It was really obvious when Tom relaxed, and Diavla was happy to see it. He really does want to be in charge. He was just being a gentleman and desperately trying not to take advantage of the situation. She tried not to think about how pleased she was, nor why.

Now I just have to figure out the best way to flirt with him. Diavla cast her soul back, thinking over their interactions since they met, and got an idea. “Tom?” she called with a grin.

“Yes?” Tom sounded wary.

“You say another time, you say you get scars.”

“I do not remember that word.” Diavla lifted her hair to show the scar on her temple. “Oh, scar,” Tom realized. “Scar is scar.”

Diavla nodded. “Yes. Tom, will you say how you got your scars?”

Tom visibly struggled because she had spoken natural Elvish instead of pidgin, but nodded after a moment, having gotten the gist. His answer was slow and precise.

“Yes. I will say how I got my scars.”

“Good. Show us your scars, please.” Diavla wasn't quite able to hide her grin. Tom scowled at her and rolled his eyes, but she could tell he was hiding a smile of his own.

“Yes, yes.” He took off his shirt, as she had hoped. She glanced at Varga smugly, who looked back with mischievous approval. They returned their attention to the muscular human standing near the fire.

Tom had several scars, as she had noted at the creek. He pointed them out one by one. “Sword. Dagger. Sword. Hot…” He lapsed into Western, groping for words. “How do you say (something?) Hot metal stick (something) fire?” He ended up gesturing until they were confident that he was trying to say ‘hot poker’, and taught him the Elvish. It took another minute of gestures to get ‘broken mug’ across.

Tom was a good storyteller. With his limited Elvish and a lot of gestures, he acted out bits of the fights he had gotten into. Apparently, he had worked at a bar for a time, skillfully removing unruly drunks. One sword slash had actually come from a clumsy partner in the guard. They had been fighting in the woods against some animal Diavla couldn't identify from the description. He had also dealt with bandits on more than one occasion.

He's had an adventurous life already, and he's only eighteen years old. And now he's having a new crazy adventure with us. This will be a tale to tell his great-great-grand… Diavla brought her thoughts up short. No, just his grandchildren. Diavla sobered as she considered Tom's all-too-short lifespan. That just…rots.

She came back to the present when she realized that Tom was putting his shirt back on. Varga was trying to stop him and failing. Then she tried to get him to drink more ale, which he refused. Pouting, Varga started to guzzle the drink she had brought him.

“Varga.” Tom's face was serious. “Small alcohol tonight, please.”

“Do I have to?” her friend complained. He doesn't know those words…

“I no say. I ask.”

…but he got the gist. He really is clever. Diavla thought about his sweet but inconvenient ethics. A little too clever, sometimes.

I should be patient. I know he wants me, too. Give it time, and his willpower might crumble a little. If I can get him to lie with me, and keep him to myself, hopefully I can keep from souring his relationship with the others. At this rate, though, Varga is going to get him before I do.

Really, Tom has proven himself. This isn't a situation where I have to worry about Tom becoming a controlling Master and not freeing us. He's made it clear that that's unlikely to happen. Diavla searched for a comparison, then found one. It's more like the usual caution not to get involved with someone when you are stuck with them for a month or more. The danger is a breakup and hard feelings.

I guess that is a danger, still. He's young, and if I break up with him at some point and do it badly, that could really mess up his soul, and people in pain sometimes turn to anger. Really, why am I even considering this?

Diavla furrowed her brow. Something about me has changed. I am much more interested in sex than I used to be. I'm hardly the first to feel this way, but it's to the point where my decisions are questionable, possibly even foolish.

But…I want him. Diavla was surprised by how strong the desire was. Her libido rarely spoke so loudly. Her gaze fell on Varga, who was still drinking. Playing with Varga is fun. I should have tried it a long time ago. But I just didn't have this fire burning in me as brightly.

Fire burning…

Diavla frowned and closed her eyes. What am I trying to remember? Despite her struggles, the thought eluded her. She gave up when Varga approached her with another mug of ale. “Can I interest you in some booze and sex?” her friend asked with her typical bluntness.

Diavla smiled. “Bring the ale; I'll drink if I need the help.”

Varga beamed and started gathering up things to climb into the wagon with the black cases. Then Tom called out.

“Ah! Varga, no wagon.” Tom pointed at the wagon with cases, then the grain wagon. “Wagon.”

“But there's more room in this one,” Varga protested.

“I see in. Bad.”

Diavla blinked. What did he just say?

“Tom, did you look inside one of the cases?” Kervan asked in surprise, then switched to Western. “Ah, you open?” He pointed at the wagon and pantomimed opening up a case. “What you did see?”

Tom tried to explain, but it took a long time and they still weren't sure they understood each other. Finally, Kervan waved away Tom's latest effort. “Tom, I go, I see.”

“I go, too,” Diavla added. Tom looked worried, but nodded.

“Wagon is bad. Um…like wolf is bad, like sword is bad.”

“Dangerous,” Kervan answered.

“Dangerous. Dangerous. Wagon is dangerous.”

“Why? No, how?” Diavla asked.

Tom gestured vaguely with his hands. “Like Sheema do.”

“Magic?”

Tom shrugged. “Maybe? Magic. Magic.” If that was the right word, it was unclear. They could manage a lot with their pidgin, but every time they had tried to talk about magic, they made no headway. It was just too abstract, and involved too many things you couldn't point to. Tom pulled out his rock light and held it up. “Rock light is magic. Collars are magic. Sheema do magic.”

Kervan and Diavla looked at each other. “Yes. You are right. Magic is magic.”

Tom gave a sigh of relief. “We go.”

When they got to the wagon, Tom warned, “light,” and the elves closed their eyes. Diavla didn't see a flash past her eyelids, though. Tom sighed, and she opened her eyes again. “Light is bad. I get light.” He went off to get the other rock light, leaving the dead one on the edge of the wagon. Diavla walked over and picked it up. I can probably charge this again, if the construction isn't too different from the ones at home. Not sure I want to show Tom I can do that, though. She slipped it into a pouch while they waited.

Tom returned, and this time he got the light to work and led them up into the back of the wagon. As he shone the light around, it was obvious that the cut and battered case was now much more damaged. Kervan made a noise of dismay, taking the rock light from Tom and holding it up.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Tom? When you do?”

“I do when I am here alone. Yesterday night.” He shrugged, then put one finger to his lips. “We say bandits did do.” He gave a slightly sheepish grin. Kervan reached toward the case and Tom called out, “Slow! I do.”

The big man approached the case, then made sure he had their attention and made a show of taking a deep breath and holding it. He waited until they both had done so, then nodded, reached out carefully, and slowly lifted the lid.

Inside was some fabric, which turned out to be a cut up bedroll. Tom gently lifted the cloth away, and Diavla could see plentiful dust motes stirred up in the air. Next was a black cover, which Tom removed, acting as if he were handling an unstable magic formation like in an adventure play. Kervan lifted the light higher and they peered inside.

Very, very old and brittle black fabric was shaped around three indentations. The first had a pile of black dust; the second had gray flakes. The third held fragments of a red crystal.

For just a moment, Diavla felt an inexplicable terror at the sight of the red crystal, but the feeling vanished almost as soon as it had started. She looked at the three piles, and as she watched, it seemed that the flakes broke up more finely and new cracks appeared in the red crystal fragments.

They are falling apart. Decaying with age. That ancient fabric probably used to be padding, and Tom improvised a replacement. What are these things?

Tom wasn't finished yet. He took a moment to stick his head out of the wagon and breathe, then returned. With great care, he lifted out the top tray of the crate, revealing a second layer, also covered by scraps of bedroll. These he pulled out, and then stepped back. Kervan cautiously raised the light again and moved closer, and Diavla followed. The bottom half of the case contained three more padded areas, and in each was a complete, unbroken crystal.

Oh, spirits.

The crystals radiated a wrongness that fairly howled against her spiritual sense. Kervan made as if to bend over closer. Diavla's hand shot out and grabbed his arm. “Stay back.” The blond elf heeded her warning at once.

“Tom? What are they?”

Tom shrugged. “I no know magic.” He reached out towards the crystals and stopped before Diavla could warn him. “I no touch. Bad magic.”

Diavla blinked. Wait. Can Tom sense the magic? Is that a thing all humans can do? Setting that aside for later, she looked around at the other seven cases. Forty-eight crystals, three broken.

“When?” she asked, and gestured as if breaking a stick. “Break. When break?”

“Bandits, I think. Bandits break. Night I see you.” Tom looked pensive. “I think…three bandits, three crystals.” His meaning was clear when he pointed. “I did see one bandit…” and Tom proceeded to do an impression of a man muttering crazily to himself. “Maybe three bandits do? Maybe bandits sick now.”

“But there were only two bandits who went missing…” Kervan mused. “Did the red one break later?” He looked at Diavla. “Did you see anything? On the road? Maybe…when the wagon wheel broke…”

“I did feel strange for a minute, but I'm clearly not going crazy or sick.” Diavla saw Kervan's worried look and grimaced. “I'll check my soul over tonight, but I think I'm all right. Maybe it missed me. Or maybe elves are immune to whatever this is.”

“That would be a relief. But that means we would have to worry about Tom. He's the only human who's been around these things for any length of time.”

The subject of discussion looked at them both, patiently waiting for them to explain.

“Tom,” Diavla began. “Maybe humans sick, elves no sick. Bandit, bandit…and you.”

Tom kept still a moment, then took a deep breath and shrugged. “I will go (something.)” Seeing their lack of understanding, he tried again. “Big…” he gestured a rectangle, probably for a building. “Man, woman know magic…” He said some more things, but Diavla couldn't make heads or tails of it.

“A temple? In Rivermarch?” Kervan guessed.

“Yes. In Rivermarch. I go…ask…Sheema man.” Tom shrugged.

“Where wagon go?” Kervan asked.

“High Pass Temple,” Tom said. It sounded like a name. Then he pointed. “Northeast.” He looked down at the crystals. “I do no open?” He was gesturing to close the case. The elves motioned for him to proceed, and Tom very carefully put the padding back in and packed away the crystal trays. “We no get gold. We give magic man, magic woman.” He gestured as if trying to throw away or get rid of the cases. “We no want.”

“Agreed.” Both elves nodded at him. “Tom, you sick, you say,” Kervan asked.

“Yes. You sick, you say.”

“Yes.”

They exited the wagon carefully, not wanting to jar the cases any more than necessary. Diavla and Kervan explained to Orvan and Varga what they had seen. Diavla took Varga aside.

“I'm sorry, but I need the privacy of the wagon for a bit.”

Varga didn't look upset to hear that, but she did seem worried. “What are you going to do?”

“You know those ‘soul stretches’ you said I should do? I'm going to do them, check myself over. But I don't want Tom to see me doing magic.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course! This is important. I want you to take care of yourself. I can't help you with magic stuff. Are you going to be all right?”

“I'm sure I will,” Diavla said with forced cheer, not fooling her friend in the slightest. “But I should do this sooner rather than later.”

“Sure. Spirits, Dee, do what you need to do.”

“Thanks.”

“Why aren't you telling Tom you're spirit-touched? He already knows about Sheema.”

Diavla thought about it, then shrugged. “Just caution, I guess. I'll tell him if he needs to know.”

“Fine. I'll go keep Tom busy so he doesn't bother you.”

Diavla raised an eyebrow. “Saa.”

“What?” After a moment, Varga gave up and grinned. “I might as well have fun while I do it.”

“I'm going to be a little miffed if you seduce him before I do.”

“Plenty of him to go around, I think.”

“I know, I'm just…feeling jealous.”

“ ‘Envy is good, jealousy is bad,’ ” the redhead quoted.

“I'm aware. I'll get over it.” Diavla sighed. “I suppose there are advantages to letting him take his first fumbling steps with someone else.”

“Yeah, everybody's awful in the beginning. But it's so much fun improving. And, hey—if he turns me down and keeps turning you down, maybe we team up to tease him. Have you seen the way he stares at us when we kiss? I thought steam would come out of his nose.”

“You want to taunt him with what he's missing?”

“And, if that doesn't work, we could be more direct. It would be pretty hard for him to turn down an offer of two women at once.”

Diavla felt her face heat. “That's…not the worst idea.”

“Think it over later. Go do your spirit stuff. I have important flirting to do.”

“Shut up.” Diavla smiled at her friend and shook her head, then watched the other woman approach Tom again.

∘ ⛥ ⛯ ⛥ ∘

Diavla climbed into the grain wagon and squeezed into the available space for privacy. She looked around at the cramped space and settled herself as best she could. It's been a long time, she fretted. There wasn't any point in delaying, though, so she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and began.

Listen.

Diavla hunted for vaguely remembered sensations and perceptions. Meditation was a different frame of mind from the everyday, and communion with spirits was stranger still. She cast her mind back, replaying lessons in her soul.

What spirits live here?

She reached out gently with her soul, thoughts questing, seeing without eyes, listening without ears. Not just the water sense that came automatically to almost all elves; feeling a certain tree as if she were leaning on it. Sensing the chill of a large rock without sitting on it. She was separated from the wind, but could hear it against the fabric of the wagon cover. Slowly, her soul-sense awakened from its slumber.

Fire. Curiosity. Light. Water. Love of Life. Decay. She knew that there were other spirits there, but she had little affinity for Healing, Earth, or Passion, among others. Her affinities for Fire and Curiosity were greatest. She reached out to Curiosity.

The response was small at first, but gathered strength over time, the same as back home. She invited them to explore her, offering mystery. She intended to think hard about what she most wanted to know before she cast her wish outward.

What is wrong with me? No, I don't need my health examined.

Are there any strange spirits about us? Maybe.

What is in the crates? Important.

What is different about me?

Either of the last two should give her useful information. She was tempted to ask about the crystals, but she had promised to check her own condition, so… She focused her will, and projected.

CHANGED?

She hoped that that was clear enough. The spirits were presumably already looking her soul over. Sometimes it was possible to convey a little more than a single word with the intention.

The air swirled softly around her as the spirits were drawn in. She could almost feel them running along her arms, her hair. A faint tingling began in her toes and started to glide upward along her legs. She got a faint impression of the soreness in her muscles which were showing new growth, and sensed that she would be a bit stronger on the morrow. Many spirits swirled around her head, examining her soul, tasting the differences that freedom had given to her thoughts.

Some spirits drifted to her abdomen…and stopped. They had found something interesting in her spiritual core, the body's nexus of magic that all elves possessed but few could access. More and more spirits gathered there, like fish nibbling at bait. She could taste their hunger to identify, to know, to understand.

She began to feel a tension in her gut; the object of their attention grew unsettled, and seemed to be shifting. The sensation intensified until something abruptly gave way, like a bubble popping.

Spirits suddenly flooded into her. She gave a gasp as they rushed in, spreading through every nerve in her body, excited by something they had found. A different kind of spirit followed, gathering rapidly from the environment, as if following a rumor or a scent on the wind. As they also plunged into her core, Diavla recognized them with surprise: spirits of Passion.

But I don't…have…aff…affin…affinity for…

Diavla rocked her head back, eyes closed, trembling.

The Passion spirits clearly disagreed. They had never shown interest in her before, but now…

Diavla gasped as she felt the rush of the spirits bonding with her. It wasn't pleasure at first. All her passions—her worries, her fears, her hopes, her sense of wonder, her desire—all were stirred up and amplified. But soon all of those damped down, except for wonder and desire.

Diavla definitely was feeling desire.

Her hands went to her belly as she felt something like a fire in her spiritual core. What is this? What's happening to me? An intoxicating rush filled her soul with happiness. I want this, she realized. I have wished for this.

Her thoughts at once went to Tom, but she had no patience for his reluctance.

“Varga!” she called loudly. One hand slid up to her forehead as she breathed heavily. The other hand slid downward. It was only a few moments before Varga approached the wagon and stuck her head in past the flap of fabric.

“What…?” Varga stopped talking and stared. “Dee?”

“I want you, Varga. Right now. Please give me pleasure.”

She didn't have to ask twice. Varga did not question her good fortune, and eagerly did as she was bid.