Errant, Volume Two, page 7
The adults weren’t much larger than Sky, but they both had healthy wings. The one on the ground spread theirs wide, shadowing the woods with their black-and-white arc.
They didn’t address Aspen or Charm. They whistled to Sky, who whistled back.
Charm had no idea what they were saying, but Charm had talked her way out of trouble enough times to know what it looked like when someone else was trying it—especially if that someone else was eight years old and not very subtle.
Aspen, also not very subtle, had planted her feet and squared her shoulders like she was getting ready for a fight.
The adult with black-and-white wings, the one standing on the ground, paused in their whistling and said stiffly, “My son says you saved him.”
“We helped him,” Aspen said.
“His wing was broken, so we took him to a healer and then brought him here,” Charm said. “We mean you no harm. Your son was injured when we met him. We’re not the ones who hurt him.”
“Yeah,” Sky said. “And then Charm got that stuff all over her, and it’s your fault, so now you have to let them come up so Charm can take a bath. She made me take a bath. If you don’t, it’s not fair.”
A bath sounded heavenly. Charm wasn’t hurt, but she didn’t relish the idea of hiking through the mountains for several days while covered in tree gunk. Aspen would probably dunk her in a freezing stream.
Sky and his parent had gone back to whistling at each other. The grey-winged adult on the tree branch stayed quiet.
I hope Sky’s not calling me The One Who Stares at the One Who Breaks Traps with Righteous Ferocity when he talks to his parent. Better to hope he hadn’t mentioned their names.
“Sing the song,” Sky said to her, abruptly ceasing his whistling. “They like songs.”
“That will help?” Aspen asked. It was more or less what Charm had intended to say, except Charm wouldn’t have sounded quite so skeptical about the healing power of song.
“We appreciate music,” Sky’s parent said. They’d folded their wings behind their back in what Charm assumed was a more welcoming posture. “If you can sing for all of us tonight, there will be less fuss over letting strangers into the enclave.”
“Even strangers who saved—”
“Aspen,” Charm said sharply. In trousers and road dust and horrible tree goop, she did the most respectful curtsey she could manage toward Sky’s parent. “My name is Charm Linville. I go by ‘she.’ I’m an actor who sometimes sings. Please forgive me for not accompanying myself on guitar just now.”
“Forgiven,” said Sky’s parent without a trace of irony or apology. “In your language, my name is The One Whose Feathers Shine Blue in the Moonlight. You may refer to me as ‘they.’ In the tree is my sister. Her name is The One Who Drops onto Prey Like a Stone.”
“A pleasure to meet you both. My companion is Aspen Silverglade, also ‘she.’” Wordlessly, Charm sought Aspen’s consent to sing about her exploits.
Aspen squinted at her in puzzlement.
“Can I sing it?” Charm asked, exasperated. “The song?”
“You want to sing that song?” Aspen asked.
“Yeah,” Sky enthused. “The one about you. I wish the song was about when you broke the traps and chased away the hunters.”
“You can write that one yourself,” Charm said. “Aspen?”
“Yes, you can sing it,” Aspen said, quiet and reluctant and bracing herself like Charm had asked to kick her in the face.
It was not Charm’s ideal setting for a concert. They were in the woods and she was filthy, tired, and thirsty. Since Aspen had asked her to stop performing this song, she hadn’t rehearsed it in days. Making up ditties with Sky hardly counted as serious practice. Lastly and most importantly, her audience was a friend—if indeed Aspen was her friend—who hated the song she was about to sing, two hostile strangers, and a child.
To his credit, the child was properly excited. Charm dedicated her performance to him.
She opened her mouth and began to sing.
Aspen loved heights. Climbing to the summit of a mountain or scaling a tree trunk and breathing in the rarefied air at the top was a balm to her spirit. She’d been disappointed when Charm had talked her out of surveying the landscape from the treetops, but at least the hike into the mountains had provided some views.
Aspen loved heights. She did not love being blindfolded, ushered into a giant woven basket, and pulled up to the high platforms of the Wind village jerk by swinging jerk.
Next to her, Charm smelled like an exploded pine tree. She wasn’t nearly as tense as Aspen expected. “This is kind of fun.”
“I would have kept my word about closing my eyes,” Aspen said. “And I would never tell anyone where the enclave was, anyway. They didn’t have to blindfold me. We shouldn’t have left Mouse and Ruby alone down there, either. This is a bad idea.”
“Holy—Harvest God’s sickle, are you scared?”
Aspen wouldn’t have noticed that little pause in Charm’s swearing if she didn’t already have so many questions.
The basket shuddered and paused in its rise.
“I’m not scared,” Aspen said. “I’m just not enjoying this.”
“You’re scared,” Charm said and then she groped for Aspen’s hand. Her grip was warm and sticky. “I’ll protect you.”
“Two strangers like your song and you get all weird,” Aspen grumbled.
“I got us invited to a secret Wind enclave with only the power of my voice,” Charm said. “And they’re going to give me a bath.”
The basket lurched into motion again and Aspen clenched Charm’s hand.
“My poor, sweet, pure, courageous knight,” Charm cooed. “You hate this. There’s nothing here for you to stab.”
“You’re here.”
“If you search your heart, I think you’ll find that ‘stab’ is not what you want to do to me,” Charm said.
“I’m not a knight,” Aspen muttered.
With a few last staggering jolts and wobbles, the basket was reeled into some kind of dock. There were whistles and footsteps and the rustle of ropes, and then someone was guiding Aspen and Charm out onto a wooden walkway. They’d risen a long way in the basket, but it still smelled like forest up here—and not only because of Charm. The mountains here were covered in tall evergreens even at this high elevation.
A voice that Aspen recognized as Sky’s parent—The One Whose Feathers Shine Blue in the Moonlight—said, “We have to fly you to another platform. The village does not have bridges or walkways. But it’s only a short distance. Please keep still.”
Aspen nodded and then was seized by two different people and heaved into the air. Her heart shot into her throat. It was cold and there was nothing under her feet. If they dropped her, she would die.
They did not drop her. They set her down gently, removed her blindfold, and departed to fetch Charm.
Dark reddish wood planks formed a floor under her feet. Aspen had never loved a floor so much in her life. The center of the room was a tree trunk so massive she couldn’t have fit her arms around it. The rough bark was the same color as the floor and the walls, which surrounded the trunk in an octagon. The conical thatched roof rose above her head, though there was a gap between the roof and the tree trunk that allowed a little starlight through.
The room was neither dark nor cold, but there was no fire. Instead, there was an iron brazier full of glass globes that glowed with orange light, putting off both light and heat. That kind of device was Earth magic, and prohibitively expensive, which meant that this community not only traded with outsiders, but did quite well for itself.
Sky had said something about his parent and aunt fighting over “stupid grown-up stuff about feathers.” His parent and aunt must disagree about trade with outsiders.
There was a single massive bed—big enough for someone with wings, as Sky had promised.
The bed was piled high with wool blankets, another object acquired through trade. It looked exceedingly soft and warm, which didn’t matter, because Aspen would not be sleeping in it.
Sky’s parent, who Aspen had privately nicknamed Blue, came back with their sister—Stone—to deposit Charm in the room. The two of them disappeared immediately through the wide opening to the room, which led to a precipitous and deadly drop that Aspen would not be thinking about. They were replaced by two more people who came carrying a copper tub filled with water.
“I love you all,” Charm told them, not in the least unsettled by being flown around while blindfolded.
Three more people arrived, the first with Aspen and Charm’s saddlebags, the second with a basket of food and drink and the third with a luxurious quantity of soaps, oils, creams, brushes, and towels.
Charm accepted the gifts with another curtsey. How she’d scraped together the grace and elegance she was projecting, Aspen would never know.
“I’m singing again in two hours,” Charm said when they were alone in the room. “You should eat. You can bathe afterward—they said they’ll bring more water. I think they feel bad about the trap.”
As dizzy as Aspen was from the flight, she still pivoted fast to avoid the sight of Charm unlacing the bodice over her shirt.
Charm groaned when she got into the hot water. She didn’t even do it to tease Aspen. It just happened.
It wouldn’t do to relax quite that much. When she spoke, she took care to swear on Earth gods. “Hearth God’s sweet fire, that feels good.”
She dipped her head under to soak her hair, then emerged. The sap solution came off her skin easily with a little lather from the soap, but her hair remained disgustingly gluey.
“Can you bring me that basket of soaps?” Charm asked. “There must be something in there for hair.”
Aspen grunted. Instead of handing Charm the basket, she knelt behind the tub and said, “Let me see.”
Charm tilted her head to offer her hair to Aspen. Behind her, there was the pop of a bottle uncorking. Aspen poured something into her hands, rubbed them together, and then the rough pads of her fingers were massaging Charm’s scalp and threading some scented, soapy cream through her hair.
It felt incredible. Enough to make Charm melt. She should walk into a trap in the woods twice a day every day. Holy Esmuste, Aspen was good with her hands. Charm let out an extravagant, satisfied sigh. More of a moan, really.
Aspen paused. “Charm, I—can you please be quiet while I do this?”
“You worried Blue and Stone will hear me and think we’re fucking?” Charm asked.
“Never mind,” Aspen said. “I preferred this conversation without words.”
Charm thought she’d ruined things, but Aspen kept going, undeterred. Still, it was in Charm’s interest to be a good girl just this once, so she stayed quiet while Aspen worked.
She rinsed Charm’s hair, massaged something else into it, and then repeated the process a third time. Charm was entirely liquid by then. By rights, the bathwater should have cooled. She must be heating it herself.
Aspen found a wide-toothed wooden comb in the basket and began to detangle Charm’s hair, holding the ends in one hand and the comb in the other. It wasn’t the same deluge of pleasure as the washing had been, but the service itself stunned her. Charm’s hair was thick and difficult to comb even when it hadn’t recently been snarled with maliciously repurposed forest debris. Aspen didn’t breathe a complaint. She worked carefully and gently like she had nothing more important to do in the world than comb Charm’s hair.
Charm was a leading actor—a diva, according to some—and she was used to pampering. Lotions, creams, perfumes, hot baths, fine clothes, the adoration and attention of any lover she wanted.
But no lover had ever washed and combed her hair.
Nobody had done this for her since she’d been a child in her mother’s arms.
She shouldn’t dwell on those memories, but in these mountains, it was impossible not to. The years didn’t matter; she knew these peaks. She could have led Sky and Aspen to Viaxasc with her eyes closed. Maybe the People of the Wood were onto something, believing your feet could always find the path home.
Except there was no home. Viaxasc was nothing but rubble now.
Charm could never show it to Aspen or anyone else. The only surviving remnant was her, and she’d had to lie for years to keep it that way.
Maybe she could share something. Aspen wouldn’t push for more. For all those puzzled frowns, Aspen had never voiced any of the questions she clearly had. She’d let Charm lead her into the mountains with two horses and an injured child on faith, and now she was kneeling on the hard floor pulling a comb through Charm’s hair in long, slow strokes, and she’d never asked Charm for anything.
“My name,” Charm said, eyes closed, “is Tasiz Ilmichexte Liazna.”
The drag of the comb halted. It was almost imperceptible, that little hitch. Aspen started again like nothing had happened.
Charm continued, “Liazna for short. It means ‘flowers bloom when she laughs.’”
“It suits you,” Aspen said with quiet reverence. “Do you want me to call you Liazna instead of Charm?”
“They’re both my name,” Charm said. “I’ve been Charm for much longer now. But… in private, if you wanted to call me Liazna, you could.”
Charm felt a gentle press against the top of her head. It took her a moment to realize Aspen had left a kiss there.
“You grew up in the Seljac Mountains,” Aspen said.
It wasn’t a question so Charm didn’t have to answer.
“I’m glad you knew the area. From the ground level, I mean,” Aspen said, laughing a little, shifting the conversation without Charm having to say anything. She didn’t mention the play Charm had invented to explain her knowledge. Perceptive.
Charm could take a cue. She conjured some soft laughter of her own.
Aspen said, “Relying on Sky’s directions alone, I was worried we might still be in the mountains when winter truly arrived.”
“Me too. We did a good thing.”
“We haven’t finished yet,” Aspen said. “We brought Sky home, but there are still poachers and their traps out there. I don’t want Sky to get hurt again or to grow up in fear.”
Aspen gave insight into her own past every time she spoke. Her constant vigilance must be exhausting—and then she pushed herself further, trying to make sure no one else had to live the way she did.
Fuck, Charm wanted to kiss her. To turn around, cradle her face, and kiss her forehead and her nose and her lips. Only the knowledge that Aspen would pull back kept the urge in check.
Aspen took on far more than she should and then rejected any kind of comfort or happiness offered to her in return. She didn’t want Charm’s kisses or the praise and recognition from Charm’s song.
Maybe she was determined to be glum. Except Charm had heard Aspen laugh now—more times than she could count on her fingers. When Aspen laughed, all the weight on her shoulders lifted. It was a warm, sweet sound, almost like music.
It never lasted long.
One day, Charm and Aspen would have no injured children to shepherd home or disgruntled mercenaries trying to kill them, and Charm would spend all her time and energy making Aspen laugh.
The bathwater had cooled. Aspen brought Charm a towel and a clean shift. Charm squeezed the water out of her hair, patted herself dry, and dressed without trying to show off for Aspen. There was no point since she’d turned toward the saddlebags and was sorting through them like a novice actor who’d been told to look busy.
“I want the yellow dress again,” Charm said.
Aspen offered her the petticoats, skirts, and bodice, keeping her gaze affixed to Charm’s face. While Charm was dressing, Aspen said, “Being home will be good for Sky.”
“Because we’re such experts?” Charm asked, arranging her skirts. She regretted it as soon as she said it.
“You miss it,” Aspen said. “It wouldn’t hurt so much if you didn’t.”
Charm suspected the same was true for Aspen, but she didn’t want to talk about this. “I imagine you’re right about Sky, anyway. This seems like a good place—even if they did douse me with sap.”
“It will be a better, safer place after I clear the woods of poachers’ traps and find the people who hurt Sky.”
Aspen would try to send Charm back to the troupe and then scour the area on her own. Charm succumbed to temptation and cupped Aspen’s cheek with one hand. She didn’t fully give in and kiss her. “You know there’s always something bad happening somewhere. You can’t be everywhere and do everything. It’s not all your responsibility.”
“If I don’t, then who will?” Aspen asked.
“You can’t fix every bad thing in the world, Aspen.”
Aspen’s gaze drifted up through the hole in the ceiling as if the stars spelled out every failure. When she returned to Charm’s face, her hazel eyes were sorrowful. “I know. But I have to try.”
She mirrored Charm and laid her palm on Charm’s face. Aspen’s skin was rough and callused but warm. Her touch was fleeting, uncertain, and the sudden chill of its absence made Charm step closer to wrap her arms around Aspen, to impress upon her that she didn’t have to carry all that weight, at least not by herself.
Aspen was solid and warm and she softened her posture until they melded together. Charm hadn’t expected her to acquiesce so easily—or to stay in the embrace.
Even in the cold, thin night air, far above the ground, Aspen smelled like a forest. Earthy, but fresh like cedar and new leaves. It wasn’t a perfume Charm would have chosen for herself. It smelled like comfort. She wanted to press her face into Aspen’s neck and inhale.
But no. This wasn’t the sort of thing Charm offered or wanted to offer her lovers. Her tongue and her fingers were enough. Her shoulders were not for crying on. That played no part in her grand plan for seduction. She stepped away, fussed with her skirts, and said, “We should be going now.”
