Sssshhhhhnnnnggg

“You’re talking just fine.” Said Mom.

Liam tried not to roll his eyes, barely succeeding.

Sssshhhhhnnnnggg

“I know you’re not the first soul to occupy that body.” Said Liam.

Sssshhhh—

The blade stopped mid stroke, locking in place for a half second before finishing the stroke. Mom smiled, a thin, ugly grin.

—nnnnggg

“Not the first soul? Does that make me some kind of soul sucking succubus? And what would that make you? Some kind of hellspawned incubus?” Asked Mom, relaxing her hands so the curved dagger rested in her fingers.

It was a calculated move, One liam had come to expect from Mom. She was such a good liar, truly, she should have been an assassin. Or a politician.

“We’re speaking English right now. American style English. Not posh British English, or the frankincense Canadian English, or that cunty-mate Australian dialect… Cut the shit Mom.”

Her back straightened a hair’s width with each country’s name.

“Who are you?” She asked.

“Married. And I’d like to get back to my MILF.” Said Liam.

Mom’s smile turned genuine for a second, coming so easily. Just like how Sarah had smiled after their engagement, seconds before calling her mom and friends. A choice she’d made rather than talk to Liam. Strange that, since he knew her ‘mom’ wasn’t genetically related to her, nor had she married Sarah’s father.

I really hope my ex didn’t just give birth to me… Like… what the actual fuck Taloc. That’s not funny! It’s appalling! Disgusting! If you owe me a perk for slaying Pandora, you owe me a hundred levels for that stunt!

“So I’ve been raising a grown man in a child’s body? Have you been enjoying that, you little pervert?” Said Mom.

Liam had come prepared for her manipulations, but hearing it out loud made him sick.

“Don’t be an asshole. I’m an infant, arousal isn’t physically possible, nor is it intellectually possible either. I lack the neurons and neural connections for adult feelings. But–” Said Liam, coming to stand beside Mom.

Given their height differences, Liam standing was still looking up to Mom’s face, despite her kneeling on the floor.

“You’re still my mom. No matter how shitty you’ve been, I would be dead without you. So thank you.”

“Thank you? Is this the part where you wear that snake like an inflatable water wing and float away? Never to be seen again?” Asked Mom, her tone neutral, yet quavering.

That was a manipulation Liam wasn’t prepared for. His brow knitted, mouth opening in surprise.

“What’s your name?”

“Sirin.” Was Mom’s response.

“Sirin…? You pronounce that with an accent, of the language I need to learn. Mom- Sirin, you have to actually teach me how to fit in here! Look, I’m not going to abandon you. But we can’t keep living like this. My healing magic tells me exactly what wounds you’ve received, and when,” Said Liam, putting his toddler hands on her shoulders. “You’ve been through a lot, too much. I haven’t experienced your suffering, despite the pain, you’ve kept me fed. I’ve also seen how damaged you were when I was born. You were starving. Not a day or two, but weeks on end without food. That nearly killed you. So I understand not wanting to go hungry again. But you’re going to get caught if we don’t change. It won’t be long before I can start healing, that should pay for both of us. Just give me some time to grow up, mom. Don’t push yourself or force violence when we are about to cross the finish line out of poverty. We have to change our lifestyle, find a way to integrate into society. Otherwise the duke will catch up to us when he returns.”

Sirin was very still, thinking as her reptilian brain screamed for her to slash Liam’s throat and run. Yet her cerebellum won out, tempering her adrenaline with logic.

“I’d ask how you knew the duke was away, but you’ve always been a weird kid. This life… I didn’t choose this life. Emir Efendi—” She looked away from Liam, eyes going frosty as she recalled his memory. “Dear old dad disinherited me- or, well, us… I guess. Kicked me out onto the street with nothing more than the veil over my face. Ha, if Taloc zapped all of Kheresh with lightning and burned their homes, I would laugh. Laugh long and hard at their suffering. Cause that’s exactly what my brothers and sisters did when they learned I’d been thrown out. They mocked me, called me ‘daddy’s favorite whore’.” Sirin exhaled heavily, purging her lungs of the evil words. “They were right. Sirin was worthless, which is why she walked into the desert and tried to kill us both. She succeeded. Didn’t last a week on her own. She was worthless, pathetic, feeble, unconditioned trash. If she’d left me any knowledge of the wider world I would have been long gone. But I’m not a mage like you are, Sirin never bothered awakening her power. Damn cunt never learned anything useful in her life! She has no skills other than getting knocked up in one go. Great for a sow. Ah, such a dumb bitch. She trapped us here, threw away her life and disposed of my options.” Said Mom.

In William Wilson’s safe life, back in the days of college and medical school, he would have fallen for her manipulation.

“Every night there are more guards outside, and every day another caravan brings more wounded home. Whatever war the duke is fighting, will end soon. Mom, they will catch you. They’ll hem you in, one squad of soldiers at a time, until there is nothing left to steal, and nowhere left to hide. Every single sack of grain or dried date you’ve stolen brings the guards a little closer to finding you. We need to stop being criminals. We’ve already overstayed our welcome. And you still haven’t taught me how to speak. Teach me the dialect, and I’ll take care of you. I can’t exactly barter our way into a patronage if I don’t speak the language.” Said Liam.

Sirin’s eyes widened for a heartbeat, then narrowed. A patronage was something from this world, a concept foreign to earth. In Taloc’s hierarchies –the church and the Nobility– social power was wholly predicated on their ability to wield and inherit then pass on magical affinities. Their station, meaning their noble status and privilege, depended on creating magical progeny, often leading to rampant infidelity, or harems, or the mostly platonic system of patronage. Where a noble would adopt promising young mages, teach them, then marry them into the family to preserve the affinities or cover their failing bloodline. With someone as talented as Liam, the duke would likely adopt him then pardon all of Sirin’s crimes. Mayhaps he would even reinstate her as Emir Efendi’s heir. Although that would depend on how deeply indebted the Emir was, and whether or not the duke was his creditor.

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Liam wracked his brain, trying to remember if Emir was a noble title or a religious one, and found nothing in the drunken librarian that was Green’s debauchery. He ran fingers through his growing hair, wiping away the question to face Sirin.

A patronage assumed Liam would hide his lightning affinity and only reveal his mastery of fire and healing. Since the ‘dark’ affinity was still perceived negatively by the unwashed masses, and lightning came with the title and rank of Lightning Lord. Double affinities at his age would already ostracize him as one in a million, but three would immediately draw the fulminonimbus’ ire or King Aldric’s attention. Should he announce his status as a Lightning Lord, then he could expect to be given a dozen noble women.

Regardless of his current age. They would live together and the day he was capable of siring children, he would be expected to pass on his affinities to as many children as humanly possible. A fate he had no desire to endure.

Is that what happened to Nyota? Wondered Liam, his eyes going foggy to match Sirin’s thoughtful silence.

Nyota was all he ever wanted, she was enough. But she was too far away to support him via adoption or patronage. A temporary guardian would have to be found, one capable of escorting him, Sirin, and Quetz across the continent. Yet, if they accepted a patronage then Liam would be indebted to a noble family, a debt they would certainly call in once his true affinities became known.

Their most likely request would be to knock up a noble’s daughter, or even their wife, another scenario that made Liam gag. At worst, he’d be asked to become a branch family, that way the patronizing house could ride his coattails for centuries, claiming his will long after his flesh turned to dust and his bones crumbled in the grave.

In short, a patronage represented a noble gravy train. One where Sirin no longer needed to steal grain or risk her life to feed them both. At the cost of Liam’s future fluids, be they blood, sweat, tears, or something else.

“This body belongs to the local lord’s daughter. A patronage was never an option. Emir Efendi gave me two options, accept the stoning for being a whore, or flee and live out my days in exile.” Said Sirin.

“Aw… fuuuuckss.” Said Liam, crawling onto Sirin’s lap and curling up there.

Despite his prodigious growth, Liam was still a two year old, and simply being close to his mother calmed his mind. Somehow making everything in the world feel right, more peaceful.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to ask someone’s name and not give your own.” Said Sirin, repeating the phrase in English and then again in the local dialect.

“My last name was Baron William Ethan Green, but that won’t do at all here. You’ll have to give me a name so I can fit in without being the odd, well, odd-er child out.”

Sirin translated the words for Liam, teaching him the dialect of Kheresh.

“I’ll have to think about it… How about Billy?” Said Sirin.

“Billy… It’s an abbreviation of william… Wait. Are you suggesting that name just so you can call me Billy the kid?”

“... No… Fine. I’ll think of a better name. Hmmm.”

Sirin resumed sharpening her blades, spending a great deal of time meditating with Liam in her lap, and a dagger in her hands. Whittling away the minutes til an hour passed. Then she spoke.

“Tufan Biliam Alhusam. I’ve been disinherited, so taking my name will only get you labeled as an usurper. Ha, you could always zap Efendi. Kill him and claim my body’s home. After all, I was the favorite daughter.” Spat Sirin, hoping Liam would massacre the entire household. “If Quetz is the Quetzalcoatl that Taloc rode, and you really are Taloc’s agent, then Tufan Alhusam is fitting, since Tufan means storm, and Alhusam means the sharp sword. So it works out to be the storm’s sharpest sword. Or the blade of Taloc. When you consider your magic, Biliam seems to fit. It means water or refreshing. So in context your name is the storm’s cleansing blade. For anyone other than a Lightning Lord it would be pretentious, even treasonous…” Whispered Sirin.

But I am a Lightning Lord, people will piss themselves when they hear that name. If I’m being honest, it’s a little too good to believe, although I feel like it means something more like “Taloc’s genocidal stormblade”... Thought Liam, deciding to give the name a new meaning.

“Taloc’s Stormsword of Cleansing Change”

“Tufan, Biliam, Alhusam. I can work with that name. Thanks Mom.” Said Liam, internally adding one more identity to his id.

Hopefully it would be his last, but a human life was finite, unlike Nyota’s.

Taloc, I’ll forgive you for reincarnating me as a fetus if you could give me eternal life with Nyota. Hell, I’d live with cat-boy ears if I had to…

—

Far above Khereshetal, hurtling through space, Therun Perun Taloc roared with laughter.

“Ah, HA! How did you not notice kid? Haha, You’re fucking welcome!” Said Taloc, speaking to himself as he watched over Liam’s life.

“Making a uranium cake, requires a lot of broken atoms.” He added, trying to find the right phrase from Liam’s world, and getting it nuclearly wrong.