or not they can survive without one another. It’s not like the Mares of the Moon who are born with their shadow halves and die with them. So you think this is what he had planned? A way of forcing the connection?”
       She shrugged. “With him anything is possible.”
       “How could he force you into marriage?” Brian asked.
       “For starters, he caught me on the waning moon. I was growing weaker by the day, so physical resistance was not possible. He actually told me, that if I did not agree to the marriage before the moon began to wax, he would cut my hair.”
       The glass in Soliel’s hand suddenly shattered, and the temperature of the room rose abruptly as the contents of the decanter began to boil. Brian stared, hypnotized for a moment by the bright red droplets that flew towards the princess’s pristine white sleeve that never seemed to complete their arch. “Sol!” she reprimanded, flicking the wine back at him before it could stain her clothes. “I will drench you.”
       He twisted his neck until his jaw popped, forcing himself to calm down, and tossed the broken glass onto the tray.
       Brian looked from one to the other. “You never did fully explain that.”
       She took a moment to think of the best way to do so. “It would be like cutting off a horse’s tail. Or a cat’s,” she said. “Magically speaking.”
       “Or a cat’s whiskers,” Sol added.
       Both of them looked over at him. “It was just the once,” he cried defensively. “Whatever his plans were, or are, the question remains what is he going to do now and how are we going to thwart him?” he countered, changing the subject.
       “Do you think he will threaten her? Try to get us to exchange my sister for yours?” Brian asked.
       “Not sure,” Silouan sighed.
       “Though he should know full well that we could never do. That I know the council would never allow,” Sol shook his head. “No. He has to have something else up his pasty little sleeve.”
       “I still say we should ask the council to remove him.”
       “And I still don’t think they will agree.”
       “They might if they knew what was really going on down there. The way he’s treating his Men.” She laid her hand on her brother’s arm, pleading. “Sol, everything we’ve heard is true, and worse. Sure, Ranish has ended the sexual abuses, but they are still little better than slaves and… they ritually scar their women.”
       “What?” both men asked at once. Sol spared a frowned glance at Brian, but quickly returned his attention to his sister.
       “There were four women assigned to attend me. They all wore the same grey, shapeless rags, and three of them had their faces so terribly scarred... They were knife cuts, precise and deep enough to disfigure them!”
       “Why would they…” Brian began.
       “I don’t know why, they wouldn’t talk about it. They wouldn’t say much of anything!” she exclaimed, pushing back her chair and pacing. Her hair was wild and alive, expressing her agitation. Brian could feel the air cool and heavy with moisture. “The meanest farm hand on our poorest farm in our most desolate county wear better clothes than the attendants in his own keep! Even among his soldiers, you can tell which are men and which lords at a glance. We must do something if nothing else but for the Mandayn in his keeping. Life on that frontier is hazardous enough.”
       He sighed. Brian took this for an old argument. “Our predecessors saw fit to leave the matter lie….”
       “And we are wrong to do the same,” she snapped. “They were too preoccupied with their own quarrels and concerns to bother. And they were only going on rumor and speculation. I’ve seen and what little has leaked out has been sugar coated so much it would make you sick to swallow. Something has gone wrong out there.”
       “What?” Sol pleaded, seemed desperate for a reason he could use.
       “Do you really think he would tell me? He’s too much of his father for that. To admit there is a problem or to ask for assistance would be to admit weakness. He’d never allow that. And I am not convinced he hasn’t continued his father’s experiments. There is something… off… about him. I couldn’t place it, but…” she shivered. Brian had to restrain the urge to cross to her and take her in arm to comfort her. Her brother chose not to resist. He set his hands on her arms and she leaned back into him. “There is something not right.”
       “Do we even have a candidate?” She glanced up at him. “To replace him. The council will want one.”
       Her face glowed with hope as she turned to face him. “You mean you’ll ask? You’ll stand with me when I ask?”
       He sighed. “Yes. It means this much to you. You were there. I was not. I still say we need more intelligence but… we can ask.”
       She melted into his arms. “Thank you.”
       Brian allowed the moment to carry a little while before interrupting. “If the two of you are equal, why do both of you have to ask? Why can’t she just ask?”
       It was Sol who answered. “Because, love and trust her though they do, there are dayns on the council will see the request as just the rants of a lady seeking vengeance. With both of us agreeing… siblings or not, they won’t have the courage to risk refusal.”
       He nodded. “How long will this decision by committee take?” he asked, worried about the delay.
       Silouan pulled free, glided back to the desk. “Tomorrow earliest,” she mused, flipping open a book on the desk and writing in it. “We’ll know in a few hours at latest when we can meet. From there… mere hours I hope, if we are persuasive.”
       “Then let us put our argument together well,” Brian answered, willing to do everything he could. “What can I do?”
       Silouan had finished writing her note and set the pen aside when the pages flipped of their own accord. She looked down at the page and smiled. “Right now, you can come with us.” She looked up into her brother’s face, beaming. “Apolladine is here.”
       Sol perked up immediately. “Answers at last!” he said, rubbing his hands together
       Brian rose, offering his hand to Silouan as she drifted towards him. She accepted it, though her brow creased ever so slightly in confusion as he kissed it and set it on his arm. “Who is Apollodine?”
       Soliel fell into step beside them, positively beaming. “You know that mythical book where in is written everything ever seen, heard or done?”
       Brian frowned, but nodded.
       Soliel grinned like a Cheshire cat. “She wrote it.”


;

      They met her in the courtyard, where Brian and the princess had been met. Brian got to see for the first time what such an approach looked like. The moon bridge arched like a shimmering drawbridge, opened by two Ords who stood at the edge of the precipice which they made vanish the moment the back wheels of the coach left it. The carriage itself was little more than a rounded box and simply decorated in dove grey. The coachman pulled the six in hand to a stop and Master Horse came out to attend the handsome greys.
      The first thing to emerge from the coach was a grey wolf with white paws who gave Silouan a canine smile and a tail wag before turning, rearing up on its hind legs and becoming a young girl in her mid-teens. She reached inside and assisted the last occupant to step down.
      To call her statuesque would be polite; she had a figure the Venus of Willendorf would envy. That the coach did not lurch as she trod the only step, Brian could only contribute to magical shocks. She wore a simple layered dress in attractive shades of grey and her hair was braided and bound beneath a drape that covered her shoulders and head in a Romanesque manner. She wore the simple brow band fillet he had seen on several of the ladies so far, only from hers fell a waterfall fringe of crystal beads that had to make seeing difficult, and left only her ruby lips showing. Sausage fingers groped for and found the wolf-girl’s hand, allowed herself to be guided over to where the prince and princess waited, Brian standing between them.
      “Dina!” Silouan cried, embracing the large woman.
      “Svelte as always, Sil, my dear. No worse the wear for your sojourn into night?” she asked. Her voice was deep and velvety, very androgynous.
      “I’ve been patched,” she smiled.
      She set her heavy hand on the wolf-girl’s head and sighed. “Oh go on, greet her proper before you wet yourself with excitement.”
      The girl twisted her body even as she shifted into a wolf and began to fawn at Silouan’s feet. Sil changed too, and the two of them exchanged wolf-greetings. The princess even played with her for a few moments before shifting back up and taking Brian’s arm. The wolf-girl came back to rest crouched at the heavy woman’s heel, half wolf, half girl. “Apolladine, this is Lord Brian Valantyne, as I am sure you know. Brian this is Apolladine, the foremost oracle of our world.”
      Apolladine stepped up to him, ignoring his offered hand. Up close, Brian caught a glimpse of what the beaded veil hid. Her eyes were pitch black from corner to corner, did not even reflect the light from the crystals. It was like staring into a void. “You’ll get lost in those, outlander,” she warned.
      He looked away from them, focused instead upon her ruby lips, grateful for the warning. For a moment he had felt like he was falling.
      She raised a hand to his face, but did not touch him. He could feel the heat from her hand, smell the lavender pomade she used, but her skin never touched his. “Interesting,” she mused. “I think I understand why Veleda could not see you. Hello, Soliel,” she added, pulling back. “A long way from home, aren’t we?”
      Soliel laughed, stepped up to press a kiss to her cheek. “Perceptive as ever, Aunt. What gave me away?”
      “The usual. Now, are you going to keep a blind, old woman standing in the courtyard suffocating in this heat or are you going to take her in and offer hospitality?” she chided, chucking his chin.
      “This way, all knowing one,” he mocked and strode inside.
      She set her hand on the wolf-girl’s shoulder and allowed herself to be led indoors. While outside had been a nice, temperate, early summer morning, inside was deliciously cool. They retired to a small sitting room not far off the main entrance where a young man served them chilled juices and aperitifs. The wolf-girl sat on the floor with her snacks, grinning happily as she listened. Brian didn’t think she was paying attention to what was said, so much as savoring the sound of Silouan’s voice.
       “What brings you?” Silouan asked when everyone was comfortable.
       “You, dear,” she answered. “I would have been here earlier, but you needed some time to recuperate,” she said, nibbling delicately at a piece of fruitbread. “You have questions. Ask.”
      “Is it a good idea to remove Night from Ranish’s keeping?” Soliel cut in before anyone else could open their mouths.
      Apolladine smiled. “Nephew, dearest. Just because I know the answers to every question does not mean I am permitted to answer them.”
      “Who tells you what you can and cannot answer, Lady Apolladine,” Brian asked.
      She turned her sightless eyes to regard him, her head tilted slightly as if listening to unheard whispers. “The universe. The same force which gives me the answers in the first place. I instinctively know what the consequences of telling would be. It is to my discretion whether the consequences are worth it. In this case, nephew, no. I am not going to answer that. You will have to discover some things for yourself, though I would leave yourself some wiggle room on that matter. No sense burning bridges, eh? Though you do so dearly love to burn things,” she added with an enigmatic smile.
      He frowned. “That was a long time ago.”
      “I never forget anything.”
      The wolf-girl shifted fully now that she had finished her snack and curled up on the edges of Silouan’s skirts to sleep. She moaned happily, when the princess’s hand drifted down to caress her ears.
      “Is my sister safe?” Brian asked, first having asked and received a signal from Silouan that he could ask.
      “Your sister is safe for the nonce,” the lady replied. “Which is more than I can say for those around her. The two of you did something by coming here… I am not sure what, it is so muddled- anything to do with you two. It might have been the method, it might have been that you came at all. But the moment you set foot in our world, powerful forces have begun to move. What I sense around you is subtle and calm. But still waters run deep and you are deeper still; a well of strength and stability. Your sister… things around her are unpredictable, random even. Am I correct in my supposition that neither of you are versed in spells or magic?”
      “You are,” he answered.
      “That is why, then, things are less than safe around her. If she is like you…”
      “She isn’t,” he said, shaking his head.
      “Tell me about her.”
      He glanced at Silouan, caught a peripheral glimpse of Soliel lounging back in his chair paying cursory attention as he contemplated the fruit bits in his cookie. “We are twins but… we’re night and day. She’s always been a wild child.”
      “Volcanic,” Apollodine surmised. “It is this nature which makes her dangerous, this unpredictability. She erupts without knowing. But she is safe.”
      “What is the best way to rescue her?” Silouan asked.
      She thought for a moment, tilted her head and stared off at nothing. “Hmmm, no. I cannot answer that. Too many variables. But I can tell you this: one- do not rush off unprepared. This will take planning and maneuvering. Two- do not wait too long. The longer she is with him, the harder it will be to get her away from him.”
      To Brian’s surprise, it was Soliel who growled, “Those are mutually exclusive, Aunt.”
      “Not as much as you might think. There are things going on out there that you must discover, things you must know or we will all fall. And, I think, these two outlanders will be instrumental.”
      “Is there anything you can tell us, Aunt Dina?” Silouan asked quietly. “I mean, you came all this way.”
      She leaned forward, set her hand on Sil’s knee. “I came all this way, little silver one, to see with my immediate senses that my favourite niece was safe and in one piece. I mean, without you I am truly blind. It was horrible while you were gone. You would think I would enjoy a few surprises, but it was crippling, not knowing. Best all around that you were never interested in that particular aspect of your mantle, that you passed it all off. One can become too dependant.”
      “The council meets in a few days,” Silouan began. “Will you stay?”
      “The council meets tomorrow,” she corrected. “And I will. You have plan forming in your mind. Go with your instincts, but leave yourself an avenue of escape. Remember what I said about burning bridges,” she advised sipping at her juice. “Mmm! Watch out for that snake, Keperus,” she added suddenly. “Everything he will suggest is skewed towards his own interests and what seems the most innocuous of requests, is actually the more dangerous. Grant the outlandish, they are useless blinds designed to get you to settle for the ‘lesser evil’. It’s not, trust me. Oh, and Sol, dear. Tomorrow when you play with your little teaching spell… CoppOK, not CoppEK. You have to take into account he’s not from around here.” She turned to Brian, “And you, young… hmm, I am uncertain what to call you. You are powerful, yet not a weaver; you are neither man nor lord nor wytch.”
      He flushed under the scrutiny. “Where I am from we are all called men, my lady. I will take offence to neither appellation.” Listen to me, he thought. I haven’t trotted out fancy words like this since English Lit.
      “A mirror,” Apolladine said suddenly. “That is what you remind me of. The mirrored surface of a deep, dark pool.”
      Brian was unsure what to make of the comparison, though it might explain the fancy words, he added to himself. “You were going to tell me something?” he prompted, when she had been silent for some time, sipping her juice.
      “Oh, yes. I was. Submit.”
      He frowned. “To what?”
      “The magic. To work your will you must first surrender it. To allow others to work their will on you, you must first surrender your will to them. Now I hope you are a wise enough individual to know when to apply this advice and when to cleave to its reflection.”
      Confused, he nodded. “I… I shall try, Lady.”
      “Yes, you will. And don’t worry, everything will come clear in the rinse,” she said biting into another fruitbread. Brian laughed. “What?” she asked. “Have I said something amusing?”
      “Forgive me, Lady, and not directly. It is just… back home,” he added a little wistfully, “the expression is ‘it will all come out in the wash’.”
      She smiled. “Yes. Yes, it does. So delightful these homilies, and so universal. Now, I believe the two of you need a few moments to chat alone, but then you must go straight to bed. You’ve both had a very trying day, tomorrow will not be much better… (I think I’d much rather wrangle rakes like Ranish than tangle with council serpents,) so you should get as much rest now as you can. Lastly, my brilliant nephew, and I mean that physically, not mentally, you and I need to have a long conversation about your paramours.” She rose. The wolf-girl immediately went to her side but she patted her shoulder. “No, Tammerlain, I need you to find Ketta and see about my rooms.” She waved her hand to Soliel to get up and guide her. “Come on you, young philanderer. Give me your arm.”
      He did so under protest. “I will not hear any talk of marriage, dear Aunt. Why on Kerowain would I want to make one lady miserable for the rest of her life when I can make thousands happy for a precious few hours?”
      “I of all dayns know better than to try and get you settled, my darling. And it is so much better that you do not. But there are certain ladies who will not see things in the same manner…” she continued as they left the room and turned down the hallway.
      Brian turned back from watching them go to Silouan, watched her with the wolf-girl, Tammerlain, who hugged her, licked her face in half form before darting off down the hall on all fours. All the questions that had been pressing the front of his brain suddenly took a backseat as he watched the loving, indulgent smile the princess gave the wild were-wolf. “Can you do that?” he asked without thinking. It was by far not the most pressing matter concerning him at the moment.
      She shook herself from whatever dream-like trance she had fallen into and looked at him. “Hmm? Do what?”
      “Half change,” he explained. “I’ve only seen you one or the other. I think it’s kinda of neat the way she does it.”
      She shook her head a little sadly. “No. I am not a true lycanthrope. She is.”
      He swallowed. “Is she infectious?”
      She gave a shocked laugh. “What? Why would you ask that?”
      He shrugged. “In my world we have myths of people like her, but they shift only under the full moon and they lose themselves, run wild. Those they bite become like them.”
      She gave a genuine laugh then, waterfall musical. “No. Ours are not. Mayhap one of ours got lost in your world once, and was driven mad by it, shut off from their magic, but… no. That is not their way here. As for why I can do it, it is part of my mantle. A gift I’ll be sorry to lose should I ever set aside my crown.”
      “How long will you wear it?”
      She shrugged. “Until I die, or the council deems age has diminished me too much to faithfully hold the position. There is a lot of responsibility to it.”
      He nodded. “Weary is the head that wears the crown. Or is it heavy?” He shook his head, “I forget which. Either is appropriate.”
      “Yes. Yes they are,” she smiled, suddenly shy.
      He was beginning to feel hot again; was suddenly very grateful he was out of the batsuit. “Please forgive me, your highness. I’ll still a little star-struck… I mean moonstruck. I keep losing my train of thought,” he all but mumbled.
      She laughed softly. “What’s a train?”
      “Like a carriage, but lots of them one behind another that follow a specific path. Like a row of ducks.”
      “Oh.”
      When did I get so close to her? he asked himself.
      “So do you have any questions?” she asked, her silver eyes staring deeply into his brilliant blues.
      “Um, none that I can think of. Right now. Anyway.” A thought occurred to him suddenly, and he found himself reaching up to feel his ears.
      She laughed, “What are you doing?”
      He blushed. “Just making sure my head is my head and not that of an ass.”
      “You have yet to behave in an asinine manner. Are you planning to?”
      He shook his head, pulling slightly back, for his own sake. “No, it’s… a play. A character is given the head of an ass and the queen of the faeries is made to fall in love with him. By the time they’re through, the characters are little sure of what was real and what dream. Like I’m beginning to fear this all a dream.”
      “Fear?” she blinked. Long silver lashes framed silvery eyes like a rime of frost on a window.
      “Yeah, for all the… trouble… I’d hate to think I hit my head back there and am lying in a coma. This is all way too Wizard of Oz. Yet another reference you will not get,” he sighed. Something plucked at the strings of his memory and he yielded. “If we poor shadows have offended, think but this and all is mended: that you have but slumber’d here while these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme t’were no more yielding than …a dream.”
      Her smile was dreamy. “That is… lovely. I would have thought a farm boy would know little of poetry.”
      “I may surprise you. My mother was big on ‘getting us cultured’. I couldn’t follow most of the play, but those last lines stuck. I may have remembered them wrong but … ‘we will make amends ere long; else Puck a liar call,’” he continued to the best of his memory. He stood, bowing, held his hand out to her. “So good night unto you all. Give me your hand, if we be friends, and Robin shall restore amends.”
      Hesitantly, she set her hand in his, shivered slightly as he pressed a kiss just above the first knuckles. “I believe we should take the Oracle’s advice and retire. Arise, fair Moon, cast aside the envious day and find your repose in your hidden bower ere night falls.”
      She bobbed a tiny curtsey and allowed him to escort her to the hall where they parted ways. He was aware, as she drifted down the corridor, that her step was lighter, something shy in her manner. She only glanced back once, before disappearing up a staircase like a moonbeam at daybreak.
      “You treat her different,” said a voice beside him. He nearly jumped out of his skin. Standing at his right elbow was the wolf-girl. “You confuse her.”
      “I think you have it backwards, my dear. She confuses me.”
      She grinned, showing sharp little white teeth. “That goes without saying. But… no Lord treats a Lady the way you do. The hand kissing… that’s what I mean. The setting her on your arm.”
      “I’ll stop it then, but it was how I was brought up.”
      “She might miss it. If you stopped. I like the way she smells when you do it.”
      He looked down at her, tried to frown to hide his smile. “Aren’t you a little young to be noticing such things?” But secretly he was pleased. It meant he stood a chance. “Listen, …Tammerlain?”
      She bounced. “Tammerlain, yeah.”
      “Do you think you could guide me back to my room? I’m not entirely certain I can find it by myself.”
      She looked down at his feet. “You bare foots. Make it easy. Tammerlain track you back,” she yipped and shifted. Brian found he had to trot to keep up with her.


;

      Something was inside the bed with her. Layla’s eyes snapped open in the darkness. She froze. She could feel it creeping across the great mattress, pausing now and then to sniff. It was at her feet right now, its slight weight telling her it was small. She peered over the covers, wishing she could see in the dark, straining to make out the moving form. There, she felt the bony little toes as it stepped up onto her ankle. She could just make out a shadowy form as it began to walk up her leg, like a cat she once had.
      It paused; blinked. Though how she could tell it had blinked escaped her, as she could make out nothing that resembled eyes until two pale green orbs flared into being one by one where eyes should be and then floated upwards to bob against the roof of the canopy like helium balloons. The thing was sitting, pretty as you please, on her ankles calmly regarding her. Even with a light it was still hard to identify what the thing was. It kind of looked like housecat, except more elongated. Its features were feline, but the head was longer than a Siamese, and the ears were overlarge, like a bats, beginning at the back of the jaw and pointing upward, connecting at the top of the head, and tufted at the tips. Its neck was twice as long as it should have been, and the tail curled around its body and front paws twice. The eyes were slit sideways and a vivid green when they were there at all, which wasn’t often. She had to assume that meant it was blinking. The thick whiskers drooped from its pointed muzzle like a Fu Manchu, rather than sticking out with slight, graceful arcs like a real cat. The fur, if that’s what it was, was velvety, long in places and short in others, but not really there. The beast seemed to be made more of shadow than substance.
      “Wh…what are you?” she stammered, glaring at it, still uncertain if it was a spy or just hostile or what she would be able to do should it be the latter.
      I, it said without opening its maw. Its voice was breathy, and tickled her ears. Am an ammit.

      “An ammit?” she repeated.
      I am one of the Mijik.
      “What are Mijik?” this was not something Eighfa had mentioned.
      Magical creatures. Like the were-kinder and the moon-horse.
      “Like the drake,” she added.
      Its eyes narrowed. No. Not like the drake. The drake are abominations. Magical made not magical born.
      “How come Eighfa never told me about you, about the Mijik when she told me about the dayn?”
      It glanced off to the side, blinking its eyes in and out of existence. Because she, though Man, is as arrogant as the rest of her kinder. We are not dayn, therefore warrant no mention. We are ‘species not race’. They are wrong. We are more. You are more.
      She sat up fully. As she moved her legs, she expected the creature to fall off or be otherwise dislodged. It merely smoked at its edges and resettled. “Wait, what do you mean me?”
      It cocked its head, regarding her sideways. You are Mijik. You have magic, therefore you are not Mandayn. You do not weave, therefore you are not Ordayn. You are magic therefore you are not beast. Therefore you are Mijik.
      She narrowed her own eyes, crossing her arms. “And now who falls into the arrogance of assuming there is nothing more to the world than he and they?”
      It righted its head, nodded. And wise. For now, you are Mijik, having nothing else to call you.
      “I am Layla. And I am not from this world.”
      It regarded her calmly. I am an ammit, and I am. They are going to try to teach you tonight. To teach you how they work their will. They will fail.
      “Oh?” she remarked, cocking an eyebrow.
      I will not.
      The curtains were suddenly thrust aside and light from the room poured in. The Ammit vanished before her eyes as a shadow vanishes before the light. Not even the two green orbs above her head remained. Eighfa was standing beside the bed, seemed startled to see Layla sitting up.
      “Who were you talking to?” she asked.
      “Ammit,” Layla answered.
      She gasped, made some sign with her fingers. Layla heard a distinct, soft chuckle by her ear, felt the phantom weight settle on her shoulder. “There is an ammit here?”
      She nodded, getting out of the bed. “Yes. He vanished when you opened the curtains.”
      Eighfa began fussing about as she set about getting Layla dressed. “Oh my, there shall be no end of trouble with that thing around.”
      “What is it?” she asked, began sorting through the beautiful gowns at her disposal.
      “A pest. Luckily there’s never more than one around at a time.”
      That can be changed, wytch, came the velvety voice, though only Layla seemed to hear it.
      “Just ignore it and anything strange that happens. It will get bored and go away,” she advised.
      Not likely. You are far too interesting. And not all of what will happen will be my fault, though I suppose now I will be blamed, big mouth.
      She pulled out the midnight blue gown, admired the corseted bodice with gold network embroidery with seed pearls sewn at each intersection. It will not fit. None will fit. She sighed in exasperation.
      “Sister Moon isn’t as chesty as I am, is she?”
      Eighfa turned, startled by the question. “No. Nor as hippy. She is a very willowy lady, though fairly endowed.”
      She sat down on the settee at the foot of the bed. “None of these other gowns, made to fit her, will fit me then.”
      “The purple dress fits you.”
      “The purple dress has a more forgiving bust line. These… these are made to measure, and I don’t fancy squashing myself into one of them and spending half my nights on a fainting couch ‘cause I cannot breathe.”
      Eighfa calmly regarded her, and the contents of the wardrobe. “Well, I have cleaned the other dress. If you do not mind wearing it two nights in a row.”
      Layla frowned. “How? I mean, without a washing machine I figured a dress like that would take days to dry.”
      Eighfa put a fist on her bent hip. “I have no idea what a washing machine is, but we do have a few souls running about this forsaken chunk of rocks that are versed in magic.”
      Layla’s eyes sparkled. “Well, can they also use magic to adjust a fit?”
      She paused, seemed to consider the point. “I’ll ask. I know they have ways of making things more quickly. Til then you just slip into the purple thing and hurry your breakfast. Lady Tamasi will be here soon.”
      “Who is she and why is she coming?” she asked pulling the nightgown off over her head. She noticed the ammit’s weight never shifted, as if he just let the cloth pass through him.
      “She is one of the ladies of the keep. She is charged with helping you learn control,” said the old woman as she began to bustle Layla into her clothes.
      “There are actually ladies here? And charged by who?”
      “I pointed that out the first day, did I not? And you should not have to ask.”
      Layla frowned. “I know, I just …never imagined. Why are they here?”
      “The same reason that Ranish is here, or any of the lords. They have jobs to do, keeping the hell at bay.”
      Layla turned to face her. “Wait, you never mentioned the hell before.”
      “I have,” she simpered. “I have just never called them hell before.”
      She means the wyvern and their ilk. They are Mijik. Dayn call them hell because they are dangerous. …but aren’t we all in our way?
      She started. She had forgotten about the ammit. Eighfa frowned. “You sure are jumpy this evening.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Well, we’re all gonna be with an ammit around. Just… do me a favor and don’t mention it to anyone. It’s easier to ignore if you don’t know it’s there.”
      Layla glanced at the thing on her shoulder, thought she could just make out the outline. She felt the overlong tail drape itself around her throat like a furry necklace. “What exactly do they do?”
      “Make trouble.”
      Harmless pranks.
      Layla tried to press, but Eighfa would say no more on the subject. “Talking about it just gets its attention.”
      She’s right there.
      On impulse, Layla crossed to the fire, turning her back to it and watching her shadow. Sure enough, she could see the creature perched there. It sat up, turned its head towards her and began to hum in her ear. She giggled, which made Eighfa glance up, suspicious. Recovering, she flounced down into her chair and began to play with the dish cover.
      “What are you doing?” Eighfa asked.
      Yes, the ammit purred, what are you doing?
      “I am trying to get the music back,” she frowned and gave up, lifting the cover. It was sausage and greenish eggs. “Are these supposed to be green?”
      Eighfa glanced over. “Yes. They’re from a greener. They’re delicious.”
      “I would not, could not in a house, I would not could not with a mouse. I will not eat green eggs and ham, I do not like them, Sam I am,” she quoted, regarding the piece of green egg on the end of her fork.
      “What?” Eighfa asked, frowning. She had been straightening up the bed.
      “Nothing, just a child’s story,” she replied, watched the bite of egg vanish down a shadow’s throat. If you won’t I will. She glared at him. “I wonder if Dr. Seuss ever came here. It would explain a few things.”
      Sighing, she began to eat. She found the eggs quite to her liking. They were kind of like duck eggs with a hint of sweet to them. They complimented the sausage nicely. Thoughtfully, she set aside a bite or two of sausage and egg for the ammit, whispering at a moment she thought the old woman wasn’t listening. “I don’t know if you eat, so…” The pieces vanished quickly. “I guess that’s a yes.”
      There was a polite knock on the door. Layla looked up. Eighfa breezed over, rather swift for one of her age, and swept the dishes onto the tray and carried it to the door. When she opened it, she bowed politely to the person just outside. “Lady Tamasi, please join us.”
      The lady who practically floated into the room was rather petite, though she carried herself like a queen. Her eyes and hair were dark, falling in loose waves down her back. Her skin was as pale as everyone’s around the keep, though she stood straighter, showing no signs of the vitamin deficiency prevalent in everyone else. She wore a gown the color of storm clouds, accented with hints of purple and whites, in the same style as most of the dresses in the wardrobe; Elizabethan bodice, rather Victorian skirt and sleeves, though she wore a thick choker of jewels with strands that draped to her cleavage. She had a rather severe expression, like an old time school marm. She was so still backed and rigid Layla took an instant dislike to her.
      “Is this the child I am to educate, Madam Eighfa?” she asked. Her voice was breathy, with a slight nasal twinge that put Layla to mind of her old French teacher.
      “I am not a child, Lady Tamasi,” she answered for herself. The ammit began humming softly by her neck. “I am not of your world, and the magic here has… wreaked havoc on mine and how it is to be used. I simply need a little guidance in how to control it here.”
      The lady brought herself up short, for a moment uncertain how to take this. After a few seconds, she gathered herself and crossed to the opposite chair, seating herself with grace and refinement. “Very well then. How did you do things on your world?” she began.
      Layla glanced back at Eighfa who merely gave her an expression of ‘you’re on your own’, and left the room. She turned back to the lady who waited patiently. “Well, some use complex, rhyming spells, others devices like wands and crystals, still some require dolls and sympathetic means…”
      “Poppetry and base wytchcraft,” she sneered.
      Layla’s eyes narrowed. “Still others could move things simply by thinking about them, start fires with a glance.”
      The lady remained unimpressed. “And which method did you use?”
      Layla could feel her temper beginning to rise. She had to be careful, the wrong admission could cost her everything here. “My voice,” she decided. “Subtle manipulations.” Technically, she thought, that was pure skill, but who’s counting?
      “In other words, base luck,” she sighed. “Let us begin. I shall have to assess your current skill,” she eyed the short bob that was what was left of Layla’s hair, “with half your tools missing, and decide what should be done from there. What is your elemental preference? If you even have one.”
      “I love storms,” she said, wishing one would burst into being over the insufferable lady’s head. “I like fire, watching it dance. I like…”
      “Destruction, apparently. Very well then.” She pointed to the figurine of the shepherdess on the mantle and gestured. The object obediently floated down to the table. Layla’s eyes went wide. The woman’s hair had mimicked her hand gestures, had come alive as if there were a light breeze in the still room. With another gesture and a sudden surge of static electricity, the figurine fell apart in four, neat pieces. A last twist of her hand, ending in a closed fist, the object jumped back in one piece. “See if you can do that. It is very basic magic.”
      If you’re an airhead.
      Layla stifled a giggle, exerted her concentration, but nothing happened.
      “Focus,” she snapped in a stiff, bored tone.
      Layla tried. She tried harder. The whole mantelpiece shattered.
      The lady gave a long suffering sigh. “As I said, destructive. Perhaps I should have a thousand clay vessels brought up and see if you can break them one at a time?”
      She made herself not retaliate, wandered the room trying to distract herself. “That won’t be necessary. I’m not interested in breaking things,” she snapped.
      “What interests you is irrelevant to your learning to control your abilities.”
      “Oh really?” Layla said slyly, pausing by the wardrobe and running her hands over the dress hanging on the open door. She glanced over at the lady, “I have found that children learn most easily that which catches their interest. And retain it longer.”
      “Wrong. One learns by repeated exposure.”
      “I see you are as closed minded as the worst of them,” Layla sighed. “What I want to do…” she began, half distracted by the dress and a thought beginning to form in the back of her mind.
      “Is what?” the lady snapped, her tone belying the words.
      Yes. What do you want? Why don’t you like it?
      “This dress,” she began. “I would like it to fit.”
      Yes, but what else?
      “To look different?”
      Yeeeesss. How different?
      “Well, red. How do I make it red?”
      The lady actually rolled her eyes, but Layla was ignoring her. “You dye it.”
      Close your eyes. How does red feel?
      “It doesn’t,” she said, closing her eyes and running the fabric through both hands.
      It does. How does it make you feel?
      “Sexy,” she purred. Good. “Sultry.” Better. Now push that. “Hot.” She could feel something happening; a tingling in the back of her mind, in her hands, a prickling of her skin. The fabric felt full of static. It doesn’t want to change. Make it. Push past that. Feel all that backing up around you, going nowhere? “Yes.” The voice sounded excited, she resisted the urge to peek. The dress is the paper, the magic the ink, your will the pen. Draw the power into you, and channel it where you want it to go, make it… yeeesss!
      There was a gasp from across the room, the sound of something breaking as it dropped. Layla opened her eyes, smiled wide with delight. The black dress that had hung on the door was now a deep blood red, but more than that, the style had changed. It was a halter necked thing with a skirt that slid off the hips and flared outward to the floor with a short train in the back. The front of the bodice came to a Vpoint in the front over the belly, meeting the upward point of the skirt leaving the sides open. It was decorated in blackened crystal beads in a flame-like pattern. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed.
      Want it on?
      “Yes!”
      So, transpose. Want it bad enough and it will be.
      Layla placed one palm on the hanging dress and the other the one she was wearing, closed her eyes again. Delight and anticipation tingled every nerve. She felt the air swirling around her, tickling her arms and back in places that had been covered a moment before. She opened her eyes and laughed, raised her arms and spun before the full length mirrors.
      “What did you do?” gasped Lady Tamasi. “How did you?”
      She stopped her spin to face the shocked and frightened lady. “What, you thought I was completely incapable of any magic?”
      “I… I had my doubts,” she gasped. “There are rumors… that you are…”
      “What? Mandayn?” she snapped, her eyes flashing.
      “Well… not Ord for certain…”
      “Get this straight. I am NEITHER!” she shouted, raising her hand in her direction, wanting to drench the pompous little lady in cold water. Something happened. It wasn’t what she had envisioned, but something did happen. At first neither of them noticed it. They both stared at each other, both shocked that nothing apparent had occurred. Then she began to squirm, as if something was crawling down her back. She rushed to the mirror, turned to look. The laces of her dress had come alive. They still looked like laces, but they had split at the ends to open tiny maws and were fighting with one another like a pair of serpents.
      Her hair reacted as she tried to end the spell, to deanimate them. But the strings, seeing other things near that resembled them, attacked her hair instead. Her spell disrupted, her hair being pulled and attacked at random, the lady ran screaming from the room.
      Layla fell back onto the settee laughing.
      I shall have to remember that one, hummed the ammit.
      Layla laughed until she fell into a fit of coughing, trying to breathe. It took several minutes before she could regain control of herself. “What… what did I do? How did I do that?” she choked.
      What you did, it answered calmly, curled up visibly on the curved arm of the settee, was sow a little delicious chaos. You willed, but you weren’t clear.
      “I wanted to drench her, like a rainstorm,” she pouted.
      The ammit shook its head. You cannot defy nature that much.
      “Oh, I can make a dress change form and color and two things switch places, but I cannot make it rain indoors?”
      I meant your nature. The right ord could make it rain indoors, but you are not that ord. It will rain… either when you want it badly enough or when you want something else to happen.
      “So, you are saying I should just accept that I have no control,” she snapped, sitting up and glaring at the unblinking green eyes.
      No. You should accept your nature and only exert your will when necessary. In the meanwhile, it added, standing up and stretching, go out, explore, sow a little chaos, enjoy the pandemonium. I’ll… be around, it hummed and leapt to the floor. It never made it, fading out of existence until not even a shadow remained.
      Layla thought about it. She was feeling a little empowered, antsy. The door had been left wide open and no one had told her she would not be allowed to explore. And anything that happened in her wake would just serve Lord Radish right for imprisoning her in the first place. With a grin and a new sense of determination she walked out and down the stairs, the dress sweeping the floor behind her.


;



     
     She found her way out of the tower easily enough, began to wander the halls. The keep was fairly bland as far as she was concerned; no different really from any other fort or moldy old castle she’d ever toured. That this one was alive and active did not change much as far as she was concerned. The corridors were torch lit and plain, blackened granite, the people little more than living ghosts who bowed and scraped as she neared and then got out of her way fast. It did not take her long to notice there were differences beyond the plain grey clothing that marked Man from Ord. The Ord walked tall and undiseased. The Men were bent, bowlegged and old beyond their years. It became clear that the Ord found ways to escape this place and visit the sun, at least for a little while, long enough to fend off Rickets.
     She determined she would find a way to fix that. And the first thing she would have to do is something about those horrid grey rags they wore. She stared at one man as he shuffled past, bowed. She wanted something better for him than the plain drawstring pants and tunic. She pushed, not clearly thinking what she wanted and giggled as the pants became a yellow and black plaid kilt. She walked on, laughing as she heard him yelp in surprise.
     Passing a young lord in another of the endless corridors, she felt something in the air as she breezed past him. It was like walking through a placid lake and suddenly passing a section of soda water. She felt some of that tingling air cling to her and smiled. The lord was conversing with a young woman who was listening intently to his instructions about something. She held a stack of folded clothing in her arms, women’s clothing from the lifeless grey color.
     Layla absently brushed some of the tickling bubbles off of her, noticed he had stopped to stare at her. With a malicious grin, she gathered some of the ‘bubbles’ in her hand and facetiously blew him a kiss, sweeping the magic past him. The girl gave a shriek and began apologizing profusely as the clothes in her arms traded their color with the lord’s clothing. Layla laughed at his now dingy finery and turned up a staircase she discovered to her left, leaving chaos in her wake.
     So far the only attractive rooms she had encountered in this keep were her rooms, the bath, the great hall and that mysterious twilight room in the back of the throne room. There had to be other places of interest and she was determined to find them. A library at least. What she found were the battlements which, if nothing else, provided a change of scenery and fresh air. She found she was suddenly loathe to go back inside even if the view was a bit desolate.
     The rest of the keep spread out beneath her, the patrolled walls, the torch lit courtyard. Surrounded by darkness, the whole keep felt suspended in midair. She could see nothing of the land itself beyond an uninterrupted blackness past the walls. Not even the starlight gave off enough light to show her more than outlines of flatness and void. A place of nightmares. After long moments of staring into the nothingness she began to discern tiny stars upon the land, small flickerings a great distance away that gave lie to the barren feel.
     The air was warm on her skin, the breezes light and filled with the eddies that just felt different. She held out her hand, let them run across her palm like ribbons in the wind. She felt something within her answer, tried to mingle the two. Sparks appeared, dancing a trail from her hand down along the current and off down the battlement. Where it passed through a torch the flames began to burn green, the next froze completely, splashing against a bewildered soldier on sentry duty who could not figure out how part of his leather armor had come to smell of bitter cheese, before it petered out completely; the small fragment of power exhausted.
     The concept of magic was new and fascinating to her. It intrigued her, like the fulfillment of a childhood dream of any child who ever wanted to just wave a wand and make things happen. She played with it, enjoying the random effects, trying to determine some consistency of cause and effect. She slowly became aware of the difference in the air, began to recognize what was magic and what was not. Occasionally patrols would march past, and she could tell with her eyes closed which soldiers were lord and which men by how they felt. Perhaps this is what Eighfa sees. Silently, she too, wished she could see it.
     Impulsively, she reached out, gathered her own effervescence within her, like shaking a cola bottle, waiting for the pressure to build enough. She felt the winds, holding the magic within her, waiting until she felt the right breeze, one that tingled her senses. There! She grabbed for it, tried to pull it to her but it slipped through her fingers. Idiot, she chided herself. She tried calling it, using the building power within her like a magnet to call the current to her. It came to her, lay in her palm writhing like a live wire. She fed it, let what was in out, willing it to show her, to reveal itself so she could see it.
     It was like pouring hydrogen peroxide on an infection, touching a match to a line of gunpowder on the ground. The night lit up in a dazzling display of scintillating colour, ribbons of light undulated through the air like an earthbound aurora borealis and everyone stopped to stare and gape, Man and Ord alike. The world was alive with magic; it was everywhere: in the air, in certain people, breathing out from them, steaming off the fires, leaking from the rocks. To the Northwest she could see tendrils of blue and green lights stretching skyward like fingers
     Others could see it too. Dayns in the courtyard and on the battlements below her were looking up and around in wonder. Even the drakes were beginning to peer out of their cavern entrance. Then a shriek rent the air from below. It was like ripping steel, answered by a tornado, echoed by a pterodactyl. The sound rang throughout the night from all around, rising from the abyss behind the keep. Layla rushed to the side parapet, looking over the edge. Streams of raw magic in every color wafted delicately throughout the mile deep chasm, even so, she could not see the bottom. But she could see the walls of it, and they were beginning to crawl with insects pouring from their hive like locusts following a scent.
     They took to the air, following their curiosity and the denizens of the keep panicked. One of the creatures caught an updraft and sailed up past the rampart where Layla stood dumbfounded. It was dragon-like, with a sharp, triangular head with overlong front fangs. The wings were bat-like, serving both as arms and means of flight, and the strong back legs had talons that were easily the size of a man’s leg. The tail that snaked past had a foot long stinger attached that sparked where it scrape along the stone wall. It hovered in the air a moment, blinking in the unaccustomed light, regarding the scrambling figures below it as if trying to select a chocolate from a box.
     Several things happened at once. Others like it and different in form and function flew up. It screamed its challenge again and its head snaked down to try to pluck a man from the battlement. The drakes shrieked challenges of their own and leapt into the air, attacking with long lances of purple energy held by their armoured simulacrums, kicking and biting as they wheeled among them. Several lords and two ladies ran out as others were running in and began some kind of magical retaliation. Soldiers filled the air with arrows, some magical, some not. Orders were shouted.
     A large, tawny head with dripping fangs and a fringe of shaggy, matted fur beneath its open jaw appeared to Layla’s left. It blinked its fully dilated eyes at her, flehming the air around her. She watched in terror as one of the magical breezes was inhaled and breathed out, no longer visible. The mouth opened fully, choking her in its hot, bitter smelling breath. There was no where to run. She pressed back against the wall, drew breath to scream. Suddenly she felt something cold and hard wrap around her and she sank back into the stone wall as if it were quicksand. She felt the wall shudder as the fangs struck it, sending up a shower of dust and rubble inside and out. Then she was inside, pinned to yet another wall, this one less yielding, with Lord Ranish’s livid face just inches from hers.
     “What the hell was that thing?” she gasped.
     “That is one of the hell,” he snarled. “What did you do?” he demanded.
     She was in shock, unconsciously grateful for the rock-steady arms holding her up even as she would have resented them had she been cognizant enough of her surroundings. “I don’t know.”
     He shook her, rage contorting his handsome features into a fanged mask. Suddenly she wondered if she weren’t safer outside with the hell. “You did something!” he snapped. “Undo it!”
     “I can’t!” she protested. “I don’t know what I did. I just… wanted to see it,” she finished softly.
     “See what?”
     “The magic. I could feel it. I wanted to see it.”
     He swore under his breath. She suddenly found her back pressed against his muscled chest, his arm like an iron band around her body and then the open air on her skin. They were standing on a very small parapet at the topmost tower from which flew a black flag with a single four pointed star in the top corner closest to the pole. She felt a great deal of power leave him then, moving so strong and so fast it felt more like pins and needles than the earlier effervescence. He released her, but having nowhere to go she merely sank to the floor, numb with shock at what she might have done. Above her, he began waving his arms, gathering in the magical currents by the armful and sending them into a spiral around him. She could physically see the magic seeping out of him, the dark purple and blue sparks binding to the other colors around them and molding them to their will.
     In moments he had a veritable storm circling him and Layla had to shield her eyes from the rushing winds. A second later the world went dark.
     Layla blinked. Nothing changed. She could feel him standing beside her, hear the cries of the embattled, feel the terrified shrieks of the hell as they were plunged into darkness. The very ground shook as some struck the canyon walls seeking escape to the ground and safety. She heard his voice above her call out to the defenders, “Tamasi, throw lights out to guide them to the canyon floor before they bring the walls down around our ears.”
     Instantly, a handful of bright, airy blue balls of light flared to life and flew over the battlements. Their illumination did not carry far, but could be seen from great distances. Layla could see the shadows of the wyvern-things tearing through the night after the lights, following them down.
     “Get the fires relit,” he called. “Kake, see to the drake as they come in. I want a full report in an hour.”
     The next thing Layla knew, he had reached down, seized a handful of her hair and she was once more sinking into the stone. This time they came out in the little room behind the throne room. He flung her onto the couch even as he flared the candles to life. There was something dangerous and hungry in his anger as he stalked towards her. She scrambled to her feet, backing away.
     “I warned you,” she cried, trying to diffuse him.
     He thrust the couch out of his way with a wave of his hand. “I sent someone to teach you control. She said you were weak, ineffective.”
     “She was an arrogant bitch with her nose so far up in the air she couldn’t see what was right in front of her. My magic doesn’t work like yours!”
     “Yet you’ve discovered a way to make it work,” he growled. With another wave of his hand, the curtains reached out for her, attempting to seize her. She waved her own arm in panic, to ward them off and they fell to the floor in a shower of petals. He seemed slightly taken aback by this, but continued pursuit.
     “And shown you something I’m willing to bet you never knew, have never seen or thought about.”
     “You’ve also shown the hell,” he snapped. “How did you do it?”
     “I found a better teacher,” she hissed, dodging behind a hidden column as he made a grab for her.
     “Who?” he demanded.
     “Someone who’s magic is as instinctive as mine.”
     “Someone with as strong a desire to see this place crumble?” he accused.
     “I had no intention of destroying this place while I’m in it,” she retorted, carefully keeping the column between them. “But I warned you it might happen. How the hell was I supposed to know such a tiny thing would reach so far?”
     “This is why the Mandayn don’t wield magic,” he hissed.
     “Oh! Calling me a Man now are we?”
     “I am having my doubts that you are truly a Lady,” he sneered.
     She grinned maliciously. “Ah, but I never claimed to be. Not back home anyway, where the word has a completely different meaning. What am I then? A wytch?”
     “No,” he frowned, his dark eyes narrowing, “what you’ve done is beyond the ability of a mere wytch. What you are I do not know yet, but…” he feinted to the left and she dodged right, bolting for the door hidden near the setting sun. She had seen his body move to the left, yet somehow she stepped right into his arms, found her wrists trapped in his grasp as he stepped forward, pushing her back against the wall effortlessly. “I will find a way to neutralize your magic until you learn some control,” he purred. He brought her hands up, level with her head and slid his cool hands down along the tender underside of her arms. Layla tried to strike him but her hands would not move. She looked up, saw that they had melted into part of the wall.
     He chuckled at her frustration and the futile, angry look on her face. “How am I supposed to learn control if I don’t practice?”
     “Good question,” he smiled, stepped back a moment to admire what she had on. “Hmm, I do not remember commissioning this piece. Nor am I familiar with the style. Something from home, no doubt?”
     “Not exactly,” she snapped. “But it was a damned sight better than what was in the wardrobe.”
     He gave a mocking frown. “You do not like our style of clothing?”
     “Not particularly, no. Except the one dress. I actually liked that one. But in case you haven’t noticed, you planned for one guest and got another. Sister Moon and I do not exactly measure up.”
     His eyes slid down the contours of her body, lingering at her throat. “No. No you do not,” he answered appreciatively. She wasn’t sure if he meant that as an insult or a sexual innuendo.
     She struggled against her bonds. “How long do you think this will hold me?”
     He laughed, “Oh, as long as I want it to.”
     “You’ve underestimated me before.”
     “True,” he said with an expansive wave of his hand. “Then I suppose I should find another means of protecting my people from you before you figure it out,” he mocked.
     Oh, you want to play games, do you? she thought. “Oh, like what? That won’t violate your precious hospitality,” she countered.
     “Ah,” he pointed, righting the couch and reclining on it, regarding her thoughtfully. “Now there’s the rub, you see. I wonder if keeping you in an enchanted sleep would be technically violating those laws.” She could tell by something in his manner he wasn’t seriously considering that option. She wondered why. She was certain that he had been considering murder not a few minutes past.
     “You could just let me go.”
     “On your own recognizance?” he scoffed. “We’ve tried that. And seen what comes of it. No, I don’t think so.”
     She gave him an exasperated sigh, “Tsk, no, moron. I meant let me go. Completely. Take me to my brother.”
     He shook his head, propped his cheek on his fist, regarding her with that same arrogant laziness he had that first night. “Ah, now that would not serve me in the least.”
     “It would remove a threat from your keep.”
     “So would killing you, but that would not serve me either,” he added in a bored tone. She had this sneaking suspicion he was far from bored, however.
     “So you have finally decided there is something you want from me?” she challenged. Subtly, she began to gather the power within her, letting it bottle up inside.
     “Well, as you so deftly pointed out, you have shown me something I did not know about my own world, my own power.” Suddenly, she had her doubts that it had been a good thing. “All that was magic?”
     His eyes pierced into hers, pressed against her mind to answer. She could not resist and still focus on breaking free, so she did not. “Yes.”
     “And how…” he prompted.
     “I wanted to be able to see what I could feel all around me. I merely connected what was within me with what flowed by me, wanting to see. I had no way of knowing it would go so far.”
     “That at least, I can understand,” he said, making it clear that he had not thought her powerful enough to cause such a reaction. “It took a great deal of my own reserves to quench it.”
     “If lights draw them, how come they aren’t flocking to the torches you keep lit out there?” she asked. She directed the building power to her hands, trying to find a weakness in the stone. It was warm, as if his hands were still there, holding her.
     “They cannot see the torches from below. But now you understand what it is we do here, the importance of the suffering of my people.”
     “Actually, I fail to see why any one should have to suffer,” she snapped.
     He narrowed his eyes. “You refer to the condition of my men?”
     “I do.”
     He sat up, passion lighting his features up. “I have tried everything. I have even found one cure, but not many will accept it. The ord prefer to travel to other counties once a month or so. Men cannot. They would never return and some must remain here. Sacrifices must be made. I still seek an alternative but degenerative weakness prevails in spite of my best efforts.”
     “We have found dietary means of controlling it. But sunlight is the best answer.”
     He rose, crossed the few yards to her in one stride, “Surely you understand after tonight why that is impossible.”
     “Sun lamps. But you rely on magic, not science, so you’ll never be able to create those,” she breathed, suddenly very aware of his presence. His body was cool, but waves of heat flushed through her.
     “Sun…” Suddenly he chuckled. “Hmm, so you prefer cold iron to stone?” he asked, his voice low and sultry.
     Confused, she looked up at her hands. She had managed to change the stone shackles into iron ones. She growled, thrashed uselessly in her frustration. He let her rant, watching with amusement. She glared up at him. “You are enjoying this.”
     “Watching you transmute matter from one state to another?” he asked, running one cool finger along the underside of her jawbone and down to her throat. “I find it fascinating. Oh, or were you perhaps referring to the way your struggles present your assets in their best light?” his splayed hand drifted across her neck, his smallest finger finding the open trail to her cleavage, even as his first finger danced across her pulse. He pressed his cheek to hers, drawing a deep breath just below the hollow behind her ear. She shuddered. “That, my dear,” he rumbled, “I am most certainly, enjoying.”
     She tried to jerk her hands away from the walls, felt the iron release, but something else tighten painfully in its stead. “Silk,” he purred. “Even better.”
     His thumbs and smallest fingers wrapped around her wrists, pressing the two forefingers against her palms, holding her hands open, relieving the pressure of the silk cords. He breathed against her throat, his mouth open for what she did not know, his lips a hair’s breadth from her skin, hesitating. He breathed deeply, and she wondered if he was able to read invisible pheromone signals that even she was unaware of. Her body might even now be betraying her and she would never know.
     Just as she began to wonder what he was waiting for, he pulled away with a jerk, practically throwing himself off of her. In the same motion, the silk cords unwound themselves and Layla pressed back against the wall, trying to get her emotions back under control, to master her sudden disappointment. He turned his back on her, the muscles in his shoulders rippling with tension.
     She felt something go out from him. She started to ask, to take a step forward, when he spoke. His voice was suddenly tight and cold. “Give me your word you will try no more magic,” he said.
     “I will do nothing of the…” she began.
     He half turned, a snarl on his lips and a strange light in his eyes that cause a chill to run down her back. “Your word! Until we speak again, you will try nothing more,” he ground out.
     “Fine,” she breathed.
     Before she could say another word, the door opened and a meek, shivering young woman bowed. “The Master called?”
     “Leave me,” he said curtly. There was no doubt he was speaking to her. Layla strode past him, letting her anger build to replace the turmoil of confused emotions that had moments ago been boiling inside her.
     Before she reached the door, another woman arrived, bowed beside the first. “Take the Lady Valantyne to her chambers and see to it she does not leave them unsupervised again. When you have done so, return here.”
     The first girl whimpered as Layla passed her. Layla turned to look back, but the second woman closed the door on the scene. A shiver raced through her. “What is he going to do to her?” she insisted, waiting for a scream to issue from the room, though none came.
     The woman took hold of Layla’s elbow with a firm grip and pulled her away. “It is none of your concern, Lady. If he has spared you that, it is his own will and reason. I shall not cross him.”
     “You have to come to him as well,” Layla insisted, though she fell into step with her. “Aren’t you afraid? I thought he did away with those practices.”
     The woman turned, her eyes flashing as she tried to read Layla. “He did. You do not understand what happens back there, what that room is for. And I will not enlighten you. If the Master desires you to know, he will enlighten you. And yes, I fear it, but I love it as well, and there are women and Ladies alike in this keep who would gladly risk their lives to be on that couch right now. Who would gladly spread themselves before him if he were ever to offer that to one of us. Now please, follow me. I must get back quickly.”
     Try as Layla might, the woman would say nothing more. When they reached the tower, she locked Layla inside and Layla could hear her footsteps hurrying away again. Layla, tired and frightened by everything that had just happened, threw herself upon her bed and wept, burying her face in the pillows to muffle her screams of frustration.