Aisling

Silent wings flew over my head. A cream and brown owlie landed on a pine branch fifteen feet from me. The little alien was about a foot and a half tall and looked like a cross between a barn owl and a squirrel. It’s an awfully cute look for what are, at heart, interstellar street vendors, scammers, conspiracy theorists, and gossips. Little squirrel paws popped out from under his wings, and he stopped to preen his face before acknowledging me.

“The Call is Answered. Aulen u’Michii of the Pinesong Mihooli greets you,” he said in formal Market-Tradish.

Great, Michii’s son. What did I do to deserve this?

I adjusted my expectations about how well this might go downwards. He looked at me, equally unimpressed, fluffed his feathers, and switched to the simpler variant I speak, Barter. “Whaddaya want, oh lost child of the starborn?”

I grimaced at the description, however accurate it might be. Aulen was reminding me I didn’t have the muscle of my mother’s people flexing behind me.

“Hellos give I, from the Underhill Railroad to Aulen. Aid seeking-come-I. Girl lost-is, was human,” I answered in Barter-Tradish, a bit shortly, knowing my limited knowledge of the language sounded awful. Mom taught me the basics of her people’s language, but not the one that’d be actually useful. She didn’t want me talking to aliens. Or anyone, really, towards the end. “Changed now is. Girl very tall, half again bigger than human, dark in color, maybe hairy all over. I message to her want-give. You seen?”

The owlie huffed and stared at me.

“Do we have to do this?” I said in English. “I just killed a huge cannibal stone giant that was attacking people near the Bruhl River, and kept a major military action from going through your nesting zone there! The soldiers would have wiped out all the Mihooli in the region!”

“That was Stonenest tribe,” he answered in Tradish. “This is Pinesong.”

I made a face and proceeded with the formalities.

“Fine goods to trade have I,” I said, rolling my eyes internally at the hassle of this. “A folding solar charger and these two AA batteries. They used-are, but hold an eighty-three percent charge.”

The owlie fluffed his feathers and cocked his head sideways, then flew down closer to inspect it.

“This charger has space for four batteries.”

I cursed internally and pulled out the other pair, placing them with the others. If you didn’t do something like this, owlies won’t respect you. He nodded, tasted one, and signed acceptable with his tiny hands. He fluffed and hopped back to his original perch.

“I give all batteries, you guide girl, not only give message. Dogs come soon, hunt her. Must hide smell and foot…” I cast about, trying to remember the word for tracks, and then pointing at my own. Aulen huffed and bobbed his head in a circular motion, examined the additional two batteries, and then nodded affirmatively.

“Wait here. We will go searching,” he said. “What message to give? English speak, I will remember the sounds.”

“She that way,” I said, feeling her through my landbond and pointing southeast. “Outside town Carlton, near where highway 210 crosses railroad tracks. Sara, called she.”

He puffed and made an impatient head-bob.

“Tell her, ‘An Underhill Railroad agent will meet you tonight, 8 pm, under the Interstate 35 overpass by the old casino, Westbound side. Climb into the back of the pickup that pulls up and hide under the tarp, then follow instructions as they’re given to you. We will get you to safety.’ Possible-you to remember?”

“I will manage,” he said, as short with me as I’d been with him. He tipped his head back and a long trill sang out from his beak, then Aulen bent his legs and leaped into the air. With a couple of wing strokes, he was away. Owlie hoots echoed off into the distance as his tribe answered his call.

***

I sat on my usual boulder, a glacial erratic from the last Ice Age, where I used to drink bad moonshine and poke at a hole Mom’s magic had left in my memories, something she’d cast to “protect” me. The wipe had fucked me up. I still didn’t really date. I was hardly celibate, I just didn’t try for anything involving commitments. Too risky, too painful. Too easy for things to go very wrong.

Silence stalked the forest. This clearing still felt close to going ghostland, with Presence like that making itself felt. Melting ice-water dripped. Pods twitched on the vine, small shapes convulsing inside them. Birds sang in the distance, but not nearby.

My belly grumbled. I wondered how long this would take. My aunts had brought wild rice hotdish over to Dad’s place and I was ready for a big plateful. It had been four-ish when the sheriff showed up, so I probably had an hour before they served dinner.

I wished I had some ‘shine to drink, but the guy I used to get it from had died in a shootout with my mutant raccoon friends two years earlier. The Rax had taken over his operation, but I was banned from buying from them; they could pay me for services or share, but I couldn’t buy. They didn’t get along with the owlies, anyway, so their operations ran out of a completely different section of the forest.

Mom had thought my weird hybrid magic was contagious, and the Rax appearing after a pregnant raccoon bit me were her proof. The moonshiner’s death wasn’t the only one I was responsible for, if so.

There was this cute soldier, braver than most… They said he died of Radiance poisoning, two days after he helped me.

I wish I hadn’t hurt him.

I really wanted some ’shine. Staring at a rotting hulk and drinking terrible booze weren’t healthy coping mechanisms, but the rusting tank and strange flowers kept things in perspective for me. The human half of my heritage had irredeemably fucked up the world; the other side outright broke it. Maybe saved it too… but in the weirdest possible way.

And there’s nothing I can do about any of it, except try to contain the worst of this cascading clusterfuck.

Over on the tank, a pod started jerking around and split down one side. Pale green hands reached out, tiny as a mouse’s, and pulled at the hole. A creature vaguely like a pixie emerged, wet wings clinging to its back. It started crawling towards the tank, somewhere solid to sit while they dried, then winced away from the rust. I walked over and cradled my hands together, holding them in front of it. It crawled blindly into them, its eyes still milky, and I moved it over to the other side of the boulder I’d been sitting on. I shifted the others over as they hatched.

Some of the mist cleared, and we sat together in silence as they bathed in the late afternoon light, stretching out damp, translucent wings. They could almost have stepped out of the pages of a Victorian book of fairy paintings, though soft green fur covered their bodies and they somehow looked like little chipmunks with luna moth wings.

Half an hour or so passed. I shifted on the boulder, getting stiff, and they all turned, bug-like, to look at me. Their eyes shimmered like polished jewels, amethyst and citrine and emerald. Serrated teeth glinted in their tiny mouths. I sighed. With a thought, a golden claw sheathed my finger. I sliced open a minor cut on my left palm and held my hand out. The first one to hatch cocked its head sideways and leaped over, and sat on my fingers and examined my face for a minute. Then it lowered its head to the blood, lapped delicately at it, and shivered so hard it blurred for a second. Golden lines spread through its wings, and its face gained sharp fae definition.

“Welcome to the world, little one,” I said to her. “Good luck to you.”

She jumped to my shoulder, and her hatch-mates descended. They drank my blood with delicate politeness. With the connection thus formed between us, I grabbed the excess Radiance in the clearing and poured it into them, shaping their magic into something that could fit in this world. Three minutes later, they rose from me in a shimmering flurry of jeweled wings and flew away into the forest. An owlie hooted in surprise.

I sighed and stood up.

“The message is delivered,” Aulen said, swooping down to a perch. “And the meeting arranged. Pinesong will see she makes it there.”

“Good-is-it to conduct deals with the skilled and resourceful,” I answered formally, pulling the little charging kit out and placing it on the boulder. “Fair winds and solid branches to Aulen u’Michii. Our deal is satisfied.”

He chuffed, pleased, and hooted. A couple more owlies flew into the clearing, carrying bags held between their feet. I left them to their loot, wondering how the hell I’d replace it. I was already totally broke after replacing my dad’s chainsaw. Going without batteries until my next miniscule paycheck would suck.

On a side note, don’t try dismembering stone giants with chainsaws. You’ll wreck the saw, have to “acquire” a jackhammer at 4 a.m., and then spend your last dime on a “gift” replacement for your dad.

Dad keeps shaking his head in some combination of disbelief and disappointment every time he looks at me. If I hear, “Any daughter of mine should know how to use a chainsaw properly,” one more time, I’m going to scream. The giant didn’t totally harden until almost dawn, and then the blade got stuck – how is that my fault?

“You go soon to the Edgelands?” the owlie asked, surprising me, and I nodded. “Move swiftly there. The traitor recovers his magic, they say, and knows when others walk his lands.”

Well, fuck.

As if sneaking around that close to the stolen Twin Cities wasn’t dangerous enough, it was my cruddy luck to have someone with magic like mine get stuck in the prison labor brigade patrolling the Edgelands. Division 51 hunts me every time I’m down there, and the guy also has landbound magic. The owlies thought he was probably an Elsecomer exile.

The asshat must be part of the organization Mom was hiding from, I reflected. Fucking Squids. He’ll doubtless be after me again.

“Are you positive he’s an Elsecomer?” I asked Aulen, though. “Division 51 always uses mostly human tactics.”

“We got a message to kin in the Freeport, and through them to the Guard there, who ignored it,” Aulen said. “My uncles are convinced it’s a case of clandestine exile.”

“Clandestine?” I repeated, not sure I understood the word he’d used and, well, dubious. Owlies will at least play at believing anything they find entertaining.

“The Guard denied anyone has been exiled, so it’s likely all highly classified state secrets. Probably the outlaw is related to someone important, and that’s why they dumped him in the human lands instead of just killing him. But only a renegade would break the Compacts as he does.”

Well, that made things clear as mud.

For a minute, I just stared at the owlie.

I don’t think the guy is a renegade. A real Elsecomer wouldn’t fall for the ridiculous shit my team pulls getting past Div 51.

“We can take a message to the Freeport, let them know you’re out here and need rescue,” Aulen said, both helpful and dubious himself. No doubt potential reward money was involved.

“Fuck no,” I swore in English. “I’m not one of them. And if you want me to keep clearing monsters out of your nesting sites, you won’t say a damn word about me to anyone there.”

The owlie cocked his head sideways at me.

“Deal not-desired is,” I replied in Tradish. “Information appreciated.”

“When the renegade captures you,” he said, fluffing up again. “We’ll take word then.”

Arguing was pointless. Hopefully, whoever they talked to would simply ignore them again. I kicked some remnant snow, nodded in acknowledgment, and said my farewells. Then I tossed up a look-away glamour and jogged back to the old farm. There, I dressed, scrunched my eyes shut, and pulled in my magic. I buried elven-me under layers of bindings and glamours as I tied on my choker. The world went dull and gray and cold.

So we head for the Edgelands tomorrow. Just gotta get Sara, then keep one step ahead of Div 51. Piece of cake.

I spent the walk home wondering again how the hell someone with magic like mine had ended up in a prison labor brigade. No one was sticking me in a box. Why did he stay there?