Bloodsong Ch. 06

"But I—"

"Hush. None of that.You are doing well so far."

The woman kept firing instructions in the same vein, forcing Valeriana to move through the motions faster than she could question them. After five minutes of the same, she was told to turn the keys. Five starting attempts later, she got the motor going for longer than three seconds. It would have happened on the third attempt, but she had been so shocked when the automobile made the right noises instead of sputtering that she released the clutch too soon.

Mrs. Drakma beamed at her.

"Well, see, that wasn't bad at all!"

Valeriana begged to disagree but didn't dare say so aloud.

"Uhm. What now?"

"Move the gearstick — no, not that, that's the . . . I'm not clear on what that does, actually, so don't touch it. The other one. Move it into first gear, lift your foot, slowly — slowly, I say! There we go."

Mrs. Drakma turned out to be much better at teaching than she was at practice. They arrived in Port Stoketane with an hour and a half to spare. Valeriana wouldn't claim to have performed well, but the amount of dunes she'd flattened hadn't touched double digits, and she could arguably drive in straighter lines than Mrs. Drakma by the time they reached civilization.

The woman insisted on replacing her behind the wheel as they entered the inhabited area, offering a cryptic 'traffic rules' as explanation.

"We'll get around to those. The important bits boil down to 'try not to run anyone over', which is all you need to know for now." They came to a stop, Valeriana lurching forward with the sudden arrest of motion. Mrs. Drakma grinned at her, pleased. "You did brilliant, and you'll get better still. See? Always dare to do things, irrespective of whether you believe you can. That's how you grow."

"Right." She was still reeling a bit. You did brilliant reverberated, magnified a thousandfold, along the walls of her mind. "Thank you. For teaching me."

"As I said, I do think you have potential. To become something wonderful, that goes without saying, but also to make a difference. I mean, can you think of anything better to do with yourself?"

Valeriana remembered her halting, miserable reply, to Lady Marabeth sneeringly asking her how she planned to carry on, all her shortcomings considered. At the time she could have provided no other; her future had never been up to her. Her plans were hers in name only, made for her rather than made by her.

Currently, she didn't even have those to hold on to. She was adrift, lacking goals more concrete than 'wait for Jack and go elsewhere together', which, when she built it up in her head like that, struck her as an unfair amount of responsibility to pin on him. Too much to demand from someone who only owed her that which he was willing to give.

Small wonder that Mrs. Drakma had assumed that they were eloping, too.

"I thought, when I stood at the gate on my way here . . . that I should like to see the other worlds, and find one where I might settle, since I can't go home."

The woman tapped her bottom lip thoughtfully.

"Which worlds? Cynihe? Cahedros, perhaps? Although on both you'd be extradited, if who you are and what you did were discovered. The same holds true for every Bound World except Earth, which Barashi dragged its feet about conquering and thereby kicked itself in the teeth. So why not stay?"

Valeriana shook her head.

"Not Earth."

"Why not?"

"Because I . . ." Because on Earth, the excess of silence in every crowded room served as a permanent reminder that she belonged elsewhere. Because her stay had handed her an armful of square pegs, which she couldn't fit anywhere without all she'd thought she knew falling apart like a house of cards. Because living among humans made her burst with a need to apologize for existing. "It's cold, and I don't like the food."

"Mm."

"Yes?"

"Your eyes go wide when you lie, did you know that?"

"I'm not—"

"And there they go again. It's alright, I'm not bothered. However, if you are lying to yourself, I don't believe that to be in your best interest. Honestly, Valeriana. Why not Earth?"

And so she told her. The truth, this time.

Rather than becoming cross, Mrs. Drakma looked sad. Or possibly pitying.

"Earth is many things, and you aren't meeting it at its best, but what it also is, is free. If you feel uncomfortable here, you'll fare worse anywhere else." The woman's voice grew peculiarly toneless as she went on, jerking her head to indicate some humans on the sidewalk going about their day. "You've come to see them as people. If you take yourself somewhere where they only exist as slaves, you'll see them as people still, but people in chains. You can't roll back your epiphany, or prevent it from changing you. Which, in your case, really is for the best. Trust me on this."

"Did you . . ." If she didn't ask now, she might never again work up the nerve. "When I said . . . you heard me say, earlier, that I don't have a true form, didn't you? Or rather, I don't know if I have one, as I could never shift . . ."

"You were shouting and I happen to not be deaf, so yes, I heard."

"I apologize for the shouting. So. Uh. And?"

"And, what?" Experience suggested that Mrs. Drakma's nonplussed demeanor must be an affectation, yet nothing rang false. "Are there health concerns involved?"

"No, no. Not anymore, not for years." Valeriana felt her features slip towards a grimace and quickly smoothed them. Best that she not let her thoughts stray there. "It's just, I was wondering why you didn't ask if I'm . . . well. Everyone does, especially if they've noticed that my song sounds low."

"Handy, that. Good for stealth. Mine is much too loud, so I'll never sneak up on one of ours in all my days. You might manage it, with practice."

"But—"

"I can make an issue out of this, if you insist. Otherwise, it's . . ."

Mrs. Drakma mimicked throwing something away. Valeriana's eyes tracked the motion, dazed, before returning to the woman's face. She felt all manner of things. The only one she could easily put a name to was 'choked up'.

She wouldn't claim that it was impulse. There wasn't much thought involved, but the pause before she acted disqualified it as spur of the moment.

Valeriana felt Mrs. Drakma stiffen. Hopefully only because she'd caught her by surprise. She thought, as she threw her arms up around the woman's shoulders, that it was worlds different to hugging Jack. Softer and squishier, and while he always let her cling until external factors forced her to let go, here she felt like she'd held on for too long after the first minute.

She drew herself back into her seat, waiting for Mrs. Drakma to cease looking as though a train had run her over. The expression that eventually displaced her stunned countenance was one which Valeriana felt unsure how to interpret. Touched? Unnerved? Ambivalent? The woman's face appeared oddly slack as she touched her shoulder blade, where Valeriana's hand had rested. From somewhere rose the thought that perhaps she didn't get hugged often.

"You're a very sweet girl."

Valeriana could just bob her head up and down awkwardly.

"It . . . it just means a lot to me, more than I can say, to have it not matter that I'm—"

That appeared to send Mrs. Drakma out of her strange mood. She fastened a smile in place.

"Aren't we all more than that which we lack?" The question was spoken low, as though it hadn't been meant to be overheard, and followed by something unexpected. Valeriana's arms got pushed into her sides with a smattering too much force; an ear bumped against her chin. She had guessed right. Mrs. Drakma was not used to hugs — receiving them or giving them. "Change is hard. Metamorphosis is a cruel process. Still, I think I can already see, a little, what you'll have become when you come through on the other side. Something—"

"—wonderful." Valeriana completed, not wishing to sound dubious and sounding cynical instead. Yet Mrs. Drakma beamed.

"Something dangerous," she said. As though it meant the same.

Valeriana sucked in a breath. Eventually her head might stop spinning.

"I still won't work for you."

"With. And we'll see, won't we?"

The haven wasn't much to look at. Windy and gray and dreary, even before one factored in the wandering sheafs of mist. Valeriana held it as a rule that weather was always better by the seaside, but apparently Earth didn't abide by it.

No sooner had they arrived, and she fell afoul of a gale that ripped her hat off her head. She was forced to chase after it, arms flapping like the wings of a deranged bird, feeling infinitely glad that the place was empty and no one but Mrs. Drakma bore witness to the spectacle she made of herself. While she ran up and down the pier, Mrs. Drakma sat by the water with her legs dangling off the side, munching on something from a paper bag. That the woman could plop down without a care for how much dirt there was on the ground was mystifying. Every so often she would take out a watch and frown at it, before sighing and putting it away again.

"Are your acquaintances running late?" Valeriana was at last able to join her, pulling the hat down to her ears so that it wouldn't make another grand escape. She perched on a fairlead, the nearest, cleanest thing. At the woman's dour nod, she scrunched her brow in thought. "Perhaps the ship that's bringing them had trouble? Bad weather at sea?" She wasn't sure what trouble might befall a ship to delay it so that it didn't show up on the horizon when, according to Mrs. Drakma's watch, it ought to be berthing.

Still, she didn't expect the reply she got.

"Perhaps they're all dead."

Valeriana blinked, trying to determine whether the woman was making a tasteless joke, or . . .

"How . . . likely is that?"

"Very. Crisp?"

"No, thank you — excuse me, what do you mean?" How Mrs. Drakma was able to sit there, calmly crunching grease between her teeth after saying something like that, and by all accounts being serious about it, was another thing which Valeriana found difficult to wrap her head around. "Why would that be very likely?"

"They'll be coming here through the Cynihe gate, unauthorized. I've made sure that there's little chance of them being intercepted on this side, but I can't be certain that things will run as smoothly on theirs." Once more the woman's eyes scanned the sea. Valeriana, in turn, tried to wrangle what she heard into a picture she could comprehend. To her horror, the only one which fit everything she'd learned about Mrs. Drakma so far was in no way pleasant.

"Your acquaintances are Cynihean insurgents?"

"Freedom fighters. Do calm yourself." Rather than looking apologetic for leaving her so out of sorts, Mrs. Drakma's concerned expression gave way to a wry smile. "Being here won't worsen your standing with the Council. They already want to arrest you for murder. A little bit of aiding sedition won't—"

"I don't want to aid sedition!"

"For sure. Truly, can't I tempt you? To the chips, not the sedition. It's too large a bag to eat alone." The greasy edibles were once more extended. Valeriana shook her head anew, kept shaking it, knowing she'd wind up dizzy but unable to stop. Perhaps, if she shook it long enough, she'd get through to the woman that no, no, she would not make herself complicit in whatever madness was afoot, no matter what— "Oh, well, your loss. And, look! It appears that they've made it here alive after all!"

If the remark had been meant to distract her, it did the job flawlessly. Valeriana stopped mid-shake to follow Mrs. Drakma's gaze past the farthest away of the piers, in time to see a tapestry of white sails settle in plain sight. It was there and then not, shimmering in and out of focus, much closer to shore than expected.

"Magic?" she stammered, weakly.

Mrs. Drakma shook her head. She didn't look as satisfied anymore.

"Some manner of cloaking device. Cyniheans can't do magic; theirs would be an easier war to win if the opposite were true. Horrendously dangerous, however, to make it obvious that they're appearing from nowhere. They should have shown themselves much earlier." With a weary sigh, the woman stood. Her eyes narrowed to take in the whole of the docks. Valeriana had noticed, before, that there were no humans around doing whatever dock work entailed when they didn't have ships coming in. Noticed, but done nothing with the observation, taking the odd emptiness of the place as yet another 'how things are on Earth'. Now she felt that she ought to have at least wondered. "I thought we might pass off their arrival as regular traffic, but this . . . wait here."

"Wait? Where are you going?"

"I need to go sort this out before it becomes a problem. Be back soon."

"But—" There was nothing that Valeriana liked about being left alone, with a ship of who knew what breed of savages poised to arrive. Only she wasn't given a chance to get another word in, as Mrs. Drakma had already hurried away and disappeared behind a row of containers. Insides working themselves into knots, she twisted her head back to watch the vessel cut the waves. It kept flickering, in a way that made her eyes water and would have rendered it difficult to perceive, were she not keeping track of its advance with maniacal diligence.

She should be running. Yet there was no convincing her legs to cooperate. She sat glued to her spot while the ship moved into port and prepared for berthing, the flickering ceasing to let it settle as incontrovertibly there.

Insofar as Valeriana was any judge, nothing about it was ostensibly Cynihean. She'd seen many like it at home, sitting along the piers at Malmor Wharf. Slaver ships, recognizable by their imposing size and shortage of portholes. That was, she understood after a beat, precisely what it was; there was a company crest painted on the hull. Although it wasn't the Mayfly's, something inside her quailed at the sight.

She was forced off the fairlead the next second. A thick end of rope sailed through the air and lassoed it, failing to hit her by scarce inches. She scrambled away. Her heart did its level best to punch a hole in her ribcage — this wasn't meant to happen, everything was proceeding much too fast, where had Mrs. Drakma gone? — and she tried to get a handle on it, only to discover she fought a losing battle.

The largest Cynihean male she'd ever seen came gliding down the rope, landing in a crouch right in front of her. She looked around wildly, begging her legs to come to their senses and take her away, but they remained stubborn, only allowing her to retreat a single step.

The Cynihean straightened and likewise stepped back, eyeing her cautiously.

"Who are you?"

"I— uhm."

"Liberation Front? Briseis, she sent you?"

Valeriana nodded as though her life depended on it. It very well might.

This was as much as she knew about Cynihe: it revolted against Tsikalayan rule so often that hardly a decade went by without a period of active unrest, followed by the bloody repression of the unruly factions, and order being restored for a couple of years before it happened all over again. And again. And again, with more falling to the violence each round, and the violence itself escalating to heights that had turned Cynihean rebels into stories to scare children with.

Her father owned an abundance of slaves from there. Impaired, so that theoretically they posed no danger. Even so, Valeriana recalled being eleven and having a very frazzled Angelica drag her away by the ear from a field where they'd been working, raving non-stop all the way home — was she stupid, did she have a death wish, was she looking to have her skull bashed in or worse?

The event had left an indelible impression.

The Cynihean in front of her appeared to have no interest in taking her apart piecemeal and filing his teeth with her bones. He turned away to secure the rope that had brought him over and another three that got thrown after. Alone, he finished mooring the ship in just a handful of minutes. While going about it, he talked. Valeriana, torn between feeling disturbed by the display of strength and baffled that he could make full sentences, when monosyllabic grunts were most often associated with the species, could only stare, mute and stunned stupid.

"Pardon the lateness. Longliner, fishing too close to the gate on this side. We had to wait for it to fuck off so that we wouldn't sail right into it. Where is Briseis?"

"She . . . she was, uh, she was mad about the . . . cloaking? Said that she needed to go stop it from becoming a problem. So she's . . . off doing that. Somewhere."

"Blast! I told Qurion this would — ech, never mind. She can let him or the commander have it once she's back. Can the others come down?"

"Uhm." The Cynihean's expression remained politely expectant, making it evident that he was looking for more explicit assent. Valeriana wound up nodding, not trusting her tongue not to stumble.

She had no time to worry about what she'd done. The other turned and shouted something that, while guttural, likely contained grammar. Possibly swearing, too. It must be necessary to have one's throat shaped a certain way to speak like that. She was sure she'd scrape hers raw trying to echo some of the sounds.

More Cyniheans descended, not bothering with ropes or ladders or ramps. They were all male and all as imposing in size as their companion already ashore, save for the one who fronted them. That one made up in wideness for what he lacked in height. On the whole, he put Valeriana in mind of a small boulder. A boulder in a uniform. A boulder carrying an unsheathed, sickle-shaped blade strapped across his chest, too sharp to be ornamental. A boulder stepping towards her, canting his head as he inspected her, looking both irritated and thrown.

"WHERE IS BRISEIS?!"

"Ah—" She failed to locate her voice through the fog of her terror. Couldn't accrue enough moisture on her suddenly dry tongue to manage a reply.

The Cynihean she'd already talked to answered in her stead. The boulder with the sickle blade didn't appear any happier for it. Then again, he had a face that gave off an impression of happiness not being something it expressed often.

Which didn't make his continued shouting at her less bloodcurdling.

"WHO ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO BE, THEN?"

Valeriana fell back another step, looking at the Cynihean she'd spoken to in hopes that he'd rescue her a second time. However, he kept silent. It dawned on her that it wasn't a question that he could answer. She'd provided no elaboration on who she was beyond confirming her affiliation to Mrs. Drakma and the Liberation Front, both things which only resembled the truth in the loosest sense.

"I'm . . ."

"WELL?!"

"Commander Ikman!" Mrs. Drakma's reappearance was so swift that the accompanying song barrelled into Valeriana's head like a sledgehammer, leaving her spinning with vertigo even before the woman swooshed past in a tempest of green fabric, nearly knocking her off her feet. "Gentlemen! How lovely to see you all safe and hale! Now get back on the boat, all of you lot, so that we can discuss what in darkness persuaded you to arrive like—oh no, you absolutely did not!"

Her attention had fallen on the logo emblazoned on the side of the ship. She pointed a finger at the shorter Cynihean — Commander Ikman, apparently — and no longer looked so pleasant, anger radiating off of her as it hadn't since the Mayfly.

Valeriana noticed some of the Cyniheans trading looks among themselves. There was one, standing on the far left with his arms crossed, who seemed to be bracing himself for an impending explosion. He returned a crooked smile when he caught her looking.