The Tenuit

  He was going to be more adult about it. That's what Taylor decided once the tears dried up and hunger drove him back to the mansion. He took his meal from the cold box where Cook left it, warmed it up with magic, and ate in the dining room that was far too large for him. He felt like he should be planning to fill the empty time his tutor would leave behind, but it was hard to think that far ahead. Something more urgent filled his mind: If Ophelia was leaving, then he needed a parting gift for her.

  He took his morning run past the folly shrine, where the gods admitted him to the usual void. Erstdwerg, patron deity of arcs, was waiting for him. He seemed older than the other gods, as if time were catching up to him in their eternal realm. His tight curls of hair were white. His skin was dark as stained oak, set off by eyes glinting like faceted topaz. The deep wrinkles in his face belied the strength radiating from him.

  "Have a good long look," he said. "This is what happens to a racial god who is nearly forgotten. What you see is age and wisdom but also decline. My people suffer without their homeland. There are fewer each century, and so I diminish. Those of us born from mortal races and pastimes may find ourselves in Death's domain, awaiting new godhood."

  Taylor had learned by now that divine figures were more about feeling than form. Gods could change their appearances, yet they were undeniably themselves. By the same token, when he made a divine figure, Taylor had some freedom but was never in complete control of the result.

  "Is it all right if I … "

  "Do as you will."

  The oldest arc legends known to Taylor said that they were created from common stone. Taylor chose his "common stone" by entering a deep cleft in one of his hills, then using shaping magic to tunnel his way to the center. He found old, hard bedrock still untouched by time and water and took a piece of it home.

  When he made Erstdwerg's figure, Taylor focused on the god's hope that arcs would return to their homeland. The desire for home is what drove Ophelia to wander, she said. Though that desire drove them apart, Taylor made it the core of the figure's presence. He assured Bilius' bruised feelings that a boy's affection was selfish wanting, but a grownup gave what the other needed, even when it meant parting ways.

  Besides, once he grew into his powers, maybe he could cross the Shik Karan mountain range and take a look at the old homeland. If it wasn't too full of monsters, he might be able to do something. One never knew.

  Erstdwerg took every ounce of Taylor's mana. They always did, no matter how strong he grew. That was why he didn't dare attempt any of the major gods, like Strife or Nature. The effort would surely kill him.

  The Patron God of Arcs was dressed in a traveling cloak thrown over his shoulder, staff in hand, walking briskly. His curly hair haloed his aged face, which gazed toward far horizons. He was Erstdwerg the Wanderer, ever looking for a path that would lead his people home. Taylor carved his name on the square base in Orlut, Arcaic, and Spellscript.

  When he presented the figure at their last lesson, proudly without tears, Ophelia gawked at it. She peered closely at the face and hands and admired the way he was frozen in mid-step. Then, she put it gingerly on the desk.

  "Are you sure it's all right for me to take this? I doubt you realize how valuable these figures are."

  "They better be valuable — they take a ton of mana to create. I made this one specially for you, but it comes with a condition. You have to pray to him like we do my library gods." He nodded at the high shelf where Mysteries, Adacemics, and Libraries watched over them. "Otherwise, I'll have to find another home for him."

  "I promise. It's a truly wonderful gift. Speaking of which," she produced a thin volume from the bag she always carried. The binding was untitled, made of supple leather worn thin in places, closed with a thong wrapped around a brass clasp. The pages showed heavy use at their darkened corners, but the Arcaic letters were beautifully lettered by hand in phrases and stanzas. The title page read, "Songbook by Rozemarijn".

  He laughed. In nearly every world he'd lived in, the classic poets found their way into his pocket, and he was always turning them into songs. It would be a while before he picked up an instrument again, but Rozemarijn would be there when he did. "This is perfect. You have no idea."

  "I have some idea. There is art in you, struggling to get out. You should feed that. A person is more than books and magic. Now, what shall we talk about today?"

  "I want to go over my questions for your Tenuit friend."

  He met the elder Tenuit over dinner at Curator Jane's house. The journey to another person's house was exciting on its own, as he'd never been to town before. He rode in a hired carriage driven by a woman instructed not to make any extra stops for any reason. They passed tall silos marking the edge of town, a row of small stores closing for the day, and three drinking establishments that were just opening their doors. Jane's house was near the center of town, so he didn't get to see everything, but Mourne was larger than he thought it would be. More than a thousand people lived there. That many more again lived in nearby villages and hamlets, and came to town for market days, to pick up mail, or handle legal business.

  The curator's home was not nearly as large as the d'Mourne mansion, but it was warmer and more comfortable. Jane welcomed him in, and Ophelia was there, as were two more people. One was an elf with skin as dark and green as shaded ferns, hair in a ponytail, and a long curved sword thrust through her belt. She was Rahel, bodyguard to the other guest.

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  The other guest was a tower of white fur wrapped in a robe of raw silk. He looked less like a beastkin than a seven-foot-tall man in a suit made of long, super-soft fur. Even his face was furry, with eyes like river rocks lurking under a heavy, furry brow. When he held out his hand to shake, his fingers ended in black, inch-long claws.

  "I am known as Reginar. It's okay to stare."

  "I am known as Bilius. I didn't expect you to be so … floofy." He could have kicked himself for letting that slip, but Reginar only laughed in a boom that shook the air.

  "The floof is real, and it has power. Especially with the ladies."

  Ophelia spoke in tones of warning. "Reginar, please! He's only nine."

  "He's human. They grow up fast."

  "Not that fast," said Jane, whom Taylor didn't realize could speak Arcaic. "Let's start dinner. We're on a clock."

  "Right. The curse." The dark eyes scanned Taylor up and down. Suddenly, he was terribly aware of just how small he was next to the Tenuit. He couldn't reach the beastkin's face without standing on a ladder.

  Jane's house featured a dining room large enough to seat eight comfortably, though Reginar could reasonably be counted as two or three people. The head chair was an oversized seat, obviously intended for Reginar instead of the curator. Erstdwerg was the centerpiece.

  "We were just discussing your divine figure," said Reginar as they took seats. Taylor was on his immediate left to maximize their time together. "How long have you been making them?"

  "A few months now."

  "Ophelia says you have a house full of them."

  "I wouldn't say it was full, but they are kind of everywhere now." He listed the gods he had around the house, and mentioned he had Lanaculte by his stream.

  "Even Rahel was impressed, weren't you?"

  "The best I've seen in a century. He has good hands for divine work."

  "She said … "

  "Good hands for divine work. I got it."

  The table froze. Reginar, Rahel, and Ophelia stared at him in shock. Curator Jane stared at the other three, not understanding what had happened. At first, Bilius didn't realize what he had done, but it clicked for him when he saw Erstdwerg and the Spellscript name he had carved into his base.

  He had given away the fact he could speak Mi'iri. Even more surprising, at least some of the people here could speak it, too.

  Mana and menace gathered around Reginar. "Pierce the veil of … "

  Taylor didn't wait for the beastkin to finish the incantation. Whatever it was meant to do, it was unfriendly. He reached out with his mana and tore the Tenuit's nascent spellwork to shreds.

  "Wait," shouted Ophelia, but Reginar whipped a wand from his robes, a stick of metal with a pure mana crystal on its end. By the time its tip cleared the giant's robes, mana was already gathered and ready for use. Taylor wasn't about to let him activate it without a fight.

  He Flared the furball, not with the minor firecracker effects he used on the intrusive boys, but with the full force of his improved skill and mana. The crash in that enclosed space was impressive. Walls shook. Things broke. People screamed. Even Taylor was blinded, but he didn't need sight to locate his target — Reginar was filled with active mana. He was on his feet and had backed away from the surprising counterattack.

  Taylor used the moment he'd bought himself to form the strongest Stunning Bolt he could, reciting the Spellscript rapidly in his mind, and shot it at his foe, but the bolt ricocheted off a barrier and hit the ceiling harmlessly. A massive force, stronger than a giant's fist, seized Taylor and lifted him off his chair. He barely had the presence of mind to grab some tableware: a silver knife. But, once in the air, he was helpless. He could Flare the Tenuit magician again, but it would be a waste of mana.

  Ophelia shouted. "Put him down, right now! And apologize!"

  "I want to know how this one speaks the true dragon tongue."

  "I'm not telling you a damn thing." Taylor struggled, both in body and in mana, but he couldn't find any crack or leverage to use against what held him. Taylor was a mouse in the grip of a five-hundred-pound tiger.

  "I can make you hurt, boy."

  "Then I guess we're gonna find my breaking point."

  "Stop being stupid, and tell me where you learned it." The grip tightened until it was hard to speak.

  "You entered a home as a guest, attacked a child, threatened to torture him. I'm dead as soon as you have what you want."

  Goodbye, new life. It wasn't very fun while it lasted.

  Reginar traded his magical grip for a real one around Taylor's throat, which prompted him to hold himself up with his free hand against the giant's wrist. Otherwise, he'd be dangling from his neck.

  "Spirited thing, isn't he?" laughed the elder beastkin.

  "Please stop! He doesn't understand!"

  What was Ophelia shouting? And where was Jane? Taylor strained to look for her, and found her lying on the ground by her chair. The elf swordswoman stood over the fallen curator.

  Taylor couldn't save her. He couldn't help anybody, not even himself. His current strength didn't stand a chance against an elder magician. But he could make a mark.

  Silver was easy to shape, and he made the knife in his free hand as wickedly sharp as an assassin's dagger and edged it with pure mana. Before Reginar could realize what he'd done, he plunged it into the beastkin's wrist, drove it deep, and opened his arm from the wrist to as close to the elbow as he could reach.

  His enemy's eyes were wide in shock as a quart of his blood left his body in deep red gushes, spilling everywhere. It soaked the Tenuit's white fur and Taylor's clothes, splashed on the table, flowed around the dishes, and dripped onto the floor.

  Taylor thought he might actually get away if he Flared Reginar again, but something broke his knife arm and filled his world with a shocking pain. Then something hit him in the head, sending him into darkness.