Tom left on the morning of Oneday, the thirteenth of Dunvar. He couldn't possibly be back before evening on the fifteenth. Three days at least. That was a lot of time to be doing nothing.
Varga kept looking at the booze wagon, but Diavla told her that she wouldn't kiss her or touch her on a day she had more than one drink before dinner. With that temptation removed, or at least deflected, Varga spent most of her time moving slowly through the woods, familiarizing herself with the plants and animals in this part of the human continent. Diavla was relieved; she didn't want her friend disappearing into a different sort of trap right after they got some freedom.
Orvan spent his time cooking, examining their supplies and napping. Kervan and Diavla practiced speaking Western. Apparently, the language of the Empire was called Eastern, and Tom only knew a handful of words in it. They compiled lists of words to ask about, and came up with plans for pantomimes to get the ideas across.
Diavla also got some exercise. She had been feeling a bit antsy the past couple of days, and needed to deal with her physical weakness brought on by moving so little during captivity, anyway. Besides that, there was always the possibility of another wolf attack or worse, so Diavla practiced with her spear a fair bit. By the end of the first day, she had exhausted herself.
“Ugh, I want to die,” she groaned, lying on the grass and dirt for a moment.
“Nope, not allowed.” Varga smirked. “Just wait until you see how your feel tomorrow.”
“Keep it up and I won't kiss you tonight.”
“Uh-huh.” Varga ignored the threat.
In the evening, Varga volunteered for the second night watch so that Kervan could catch up on sleep, for which he was grateful. He turned in early. After dinner and more conversation, Varga settled herself leaning back against Diavla, who cuddled her a bit as they both drank. Diavla had intended to keep things nonsexual, but as the evening progressed she found her hands wandering.
It felt good to give Varga pleasure. Even a light stroke of her arm, blowing on her ear tip, or the faintest kiss on her neck could provoke strong reactions, and Diavla felt less antsy as she teased her friend. It seemed to satisfy a hunger she couldn't describe. Maybe I just crave connection now that we have freedom.
∘ ⛥ ⛯ ⛥ ∘
The next morning, Diavla had a hangover, a couple of hickeys, and sore muscles all over from the previous day's unaccustomed exercise.
“Ugh, now I really want to die.”
“Still not allowed. Drink some water.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“And then we're going to do stretches.”
“Demon.”
“It's for your own good.”
“Still a demon.”
“Hm, if I'm a demon, I think I'll go with succubus.”
Diavla was grumpy while Varga was bouncy. Varga nagged her until she did all of the stretches her friend demanded. It was really irritating for a while. Then Varga volunteered to take Diavla into a wagon and give her a massage, which made up for a lot.
This worked out well for Varga, as she could make Diavla moan and groan in pleasure with enough effort, and she got to run her hands all over Diavla's body. Diavla didn't mind it a bit, either. She still resisted sexual release, but they were intimate in most other ways. By the time they finished, the pain had receded but was not gone. “I miss Sheema,” Diavla admitted. “Some healing would be very helpful here.”
She went back to language review with Kervan while Varga went exploring again. Hours passed. It was midday when Varga reappeared.
“You know, it's a little hard to tell because the land and everything is so unfamiliar, but I get the impression that something has the animals in the forest upset,” Varga commented.
Diavla raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” Varga's intuition was usually good, especially concerning animals. “Any idea what? A predator? Something local? The weather?”
Varga scowled. Then she shrugged and seemed to put it out of her mind while she ate.
Finally, she grumbled, “I can't put my finger on it. I'm going to scout some more.”
“Don't get spotted from the road.”
“I'm not an idiot, Dee.”
∘ ⛥ ⛯ ⛥ ∘
On their second night of camping in the hidden valley, Diavla was woken by a hand roughly grabbing her ankle. She sat up at once, instantly on alert, imagining that slavers had come to kidnap her again. It was Orvan, though, and it was the middle of the night. Fortunately, he was completely unmoved by the sight of Varga and Diavla naked and sleeping intertwined.
For a moment, she wondered if Orvan was just trying to wake Varga for her shift as guard, but one look at his face convinced her otherwise. She shook Varga, then Orvan passed her two spears. Diavla quickly tossed clothes at Varga's head and started putting some on herself. Varga slowly started waking up, and saw Diavla's fingers on her lips for silence before blurting anything out.
Serious and awake now, Varga pulled on her shirt and then froze. She looked as if she were listening intently, so Diavla stopped moving for a few seconds. Nodding, Varga grabbed her spear and jumped out of the wagon, and Diavla followed.
Kervan was leaning against one of the wagons, his daggers at the ready, staring out into the dark. Orvan took a different direction, Diavla a third. Varga went to one of the oxen and patted it reassuringly while looking outward. The other animals were more than a little restless.
What are we looking for? Should I try asking the spirits, or would that just distract me? Diavla knew that she was very much out of practice, and she had no idea how strong her abilities would be in the human lands, but with only the four of them, it might be time to consider desperate measures. For the moment, she kept looking.
Then she finally saw it. There was a wolf in the woods, staring at them. Once she spotted one, it was easier to see others. They were surrounded, and the wolves were slowly creeping closer, watching them all.
The one to her right caught her eye for some reason. She narrowed her eyes at it, and it turned to stare back at her. There was something different about this one. It changed direction slightly to head directly for her, still approaching slowly.
“This is bad,” Varga murmured. That decided Diavla. She reached back into her memories of temple and took a very deep breath. She recalled the Wise Woman's voice:
There is listening, and there is calling. One should begin by listening, sensing what kinds of spirits inhabit the land you are in, and not disturbing them unnecessarily. But in some situations there isn't time.
Gather your soul, focus your desire, and smoothly project the feeling.
Diavla wanted to give a mental shout as she saw how quickly the wolves were closing in, but she forced herself to clear her thoughts. Only the most spirit-touched initiates could make complex requests; Diavla had to choose a single word, and quickly.
Gather my soul. Focus my desire. Project.
Diavla exhaled.
INTIMIDATE.
The strange wolf took one step closer, and Diavla did as well, startling the others. She concentrated on radiating menace. No. Find easier prey.
The wolf hesitated, then gave a small whine, stepped back and howled to the others, turning and fleeing into the woods. The others followed, yelping and howling. The elves listened as the animal cries and sounds of their passing grew fainter.
“Dee?” Varga called softly. “Did you do that?”
Diavla kept projecting for as long as her soul's stamina held out, then sagged. Varga darted forward and Diavla leaned against her as she swayed. She felt vaguely sick.
Forgiving spirits will heed the call, out of generosity or curiosity. Others might give you what you seek but exact a price. And, of course, the spirits you need may not like you, or even live in the place you are calling from.
Diavla struggled to remember the rest of the lesson.
Listen for a response; do not call again. That is a common mistake. Call only once, or spirits may take offense. You may call with a different request for different spirits, but you must direct your call away from those you have already tried to summon.
Diavla tried to listen, but she felt a fierce headache rapidly blooming and she couldn't concentrate.
“Oh, Dee, my stupid kanashim, if Sheema were here she would yell at you until your ears broke.”
“Help me…into…the wagon…” Her voice started strong but faded almost to a whimper. Varga jumped up, took her hands and hoisted her up while Orvan took her legs and lifted. She flailed a moment before she found her footing, then ducked inside the wagon. “Thank you…”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
A minute later, she was lying down and Varga was pressing a cold wet cloth to her forehead. She vaguely heard the men talking quietly.
“She definitely did something.”
“Yeah, but she failed at Temple. I didn't know she had it in her.”
“She still took at least some of the lessons. Maybe she overextended herself.”
“That makes sense. Dee is too smart sometimes, and exactly the sort of person to hurt herself by trying to help us with something she half-remembered from years ago.”
“Well, she knows more about spirit-work than the rest of us. I will be grateful the animals left, and I suggest we let Diavla sleep in if she needs to.”
Thank you, Orvan, Diavla murmured in her thoughts, closing her eyes.
∘ ⛥ ⛯ ⛥ ∘
Threeday, the fifteenth of Dunvar, dawned with heavy rain. Diavla cracked one eyelid, determined that the sound was rain and not an avalanche or other calamity, and went back to sleep. The nightmares were…strange. She couldn't remember what she was scared of. Prison, she vaguely recalled. A prison with red walls. Usually, she dreamt painfully of the raid on Kilder Vald, or the day they put the collar on her, or some horrible imagined human lord who bought her and planned to use her for his pleasure. At least, this dream was different.
When she woke again, Varga was sitting next to her, fully dressed, and peering out the back flap at the rain. “Hey, sleepy. How are you feeling?”
Diavla opened her eyes wider and winced. “I still have the headache, but it's not as bad,” she mumbled.
Varga, spirits bless her, handed her a cold meal of various things mixed in a pot. It wasn't the tastiest, but it was pretty good, given their limited ingredients and no fire. Diavla took a moment to appreciate Orvan again. Life is much better with good food. And enough food. She still had to remember not to gorge herself, but she already was feeling less gaunt after a week of better eating.
“Hey, Dee, do you remember any of the, um, like, soul stretches or whatever from temple class?”
Diavla squinted at her friend.
“You know what I mean! Like, warm up exercises for your spirit stuff?”
“Mm,” she grunted noncommittally.
“Maybe you should do some of those, gently. It might help.”
It wasn't the worst idea, but it felt like too much effort at the moment. “Later. But yes. Thanks, Varga.”
There was quiet for a while. Diavla got dressed and ate her breakfast.
“Thanks, by the way,” Varga said quietly, after a bit.
“For what?”
“For whatever you did to scare away the wolves. I didn't realize you could do that much.”
“I may be hopeless at Healing, but I can do a few other things a little bit.”
“It was fancy. You took whatever it was doing and gave it right back, only worse. I could feel it when the wolves got scared and left.”
Diavla didn't want to think about it. “Where are the men?”
“In the grain wagon.”
“Should we be keeping watch?”
“The animals aren't interested in attacking in this downpour. And we're in the middle of nowhere, so no humans are going to—”
“Hello?”
∘ ⛥ ⛯ ⛥ ∘
It was a man's voice, loud and deep, calling out in Western. Diavla felt a surge of panic and Varga's expression probably matched hers.
“Demon shit, what do we do?” Varga hissed.
“Can you see him?” Diavla whispered, gathering her feet under her.
“No.”
Diavla went to the other end of the wagon and peered out the slit there. She spotted a woman wearing a cloak and holding a human contraption that looked sort of like a small sideways bow, but covered against the rain. “There's one on this side,” she whispered.
“Hello?” The man called again. “You, (something) wagons!”
“Hello!” Kervan's voice called out. The women listened as closely as possible to pick the conversation out of the noise of the rain.
“Who are you?” the man demanded.
“I am…Tom,” Kervan answered.
Smart, it's the only human name we know, really. Kervan must not be showing his face yet.
“Who are you?” Kervan continued, throwing the question back at the humans.
“I am Mark Carver, and this is my (something). (something) ask what you (something) here?”
The voice was wary, and a bit aggressive. Maybe a female voice would help. Diavla took a deep breath. “Hello? I am…Dee.” Hopefully, that was short for a human name. “We…stay…three…four…day. We go.” Hopefully, the oddity of her speech would be lost in the noise. The woman in the woods looked directly at her at once, and Diavla kept her eye to the slit, hiding herself.
Mark Carver called out something, but Diavla didn't know any of the words. She chewed her lip and waited. The man repeated himself.
“I do no understand,” Kervan called. “I no say good Western.”
“I want (something) see you!”
Diavla quickly pulled on a cloak with the hood over her, which was perfectly reasonable given the rain. She stuck out one hand and lifted it in greeting, then slowly opened the flap and climbed out onto the wagon seat.
“(Something something) you are (something)?”
Apparently, Kervan caught more of it than she did. “We are four.” From the sound, Kervan was also out in the rain now. “No good rain.”
“Varga, stick your hands out, just your hands.” Varga did so, waving at people she couldn't see.
“Orvan, stick your head out, but keep your hood on.” Kervan was following her lead. I hate being in charge. I just hate no one being in charge even more…
“We are four. You see?” Kervan called.
“(Something) are you here?” It sounded like a question word. Diavla wondered if the human was asking how they got there, why they were there, or how long they would be there. The last one was easiest to answer.
“We go here yesterday yesterday,” Diavla called. “We stay. We wait. Tomorrow, maybe tomorrow tomorrow, Tom Walker go here, we go. Do you understand?”
There was a pause. Then Mark said something completely unfamiliar. It didn't even sound like Western, actually; it was more guttural, and a couple of the sounds were new. Diavla and Kervan exchanged puzzled looks.
“We no understand.”
Joan spoke up, and said five strange words very haltingly. Spirits, how many languages do humans have, anyway? Diavla wondered.
“We no understand. We are sorry.”
“Ugh. What language (SOMETHING) you (something)?”
Diavla could understand the woman's annoyance. She considered trying Dwarvish, but her meager vocabulary in it was even worse than her Western, so that wouldn't help.
“(Something) are you hiding (something)?”
Diavla could think of at least two completely different questions the man could be asking. Unfortunately, she didn't have much time to think about it, because the woman was shifting position and she could see the man now, approaching Kervan.
“No, no! Stay back! We are all sick!” Kervan recited as if it were a magic spell.
The human paused. Diavla figured that a cough might help convince him. Unfortunately, all four of them had the exact same idea and gave two coughs at exactly the same time. Mark stuck his cheek in his mouth for a moment, and said something but she couldn't catch any words.
The sarcasm came through just fine, though.
The woman kept back, and moved so that she could cover Kervan, who was standing with his arms away from his body. Mark kept approaching, and Diavla had a sudden premonition of a last-minute panic causing the situation to turn violent. She yanked the hood off her head and called, “We are elves! Please! No…ummm…no…” Diavla's brain abruptly froze up. I can't remember the words!
But she had done enough. Mark stopped. He murmured something to himself.
“Do you need help?” The woman asked.
“Joan!” Mark called out in angry surprise.
The two humans, Joan and Mark, proceeded to have an argument that made plain that they had been together for a long time. It was too rapid for Diavla to follow any of it. She thought she heard the words fire and rain in there, and Mark used the word trust. While that went on, Varga and Orvan came out and stood with them. We're all getting soaked, now.
“We are good!” She interjected, hoping that she could still convince the humans to leave them alone. A moment later, Kervan sneezed unexpectedly. The argument in Western picked back up. Finally, Mark heaved a sigh, so Joan must have won the argument.
“We go,” she declared, then added a few more words Diavla didn't know. A minute earlier and that would have been cause for great relief. But now other humans knew that there were elves around. The secret was more likely to get out now.
“You have five oxen,” Mark said suddenly. “You have four wagons. We (something something something) one ox.”
“Yes,” Orvan suddenly declared, having gotten the gist.
“Wait! What are they going to do with the ox?” Varga demanded.
“Umm…you get ox, ox happy?” Diavla asked for her.
Mark started a long answer but Joan talked over him. “Yes!”
“Good. You get ox, you no say elves. You go. Yes?” Diavla put two fingers to her lips to indicate silence.
“No, no, no!” Joan countered quickly. “We go. We six go.”
Wait. Diavla blinked. What did she just say?
“And the ox.”
“And the ox,” Joan repeated, rolling her eyes at (apparently) her husband.
“What are they saying?” Varga asked.
“They want us to go with them, and they're taking the spare ox.”
“What about the wagons?”
“Good question. Wagons?” Diavla called out.
“The wagons stay. We (something something something) walk.”
“Tom Walker go here, Tom Walker get wagons, get us,” Diavla clarified.
“Yes, yes, yes, no (something something something.) We (something) bandits.”
“Diavla…?” Kervan called, asking for a decision.
I hate choosing. What should I pick? Should we go with them like they want? For just a moment, she froze, then remembered that often no answer was even worse than a wrong answer. Diavla chose.
“Let's do it. Grab your packs and weapons.” She turned to the humans again. “Yes. We six and ox go, you get ox, you no say elves, wagons stay, Tom Walker get wagons, get us…and get four ox,” she added, just to remove any doubt.
The woman said one word, sounding like agreement. The man told his partner something with unfamiliar words, but Diavla caught—of all things—the word for lawyer, which she had heard exactly once. He sounded amused and approving.
The humans relaxed somewhat and lowered their weapons, but they still kept one eye on the elves while they both began to check over the oxen. Varga trotted over and watched. Diavla heard a lot of “good?” and “no good?” from her.
Once the man had chosen an ox, he waved away the rest of Varga's questions and said something very long and incomprehensible. Varga stood there and listened to his monologue for a while. After he finished, Varga and the man stared at each other for several moments. Mark looked at her expectantly.
“What?” Varga finally asked in Elvish, completely baffled.
Another long pause.
“We go,” Mark summarized.
“Saa.” Varga nodded.
The group assembled, making sure that there was enough waterproof fabric covering the packs at least.
There was one more hiccup as Mark pointed at Orvan's spear. “No.”
Orvan shook his head. “Yes. Diavla, tell him.”
Diavla stepped closer. “Yesterday night, wolves.” She held up eight fingers, having forgotten the word for eight. “We are good. We have.” She held her own spear more tightly to clarify.
“Wolves?” The man sounded as if he didn't believe her, but Joan spoke up again.
“Yes, good.”
“Thank you,” Diavla told her.
Mark looked at Kervan's daggers, but then glanced at his wife and didn't say anything.
They made their way out onto the road, with the ox, and turned north.
“How far are we going?” Varga asked.
“I don't know, but they haven't had time to go far today, so it must be close by.”
They trudged along in the rain for about a quarter of an hour, during which they didn't say much more than their names. Then they crossed to the west side of the forest road, at a place where the plants looked impenetrable unless you were north of it and very close. Tom could easily have driven by and completely missed it if he didn't look back at the right moment. A path was visible from this side, and the woman led them down it. A couple of minutes more brought a house into view.
“That's a big house…” Varga murmured.
“How did you miss it when you were scouting before?”
“Because it's on this side of the road, and I did like you said and stayed on the other side!”
Meanwhile, Kervan stopped short. “Humans?”
“One,” Joan said reassuringly. “She no say elves (something).” She put one finger to her lips, then visibly had a thought and very deliberately switched to two fingers like Diavla had done. Humans only use one finger for that, Diavla mused. There's a dirty joke in there somewhere.
She shook her head, surprised at herself. Focus, Diavla.
“Well, we're already here. We might as well get out of the rain,” she told Kervan, who had sneezed a couple more times on the walk. Joan said something about the ox, and somewhat reluctantly Mark broke off and led the ox into a stable, looking back over his shoulder often. Joan led them inside, to meet yet another human.