It had been quite a day. They had all washed outside in the heavy rain, using soap for the first time in months. They got to sit at a table near a fire and talk like civilized people. It was the first time any of them had even had a proper roof over their heads since they left the ship that brought them to the human continent.
Diavla had a few quiet crying jags, but was feeling a bit better. She wasn't sure about Mark Carver, but Joan and Winnie Carver both seemed like nice, friendly people. Their situation was improved, if still precarious.
“Do we really have to wear the collars?” Varga asked.
“Well, we'll argue about it with Tom when the time comes.”
“Maybe we can break the collars? Break the magic?”
Diavla shook her head. “That's risky. We don't want to damage the enchantment without completely breaking it. The cursed thing might instantly constrict and kill the wearer when they put it on.”
“Can you tell whether the enchantment is completely broken?”
Diavla hesitated. “Not reliably enough to risk our lives on it. It's not a skill I ever got to practice much.”
Varga sighed. “Maybe we can leave the collars open a little? Just jam them so the magic doesn't activate and we can pull them off?”
“We can try that. Maybe a bit of cloth would do it. But we'd need a way to secure the collar so that it doesn't fall off on its own at the wrong time.”
“There's always the option of hiding that we're elves, trying to pass as human,” Kervan suggested. “I could make us some simple scarves to hide our ears.”
They all mulled that over for a moment. Varga looked around at everyone, human and elf, then shook her head. “Nah. That wouldn't work. We look too different from humans, with all the little things: our eyebrows, our hair, our eye colors, our build. Nah. I could tell. We have to assume that humans can tell too.”
“And we'd look very suspicious if we wore a heavy cloak and completely hid ourselves all the time,” Diavla added.
“Maybe…we could each try something different?”
“No.” Orvan spoke up. “That's more things to go wrong. I am willing to wear the collar.”
Yes, well, you don't have much will to live, Orvan, Diavla thought but didn't say.
“Let's put a collar on Tom,” Varga suggested.
Diavla blinked. “What?”
“Just for a little while. So he knows what it feels like,” the redhead explained. “So he knows what he's asking of us.”
“That's…a good idea,” Kervan put in. “Even if he refuses to try it, that will tell us something.”
Diavla reluctantly nodded. “And even if he refuses, it will force him to think about what is is like for us.” She mulled that over for a minute. “I just wonder…Tom might actually insist that we not wear the collars, after that. He might not be willing to bear the thought of doing that to us, once he really thinks about how it would feel.”
“So let's find another solution,” Kervan said. “It's still worth asking him, but let's assume that we're not wearing the collars activated. I'll see if the humans have some string or twine.”
“Maybe not,” Diavla countered. “The man of the house might get ideas about what we're up to.”
“Good point. I'll wait until we're back at the…oh, demons. The fabric wagon is gone.” Kervan scowled. “I can probably still rig something up.” Then he sneezed violently.
“Kervan, did you pick up a human sickness?” Varga asked.
Kervan looked ready to deny it, so Diavla put in, “I can check that when we're alone.”
“What, really?” Varga asked.
“Yes. Remember? I told you how frustrating it is to be able to see a sickness and not be able to do anything to cure it?”
“That's right…”
Varga looked chagrined to have forgotten. Her friend wasn't being fair to herself. In a small village with Little Miss Perfect Healer, there wasn't ever a need for Diavla to use any of the spirit skills she had managed to learn, so it simply never came up.
Hm, I'm getting a little snippy about Sheema. I guess I'm tired. Focus, Diavla. She resumed her part of the conversation. “So, I can at least find out what, if anything, is wrong, Kervan. Come see me once we know where we're sleeping and have some privacy. I don't think Tom knows I have any spirit skills, let alone the other humans here.”
“Thank you.” Kervan sniffed slightly.
Tom spent a long while talking in rapid fire Western with the Carvers. Diavla could barely catch a word of it. Kervan claimed he was getting a little bit, listening closely. Varga was restless, but she visited with the animals to pass the time, once she ran out of errands and chores.
Orvan was in his element, getting cooking lessons from Winnie and teaching her a little about elvish cuisine in return. It was good to see a little life in the man. The blond woman appeared to be flirting with Orvan and teasing him constantly. Across the language barrier, nothing seemed to be bothering Orvan; he just looked amused. No one was complaining about having an unusually large number of snacks available, either.
Finally, everyone was getting tired, and the Carvers offered three sleeping rooms on the second floor: one for the elven men, one for the women, and one for Tom. Diavla took a while checking over Kervan; to her embarrassment she didn't fully remember how it went, and it took a fair bit of fumbling before it came back to her. Fortunately, some spirits of Curiosity liked Diavla's request enough and helped her out. It turned out to be just a mild cold after all, and all the elves were relieved.
Settling into their own room, Varga and Diavla adjusted the bedding to suit them and curled up together. Varga wanted kisses and hugs, but not more than that. Diavla was happy to oblige. She actually had to quash a slight urge to get more amorous with her friend. They spoke to each other in whispers for a while before Varga fell asleep.
Diavla stared at the ceiling and listened to the rain. One more night on the road. The morning after tomorrow, we'll be in the human city. By Tom's plan, we'll be selling the grain, the alcohol, and delivering the ironwork as quickly as possible. After that…?
Well, we'll see.
∘ ⛥ ⛯ ⛥ ∘
Diavla woke in the night for her necessary, and then couldn't get back to sleep. Varga was snoring softly, and Diavla was feeling antsy. She pulled her clothes back on and tiptoed out of the room.
She walked slowly and quietly, exploring the building in the dark. There was no need to have anyone keep watch inside the secure house, but she wouldn't have been surprised if one of the residents were up to keep an eye on the strangers. The building was well-made; the stairs didn't creak when she went down to the fireplace. She warmed herself for a couple of minutes, then resumed looking around. Soon she found the bedrooms of their hosts, and tiptoed away with a smile when she heard amorous noises coming from behind one of the doors.
She paused in the upper hallway, considering the doors. Orvan and Kervan were sharing the first room on the left. Tom had the room beyond theirs. She and Varga were sharing the room across the hall from Tom's. She walked up to Tom's door and stopped.
I can't go in there. He'll wake up and be angry. He might…grab my wrists again… Diavla paused for a deep breath, feeling warm. I wish I could get away with kissing him. Diavla tried to think up an excuse for sneaking into his room.
You could say you were testing his alertness, Diavla told herself. She discarded the idea at once.
You got confused about which room was which? No.
You heard a noise and got scared? Better, but no. He would be on high alert and probably do a patrol.
You felt lonely and wanted a man to just hold you. That one tempted Diavla. It took advantage of Tom's kindness so it would likely work. But would it make him brood nervously? Or get upset because he's ashamed of his desire for me?
Diavla raised her hand to knock, but then paused.
It's been an emotional day. My thoughts are muddled. Complicated things can wait. For now, back to bed. Diavla quietly went into the room she shared with Varga and lay down. Sleep was a long time coming.
∘ ⛥ ⛯ ⛥ ∘
On Fourday morning, Diavla had a hard time waking up. Varga nudged her more than once, and she tried to snuggle deeper into the blankets, using her friend like a stuffed cuddle cat. The nudging went away for a couple of minutes, then her companion started trying to get out of bed without her, and that finally woke her, if slowly.
The door was just closing when she opened her eyes a crack. The bedroom became focused as she blinked, then frowned. Something felt off.
Wait. Is this my room? This is my room, right? Diavla felt turned around, and looked for her pack and Varga's. She didn't see them. She saw Tom's, though.
What?
Diavla sat up abruptly, shocked fully awake. She looked around the room, and looked down at herself to make sure she was still dressed.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
How in the world and sky…? She didn't remember coming in here, and she certainly would remember it, so…
Don't tell me I spirit walked in the night. I've never done that before!
Diavla quickly got up and crossed to her own room. She looked around; Varga's pack was already gone, while hers was still there. Also, draped over the chair was a blue dress, and a bit more cloth atop it. It turned out to be human-style undergarments, which only took her a few moments to figure out.
After making sure the door was closed, she stripped out of the shirt and pants she had been wearing and put on the dress. It was a decent fit, though a bit tight in the chest. She put away her dirty clothes in her pack, moving this way and that to get familiar with the new outfit she was wearing. She picked up her own pack, steeled herself, and went downstairs.
Everyone was sitting around the big table eating, and all of them looked up at her as she appeared. Feeling self-conscious, she called, “Good morning, everyone. Good morning,” she repeated in Western. Diavla took in the expressions on their faces.
Varga was wearing a green dress that fit her frame well. Her friend's eyebrows rose and she blinked a couple of times, then grinned. Good. She's not mad. Or at least, she didn't stay mad. This is Varga.
Orvan and Kervan looked at her with curiosity, and nodded in greeting before turning back to their food. Both of them had new shirts on. Kervan stared a little longer, but turned away jerkily after a moment. The Carvers smiled at her, though both Winnie and Joan were giving her wary, questioning looks.
Tom was staring at her, his breakfast apparently forgotten for the moment. He mouthed a syllable silently, then looked embarrassed when she tried and failed to read his lips. His face was red and getting redder as she watched. Diavla didn't preen for him, but she was…aware of his gaze. It felt good.
“Good morning, Diavla. You are good?” Joan called in passable Elvish. Her intense stare added a layer of meaning to her question.
“Yes, thank you.” Diavla gave her a warm smile and nod. No, Tom didn't abuse me, but thank you for checking.
“Nice dress, Dee,” Varga called, smiling.
“You, too.”
“Thanks. It fits me really well! And I can move in it, mostly. I'm tempted to cut a slit, but I'll wait on that. Also, we should talk when you have a minute.” Varga was hinting at something in her tone.
“What's happening now?” Diavla asked first.
“We're having breakfast, then packing and hitting the road,” Kervan told her.
“Right. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“Oh, we didn't wait. But you should grab some food quickly,” Kervan said with his usual practicality.
Varga pointed at something round and vaguely bread-like. “These are called panbakes. They're good.”
“Pancakes,” Joan corrected mildly.
“Try 'em with butter and this brown powder they've got,” Varga continued, undeterred.
Diavla took a seat, and pretty soon she and Tom were the only two still eating. Tom was clearly singing the praises of the food to both Winnie and Orvan. He really does eat a lot of food.
After eating, Tom chatted with Mark and Winnie for a couple of minutes, while everyone else got ready. Joan called, “Diavla? A minute?” Tom headed outside, and Diavla followed Joan into the pantry.
“Diavla, are you (something something)?”
“I no understand, but I am good. I no…” Diavla paused, struggling to find the words in Western. “I sleep. I no think. I go Tom bed. I sleep.” She shrugged.
“Was Tom a (something)?”
“I am good. Tom no touch. Tom no bad. We…” Diavla gestured a hug. “We sleep.”
It was Joan's turn to shrug, and she said a long sentence, the only word of which Diavla caught was “I” at the beginning.
“I no understand.”
Joan tried out her Elvish. “I am…” She made a frightened face. “Now no. You are good, I am good. Tom is very…”
“Red?”
Joan laughed in surprise that Diavla knew the word. “Yes. (Something.)”
Diavla put one hand on the other woman's arm. “Thank you. You are good.”
“(Something) are you. Good (something) you.”
Diavla cocked her head. After a couple of tries, she figured out that Joan was giving her some sort of farewell. She had no idea what the two twined fingers meant, though.
Before they went outside, Mark had a surprise for them: sandals. He had managed to put together four pairs so that the elves didn't have to go completely barefoot any more. They weren't very comfortable, but they were good for keeping their feet out of shallow puddles at least. Mark actually apologized that he couldn't do better.
They said their goodbyes in pidgin Western-Elvish, then Mark finally walked them back to the wagons. The rain had decreased to a light drizzle. Their host helped them care for the oxen and get the wagons turned around. He even brought a piece of wood and a couple of tools, and he and Tom messed with the damaged wheel for a few minutes, until Mark seemed satisfied. Before they got rolling, Diavla approached Tom. “Tom? You and I alone, please?”
Tom stepped aside and the others gave them space. He waited, not offering to start the conversation. Perhaps he was scared to. Diavla sighed.
“Tom, yesterday night, what did I?”
Tom reddened, and cleared his throat. He was having trouble meeting her gaze. He answered in Elvish. “You go in. I no sleep. I talk. You no talk. You go in bed. You go on me. You sleep.” Finally, he looked her in the eye. “I no touch you, Diavla. I talk, you sleep. I talk, you sleep. You no go. We…hug? We sleep.” He was nervous, urging with his tone for her to believe him.
“I understand, Tom. I am sorry. I sleep and go. This is first time.” She could tell that she had lost him. “Um…day, day, day, I no sleep and go. Yesterday night, I sleep and go.” She shrugged. “I am sorry.”
Tom nodded slowly. “Thank you. We are…good. Yes?”
“Yes. Thank you, Tom.” She looked around. “We go now.” They rejoined the others.
Soon they were rolling along northward towards the forest road. They traveled for an hour, then Tom called a halt and asked the elves to gather around.
“Collars now,” he said, looking unhappy.
“Tom.” Kervan stepped forward, holding a collar. “We ask.” Diavla held her breath.
“Yes?”
“You get collar.”
Tom stared at him. “What?”
“You get collar now. You see. You understand. Soon, you no get collar. We get collars.”
The blood drained from Tom's face. He looked terrified. “You…you want…” He swallowed.
“You ask us, get collars. We want, we see, you understand.”
Diavla actually could see Tom shaking. He held up a hand to stop Kervan, but he didn't say no. She could see his soul racing as he worked through the reasoning. He started muttering something to himself in Western, the same phrase over and over. His breathing grew a bit ragged. He almost looked as if he were going to start crying.
He's absolutely terrified of it.
Diavla wondered at the extreme reaction. But then, that was the whole point: for Tom to really understand in his soul what he was asking of them. We wore the collars for three months. We had no choice but to get used to it. Tom's not going to be able to—
“I…will…do,” Tom rasped. He lifted his chin and stepped closer, staring upward.
Kervan stepped up, reached up and put the collar around Tom's neck. He started to flinch and draw away but held himself still by force of will. Kervan finished putting the collar on and snapped it closed. Tom shuddered as the magic took hold, and Kervan stepped back, a cold expression on his face.
“Now, Tom. I am you master. You understand? I say, you do. I want you die, you die. You no kill me. You understand?”
Tom put his hands to his neck. He felt along the collar, tugged at it experimentally. He gripped it with both hands and seemed to be trying to pull it apart with brute strength. The human gave it up after several moments. He held up his hand in front of him, turning it, flexing his fingers. He was starting to calm down, and she could see his curiosity as he started to figure out how the collar worked.
“Tom.” Kervan held up a token. “You key. You want?”
“Yes.”
“Get.”
Tom looked at him, then reached for the token in the elf's hand, only to have his fingers stop suddenly a handspan away. The human stared, horrified. He made several attempts, feeling out what the magic would and would not let him do. Kervan set the token on the closest wagon seat, then stepped back.
“Get.”
Tom tried again, and found that he could not get any part of his body closer to the token than he had before. Kervan let him try for a while, then held out a dagger to the human, hilt first. “Tom, here. Get.” After a moment, Tom took the dagger warily. Kervan spread his arms wide.
“You do, kill me.”
“What?” Tom added something in rapid Western, clearly worried.
“Tom, do. You no kill me. Do.”
Seeing that Kervan was not afraid at all, Tom hesitantly pushed the dagger until it touched Kervan's shirt.
“Do.”
Tom took a deep breath, and then leaned forward slightly, his muscles flexing. His face took on a look of amazement when he wasn't able to push the dagger far enough to hurt Kervan. He strained harder, and shook a little with effort, then pulled back and tried to stab. Again, his hand was stopped.
“Tom, I no touch key eight day, you die. You understand?” Tom stared at Kervan a moment, then nodded.
Kervan turned to Diavla. “Tell him to walk towards you, and I'll order him to stop.”
“Wait,” Diavla called impulsively. “I want to do something first.” She walked up to Tom, tilting her head back a moment. “Ugh, you're too tall. Tom, kneel.”
She heard a little gasp from Varga, and steadfastly put it out of her mind. Tom didn't understand, so she demonstrated by going down on one knee. “Do. Kneel.” Then she stood up and looked at him.
Tom paused, then shook his head.
Kervan spoke. “Tom. Kneel, or die.”
Tom looked at the blond elf, and saw only the cold expression Kervan showed him. Taking a deep breath, Tom looked away from him and faced Diavla, then went to one knee. Diavla pointed at her face, then closed her eyes for a moment. “Tom, you do. You no see.” Then she looked at him and waited.
Tom stared up at her, and the gaze from his blue eyes was intense enough to give Diavla some heat. After a few moments of silent communion of spirits, he closed his eyes. Diavla took a moment to catch her breath, then stepped closer, bent down slightly, put one hand on Tom's neck, and kissed him.
His hands started to come up and she slapped one away with her free hand. She pushed her lips hard against his, slow but insistent, pulling on his neck as she forced him to kiss her, willing him to respond. After a few moments, he finally did.
She felt it when he began kissing her back, slowly, firmly, with chained heat. Now his hand gradually came back up, and went to the back of her neck, his fingers sliding up into her hair. Her heart leaped when he tightened his grip around a fistful of her hair, and his lips pressed harder against her as she felt him rise up from his knee until he was bending over her, his other arm around her waist. Yes…oh, yes… Her soul sang until it started to get drowned out by passion.
Varga cleared her throat, loudly. Tom broke the kiss, and slowly released her. Diavla was faintly, belatedly aware that Varga had had to clear her throat more than once before that happened. It took her a moment to focus, to rise up from the haze of delight that seemed to consume her thoughts. She stepped back.
“Tom,” Kervan called, “we are near did do. And one.” He waited a few moments until Tom appeared to be paying attention again. Then Kervan walked over, holding up the token. Tom was forced backwards, stumbling slightly in surprise.
“You see?” Kervan demanded. “Now.” He held the token off to the side, reached up and gripped Tom's shoulder. He brought the token closer again, and this time Tom was not forced back. Kervan pressed the token to the collar and unlocked it.
With shaking hands, Tom pulled the collar off. For a few heartbeats, no one spoke. He took a deep breath. “I…understand.” He handed the magic item back to Kervan.
Kervan turned and looked at the others. “What do people think?”
Orvan answered first. “I think you made your point.”
Varga shook her head and sighed. “He knows now.” She turned to the human. “Tom? If I put on the collar, will you take it off again, at night? Um…” Varga paused, clearly unsure whether Tom could understand that much Elvish. “Um…night, no collar?”
Tom nodded. “Day, collar. Night, no collar. Human no see, no collar.”
Varga looked at him and sighed. “All right. I can put the collar back on.” Diavla nodded as well.
One by one, the elves walked up to Tom and handed him a token, then stepped back and put their collar on. Diavla was the last to do so. Then they stood around, looking at Tom, waiting to see what he would do.
Tom felt the tokens, rubbing them with his fingers. His expression was neutral as he looked around at them all. “I do one,” he said, holding up a finger. Then he faced Kervan. In a voice that brooked no argument, he commanded, “Kervan…kneel.” Diavla thought her face would melt from her heat.
A couple of heartbeats later, Tom seemed about to gather himself to say more, and Kervan didn't wait. He dropped to one knee in front of Tom. Nobody moved. Tom took a long, shuddering breath, then let it out. “Now we are (something),” he told the kneeling elf. A moment later, he stepped back. In a more normal tone, he declared, “Kervan, you want, you do. You do you want.” Then, he offered Kervan his hand.
Kervan took a breath himself, and said, “I guess that's fair. I understand, Tom.” He took the human's hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.
Next, Tom turned to Diavla, and her heart raced to see his expression. He wants to kiss me again, he's going to kiss me again, he—
Tom ran a hand over his face. “We go now,” he announced, and abruptly turned to walk back to the lead wagon.
Diavla almost felt as if she were going to fall over forward from leaning against something that wasn't there.
Varga walked up. “Nicely done, sexy,” she murmured with a wicked grin now that she was facing away from Tom. “How about you come ride with me while he cools off?”
“Uh…”
“…and while you relearn how to speak Elvish,” her friend added in a mocking tone, giving her a gentle tug on the arm.
“Right.” Diavla allowed herself to be towed away. She barely noticed that her jaw was starting to ache again.