Surfacing Ch. 12

Mourn nodded. "For life's necessities..."

He walked smoothly over to a panel with a handle, barely disturbing Graul as he lifted it up with one hand to reveal a small platform. One side held a few clean cups, plates, and bowls, and the other a rune-marked circle. "Magical dumbwaiter. If you require sustenance, place a cup and bowl and plate on the runes and wait. They will send something back to you."

"Will they?" Gavin said with a bit of a sneer.

Mourn grinned. "They won't know it's you. They are accustomed to answering the dumbwaiter when they know I am back in Yong-wen. They will assume it is me. It will be good quality."

"Will they send a meal that I can actually stomach or should I expect a slab of raw meat?"

"There will be meat, but it will be cooked. I rather prefer it that way."

"Just too hungry to wait with the pig haunch, hm?" I commented, and Mourn looked at me. I noticed that his pupils weren't slits at the moment but had expanded to be twice as wide as normal.

"The battle consumed a lot of energy."

That it had.

"Well, Gavin," I teased, "you won't have to frighten more serving girls."

He gave me a look but seemed to be contemplating, even settling down with the idea of remaining here while Mourn and I were gone. "And the other half of life's needs, now that I shall not starve or die of thirst?"

"Similar closet, over there," Mourn indicated a panel door at a better-lit corner with a handle and hinges. "Only it transports waste to the horse manure pile in the stables."

"Lovely," Gavin said dryly. He looked at the snoozing Graul. "What of the drake?"

Mourn looked down at the scaly bundle in the crook of his arm, now peeking suspiciously through an eyelid. "Just don't try to lift him up or needlessly wake him from a nap."

"Mm. What kind of mouth-blast did you mean?" the apprentice asked, indicating the room. "I'd wager you'd be wary of fire with all this parchment around."

"Air," Mourn answered. "Enough to shove a very large man off his feet or slam him into a wall. He can also create pockets lacking enough air to breathe, if you are close enough."

Interesting. He might not mention, though, that such an act would probably be pretty costly to the little beast in his advanced age. It would have to be really necessary.

Mourn and I waited patiently, giving Gavin time to look about and decide for himself what we already knew: with the exception of the crabby little drake, a private library with servants to provide food and drink without having to interact with them, privacy and comfort without being interrupted at all, was probably *exactly* what Gavin would have wanted for any lengthy down time in this safehouse.

It was truly generous. I had to think that Mourn was indeed "courting" Gavin for the Guild, showing him some of the benefits of membership. There was too much here for Gavin to be able to read it all in a single night, but I still wondered what the grey mage might find down here as he poked about?

"Very well," Gavin said. "I will stay here and await further news from you and Krithannia."

Mourn smiled and looked very pleased, though somehow not in a way that would have set my senses alert and wary, despite the fact that I was sure he wanted to lure away my necromancer. He stepped to set Graul down onto the comfortable chaise—with a minor protest from the drake, although he curled up again soon enough, blinking curiously at us.

We watched as Mourn also removed Rithal's axe from his back and stepped to one of the few wall spaces available—this one with a couple empty hooks. He placed the axe one-handed atop two of the hooks, which displayed the axe at a slight, fairly flattering angle. The mercenary looked over to Gavin, glanced at Kurn's sword strapped to one saddlebag, and winked.

Gavin grunted, clearly recalling their bickering over the weapons amid the cleaved cultists. "Only one place for one weapon on your wall?"

"I leave a new piece by itself in here until I have a chance to study it. It will be added to the others soon enough."

"The sword is still mine."

"That it is."

As Mourn moved to a heavy box atop one of the desks and seemed to be working a magical combination lock, I wondered about the half-Dragon's easy release of a magical weapon. Perhaps he would seek it later? One of the hybrid's particularly non-Drow qualities was the patience to wait and watch for a very long while.

"I will give you this before we go," Mourn said low, his voice easy on the ears in this underground lair. He lifted up a sealed bag from out of the box and closed it, stepping to hand it out to Gavin.

"What is it?" my ally asked without reaching for it.

Mourn glanced to where Graul was again dozing on the chaise. He leaned closer to the necromancer, and I leaned closer to them. I needed to for how quiet his voice became.

"Snacks. If he becomes agitated or aggressive, offer him one. Use them sparingly."

Gavin blinked his eyes in a very amusingly Human way. He grunted, reaching out to accept the bag. "An animal usually has a warning before it triggers its ultimate defense."

Our host nodded in acknowledgement of the unspoken question. "He'll make a sound a bit like a sheep's bladder if you were to fill it with air and make it tremble so fast it hummed."

"I've never heard that."

"It's unique. You'll know it. Usually, the flap of skin at his throat will puff out, stretch and be a bright lavender color. His tail as a tendency to lash about hard enough to cause a welt or cut skin, should it strike an unprotected area."

Gavin's mouth twisted a bit; it wasn't a smile. "Toss the snack?"

"No, place it down and step away. Don't throw it at him." Mourn smirked. "Unless you want to play rough for the rest of the bag."

Gavin felt for the snacks inside with dexterous fingers, contemplating—although I did not think he was actually contemplating leaving this library—and he finally nodded.

"Sirana and I must leave to make our appointment now. Enjoy."

I did not envy Gavin being stuck in a room with only books to read...not in and of itself. But I did envy that he'd gotten exactly what he most enjoyed, with an amusing companion in addition.

May I be as fortunate.

*****

I was allowed to bring only enough equipment as would display my function as a fighter and assassin to the Yungian Patriarch; the rest needed for long-term travel—and which I did not need right now anyway—I could store safely with Gavin and Graul. Maybe it would be safe. We'd see.

The lack of such extra weight was noticeable, I could admit the relief, and Mourn and I both moved quickly and silently through the midnight streets. More lanterns had been lit to illuminate the street earlier in the evening when there had been more people about, but now that most were asleep, about half had been snuffed. It was still overcast and the Moons were hidden, so there was plenty of deep shadow in which to hide from eyes dependent on Sunlight, and though I missed the bright colors and decoration of the day, the night was always easier to move about.

I was using my earlier mental map for a while, recognizing landmarks even in the dark because none of them relied on color, but soon I was expanding that memory as we entered another neighborhood that actually had dwellings surrounded by a few taller trees, more shrubs, and crafted paths around constructed ponds.

We crossed one constructed border—a fence made of plants set in a straight line— and got closer to a particular house. The landscape was obviously tended constantly and cared for well; I also noted a small garden patch, partly protected from excessive wind or rain by a wall of oddly-crafted stone. It even seemed to have a drainage system. Thick scents of herbs and unusual blossoms floated from the small garden.

Still, this did not look any larger or wealthier than the dwellings around it, and I had trouble accepting that this was the home of the Patriarch by whom we were to be "honored."

*Where are we?* I signed to Mourn after getting into his periphery so he would look at me. *This isn't the home of a leader.*

*Side trip,* he answered.

*What?* I showed my irritation. *Why?*

*You will see. Glad you are paying attention.*

*Fuck you, merc.*

His fangs glinted in what little light there was. *You will not be able to 'fuck' immediately upon arrival, so you might as well relax, Sister.*

*Push the tease too far, and I will go hunt my own.*

*That will cause you more trouble than it will be worth.*

*Not if I pay for it. I imagine there is 'pay-for-sex' here. I trust thirty pieces of silver is enough for a slit?*

*More than,* he acknowledged as we both referenced the bit of coin that he had tossed me before for killing Kurn before he could. *But you would find mostly female...slits.*

He clearly did not know that word in the Silent Tongue, but he continued regardless.

*Males would be very young, almost children, and found in the more dangerous areas where you risk much. With any, you risk infection from the less scrupulous who have used him or her before you. Not good for your own child.*

I made a face. *You have a way of spoiling a plan, Mourn.*

*It is true, Sirana. Better that you be patient and stay with me. Now come, we do not have much time to both remain here and keep our appointment.*

*Even then we will likely have to run the rest of the way,* I signed grumpily.

*After all those days on the boat, I think you will like it.*

I smirked at that, because he was right.

Mourn approached the back door of the dwelling, motioning me somewhat behind him and to his right. He tapped with the four tips of his claws, one, two, pause... one, two, three, pause...one, two three, four.

He continued patiently, adding another tap each time, and truly, I did not know what he intended. It was not threatening, the sound, but almost like the breeze was causing a nearby decoration to swing lightly into the painted door. By my count, he had gotten up to a total of eleven taps before I finally heard soft feet approaching the door.

"Sh-shuzi ai'nali?" asked a female Human on the other side.

"Yunqi," Mourn answered in an odd tone with a lot of bass.

She hesitated, and Mourn and I waited to see what she would do.

Ultimately, she opened the door a small amount, only wide enough for her face, looking out first, then up. Her body had a very similar reaction as the stable boy who had peeked into my hood—she started and I heard her heart trip and begin to pound— but after that initial jolt, she opened her door as wide as it would go and managed a very good bow.

She was not wearing the same yellow and pink folding gown from earlier today, but rather a plainer, loose garment that covered her from neck to ankles. Still, I recognized the elder female to whom Mourn had given a vial in exchange for the silver and blue stone necklace.

"Lung-jinshen, duo'shan tsoa woia," she said solemnly, calm, as if we could not hear her heart and her breath, or sense the flush of heat coming from her body.

Mourn seemed to pretend that he couldn't sense her fear clearly. He asked her a question, and she started to shake slightly but nodded many times, gesturing for us to come forward past the threshold. I noted the mat to the side, and sighed to myself in that I had to take off my boots again.

This custom was not conducive to being able to come and go very quickly, if need be. We had best be as safe here as Mourn seemed to assume that we were.

Mourn smiled at me as I tugged off my boots without being asked, and the woman retrieved a previously drawn bucket of water with a towel in impressive speed, at first seemed to want to wash his feet herself, but the hybrid thankfully spared her *that* embarrassing display and did it himself.

During that moment, the grey-haired matron looked at me curiously, and I obliged her, taking down my hood. She immediately put her palms together in front of her, pressing close to her breasts, and nodded, lowering her eyes.

"Jan'shi-tsao'nu," she said, and I hoped that she did not require a response from me, because Mourn did not translate that for me.

Instead, he said something a bit lengthy which ended in a question. I was unused to seeing a female emoting as much as she was listening to him, and I felt discomforted. She did almost nothing to hide her weaker thoughts in her grand gestures and fully expressive face, the creases and wrinkles actually seeming to enhance the emotion. I would have said that she was astonished at his attention but all too eager to tell him exactly what was troubling her, and where she had failed in her recent life.

She soon guided us through a clean, flower-scented set of work rooms to a much smaller room lit with a portable lantern. It contained almost nothing but for a pallet on the floor, layered with blankets and cradling a small Human child.

Dark, straight hair topped the youth's head, some of it plastered with sweat, and even though the brown skin gave the impression of health when compared to Gavin's gaunt paleness and sunken eyes...it lasted only until I looked at the small lips and around the eyelids. They were oddly pale, with darker, bluish-purple flesh and tiny veins visible beneath the closed eyes and around the lips. Exhaustion and shallow breath were both clear to me; this was a rare, quiet moment for one very ill.

Mourn and the matron talked a bit more, their voices quiet, as he crouched down next to the pallet. His tail shushed along the floor beneath his cloak as he briefly inspected the small Human. I realized that the child was young enough that I could not tell if it was a male or female.

Mourn's palm covered the whole of the child's chest above the blankets as he whispered something that made my ears tingle; I knew instinctively that it was Draconic. Almost instantly, deep brown eyes fluttered open and the tiny heart began to race as the youth drew in a much deeper breath and began to cough, turning away and toward the wall. The sound of it was raw and deep and hoarse, and I could see the pain etched on the babe's face as it tried to stop the fit without success.

I did take a step back, I would admit; I knew something of how illness was spread, although I did not know how easily it might do so from Human to Elf. But I had a good reason not to take the risk deep in my own belly.

Mourn removed another vial from his belt and gestured the matron forward to assist in getting the youth to drink it—which took a few moments and it was almost spit back up—and meanwhile he said a phrase in his first language, more than once, sounding as a much different song from the Yungian speech. "Weloh baeshari loreat."

His words seemed to augment the quickly-changing feeling in this tiny place; the cough quieted, I heard a clean breath that did not rattle. The matron was excited, anticipatory as she kept her eyes fastened to the one I presumed was her offspring, even if she seemed a bit too mature for bearing children. If she were an Elf, it would have been difficult for her to conceive.

When they finally rolled the babe back, it was staring with wide eyes and no voice at Mourn. I did not think it was petrified into speechlessness; it was watching intently, noting many details as possible with the opportunity of an enviably good, close-up view of a half-Dragon. He obliged the child by pulling back his hood, revealing hair like the Yungians, adding his ears, and his horns. I thought it was the perfect example for a Drow child to follow: shut up and watch.

"Ankang'lun," Mourn said, then he stood up with the child still staring.

"Sheh-sheh!" the matron cried—literally, I realized as moisture began to trail down her cheeks from her eyes. She looked from Mourn to her child. "Xijuan, shuohua!"

"Sheh-sheh," the Yungian child repeated obediently, finally actually blinking its eyes at last.

"Huan'yin-sho, Xijuan," Mourn answered, keeping his face peaceful and his teeth hidden, from what I could tell of his profile.

I had to admit, I liked that Mourn did not linger in getting us back out. He bowed his head to the matron—I kind of copied it—and we returned to where I had left my boots, I put them on, and by then, the elder mother had come into to open the door for us. She thankfully refrained from gushing more words of gratitude at us, but her eyes were still very moist and almost glittering in the lantern light.

When I got outside, it was a relief to get away from so much heavy emotion.

Once we began cutting through the darker part of the garden into a neighbor's garden at a very good pace—though short of running—I signed, *Let me guess. You healed that child the rest of the way.*

Mourn nodded. *The illness had too strong a hold to cure her with only the vial I gave earlier. She needed a magical boost.*

*So it is female?*

*She is.*

*How many years aged?*

*Not more than six.*

I pondered. *You knew them from before?*

He shook his head. *Today was the first I met the grandmother in the street.*

*Grandmother. That was her daughter's daughter?*

*Her son's. But yes.*

*You came straight here. You must have sought them out while I was in reverie.*

*Yes.*

*Why?* I asked. *Why do what you just did? Why risk being late to your all-important contact for something of little consequence?*

Mourn slowed and looked at me. Then we stopped and he faced me full-on. We were far enough from any dwelling that he chose to speak his answer to me, for whatever reason.

"The girl is with her grandmother, slowly dying of illness, because her parents did not want her near the older brother, their only son and heir. The grandmother was desperate as she had tried everything. Now Xijuan will live, and in a mere fifty years, that girl may be telling her own grandchildren of the night the Dragon Spirit came and saved her life.

"As their ancestors have done for three centuries now, those children and their children's children will look to the shadows for protection, and never whisper a word of the dragon's passing to those outside of Yong-wen. Loyalty like that can never be bought with coin, Baenar."

I felt a touch embarrassed; I knew that small actions had consequences...it was only that I was used to thinking in terms of individual competition and secrets, not the thought that a whole community might follow the same behavior through more than one generation, based merely on a whispered story.

I thought that Humans grew and changed over their populations too quickly for it to make much of a difference, at least compared to the Elves. Mourn was telling me otherwise, that it was something different he had figured out about Humans. And he had made for himself a haven by using it wisely.

*Alright,* I signed. *Given what I have seen, that is impressive."

His shoulders relaxed, and we picked up our pace slowly, topping out at that nice sprint he promised through the wealthier district of the enclave, and presumably toward the Patriarch.

Interesting that the mercenary did not seem to take more advantage of this "reverence" in which the Yungians held him. So many choices, and yet the only two true possibilities were either to accept—and set up some kind of influence or seat of power—or reject it and leave. Mourn had accepted, but only to an extent. He still left, quite often I would wager, as his return seemed to cause quite a stir.

It seemed he must also give something back regularly to this haven to maintain it. I had wondered earlier what he had to do to keep these contacts... One was to heal random children without seeming to ask for anything in return. Even though he was.

Another was to answer an invitation and be "honored." Whatever that meant. I was more curious now than I had been before to witness it.

*****

The Patriarch's home looked much more as I might expect for a privileged leader with influence and power in this community. The land within the border was more broad, the well-tended gardens were larger, with fine, decorated stone bridges crossing a very large pond. Crossing over it, my eyes caught movement of living things when I looked down, and I saw fish and frogs making a plush home for themselves.