Pan had to admit; it had not been his best performance. She turned her head and saw the lovers card on the nightstand. She picked it up and held it before Sotir. “I still love you…but that was a little…fumbly.”
Sotir sighed. “I know.” He rubbed his face.
Pan felt her eyes narrow. “What? What is it?”
“I…got a vision that ruined the mood.”
Pan propped herself up. “And, that would be.”
Sotir frowned and stared up at her. “I need to show you.”
What followed was a lesson in fortune telling. Pan’s heart beat fast as Sotir walked her through the circle. It was not quite his, but it was sufficient.
The vision was of a great fight between the Scaldin, the Iruedians, and the Volanter. Pan was doing great, but she was doing it on the wrong side, which was to say no side. She was angry and hungry, so like her dragon, and anything that got in her way was a target. She flew towards light and drifting space debris. She attacked any opponent, choosing them based only on her impression of their novelty and ability to put up a good fight. The Scaldin called her back. Over the coms, Alban complained that she never should have been worked so long, that she should have been on leave before their turn for war came.
She’s not separate from that thing now. That’s what he said, with a great deal of disgust.
Pan looked down at herself and saw a glimpse of her arm through the dragon’s flesh. She was in it, fused with it.
Pan came out of the vision with a shout. She knocked a pillow off the bed and tangled in the blankets.
Sotir stood nearby. He held out a hand but did not touch her. “It’s alright. Just a possibility.”
Pan put a hand over her chest. She felt her heart thrum beneath her hand. It made her head pulse. “I’m surprised you could get it up. I was in my dragon. I was in my dragon!”
“There’s probably a way to get out of your dragon, but yes, too much time with a familiar can result in undesirable outcomes. There is a method to pilot a familiar, but that will only delay the issue. Powerful familiars are supposed to have some time on the shelf, so to speak.” Sotir picked the pillow off the floor and tossed it on the bed.
“I need to spend some time away from that thing. I need a vacation. What are they going to have me do before the Volanter attack? Do you think I could offer to make more magical items?”
Sotir sat on the edge of the bed. He held up three fingers. “Number one, you can ask Alban to hide you. He may or may not do it. Number two, we can take you back to Iruedim and…”
Pan shook her head. “No, Aria needs me to stick around. I can’t do that.”
Sotir sighed. “They might listen to me. To us. But, it’ll be a hard sell.” Sotir gestured between them. “Especially after what we’ve been doing.”
Pan grabbed his shoulder. She smiled a bit. “I have a splendid idea. What about a good old traditional draft dodge? I have options that you as a man simply don’t.”
Sotir looked at the ground. “I did think of that, but we will be in more trouble than you realize. Besides, there isn’t much time. Think of the difficulty that Aria and Gavain are having. I don’t see that for us, but it isn’t exactly easy. At best, we’d have one shot…”
Pan grabbed both his shoulder. “You don’t think you can do it in one shot?” She slid in front of him and spread out. “I do. Come on. Just try. You can figure out the piloting thing, and we can assuage them with that when the time comes to fight the Volanter. Or, I can fight from aboard ship.”
“I should really run the scenarios, but I probably could do it, just a matter of timing and a little luck.”
“That’s the spirit. That’s how Aria plans to dodge the draft. That worked well for Camellia. Well…” Pan frowned. “Well enough.” Pan laid down and picked up a small stuffed animal from the nightstand. “It would be perfect if Aria and I could do it together. I always wanted that. Besides, we have ages before the Volanter attack.”
Sotir inclined his head. “Likely a year, but they might surprise us sooner.”
That had been almost twenty-two weeks ago. In the end, they executed Pan’s plan for the draft dodge with stellar results. Pan smiled as she thought of it. She had offered to throw a party for his fantastic penis, much to Sotir’s embarrassment. Then, the sickness hit, and that put a real damper on her celebration. She had to go into hiding, and she had to do it while vomiting.
Pan had spent the last seventeen weeks, pregnant, quiet and largely alone in a secluded place Sotir bought with some ill-gained stock money.
The nausea had left her weeks prior, so her fun was on the rise again.
Pan wandered to an open window. She pulled lacey curtains aside and looked out. Below, she saw the cliff, a mess of plants – striving to survive on the cliff’s rock face, and further on, the sea. The sounds of wind and waves flowed through her window. While the breeze pushed cool air against her face, a heating vent blew warm air onto her bare feet.
It was a change from anywhere she’d lived. It had none of the suburban decay of her first home or the sprawling urbanization of Pittura. It was just Pan, alone with the wild and the sea.
And, her thoughts. She had a lot of those. Some of which took the form of memories.
The time that Sotir broke the news to their elders played through her mind almost exclusively, and she examined it, with feelings she hadn’t entertained since she pursued her quest to defeat Brynn. Namely mischief and the supreme sense that she had outsmarted them.
“The planetary shield the Iruedians helped set up has passed every test.” An elder man stared at some papers, likely a report. “Your satellites are certainly the key to its strength. And, the tales of your exploits above Iruedim are just…staggering. Whether those Volanter come to Scaldigir or not, I think we can keep you pretty busy.”
Sotir stood at Pan’s side. “Did you also read the part where prolonged use of the familiar causes Pan to become antisocial, violent even? And, what of the fusion?” He twirled his staff between his fingers.
Stolen novel; please report.
Pan watched the movement, thinking it was akin to how he handled his cards.
The elder man sat back in his chair. He held the papers before him. “I, and the committee, noted it. We believe it can be worked around. Pan’s abilities should be used to their fullest.”
“I thought you might say that.” Sotir’s tone went firm. “She’s a person. Not a weapon.”
The elder arcane clasped his hands in front of him. He rolled the reports and hid their numbers and conclusions. He pushed out of his chair and stood straight, though it seemed to pain him. He had no cane, not yet. “I understand that you have an attachment to her.” He nodded at Pan. “It is in no one’s best interest, especially since Pan’s break period should be delayed – perhaps for a total of five years. Scaldigir should not let such skills and power go to waste, without fully testing them and at least putting some of the power to good use. Now, if you want to wait that long for her…”
“I don’t think she wants to wait that long herself.” Sotir shook his head slightly.
“That may not be helped. And, I suggest we split the two of you now.”
Sotir smiled slightly. “I don’t think so, and I don’t think you’ll be sending her anywhere or putting her powers to use.”
“Excuse me?” The elder arcane narrowed his eyes.
Pan smiled smugly.
“You’ve been quiet. What do you have to say for yourself?” The elder asked.
“I do what I want when I want, so long as it doesn’t directly harm Scaldigir. And, I think you will find there is very little you can do to stop me.” Pan felt pressure in her throat but kept the feeling at bay.
Sotir gestured to Pan. “Examine her. You will find that she is five weeks pregnant, and yes, the match is as bad as you fear. I’m afraid that we took it upon ourselves to make that choice. Now, we’ve been away for a few weeks, but I don’t think that things have changed so much on Scaldigir that you would split up a bonded pair and abort a wanted child. Or, am I mistaken?”
The elder stared, with mouth agape.
Pan had laughed; then, promptly vomited in his path, a perfect prelude to escape. But, their escape had gone more smoothly and in a golder fashion.
Pan let the lace curtain drop. She strolled to a chair, embroidered in petals and leaves of blue. She sat. The wind blew strong. The sound of leaves and crash of waves rode it to her window, but none of the breeze reached her seat. Pan shifted and sat a little straighter. She caught a trace of wind on her face.
A steady gush ceased, and Pan’s eyes flicked to the heating vent. Sotir would complain that she had the window open at the same time their heat ran. It was a waste, but Pan only did it once in a while. The next time the heat kicked in, she’d get up and close the window.
For the moment, Pan rested her chin in her hand and looked at the sky. The cliff fell away, so that she saw mostly sky from her angle – that and the lace pattern that hung from a rod above the window.
It worked out. The Volanter didn’t arrive; she and Sotir stayed together, and Pan got a few weeks of peace. She had needed it. She no longer felt compelled to destroy. Instead, she created - mostly art.
She reached beside her chair, and her fingers moved over the wood of an end-table, smooth but not slick. She found a sliver of photo paper, glossy and sharp cornered. She picked up the image and held it before her, careful not to leave fingerprints on the finish.
The picture showed a secluded bus station. She examined the benches, shown at sunset. It was the place that Sotir went when he wanted to come home, and it was her job to execute his commute in the form of a portal.
Sotir worked well away from Pan, but while she had been in the throes of nausea, he’d brought the food. He’d brought art supplies. He’d brought everything she needed. When she got better, he brought her a little blue car and declared her well enough to do the grocery shopping. She went a few places, disguised of course. Mostly, she went to the grocery store and took drives around the country roads.
For the first time, she truly enjoyed seclusion. She had made so much art in her cottage by the sea, even while sick. She was suited to this life but only when she had a link to the outside.
And, she had plenty of those, despite her status as a kind of refugee. She had a brand new com, and she could write to Sotir, Alban, Irini, Kat, Chara, and Aria. Pan did not write much to Kat or Chara. They were angry with her situation, or disappointed. It depended on the day. Pan wrote to Irini and Aria often. Alban, she left in silence. His respect mattered a great deal to her, and she didn’t want to see how it had fared her little plot.
Pan gave the picture one last look, knowing Sotir wasn’t there. She dropped the picture back on the end table and snatched up her sleek, black com – new and nicer than she usually bought for herself.
Pan typed. Who to? Aria of course.
How is it for you?
A moment passed, and then Aria was typing. I thought you said I’d feel better soon. I still can’t eat anything with visible seeds.
Pan, at 21 weeks, was three weeks ahead of Aria’s 18. It was a good time for both of them to share the experience. Sotir hovered around Scaldigir, often in orbit, and Gavain moved back and forth between Iruedim and Scaldigir. It was Aria who Pan shared most of her new problems with and vice versa.
Pan typed an answer, knowing it would be read aloud through Aria’s com. Visible seeds are nasty. I think they have been all along, and we just figured it out now. Pan sent the message and tucked her legs up into the chair.
So, you still don’t eat mata? Aria asked.
No, maybe never again.
Aria sent a sad face, and Pan laughed aloud. She sent a barf face back.
Aria wrote, Too soon.
The wind blew hard against Pan’s house, and her window sung on its hinges. It bumped against the outside wall.
Pan got up. She stood by the chair and rested her hand its arm. With embroidery under her fingertips, Pan looked out. Her view was high again. The window bumped, but she was entranced.
Grass rippled among the rocks below, and the waves glittered in the sun. The wind jostled Pan’s hair, and the smell of salt came with it. Pan crossed the short distance to the window. She reached outside and pushed the window further open, securing it against the outer wall, where the wind could only press it quietly to the house.
A rumble ran through her floors, and warm air blew again onto her ankles. Pan sighed and pulled the window closed.
She hurried back to her chair and checked her com.
When does Sotir come back?
Pan typed. I’ve got to get him tonight.
That’s nice. Gavain left last night. I miss him, but Chara and Kat came by to see me. They brought a couple of their grandkids, and we took a short stroll in the woods.
Pan saw the ghost of Aria in those woods. She shook her head, and the thought rattled back to the file cabinet it belonged in.
Are you lonely over there? Aria asked.
Pan stared at her com and nibbled on her finger. Was she lonely?
Not really, she wrote back. Pan glanced at the drawings she’d done, lined up on top of a long half-dresser. Pan had even set up a canvas, and though paint was not her strong suit, she made steady progress on a stormy haunted seascape.
You’re not lonely? Aria typed again. Are you lying? Isn’t it like the waypoint?
Pan typed an immediate answer. It’s nothing like the waypoint. The waypoint was me and space, a low-ceilinged bucket of air and a handful of stuffed animals. This cottage is me and the sea, the reminder that all things will come to an end, and that very little matters. Which, I suppose, you would find terrifying, but I find comforting. Because it means I can do anything I want. Even if that meant losing the chance to be cast in gold, Pan thought, but she didn’t type it. I like it here. I fit here.
A long silence passed between them, and in it, Pan imagined the things that Aria or she could say. “I’m sorry” would be the biggest one. Sorry for putting Pan through the ordeal of repeated suicides, and sorry for putting Aria through the chase that had ended Pan’s long vigil as Scaldigir’s ghost seer. They finally found themselves at the time they’d looked forward to, since their late teens. It had taken a longer and windier road to arrive, but they made it.
I’m hoping I get a girl, Aria typed.
Pan thought it was a better thing to say than what she’d had in mind. She typed back. I’m getting a boy.
I know. You said so last week.
Pan rested her head in her hand and typed with the other. Did you know? Babies don’t even scribble till they’re 15 months old? No crayons for a while cause he’s going to eat them.
Aria sent a sad face. Maybe, this’ll cheer you up. I saw a porza costume in a store.
Pan sat up straight. Really? Did you buy it?
No, but I will next time I go. I’ll send it to you.
Pan grinned, and a short pause followed. Then, she typed – Do you think he’d like wearing it?
Don’t know. I’ll send it anyway, and you can decide. Aria’s com informed Pan that more typing was in the works. What size should I get?
Pan felt her brow furrow. She didn’t know.