Chapter 20: Searching for Truths

"We each have our own way of living in the world, together are like a symphony. Some are the melody, some are the rhythm, some are the harmony --but it all blends together. Each of us is a part, and each part is crucial. We all contribute to the song of life." - Sondra Williams

Convincing Karl that he should go had been a very difficult job. Zere’maya asked Zassh if she would come along, just to have someone else watching. Zassh was happy to agree.

They rode along, Karl sulking. Few things are more ugly than a sulking dragon.

He hung his head, riding along. Zassh actually lead the way, she had read the maps before they set out, and Karl, though he’d been this way before, didn’t really remember any more than he wanted to go. Zere’maya brought up the rear, feeling magic tingle in her, as if she had had a part of her asleep, novocained, just coming to prickly awareness. It was both painful and delicious.

When they made first camp Zere’maya informed her companions that she was impaired.

“Something has happened – something good. I can’t explain it or tell you why, but though I can’t perform even basic magic I can want to. It’s so wonderful not to be numb, even if I can’t do more, and I think I’m going to get my abilities back. That would be so wonderful.”

“If you were up to full strength what would you do next?” asked Zassh.

Zere’maya smiled. “I would probably turn us right around and head back to Aruin and Inchkin. With normal strength I could take a couple weeks and slowly heal them. I could create just a line of flesh each day, but hair width by hair width I could make first separate girls of them, then complete girls. They live now, but they still have so many limitations. I would be able to make their mother so happy. I can’t do any more for them now without them helping me, and they are just little girls. I can’t persuade them to wish to be apart, so I can’t heal them any further. It would be so wonderful for their mother to stop hating me so. She thinks I’m delaying on purpose, because I don’t like her or something.” said Zere’maya.

Karl thought. “You don’t like their mother?”

“I don’t have to have positive feelings for everyone, though I do what I can. We irritate each other but that is simply not something I would let come between me and people who need healing.” replied Zere’maya.

“That’s like you.” said Zassh, “Reflective, and separating your desires from yourself.” Karl chuckled. Zere’maya scowled.

“Yes.” said Zere’maya definitively. “Ulaanaa annoys me. I wish that she wasn’t around. She pulls out what isn’t Gypsy about me, wakes it up, and pulls on it, worries it like scratching at a wound.”

“At the same time I try not to be annoyed by her. She has never done anything besides respond to my own anger slipping out.” Said Zere’maya.

“Maybe,” said Karl, “she is the person you were brought here to help.”

“It’s possible, and she’s about the last person in the world I would wish to help. That goes well with how the magic usually goes. She was waiting to collect her daughters’ bodies, I think, to make an end of it?” asked Zere’maya.

“She had been beaten by her husband again. She has other children but every time we have swung back around near her settlement she has always come to see her daughters. Her husband has the other children, or she’s left them with others. She doesn’t seem to be the sort of person who would just leave her other children to die.” said Zassh.

“Your mother comes by the caravans too, so the Gypsies tell me.” said Zere’maya. Zassh let out a low whistle.

“This conversation is over.” replied Karl, tight, angry.

Zere’maya looked over to him, riding away. “I don’t remember much about my mother. I remember my father telling me to be compassionate with her. She felt she was cursed. Given by nature small gifts, minor in status, a woman who hated her mother cursed her with great beauty so that her gifts would forever be unseen, all people blinded by beauty until she would fall, as all women do, from grace, falling through time. To be given so little and even that little to remain forever unappreciated, unseen.”

“Maybe she would have liked it here, in this world where women marry each other.” said Karl. Zassh laughed.

“Women are meaner to each other about beauty issues than men are to women,” said Zassh. “Men will discount you, but if you are nice to them they come around.”

“That’s how men are. They will meet, fight like a pair of dogs, then go off best buddies to the bar, battered, bleeding, trenchbuddies – even though they were fighting against each other.” said Zere’maya. “That whole wartime companion thing. Women look at the situation differently.”

“True.” said Zassh. “I think that’s one of the reasons why we spend more time in the big cities, nearer the temples than out in the backwoods where the people are heterosocial.”

Zere’maya laughed. ”Didn’t think you knew that word.”

Zassh made a face. “We are living here, we have to have ways of describing and teaching about the world around us. We Romany are homosocial – once we are no longer children we take either the man’s way or the woman’s way – adult life for a Gypsy man or a Gypsy woman is respected, but our spheres do not meet often. Women are women’s friends, men are men’s friends. Some jobs are men’s jobs, some are women’s jobs. It’s the same in the major towns and cities here. Only everyone is female.” announced Zassh smugly.

“Everyone desires for and identifies with women, true.” said Zere’maya. “Where and when I was when I was your age ‘person’ did tend to mean ‘man’. Have you ever seen movies?” she asked. Both Zassh and Karl looked offended.

“Certainly.” said Karl.



“Then you’ve seen Casablanca, maybe?” asked Zere’maya. One of the truest facts about space is that radio signals travel, and somewhere, out there, if people can catch them and view them they must be very, very confused.

“Sure.” said Karl. Zassh stuck out her tongue at him.

“In a world turned upside down, where the once very powerful are now servants Rick is charismatic enough to be running a thriving casino and bar from a standing start a year and a half back. Nazis are all over the place and society is in shambles, simply not starving is a complex task. There’s a couple, three women, but the men pretty much define how everyone relates to everyone else. At the end of the movie everyone is pretty much relating to Victor – living through him.”

The horses clopped, clopped clopped down the path.

“It’s been a long time since you’ve watched that movie, huh.” said Karl.

“Karl!” reprimanded Zassh. Karl slumped. Zere’maya could feel his sulk deepening even from behind.

“I was a little bit older than Karl, I think.” confirmed Zere’maya. “That was a very, very long time ago. But I feel close to that time in my life, riding here with you.”

“Just how long ago was that?” asked Karl.

Zere’maya cleared her throat tried to think. “That’s not an easy question to answer. Any answer is a lie.”

“All right, then, tell us your three most favorite lies.” said Zassh.

“Lie number one – I’m immortal, for all practical purposes. As long as I don’t leave my two homeworlds my existence is the repetition of a single day. I have never counted those days. What would be the point? Lie number two – I’m in my midforties, somewhere. I was eighteen when I left Earth, and have spent enough days in the service of magic to have lived just a little longer than half my life in the stars, half on Earth. Jaqueline has spent a lot less time off-world, so though I was a lot younger than her, I’ve passed her, I’m older than she is now.”

“Oh, that’s so strange!” said Zassh.

“Tell me about it. One time someone who didn’t want me meddling in magic came to our world and killed us. Midafternoon, we were fine. Just got up and went after him. Once stopped home with a broken leg, that was stupid, and of course for a while was pregnant there. Same day different story. Had to leave home to have our baby.” said Zere’maya.

”No, I mean getting older than your sweetheart!” said Zassh and Karl together.

“That’s not as strange as all that. People can grow older for all kinds of reasons, and a lot of women grow up when their husbands stay younghearted. Or some other way. That much is the same all over.”

“You know what’s different about spending time with you two?” asked Zere’maya. “Most people ask ‘If you could live forever as long as you stay on Ora or Thea, what would you ever want enough to leave?’”

Zassh and Karl laughed. “No one could be tha~~at stupid!”

The party rode on quietly, up the mountain where Karl had come from, long ago.

“Zere’maya?” asked Karl. “I want to ask you something.”

Zere’maya nodded. “It had seemed like I didn’t have anything wise to offer you any more.” she chided.

“Quit that. I’m serious. We’re married for love, but I know that you will go back there – out there – someday. I want something of you.” said Karl.

“What do you have that you need?” asked Zere’maya, surprised.

“I don’t have a name. Not a real name. ‘this is my dragon – Karl.’ It doesn’t even work for what I am. It doesn’t work as a Gypsy man either. I don’t have a mother and father to name me and Mother Faa says she has no name to give me, though she has been looking for a proper name for me ever since I showed up, crying and dirty. Do you have a name to give me?” he asked earnestly. Zassh looked over at him, pleased and nodded her approval.

Zere’maya blushed, looked down, riding along.

“Well?”

“I have named you, in my own daydreams. In my dreams.” The horses clodded along as she breathed in, gathered her thoughts. “When I was very small some of my mother’s family would visit us, even though she had landed, married a local man, was trying so hard not to be a gypsy any more.” Zere’maya breathed again.

“Balint. Her big brother. She looked so happy in his arms, he loved his little sister and he loved me so. I looked to him, strong and beautiful. Our good serpent --- wise and powerful. A great shaman of our people, much later, when I found him searching for my mother, trying to get answers. He would not tell me which of the women they identified as my mother was his sister – he stated that they were all his little sisters. I didn’t understand.” Zere’maya cleared her throat.

“We parted with hard words. On my part. I was so young --- I’ve relived those words and his love over my lifetime wishing that I could clear my offense to him. He told me that there was no offense, I was speaking as a little chaya, a wounded child. I intended offense. I thought for what he was doing, what he had done if I had the power I would have later I would have hit him with all my strength. I did not have that strength so I used all I did have. In the struggle I was cut on the hand – I still have the scar.” She opened her hand, indicating the fine line down her little finger.

“No matter what major healing work has been done to me I’ve kept that as a reminder to rein my temper.

“Not that only bad things I remember of Balint. He loved hazelnut soup. My mother used to make it every time he came, and I went through trouble like you wouldn’t believe to find hazels to plant on my home out there, somewhere.” She gestured. “And he told me legends, and no matter how far I’ve traveled or how long I know my uncle Balint loved me. I doubted that my mother did – sometimes I wondered if she thought of me even while she still stayed with me and my father – but I always was Balint’s darling and he was mine.

Karl rode along with a grin on his face. “That suits me. I’ll be your uncle. I’ll marry Zassh as Balint, first of the Dragon Gypsies.”

“Not the first.” Zere’maya said deadpan. The other two fell into hysterics.

“Laugh if you please. Sometime out there is a planet where I can be dragon-kind, I’ll invite you there and we can find out who makes the scalier. I hope you can stand to share Zassh dear.” She finished in a syrupy, prim voice.

Zassh removed a glove and transformed first a finger, then her whole hand up to her sleeve into blue fire. She extinguished as quickly, regloved, and rode on.

“M’mmmm.” said Zere’maya surprised. “You didn’t even spook your horse. You’ve been meditating, I approve.”

The look on Karl’s face flashed from arousal to shame and embarrassment. He could see understanding in Zere’maya’s eyes.

“I’m so, so sorry, Zere’maya.” he whispered. Zere’maya held out a hand.

“I’ve known. We have always known. We did want to know when you intended to let either one of us know.” said Zere’maya.

It was Karl’s time to be embarrassed. His face turned bright red and he buried his face in his horses’ mane.

“Mother Faa made him pay the price to know,” said Zassh. “To not end his days until he spoke to the dragons as an adult, not a child.”

“I think I’d take the dragons before I had to ride off with the two women I was romancing, who I thought didn’t know, who always knew.” replied Zere’maya.

“I’d almost rather stay with the dragons than have the conversations he’s going to be having.” said Zassh. Zere’maya nodded.

Both women were thinking, serves him right.

“He could have said no to Mother Faa you know.” said Zassh. Zere’maya knew she was talking about this journey.

“He’s not good at that yet.” said Zere’maya.

“H’mmmph..” said Zassh.

“What do men talk about? You know, when they are alone with each other or working together, when women aren’t around?” asked Zassh.

“I’m sure I don’t know.” said Zere’maya.

“They talk about women, and animals, and gossip. Sometimes they punch each other. What do you think we are, animals? Don’t you think I can hear you?!” grumbled Karl.

Zassh felt relief – if he could complain he must be starting to feel better.

“Well, even if a court full of dragons can’t hurt him, and almost certainly they can’t – what do we plan to do?” asked Zassh.

“Well, the worst they can do is kill me. Anything they do to me will affect that sick bookmark the Alleilaians made, which would almost be worth it if they did. You’re chock-full of magic and inclined to make shit up as you go along, just like I always have.”

“Trained by the best.” said Zassh. She made a very rude expression.

“Ooh, all lips no tongue!” said Zere’maya.

“O.K., stop. It’s weird enough we have both shared Karl. I don’t want to go there. I officially don’t want to go there.”

“Why?” asked Karl. The women made one face. Zassh turned back to Zere’maya.

“Why don’t you want to go there?” asked Zassh. Karl groaned.

“Because I can’t confuse you for another tall, dark beautiful woman, whom I don’t love – it’s more than that. It used to be love but now it’s so much beyond anything like that. One woman isn’t the same as another. I belong, I’m part of Jaqueline.” She nodded to Karl.

“I have done what Magic needed. I’m heterocurious enough to partake, and he really, really was lonely, needed a friend, needed a friend in and on him, and we have always known he won’t be lonely any more – and fairly soon. I don’t know how we’ll part but the ending is part of what makes our bond good. You and me – you’d just be exploring the limits of your own heart, body, and loyalties.”

There was a long pause. Zassh cocked her head. “It would be such an attractive thing to do though. You’re so tiny and round, I’m so long and dark.”

“That’s it! Enough! I’ve learned something on this trip, I don’t need to go any further for wisdom. It’s painful to ride horseback with an erection. It’s far worse than just hurting when the women you are two-timing sit and talk about it in front of you instead of fight it out like is supposed to happen. Arrrggghh!” said Karl. The women turned and looked at him. “Did we bring sauce? Keep it up and I’ll want to feed myself to the dragons rather than come home between you two!” Karl made a sound of disgust.

They walked along, up and up the mountain. Normally the people who worked here flew in and out; access was a tough climb for even agile Rom ponies. The people found the climb harder and more tiresome as they went, but it was also obvious that other people regularly walked up.

Eventually they reached a long, flat face where they could stall their horses and rest. Zere’maya walked forward.

“I think this is the cliff they threw you off, trying to kill you.” she said.

Zassh perked up. “You mean we’re here?”

“Yes, something magical went over the edge. Even after all these years you can see the traces, like blood on the rocks. Way down there is where we started, where a small child might have bounced to.” said Zere’maya. She put a hand on Karl, and the marks caught fire, glowing against the dark rocks. Zassh looked at her.

“Evil people. Even if they knew I couldn’t be hurt throwing a small child down a rock is heartless. Why would I be leaking my magic, though?” asked Karl.

“That’s something to think about. All the time I’ve known you it’s part of you – an organ like an eye. The only time this much raw magic would be expressed would be if it was being applied from without – a very strong dye job, working itself in over time – hey look!”

The three peered down the cliff as the marks worked their way up, following each other in a line to Zere’maya’s hand.

“Ooooh, should I let those things get inside me?” Karl had pulled away. Zassh shrugged.

“Take what you bring, leave no trace. You now generate that magic from inside yourself. A little bit more you might not even feel, but if it stays out here it can turn sour, lonely for a life form. Anything with a heartbeat could be chosen and work merry hob on it. It’s the responsible thing to do.” said Zassh. Karl thought about it.

“So that magic has been out exposed to the elements and lonely all this time?” He moved Zere’maya’s hand aside and set his own.

The marks were no longer flat – they were three dimensional, like gleaming metal.

“Shiiiiiit!” said Zere’maya. All right then – each of the streaks of magic ran up Karl’s arm and vanished. “Welcome back, guys.” He turned to the two women.
“Are there any more pools of orphan magic, pools of – me?” he asked. Zere’maya and Zassh linked hands with both of them touching the rock, both of them touching Karl.

Karl felt more than heard a deep sound, more like a vibration.

“Any magic that is 100% still like you, unchanged by any other being or by being used will know where we are and will come home to us.” said Zassh. “And remind me not to touch you accidentally. That was pure nasty – like grabbing an ungrounded wire.”

“It would be.” said Zere’maya. “I’m not trained to use Gypsy magic, what I do is not compatible. It’s just plain wrong for you. I’ve got some use just because I’m me and more because of what I’ve learned here but we aren’t tapping the same sources in the same way. When I was enchanted by the Gypsy men I was struck horribly sick – it didn’t suit me at all. I can drain Karl – but even though that’s the same kind of magic I use it’s still not exactly what I run on. Jaqueline’s completely nonmagical – she can’t take or give me power. It’s a real benefit to us.”

Zassh and Karl looked at each other.

“Okay, folks, I’ve heard of kabalistic magic before. Double snaps and a Happy Meal prize for both of you. Can’t you feel it? The mountain calling to us? Don’t let anything break the power of three. Karl, you can’t use your magic but you’re the reason we’re here. I’m badly hurt – inside. I’d have boiled away a long time before reaching this point without continually drawing on you. And you, Zassh – this is your world. We need your witness. And you, as a just beginning magic user should see this. Your coming out party up this mountain, possibly.”

“Besides which ---“ breathed Karl, “It wants us. It can feel two dragons. I don’t think it can feel you coming at all, Zassh.”

“Yeah, it does.” breathed Zere’maya. “Doesn’t that feel ---- wonderful?” She looked at Karl.

“Can you give her a taste?” asked Zere’maya. Karl took Zassh’s hand. Her eyes flew open.

“It’s like I’ve been soaking wet – and just stepped into hot water, over my head.” said Zassh.

“Warm to the bone. When you’ve been cold for so long you can’t remember being warm. That’s a good way to describe it.” said Zere’maya.

“I just did my first magic.” said Karl. “Was I good?”

“With Zassh’s help and the mountain, you just might be able to use your potential.” Said Zere’maya. “Dragons are meant to be magical. It’s got to have been horrible for you.”

“I don’t remember anything to compare this to. This is – natural.” said Karl.

“Well put.” said Zassh. “Is it good for him?” she asked Zere’maya.

“I have no idea. It’s too late now, we two are going up.“ said Zere’maya definitively.

Chapter 19: Denials

A true believer loves for his brother what he loves for himself. - The Prophet Muhammad

The horses were far from the caravan, and the little stoves in the vardos were enough to make a good deal of food for everyone. There was food available, though not meals in the mountain, and just about any vardo was someplace anyone could find something to eat.

As would be the case anywhere, with any culture, the in-general easier relations with the people they traveled among had made life far less oppositional for the Romanies here.

In some ways persecution preserves culture as it insulates. If all outsiders are enemy camps, you may do what you wish to them -- it's a part of an ongoing guerilla war. If most people are apathetic and some people find them mildly interesting, others actually supportive, well, the romany do not steal from friends. Tit for tat, the most universally useful games strategy known for most cultures.

Zere’maya worked mostly with the women and children. Karl kept more and more to the men. She was quietly happy when he came back one night with the ceremonial dagger around his neck. He was relaxing as he stayed, not that that made his skin any more breakable.

The next little sign was when Karl began wearing a bright bit of cloth around his neck -- the diklo -- like some but not all of the men did.

Every day began the same -- Zere’maya with the women, working, spending time with the children, eating, laughing, drinking. Every day ended the same -- Zere’maya with the women, until she reentered her vardo, to lie curled with Karl.

One morning was different -- just for a second. Karl removed his diklo and tied it around her head. He smiled.
"I have another in my pocket, don't worry." He kissed her, enjoying her as few people have ever enjoyed her.

From then on Zere’maya kept her head covered and moved with the married women. The first time there were looks back and forth, and some approving smiles among the whispers. Mother Faa looked like a stone statue of an old woman, and it was only by comparing how she used to look to how she looked now that Zere’maya could see that the disapproval was gone.

From here on in, when anyone talked about Zere’maya in her earshot, she was no longer diddakai -- she was now rilmulo. It was telling that for the Romany being of mixed heritage was a lower state of life than being undead.

Zaash just continued to smile.

Zere’maya wasn't exactly sure what the men did. The women did almost all of the work, just as in some other minority cultures, and lived only a small part of their lives with the men.

This was a problem for Zere’maya, since she needed to find out everything she could in as many languages as she could find about the dragons. Clearly when she wasn't caning chairs, healing somebody, or sharing in the general culture of the mountain she had to be researching the people Karl came from.

Finding even a place to be alone and think was not easy, but after some searching Zere’maya found a place where she could be left alone -- the children were kept out of the bee cave and few would sit right in the way of the bees themselves. Zere’maya had no fear, and actually liked it there so, lacking any books as such she went to consult the bees.

Zere’maya sat quietly, asking her mind the question -- where do I know of dragons, where do I know of them as rulers?

In her mind, books opened and closed, but she reached out and found a reference in an old bible story, Bel and the Dragon:

Therefore the king slew them, and delivered Bel into Daniel's power, who destroyed him and his temple.And in that same place there was a great dragon, which they of Babylon worshipped.And the king said unto Daniel, Wilt thou also say that this is of brass? lo, he liveth, he eateth and drinketh; thou canst not say that he is no living god: therefore worship him.Then said Daniel unto the king, I will worship the Lord my God: for he is the living God.But give me leave, O king, and I shall slay this dragon without sword or staff. The king said, I give thee leave.Then Daniel took pitch, and fat, and hair, and did seethe them together, and made lumps thereof: this he put in the dragon's mouth, and so the dragon burst in sunder : and Daniel said, Lo, these are the gods ye worship.When they of Babylon heard that, they took great indignation, and conspired against the king, saying, The king is become a Jew, and he hath destroyed Bel, he hath slain the dragon, and put the priests to death.

Zere’maya didn't think that the people here worshipped them as gods exactly, but they did live longer than people did and were seen as wise. Perhaps Karl could be hurt on the inside, like Daniel hurt the dragon, but Zere’maya certainly did not want to hurt or kill him.

She wandered around her mind, looking at references to dragon gods, great powerful leaders.

One of the first things she did once she had the matter well thought out was to go to Mother Faa and Zaash.

She knew he had begun his romance with Zassh – suddenly, surprisingly painfully. There was something different in the way he kissed. He had known another mouth, another habit of tenderness. She had never meant to keep him.

Suddenly she thought of Jackie. She had to do this, sometimes. Best infidelity excuse there could be, mix with others to stay alive. Could Jackie feel this, as she could?

Zere’maya began to laugh.

“Stop that, you’re breaking my mood. What’s so funny anyway?” asked Karl.

“I’m in your arms thinking of another woman.” Said Zere’maya. Karl hesitated. Zere’maya paused. “Now I think you are also thinking of me with another woman.”. Karl reddened, pushed her away.

“I’d never do anything like that to you. To us. Why would I want to do that? What kind of man do you take me for?”

Karl went on and on. Zere’maya sat there, blissful. He could carry on for the both of them, and she could just sit here and drink of him. Blood, sex, or anger – any or all could keep her alive long enough to get back to Jackie.

“Karl!” she said seriously.

“At last, you respond. You make me feel like a fool, just sitting there, looking like a holy icon or something. Doesn’t it even matter to you? Don’t you even want me to be your husband?” Karl was furious.

“There was another thing. Standing there, with my hand on your chest, I could feel it. Your life winding down. Like I can feel my own. Day after day, soon hour after hour – I’ll sense you growing older. Each day, each hour, each heartbeat one less from the beats you had. I can feel time passing.”

“I don’t feel – anything. Nothing different.” Said Karl. “You are losing your mind, accusing me of taking another woman – what other woman? Who would possibly betray our bond?”

“Karl.” Said a voice behind him. They turned to see Mother Faa. “You don’t feel anything because you’ve always been traveling through time, every moment of your life. You have never been off of the wheel of time, so for you there’s nothing to feel, nothing has changed.”

“Monster. “ She addressed Zere’maya. “There must be a talk.”

“I’ve known from the moment we first touched that you could end me with a word – probably just by thinking about it hard. You may have any talk you want to have not because you hold my life in your palms, but because I know you are responsible for all of these lives, here. Whatever you desire, Mother Faa.” Said Zere’maya.

“Who are you talking to?” asked Karl.

“But – but we both turned to look at her.” Said Zere’maya softly.

Karl rolled his eyes.

All right then. Karl partnering with Zaash she could expect, even though she was surprised by the pain. She could work with Karl denying everything and blaming the two of them on her, eventually. That last part had happened before.

Zere’maya knew he had seen Mother Faa. One touch of him and she knew he had heard her just as she had heard her. Now Mother Faa wasn’t there. Of course she hadn’t come here, outside, in the snow, but Mother Faa had been part of the magic that had made the charm, had other magic. She would have been able to work that easily enough.

Maybe Karl didn’t know that he saw Mother Faa? Maybe it had to do with his invulnerability magic?

Quietly, meekly, she followed him back into the caves.

Chapter 18: Leaving Childhood

“I set up for myself the rule that whenever I discern a sounder opinion in any matter whatsoever, I gladly and humbly abandon the earlier one. For I know that those things I have learned are but the least in comparison with what I do not know.” — Jan Hus

The Mountain of Lost Children


After that unnerving experience Zere’maya was glad to get to winter camp -- wherever that might be. She was surprised when they came to a stop less than a half-day's walk.

"Welcome," said a very cheery Zassh, "to our mountain!"

Zere’maya climbed out of the vardo and looked around with astonishment.

There was no sign of the outdoors, but the caverns were flooded with light. High above light streamed in -- but outside it had been murky, even grim.

"Let me take you on a tour." said Zassh. The young woman took Zere’maya's hand and walked her around.

"The generation before us wanted something safe after we were burned out of the last village." said Zassh. "We had planned to build this for generations, and would have built it at the last village, but instead we're practically on top of them and they don't even know!" To Zassh this was a great joke.

"We built this. All of this. It's all on top of the mountain that used to be here mostly, some of it going into the mountains where we mined the materials. Clay is easy to get, and so's everything else we need so the locals never came here. We built the frames from the same iron we build the vardos from. We' switched to iron frames in Baba Faa's time because we found the mine and unfound a good source for wood. It was natural, use what you have." Zassh swung her arms around like a tour guide.

"And each group who comes here adds some. While Karl is here we can do a lot of ironwork, and the other two work to fill in between and plaster. Our clay tents are climbing into and up the mountain, away from the community, up along the river mostly. Deep in the mountains we keep our meats cold.

"How do you keep it all dry?" asked Zere’maya.

"We grease and wax the wool we gather, and the plants and trees root on it. We add some dirt, but you know we're not farmers. Since we're on the away-sun side no one comes to look, and I don’t imagine they have ways of declaring war on a mountain. It's such a maze inside even if someone did get in to create trouble we could continue to move around, almost like we do when we're among them." said Zassh.

"You know how afraid I was of the cold -- how in the world did you keep all this secret?" asked Zere’maya.

Zassh was serious. "We were busy being out, and had all the time to do that. When we thought of talking about it we went back to the present, especially in front of you, so you could be easy and happy and *be* with us. You're diddakai, not all of us, so you have a way to understand but not everything. And it's not enough to have a gypsy mother. You didn't have your tribe. You needed to be a part of a tribe to really be a gypsy."

Zere’maya thought back, deep into a kernel of hurt. "I wonder if my mother had a mountain deep in my world to hide from me."

Zassh again sounded serious, also like she had said what she was about to say as often as anyone would hum a familiar tune to herself, without thinking, simply being there in the singing again. "You had six mothers, and a Gorgio father far away but close enough to hurt your mind and teach you that you only had her. It's completely possible that none of the women was the one who you came through the legs. She may have remembered you, but such things can slip a woman's mind so easily when she is all alone in the Georgio world. So -- she slipped away back to herself.

“When you came to find her, you wanted to slip back to her, slip back in. You had a whole caravan's worth of women and all you had to do is pick one, and the others would have been aunts. And so you still didn't understand, and some of the magic in the world died. You were born of rebellion, love with hands reaching out, knocked aside."

Zere’maya looked around, looking at the ends of the caves, made by children's hands -- Zere’maya could see the little handprints in the plaster. Most were women's size but some would have to have been the little children, playing and building sometimes with their mothers, but always tightly, packed in with other people.

She was sure that if she looked long enough she would find handprints bigger than any Rom's handprints -- handprints that belonged to Karl. On adolescence, Zere’maya knew now, the boys were given little knives to wear as pendants on their necks. Zere’maya had not known that three months ago, but suddenly, she knew -- knew, mind you -- that the Rom still saw Karl as a boy rather than a man.

"So it never freezes here?" asked Zere’maya. Zassh smiled with accomplishment.

"Never worse than a crisp fall day. Never will your eyes freeze shut here," said Zassh. She had said what she had said so often it passed right through her mouth without impacting her mind, thought Zere’maya. I know I've heard the words, but why don't I remember hearing them? I mean, I might have, but I don't remember. She shivered again and turned to Zassh.

"The light comes in from mirrors we have installed in a nearby glacier, and which are charmed to stay aligned. Not our year, but the year after or two years before us has another diddakai with magic. She had the mirrors made, then we put them where she said to. The light shining off the mountains doesn't attract any interest I suppose. Because of the mirrors we have better than just the reflections off of the glaciers. We have about as much light as we can have, morning to night and She was cheered by us. She married in, became a full Rom with a very nice man. She has found herself, where she could not out with the Georgios. The one parent who is of the people nourished her and fed her more than the rest."

Zere’maya nodded, walking along. The whole place had the feel of a huge series of circus tents, brilliantly decorated and full of the sounds of children laughing and playing. Most of the people were children. It would seem that the Romany had a good, safe place here.

Soon Zere’maya had to do what all people do every three or four hours. The bathrooms were holes in the floor, as you might imagine, but there was running water and all she could ever want. According to Zassh the solids went to a huge worm generating project, where they made castings and worms for the Georgio. The liquids went to a huge pond deeper in the mountain where none of the Rom went. They heard that the Georgio picked mushrooms there. Zere’maya knew from the description that there was more than enough processing so that the Giorgio would not be hurt. The Rom were very careful about cleanliness, especially cleanliness that matters.

The bathing rooms were a Turkish delight -- separate for the men and women, of course -- but all the soap, hot water, and all of the rest there could possibly be, could possibly imagine with experience in bathing that extended to hundreds of planets. She knew for a certainty at this point, as certain as seeing an Amish child carrying a plastic lunchbox, that somehow, some way these Gypsies were in contact with the thousand worlds -- maybe even further than Zere’maya had gone.

Zere’maya looked with longing. Zassh was practically bouncing on the tips of her toes ready to lead her on. Zere’maya could deny her nothing.

"I'm sure you expected chickens and the like, but we have none of that here. We have the stable for the horses and the place for the dogs, but I just know that you're going to love this!" Zassh took her up several flights of stairs and a long ramp. Halfway up the ramp Zere’maya's nose, then mouth, then very skin radiated with the scent of bees.

True, there was no livestock here besides the horses and the dogs, but to Zere’maya's delight -- there were bees. Lots and lots of bees. In fact, the gypsies brought fresh bees to Mary-sue the farmers outside each year since the hard winters made keeping bees alive outdoors so impossible.

"So the farmers where we stayed were just giving you some of our own back," said Zassh happily. "Those few who know us and love us and shelter us. Some of them have actually been in the mountain, which hardly ever happens at all."

"I’ve seen who we stay with. The sort of person I trust," said Zere’maya.

Zassh nodded. "And we hold that trust. They try to keep the bees alive, but the winter, it's so brutal here. We always re-queen them, and take them bees as the best, bringing back. We have people who do mostly that, now, carrying the hives around. During the winter when the Gorgio's bees were dying in the cold the gypsie's bees were making splits, raising queens

"We young women make the queens -- here." Said Zassh. Zere’maya had done the task since childhood. Now was early in the season. Later the gypsies -- mostly young girls and women -- would begin the careful work of making queens, scooping out the individual larvae into queen cups, making nucs, preparing for their journeys around and back again.

"We let the bees out during the summer, but we don’t get much honey, but it's wildflower honey -- very valuable. There is a fairly minimal production of honey during the summer months, with the bees leaving their caves through a door in the rocks, but during winter they gorge on the sugar and supplements bring back with them -- but most of the money is in the bees themselves. The caves with the bees have floors made up of wildflowers, mostly dandelions, to fortify the bees eating the pollen substitutes."

"Next you'll tell me that this world is dotted all over with caves!"

Zassh laughed. "There are", Zassh explained, "two other winter camping spots so that everyone could have a longer traveling circuit. One of them was a cave system, one was at the other end where the weather was already warm enough for comfortable life. This cave system, though, was by far and away the oldest and largest." Zassh was proud to tell Zere’maya that Mother Faa had had a lot to do with the building of it.

Every three years Mother Faa's caravans came here, leaf springs down to the bottom hauling in preserved meat and cheese, charcoal, and sugar. Every spring the gypsies left bringing out everything they had made during the hard four winter months. A few people stayed behind to guard their home and maintain the bees, a job looked on as a near punishment and rotated away with great gladness.

Thanks to the emptying out of the shelter for most of the year there were no serious pest problems, because different people lived here between years there were no serious 'turf' problems, and because children enjoy playing with mud and pouring, the natural growth of the caverns from year to year further up into the mountains and further away from the nearest Gorgio settlement was, frankly, child's play. To build the caverns was like building a basket with slender iron straps and sealing it off with native clays.

The result of the protected winter quarters was that the gypsy population was growing quickly, and with it the amount of territory the individual bands could cover.

"The end result," said Karl, happily, "is that you'll not be seeing much of me these next four months. There aren't many friends of The People who are fireproof. I can work the iron with my bare hands and do other tasks dangerous to others. Because of me we can build much faster."

Zassh looked very proud. "Yes, the first fireproof Rom, our husband is." Zere’maya looked around. She could imagine how the basic tent structure could be used to make the underground rooms, and how freshly made stone insulation could be carried around in Karl's arms.

Zere’maya looked at Zassh, finally understanding. "You and Mother Faa, you think of different things, don't you?" Zere’maya asked. Both Karl and Zassh nodded.

"You two remember, he isn't my husband -- yet. But you're hoping I can do some sort of healer magic so he can be?" Karl and Zassh nodded.

"Do you want Zassh?" asked Zere’maya. Karl looked shamefaced.

Zassh laughed. "He knows it's best to let me have my way." said Zassh.

Zere’maya chuckled. "Sorry. I forgot that I'm not in a society of love matches. I have to know -- how long before I came along did you two have this thought out?" said Zere’maya.

"Mother Faa can't possibly boot out Zassh, and the whole community likes me. They just have to find some way to put me under the rules of the Rom, which isn't too terribly easy." said Karl.

"With a spirit of evil as your friend, a woman of rebellion, if there is a way she may find it." said Zere’maya.

"Well, the first thing to do is to act like a man and not a boy in the mountain." said Zassh. Karl agreed.

“The Mountain of Happy Lost Children has its own rules, unlike any other place where the People find themselves -------“ Karl’s voice trailed off.

“Honestly, you look like you are going to be sick, right here. What in the world is wrong with you?” asked Karl.

Zassh looked serious. Zere’maya was more green than pale. “In my world, the world where I was a child the Mountain of Happy Lost Children was another sort of place.”

“Sh-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch.” comforted Zassh. “Another world. Another place. Maybe the same place but not the same world.” Zere’maya was shaking, began to cry. Zassh held her, kissed her head.

“What is wrong with her?” asked Karl, exasperated.

“Shut up, Karl. This isn’t about you.” Said Zassh. “This is woman’s work.”

Karl walked off, grumbling. Zassh held on to Zere’maya as if she were a child.

“I feel like I’m in the mountain, I really do. This whole world, it’s like being a child again, powerless, irrelevant.” She held Zassh’s face between her two hands.

“Dead. This is like being dead, it’s crazy to be in a place named for what happens to children who die, forever left to play until their mothers show up. I can’t do magic, I can’t fix this, I can’t really marry Karl, I know you will and you should – I want to make an ending of this and I can’t. It’s like once being famous, once being young ----“

“Sh-ch-ch-ch-ch” Zassh comforted her. ”Some of us are children. Older. I can’t imagine what it’s like to not be able to do what you once did, to remember what you once were and not be able to move on –“

“Good.” said Zere’maya rasping. “I would not want you to know, to even have a hint of it. No friend would want another to have such knowledge.” She kissed Zassh roughly on the lips.

“Never my lover, never my child, I’m just holding your place, because I have to, to continue to live. I’m bound to try – every moment winding down, just a little bit smaller. I don’t know how to hold on, Zassh.”

“People don’t die of heartbreak, not directly. What you are hinting at – I’ve seen you think about – you’re not a malformed one, holding the healthy ones back. You’re not in pain – though you’re broken inside and anyone can see that something inside you is getting worse. All you have to do is not bring dying to do, to wait –“

“Praise God you don’t know what you’re asking me!” broke in Zere’maya.

“I’m going to get some medicine from mother Faa. Then you can be unconscious for a while. At least I can get you so you won’t feel.”

Zassh left Zere’maya sedated in her vardo. She walked past Karl.

“What are you about now?” asked Karl.

“Power. I need lots of raw power.” Said Zassh grimly. I just gave enough painkiller to put someone covered with burns unconscious who doesn’t have a scratch on her, not physical.”

Karl frowned. “I don’t like it. You’re losing your childhood. This isn’t right for you, or for you and me.”

Zassh turned. “Shut up. Shut up already and leave me to something I understand. Go away and be bothersome somewhere else. I don’t want my childhood any more. It’s a tattered, outgrown thing. I’m going to bury it in the garden and let the worms break it down. Childhood is not for me. Not any more.

“I don’t understand you any more.” Grumbled Karl. Zassh laughed.

“You finally say something that makes sense. You lie beside her, you lie in her and you don’t know anything about her. You keep her body alive, but you don’t know the woman. I -----“ Zash stopped.

Karl circled her. The two scowled at each other

“Little girl.” said Karl.

“I want to have everything Zere’maya has.” said Zassh evenly. “Tonight, late. You.”

“Sounds like a challenge.” said Karl evenly.

“Later. After I’ve found what I can.”

“I’m strong.”

“I’ll bring my magic.” The sound in Zassh’s voice was like a growl.

“Do you want to sit on me or kick my ass?”

“As long as that ass belongs to Zere’maya it surely doesn’t matter, surely not. I’ll find out if you can feel pain tonight. I’m going to need something, I can feel it.“ she scowled.

“What you want, it isn’t gypsy.” sneered Karl.

“Another nonsense. Another bullshit. I’m Gypsy, what I want, makes it Gypsy. Are you man? Or her pillow? What are you, really? A child forever? I’m not a child, not anymore, and you – I don’t care what you’ve done with your body – you’re a child. A big, overgrown, boychild fat around the edges, full of insecurities, you’re no man you’re – a saddle. A saddle for a succubus.” said Zassh.

“Enough.” said Karl. “I agree. Where and when?”

Zassh smiled grimly. “Find me and then you’ll know. Watch over Zere’maya, keep her sedated, or at least as calm as you can. I’m going to do something.“

“I felt that. I felt a shiver deep inside me.” said Karl. Zassh stared into his eyes.

“It’s a start.”

____________________

Karl was waiting for her in his forge. It’s where he felt most at home, where he felt like he belonged. Zassh had always loved the flames, the ripples of heat. Wherever they went next, this felt like where Zassh would meet him.

He heard his childhood friend step in. Somehow, some way, he had never noticed before that barefoot – their heads were level, she was as tall as he was. Somehow he still remembered her as little. How long had it been – suddenly he could not remember. Zere’maya was little, and pudgy. She stood exactly as high as his heart. Zassh looked eye to eye straight at him.

“What in the world have you been doing? I’ve been waiting here for hours – hours!” said Karl. Somehow he was becoming more frightened. She looked at him as a wolf might – staring, dark.

“I’ve been talking with the elders.” she said. He felt his skin shiver.

“Talking? Just talking?”

“The world was made with words, God’s words, Boro dom. Words are more than enough. More than enough.” she said quietly.

“Take off your clothes.” said Zash.

“What! Here?” asked Karl incredulous. Zassh began to undress. Here then. She stood there naked, like a man, like anyone, then kicked her clothing well away.

Karl began to guess, impossibly, improbably. “Oh no ---“ he had heard of Gypsies that would were—mostly wolves, some big cats, some creatures like dragons, improbable though it would be that Zassh –

“Oh no, you’re my best friend I can’t couple with a wolf not even if it’s you Zassh please, oh, please –“ He could hear himself beginning to scream. Zassh put up a hand. He knew that now no one could hear him. He was invulnerable, true, but Zassh, this didn’t even seem like her, he knew there was no point in trying to run from her. There was still the forge. He began slowly to inch around, stripping to save the clothing Zere’maya had gotten him which would burn. He soon had his back to the door.

“Good.” said Zassh. “I want to chase you.” Karl jumped into the fire, looked back.

First her face looked fuzzy. Then abruptly, like a match lighting, Zassh herself became fire. Then Ice, then lightning.



“Boro Dom, thank you it’s all Zere’maya said it would be!”

“You expect with my body I can outdo that?” whimpered Karl.

Zassh smiled. “Let’s find out. You, me, the only fireproof Rom. Come, let’s find out what I can do.” She stepped into the forge, flame mixing into flame.

Naked in the fire, He looked at her. This was Zassh? Made of fire, then ice, then lightning? He saw her smile, even seeing through her.

The first time they kissed, they would always remember, Zassh’s lips were fire. He could do this. He could do this with Zassh.

Only his. Only her. Only he could mount a woman made of fire and ice and lightning.

Far later that night Karl climbed into bed beside Zere’maya, tenderly. She rolled over.


“You smell all smoke and iron-y.” she commented. “That’s good. I’m glad you’re using the talents you have.” She snuggled back up to him and fell asleep again.

He cradled her gently. The first time, he thought, he’d ever met another person who had ever been a dragon – practically the first time he’d met anyone who had ever ~seen~ a real dragon – she had been wearing a dirndl. A real traveler from the other worlds who looked like everyone else – maybe more ordinary than most.

To impress me a perfectly ordinary young woman has become something extraordinary – not because she has to be, but to have him. He’d known she wanted him for years.

Chapter 17: Tall Tales of the Short Woman

Virtue yields heaven's honor and earth's wealth.What is there then that is more fruitful for a man?There is nothing more rewarding than virtue,Nor anything more ruinous than its neglect. - Tirukkural 4:31-32

It was an uncomfortable night for Zere’maya. In other circumstances she could have set wards round herself and her people, putting them under her protection and doing so with less of her magic than a flick of a lighter -- not even enough to notice.

Here, there were the men and the puli dogs. Early in the morning the camp picked up and the march began again. Late that night they would reach the village where the present generation of adults had nearly been burned.

Zere’maya, like the other women, hopped from vardo to vardo, supervising the children who had to remain boon docked. They didn't like it, and Zere’maya hated the feeling of fear that lingered in the air.

“We all miss Karl, since he has to be outside working with the others. Who would like to hear a tale about dragons from my homeworld?” asked Zere’maya. There was a general rumbling of support. One woman, about as old as Zassh or maybe a little younger, pulled out from her blouse a dark nipple, wreathed with a circle of fine dark hair, and guided herself into her baby’s mouth to buy them all a little more quiet. Zere’maya smiled and began.

Dragon Compassion

Even a dragon can have a very, very bad day, and although dragons are very tough, when they fly, they are the highest things around – and when they fly in stormy weather every now and then one unfortunate dragon ends up hit by lighting. There are some fates that even a dragon finds painful.

To the dragon that day the wind was bad, the hail worse, and the way weary until his world exploded in a sheet of light and heat, and he fell unconscious and wounded to the ground.While he half drowned, half froze on the half in, half out of a mud puddle a local man who lived in a very shabby hovel passed by with his cart and donkeys.

On catching sight of the monster, who lay so still that he looked dead, the man felt compassion for him – burns he understood – blood he understood. That the dragon’s was blue rather than red seemed unimportant at the time.

He unhooked his wagon, hitched his tackle to the dragon and pulled him out of the mud puddle. That was a start, but did not seem like enough. He thought of covering him with a sheet of canvas that served as his wagon top, but that did not seem like enough. Sighing, he laid the canvas in front of the dragon and pulled him into his barn, getting on and off of his donkeys to place the sheet of canvas in front of the dragon when the dragon would pull forward and off of it again.

With the shelter from the weather and the peace and quiet, the wounded dragon seemed to be more at peace. He turned back, collected his wagon, and returned to his own home for a hot meal for himself and food for his donkeys, and related his amazing day to his wife.

She was far less than pleased with him.

“Remember the tale of the scorpion and the bull – if you give protection to a vicious animal you must be ready for him to turn on you. Let me get you your shaving blade, you can remove his skin and sell it to benefit you, and me, your family and those who you truly owe your loyalty.”

“You had to have seen him --,” her husband muttered, “it’s right to feel compassion to someone ailing, you should’ve seen his intelligent eyes even with the scales on his face, and his injuries made me hurt to see them. It’s only a barn, and only just a little we can give.”

“Compassion can be stupid. As soon as he is strong enough he will look at you with his intelligent eyes and I will be widowed and left alone – for as long as it takes him to find me, or unless I can flee for my own safety. To keep such a wicked beast under our roof – it defies God and the Church to comfort wickedness!”

Taking no notice of his wife's warning, the husband devoted himself to feeding and caring for the animal. As a result of his efforts, the dragon soon recovered and thanked the husband for saving him.

'There is nothing to thank me for', replied the good man. 'We are all God's creatures.

''Even so, many men in your position would have killed me and sold my skin, which is very valuable.'

”And many a woman.” The man said softly, but the dragon did not hear anything but a sigh of agreement.

The wife and the husband arguing over their poverty was to such a degree that even a dragon living in a shed on the edge of the property could not miss hearing. As payment for his shelter, the old rams, billy-goats and roosters he had eaten, as well as the family strife in his name the dragon offered the man a reward for his troubles.

“I could not refuse anything in gold, because I will soon have to pay the lord of the manor and I have no gold to give him – otherwise I would have to pay my fees in the produce we have both worked so hard to make this year. But that is not why I helped you, friend”, said the man.

'I know, but now that I am strong enough to fly home, come to my cave and choose anything you wish. The husband climbed fearlessly onto the dragon's back, but his wife begged him not to trust the dragon.

'When you are in the middle of the forest, he will eat you,' she groaned, ‘and I will be left alone.'

The dragon bore his benefactor to his cave and there he entertained him for three days. When the time came for him to return home, the animal loaded a huge sack of gold and precious stones on his back as a gift, and carried the husband back to his wife and farm.

'Come and see me whenever you are hard up', he said on parting.

The husband found his wife sad and dressed in mourning; for she believed he was dead. With the dragon's gifts the couple were able to build a beautiful house, and the best of animals, and entertain their neighbors to gain their repute, but the wife started becoming extravagant, and one day she said to her husband:

”If we had a little more money, we would be able to buy our freedom from our landlord, and then purchase land for ourselves, have others to work for us and our children could carry on after us as nobles. Certainly that would be good and just, and the right thing to do for those to whom you owe your true loyalty. Why don’t you ask your dragon for a little more gold?”

The husband refused, but in the end he gave in and went to see the dragon. The creature thought it was a sound idea, and was delighted to be able to help his friend once more. But then hardly a year went by and the wife insisted:

'If we could petition the king and offer him support, he could grant us titles, and we could have nobles under us to do the tiresome work of leading the serfs, and our children could become kings and queens themselves from where we placed them – we could set our children into the court and that would surely be the right thing to do for those whom you truly owe loyalty.” The husband, tired of his wife's nagging, went once more to see the dragon in his cave, and the latter granted his request. The king was delighted to have the dragon’s resources, and the husband and wife began their new life in the king’s court.

But now the queen herself and her retinue was within the wife’s eyes, and in comparison with such riches her own finery seemed no more than painted glass. She was more unhappy than ever.

'My good lord husband, it has occurred to me that when we have a son, if there is a war he will have to go the front as an officer, and he might die in combat. It would be much better if we became King and Queen ourselves so that our coming son would be in less danger. Your friend the dragon will grant us this wish.'

'But wife don't talk nonsense.' His wife cried and entreated him until finally the husband decided to visit the dragon who greeted him warmly.

'Friend,' said the dragon after listening to his story, 'your wife is too ambitious. She will never leave you in peace. She will never have enough and she will always want more, but I have the answer. Come into the cave.'

And the dragon showed his guest into a cozy room where beautiful young women were singing and dancing.

”Now you are my prisoner. These girls will keep you company and will see that your every wish is carried out, for they were benighted as you were and so have given themselves to be my slaves, but you will not be able to leave the cave other than in my company and you will not return to see your wife.”

The dragon looked at him. “Would you prefer to be her slave ----- or to be mine?”

From then on the good man lived happily with the dragon and the maidens. As for the abandoned wife, she had to dress in mourning, convinced that the monster had finally devoured her husband, just as she had predicted from the beginning.

Zere’maya looked around the wagon’s inside. The young woman with the baby had dropped off to sleep but her baby was watching her with black button eyes. The little girl near her feet shifted.

“Well, miss – it seems like that was happy ever after for the wife, anyway. She ended up wealthy and if all is well, with a son to care for her, with power and wealth and possibilities. The husband ended up trading one woman for many, perhaps many times the servitude was how it all ended for him.” She finished.

“I wouldn’t think so. You see, all those young women were the sort who can give a free ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to a dragon, and that’s not your average girl. To give yourself you must first own yourself.” said Zere’maya. The young girl looked at the tiny symbolic knife that Zere’maya now wore, as was the custom here for all gypsy women who come of age.

In a world full of men women here chose to wear an equalizer – more for expression of just that intent than for causing of harm, but a real knife nonetheless.

“It wasn’t so bad for him, either. After all was said and done his wife helped him – after her he could enjoy his life better. As they say, “kiss a goat in the morning and nothing worse can happen to you for the rest of the day.” Said the little girl smugly.

“All right then, you seem to have your talking motor working, why don’t you tale for us now?” said Zere’maya.


The Dragon Prince

Back on Old Earth, when we were many, the gypsies gathered in a great court, with many from far and near celebrating their many cultures, their many ways, all of which were Gypsy way. The young men gathered to demonstrate their dances, and there was one man, strange to all but familiar as One of Us, who was the winner, the most graceful, the most talented with dance and violin. We celebrated our art, and this young man, a veritable Django reborn, and the young women swirled and danced around him.

On the one occasion, the winner was an unknown and very handsome young man, who refused to give his name or say where he came from, despite the entreaties of all the members of the court. The aura of mystery surrounding the anonymous young gypsy man, leaving him only more handsome to the women, and together with his kindness and beauty, soon made him one of the favorites among the ladies of the court. Bashtam, a wise and passionate woman, the youngest daughter of the old age of her mother and the child of that year’s Gypsy King fell passionately in love with him and declared her love for him. Moved by the entreaties of all, that no woman among all the gypsies of the world could be his equal beside Bashtam, the handsome young man agreed to marry her “as long as the love shall last” and take to her home, but on condition that Bashtam should never try to see him other than when he chose, and that she should never try to discover his secret.

The lovesick lady promised to comply with this strange condition. It seemed little to ask in exchange for being able to remain with her loved one.

One night, the young Bashtam had fallen asleep in the arms of her lover, and on opening her eyes she found herself in an unfamiliar place. It was luxurious palace, a huge spreading tent, adorned with silk and precious stones, and beside her lay her husband smiling benignly at her.

'You are in my caravan, which rejoices to welcome you', said the young Rom. 'You may do whatever you please. There are horses at your disposal, great safe lands for you to ride freely in them, for there are none here who fear the gypsy, you may go as you wish. I am your husband, and all that is mine is yours. There are dancers and musicians to entertain you, jewels and silks to adorn you. If you need anything, tell me and I will give it to you.

''I wish only for your love and the love of my family', replied the young woman, bewildered.

'That is good, my love, but do not forget your promise. The way out to your vardo is at the head of our bed, others coming in will only go to that place, you alone can come to my home, in the far, safe land'

Bashtam, full of happiness, demonstrated her compliance by flinging herself into the arms of her beloved husband.

For a while Bashtam kept her promise and believed she was in paradise. The Rom, who was kind and passionate, spent most of his time with his wife. Occasionally he would disappear into a locked room, and she, faithful to her promise, did not ask him any questions. However, curiosity gradually got the better of her. One day she decided to find out the secret of her knight. She crept up to the door of the forbidden room, which he had left ajar, and spied through the chink. Horrified, she watched as her husband turned into a huge dragon with green scales and powerful wings.

“If all that you have is mine, dear husband, than this secret of yours is my secret, too, she thought. Day by day she walked between her people and his, for she was Bashtam, the wise, and she would understand or no longer be herself. Children learn what to fear by watching what the adults fear, and of nothing did she fear as much as losing herself, then of losing her husband.
The lady could not forget her beloved, and not a day went by without her recalling the months of happiness beside the gentle dragon. Full of self will and driven by her intelligence, she found the means to become a dragon herself.

Alas! On that day he came up to the forbidden room and saw her change from wife to dragon, she in radiant sunset and blue, like sunset after a storm. He turned from her, disgusted.

"I have to make you evil in order to make myself good" he told her. Now that you are dragon, as I am dragon, for clearly you know who I am – I reject you. And he transformed for the last time and flew out the open window. Poor Bashtam never saw him again. Bashtam resumed her human form in desolation. She looked around the palace, at all the people. They would no longer meet her gaze; she could not stay among them. She did not know how they knew of her transformation, but they did. She could only go back to her caravan through the door at the head of her bed, and the palace turned her stomach. She sat on a great stone contemplating her fate – lost from her people, lost to her love, lost to the reason she had taken on this great change, and cried. No human came to her aid.

Then far off, in the distance, she heard a strange, silver song. She felt the answering call rise in her own throat, and she called back to it. The world had other dragons, far away but within the sound of her voice, if she had any place in the world it was with them. She stripped herself naked in plain sight of all, there on that rock, and gently tied her fine clothing into a bundle. Her belt she made into a strap and tied her bundle around her neck, to ensure that she could again be in human form if she chose to.

She felt herself stand on tiptoe – her toes spread wide, like a great warm leather train, her tail reached out and formed a slender diamond. Her arms reached out and her fingers spread wide to embrace the whole sky before her, and with a great bound and her four wings of living dragon leather she took to the sky, as natural as if she was swimming through the air, and if you wonder if she found the rest of dragonkind? Yes, child, she did.

For the older I grow the less I see conflicts in the world in terms of good and evil and the more I see them as competing egos, quests for domination, battles for control of resources, tribal conflicts, and the struggles of humans competing to control the world.”

The girl finished. Zere’maya gasped. “The dragons of this world have four wings? I’ve never imagined such a thing.”

“Yes, they look rather like our horses do, walking on the air. Not that I’ve seen one myself, but I’ve seen pictures. Don’t all dragons have four wings? They have four limbs.” said the girl.

“Actually, on most worlds dragons have six, two lizard-like, and leather wings. There’s a special name for four-legged, one set of lizard legs, one set of wings – the Wyvern.” said Zere’maya.

“Now, a six legged reptile? That’s bizarre!” agreed the children.

“Enough of the dragon stories. Let’s have one of the holy tales, a Bible story.” said one young man. Zere’maya nodded. “How about one with Joseph in it? You all know of Joseph, the youngest of twelve brothers?” The surrounding group nodded.

Zulaikha and the Her Dream of Love.

Once upon a time there was Zulaikha, a younger princess of the land of Mauritania. As was the custom for younger King's daughters at the time she became the wife in her youth to Potiphar, Grand Visir of the nearby land of Egypt.

She was eager, beautiful, and wise – Potiphar did not care about such things. With a Princess for a wife he had acquired the greatest treasure, and he took her to his home and kept her there – an unspent coin, a conversation piece at parties. Of wives he had many – of the companionship of women he cared not a bit, his youngest children were older than his youngest wives. She had everything humans can long for – except for love, and except for freedom. She did what she could to pass the time – and it passed very slowly. Her father King Taimus hardly noticed her as one of his many little girls of his court, but he grew to know her as she grew in eloquence and expression in her many letters home.

"I knew her -- she lived, in my home, here every day, but I never knew had this daughter -- Zulaikha -- until I sent her from my house," he thought, and in his own way he grew to fall in love with her, the love of a father for a child who bears his likeness, in which he can see himself. With her he felt compassion, and often pondered as to ways he could help.

Zulaikha was also writing her other siblings, and the effects were not so endearing. There grew jealousies, for the life of a royal child among many others is crowded, and the sheer riches and strangeness of her life there turned his girl children away from Mauritania, causing them to long for the courts of Egypt. To these sisters and half-sisters she gradually stopped writing, but to her father she grew ever closer, and she became wiser in her loneliness, for there was little to do but write, learn, and ponder on what she had discovered.

Potiphar no less considered her to be his finest bauble – warm, breathing, but no less of a prize. At long last King Taimus induced Potiphar to return to his palace so that he could see his child and talk of the matter face to face.

When his daughter came into his throne room he could see his own face shining back to him – full of life, intelligence, and a fiery will. He cradled her hands among his own and kissed them.

"Oh daughter, how could it be that you are so well, when you describe a life that is so wretched?" he asked. She gazed off across the room. Joseph nodded.

"Though it would be his life Joseph and I plead for his freedom – and my life. You are understanding – this man has been my personal attendant, he has taught me as you have in your letters. I have to be free of that horrible old man, no one could live without wrinkling up and dying in that horrible place, my life is no better than that of the men in your dungeons, Princess and your daughter that I am. This is the worthy man, and without Joseph I would die, and with Potiphar I will die! We beg of you, rescue us!"

King Taimus sent his daughter away and talked with Joseph in private. Potiphar had ridden in and had been playing the wise men in his court for quite some time and had never missed either his princess or Joseph, nor had chosen to greet his royal father in law. Joseph and King Taimus came to an understanding, and, as fathers have done since before the telling of tales, King Taimus set his resolve. He called in his daughters, Zulaikha among them. She had cleaned and dressed herself, and so there were six beautiful princesses before him – all daughters of one father, though they had more than one mother.

"He does not love me. He does not even know me." said Zulaikha. "He could not tell which one of your daughters was his wife, he has no use for me except that I am your Princess."

So King Taimus called Potiphar to his throne room. As Potiphar came into the room six pairs of ebony eyes gazed into the face of their father, seeing how he would react to the rich man from Egypt. Then, slowly, one pair of eyes turned away. Potiphar walked up to the woman who had turned to see him, see his finery, and addressed her as Zulaikha, his own wife.

The wrong princess did not correct him, and Potiphar lead her from the throne room.

Five princesses looked at their father to see what his reaction would be.

"Before today I had given away my one daughter Zulaikha. Now, it seems, I have been blessed with two."

A princess for a princess. It was the new Zulaikha who accused Joseph of accosting her, and he could truly say he was innocent. King Taimus had no choice but to put him in his dungeon, and send the other Princess to Egypt to her new home.

Zulaikha warned her little sister that it would not be as easy or sweet as she had hoped – that a life of riches without love and without freedom was not as she imagined, but her sister was adamant.

So Joseph and Zulaikha waited quietly, hidden guests of the court of King Taimus for many years, until it was time for Joseph to return to Egypt to fulfill his dreams. The steward regained his memory of Joseph, and Pharaoh sent for him.

Potiphar had long since died and Zulaikha the second was blinded, worn, and despondent – riches without love had left her to wander, in her prison of regret, sorry that she had taken such a bad bargain. She confirmed to Pharaoh that Joseph had been sent to prison as an innocent man. Pharaoh married her to Joseph, who sent her home to his father's court and so the true Zuliekha returned to his side, whole and beautiful from her time as secret counsel to her loving father.

The tale of how Joseph's magic abilities to restore a woman's youth, sight and beauty attracted the attention of a daughter of a priest of Pharaoh's court, the lady Asenath, but that is another tale altogether.

Some say that Zulaikha, like Joseph had been a great dreamer from childhood and the hand of God had brought her to dream of only him, so that a great dreamer could have a woman who would understand him, but that, too, is a matter for other stories. All we do know is that Princess Zulaikha and Joseph, first among the Egyptians lived happily ever after."

Chapter 16: Ghosts and Magic

God made the illusion look real and the real an illusion. He concealed the sea and made the foam visible, the wind invisible, and the dust manifest. You see the dust whirling, but how can the dust rise by itself? You see the foam, but not the ocean. Invoke Him with deeds, not words, for deeds are real and will save you in the afterlife. - Rumi, "Mathnawi"

Zere’maya had been sleeping for a while when Karl returned to the inside of the vardo. The vardo was still moving; since they were not the lead wagon Karl had laid the reins over the back of the horses and they would follow, one behind another.

If disaster struck the puli dogs walking beside the vardo would restrain the horses long enough for someone to jump to the driver's seat.

He kissed her on the forehead, tenderly.

"So, you women have decided my fate, and that of the stars without me?" he asked, half joking, half serious.

Zere’maya considered, then nodded. "No. Not decided, but planned. Definitely we have planned.” Karl nodded.

"Nothing can be done about that, at least for now. What can be done?" asked Karl.

“Why did you dress like that, anyway, if you don't live with gypsies and don't normally count yourself as one?" asked Karl. Zere’maya smiled and curled her arms around her legs.

“You’ve asked me that question over and over again, you’re like the little children.” she commented.

“And every time I’ve asked it you’ve given me a different answer. I love your stories. You’re like Scheherazade.” crooned Karl.

“And you’re nothing like the sultan. I’m not here to save my life, just to pass the time with you. You need a handheld game in the worst way.” replied Zere’maya.

“No, I don’t. I’ve played with all of your games. None are as soft as you. None do the unexpected things you do. I’ve never met anyone like you, ever. I want to know everything you know.” said Karl.

“Now you’re sounding like Zassh.” said Zere’maya.

“I could do worse than learn to speak like Zassh.” said Karl

“You do know she’s in love with you.” said Zere’maya. Karl shook his head.

“I can’t believe that. You keep telling me this and it just won’t make sense. How in the world is Zassh’s behavior anything like a woman in love?”

“I’ll tell you a ghost story, then.” said Zere’maya. “The way I learned that I wasn’t going to be a white girl – or as close as I could come – and when I learned that uncle Balint was someone like me. I was six, or so, when I learned about love between men and women.”

An Adirondack Ghost Story

A long, long time ago – hundreds of years ago now – my father moved us into an old campsite in the Adirondack mountains. People had used the property as a resort for recovering from tuberculosis, and before that the property had been a stop on the Underground Railroad. One of the reasons we could buy the property cheap enough was that if you asked five different local people about the site, you’d get six different, horrible things that happened there – the property was considered tainted, and several times over. It looked fine, though – a little three-season camp in the woods.

I liked our trailer, though, and visited it regularly. We parked it back in the woods, kept it until someone else had a use for it, but that’s another story.

On my way to or from my ‘real house’ I met a beautiful young local girl. We always had a fun time playing together, she was waiting for her husband to take her to New York City and show her the world. She was from around here, had been working for a wealthy family when she and the young man fell in love.

He would be there any day now, and take her off to the city and from there to see the world. But truly, she confided to me, she didn’t mind the delay. She loved her home, and fishing, she had everything she had ever longed for right here – he could stay awhile, she was content with her life and her longing for him – hunger refines the taste, she said.

I told Uncle Balint about my beautiful play friend in the woods, the girl I privately thought well and again too young for marrying anyone, how we had gone fishing, and canoeing, and enjoying her last single days waiting for her love. Uncle Balint was a handsome man who liked to be thought well of by the ladies, so he asked to come meet her. I entertained him with tales of her dark hair, and her feisty manners, and her wood butchery – she was a fine builder and carver.

When I took him out to her clearing she wasn’t there. I invited him to come out with me to the river and ride in her kayak – I was certain she wouldn’t mind. But when we climbed to her canoe cave the boat was rotten to its nails – like it hadn’t been seen for many years. I looked at the river, icy cold and still with bits of snow floating in it and swore that I had been riding in it across the river and into the swamps just the day before.

Uncle Balint asked me gently about her name and her clothing – my friend turned up, he found, in turn of the century news clippings about a young woman who fell pregnant and was murdered in her sleep by her rich lover, though the gun was never found he lived his whole life under a cloud of culpability. This seemed to be impossible behavior from the man she had described, though the pregnancy part, I considered, was not impossible given her blushes. How a woman could be dead sixty years and also teaching me to whittle seemed quite the miracle. How a beautiful name like Shee’vohn could be spelled “Siobhan” made me wonder if my uncle knew how to read properly.

The next day I walked out to see my friend, and I asked her the questions Uncle Balint had asked me to ask her. Had there been other young men, I asked. There had been one who had been very upset that one of “our own” had been taken away to marry, and he had come to the woods and bothered her for a few days, but he had suddenly vanished, and then I had come. There had been no visits from him since I had come, and she was enjoying the peace and quiet. He had come to the forest to have her go away with him, but she was waiting for her beloved, and he was about to show up. She was carrying a burden for someone, and she admitted so – and that the woods and fresh air was fine for a young woman expecting her first baby, she had not told her husband to be, she was hoping that he would simply think her first born early – he was a brooder and would feel bad if he knew. That too could wait, just a few days.

I related this to Uncle Balint, and he showed me how to build a ghost trap – on the way to meeting her, this young man (now very old and very ill) would encounter me. He was curious to see if this ability was to all ghosts, or just the innocent dead – if a man who had blood on his hands would seem to be as real as lovely, raven-haired, laughing Shee’vahn. I drew several pictures of her, and my uncle’s eyes grew soft and wet, and he said it was his honor to guard such a fine young woman, dead though she must be, and more’s the pity. I remember my uncle moping about and acting very peculiar indeed. Shee’vahn thought it very sweet, and though I tried and tried they were never in the same place to meet each other, though my uncle wrote her letters --- letters that grew mushier and more sentimental as time played on.

Then, one morning as I was pinning up the laundry with Uncle Balint, a little old man came up to us. My uncle shivered, but he could not see him. The old man was sad, and bitter, and his face was full of pain.

“I wanted to have a black-haired little girl like you. You remind me of someone, I don’t remember whom.” He said in a cold, angry, mean voice. Most of all, he sounded tired, horribly tired.

“Uncle Balint – he’s here!” I said excitedly.

“I’m dead – he can’t see me, but I can see him. I’m angry with him, though I’m sure I never knew him. I had to give that all up, long ago.” I looked at Uncle Balint, and then at the old man.

“Balint’s in love with Shee’vohn, too, and he’s mad at you for killing her.”

“Everyone thought that all my life. Even my wife thought that. Eventually I got married, I had children, I couldn’t die, I had to live on. I tried to live right, I really tried. He’s”, he gestured at my uncle, “got magic, he could disperse me and end my pain. I’ve lived every day sorry I woke up, and now I have an eternity to be alone. Could he have mercy and end me, finally? “

I turned to Uncle Balint. “He wants you to destroy him. Can you do that? --- You’re so angry with him – would you do that?” At that time I’d seen pig butchering. I had no wish to see a ghost die.

“Why do you deserve mercy?” asked Uncle Balint. I shivered. It would seem that, whether or not he would, that my uncle could, or at least thought he could. I hoped he was bluffing, and at once knew he was not.

“I woke up splattered with her blood. He stole my gun from my night table, and she died in my arms. I knew she was not mine to take, but we loved each other so. I ran from the room, trying to find him, then, I jumped into the river, washing off her blood. I did not want her to be scandalized; I didn’t know she was carrying our child already. She never told me. I couldn’t save her from shame any more than I could protect her life. Every day of that life I’ve lived as the one who murdered her, and who dishonored her.”

“And the man who did kill her?” asked Uncle Balint.

“I never found out who. I can feel my gun calling to me, binding me here. I wish I could give him that gun, give him the shame.” said the old man.

“You say the gun is nearby?” asked Uncle Balint.

”It’s buried under the woodshed, wrapped in tarred fabric.” The old man pointed.
“I can do that for you, old man, if you are telling the truth.” said Uncle Balint after I related the tale.

Uncle Balint and I dug under the woodpile, and it was just as he said – a seven shooter air pistol all coppery bright, wrapped up in newspaper and tarred cloth.

Uncle Balint said some words in Romany and shook his head. “I can’t reach into Hell. She is not the only woman he killed. Others have found him and he has moved on.”

“Take it, I give it to you!” said the old man eagerly. “Just let it no longer be mine, I want no part of her dying!”

Uncle Balint nodded, and stuck the gun into his belt.

At that time Shee’vohn came into the front yard. “Orville, what are you doing way over here? Don’t you remember where we were to meet?” I looked to my friend, and then over to a tall, pink-cheeked boy, well too young for marrying, and watched the two ghosts embrace. I knew better to be going into her clearing for a while. For her “just a few days” had been more than sixty years, and a good deal of hunger could be refined from such a wait.

For all I know they are reuniting still, and if not, he has taken her off to see the world, keeping his promise. Whether or not they have a spirit baby to share their joy I cannot tell you.”

Zere’maya sighed and leaned back on Karl.

“That’s a beautiful ghost story. Do you always see ghosts?” asked Karl. Zere’maya shook her head.

“Only when they need my help. That old man had been lingering on the brink of death for a long time – not alive, not dead. A ghost trap can be enough to pull someone on the edge of dying all the way over. Siobhan was happy, waiting for her love. Uncle Borat thinks it’s likely that I drove away the man who killed her – an innocent child can show up a guilty spirit, I would be like a beacon to some other spirits looking for vengeance. We were two innocent young girls – we attracted each other.” said Zere’maya.

Karl laughed. “A young woman who gave herself to her husband to be and hid her pregnancy wouldn’t be an innocent gypsy woman. Her family honor would be stained.”

“That’s where different cultures come in. Among the local Indians a young woman has a great deal of power choosing and unchoosing her husband. To her background – Indian, French, and some Welsh in there – she was behaving honorably. She probably seduced him, and was protecting him from his culture’s rules by not telling him. He had a perfectly unhappy, proper marriage, but I went way out of my way to meet his grandkids – his children all made it well out of ‘proper life’ – at least one of them married and moved to the Adirondacks. I think that he would have been proud.” said Zere’maya.

“I feel sorry for his children – born outside of love and outside of his choice.” said Karl.

“I think he loved them as he could. And that’s what I mean. Uncle Balint moped around for weeks and never admitted that he could see her right before the end, but he drew pictures of girls who looked just like her. He wanted to protect her and live with her, to be the one who made her safe from danger. But he always drew her in gypsy clothes, just like the ones I wore when I came here, and shortly before he left our home, after helping my father settle in after mother had left us both, he gave me my first full costume. To me dressing this way meant being loved the way Uncle Balint loved Siobhan, the way Uncle Balint loved me, even the way young Orville loved Siobhan.

“Did Uncle Balint ever marry?” asked Karl.

“That’s a hard question to answer. I know he married for children and for honor. I don’t think he ever had a great love. I don’t think women like Siobhan are all that common. Not enough of them to go around.”

"So you are in the position I would be in if I went to Dragon court?" asked Karl. Zere’maya nodded. "Unless of course I can find some way to change your magic so you can become a dragon or human at will, as it would seem your kind should be able to do."

Karl rolled his eyes and made a gruff sound. An uncomfortable pause later, "So what is your best guess as to what happened when you arrived?"

"Whatever should not have happened -- has happened. I don't know what, exactly. I can guess that I was lying there for no more than four days, no less than the morning of the day you found me, based on the color my bruises were when I woke up -- black, fading to green and yellow you tell me. It's hard to be more precise since as badly hurt as I was that should have been enough, even with all my magic and technology.

My Rhee hasn't checked in which implies she's either dead or otherwise unable to come get me. Not that anyone likes to return from a mission in complete failure. Most people who come to Earth – my home world -- fail. Most prefer to die or leave Magic than return. I can be reasonably sure the man I replaced lived out his days -- or, more likely, hours -- in the disaster I was responsible for."

Zere’maya threw out her hands in a helpless gesture. "I am traveling further and further away from the site of whatever happened. I can only be thankful that no matter how I stack it you can't be the person I'm after, nor anyone in the caravan. Helping you just keeps me alive, makes me happy, and feels a little like the job I live to do. I was marked for death the night I overdid it magic-wise, and have simply missed my opportunities ever since. This is another difficult world, where we lose more demons than we bring back. Places like this they send the old ones. I knew the risks. I didn't want to fail, but there was no one even close to my abilities available to send. It was me -- or let magic die alone."

Karl rode along silently with her for a while. "What was your last day like me -- just alive -- like?"

"I've gone over it any number of times. I'm one of the few, I actually knew my would-be rescuer a little. I was in a restaurant reading Rules for Radicals when this fat little old man came up. He looked at my book and just about had a stroke, saying I shouldn't have it and asking me how many other people had it. I told him that it was everywhere, but only fat brained people actually read it. I told him about those books people admire but don't actually read and he looked calmer. I asked him to prove that he knew my book's rules and put it in back of me. If he convinced me, he could have my company for the rest of the day. I didn't have a lot of money," confessed Zere’maya, "and I wasn't offering sex, just the undivided attention of a pretty girl. I had nothing else to do until midnight, when I would fire off my spell.

“He stood there in the middle of the place and recited them from the heart. I was convinced. I would let him buy me things all day." said Zere’maya.

"And what are the demonic rules of conduct?" asked Karl, very interested. Zere’maya laughed. “All right.

“1. Power is what you have *and* what onlookers *and* your opposition thinks you have.”2. Never go outside of your experience. The result is confusion, doubt, and retreat.”3. Wherever possible go outside of the experience of the opposition. Here you want to cause confusion, doubt, and retreat.”4. Make the opposition live up to their own book of rules.”5. Humor is our most potent resource. It is almost impossible to counterattack someone's sense of mirth. Also it unsteadies the opposition who then react to your advantage.”6. A good tactic is one that you enjoy. If you are not having a ball doing it, there is something wrong with the tactic.”7. A tactic that drags on too long becomes a drag. People can sustain enthusiastic interest in any issue for only a limited time, after which it becomes a ritualistic commitment.”8. Keep the pressure on, with different tactics and actions, keep on learning and reaching out and recruit everything that happens over to your side of the understanding.”9. The threat is usually more terrifying than the thing itself.”10. Keep the pressure on. Maintain a constant pressure on the opposition. Sometimes the most effective action is simply failing to leave. The USSR simply wasn't there one morning. Learn from this.”11. If you push a negative hard and deep enough it will break through into its counterside; this is based on the principle that every positive has its negative. Read ‘Copy This!’ for practical details.”12. The price of a successful attack is a constructive alternative. You have to know what to say when your opponent asks you, "If you're so smart, what would you do?"”13. Pick your target, freeze it, personalize it, and polarize it. Don't attack an abstract such as a corporation. Identify a responsible individual and ignore attempts to shift or spread the blame." said Zere’maya, proudly. Karl looked disappointed.

"I thought it might have to do with when you were allowed to kill people or methods of magic or something like that."

"No. Magic is never the same twice. Even the same person visiting the same world can experience magic very differently. It belongs to a place, like light from a light source -- no two alike, and it evolves." said Zere’maya.

"I've worked worlds with no magic I could detect, except for the rogue. That's the nature of wild magic -- and it's very destructive." said Zere’maya.

"What would have happened if your people had decided not to intervene?" asked Karl.

"Mostly, the rogue magician dies. Depends on how many people they will take with them. Mostly, I'm here to prevent a spectacular and particularly disgusting variety of suicide, not that most of the magicians know that. They are mostly like me, then -- if it didn't work there wouldn't be any reason to continue living. It's cutting at the fabric holding all of us together, creating a burn hole where magic itself can unravel."

"So you can assume that the magician died this time?" asked Karl hopefully. Zere’maya shook her head.

"No, not with a skilled practitioner left for dead, an unfindable and probably dead Rhee, and no seeming change. That's what you don't want to find, a very, very bad sign. I've been to worlds to collect the remains of practitioners who died. It feels like springtime -- like something had opened up. Not continuing murk, storm clouds, overcast."

"What is that likely to mean?" asked Karl.

"There's a magic user loose on the planet -- we somehow took on her or his bad-magic recoil -- with a completely bad attitude ready to try something bigger. And if the magic user could hurt me, from what I understand the only species on the planet that tough -- is a dragon."

"Yup. That's really bad." said Karl.

"Would you have any idea who might be rogue magician among the dragons?" asked Zere’maya. Karl shook his head. "I haven't had any contact with the dragons since I got tossed off of the cliff. Every now and then I see one of the servants -- I looked human, they feel sorry for me. I was a sweet little kid for an unscaly untrainable monster." said Karl.

"Oh." replied Zere’maya. That explained why they seemed like they might be Karl's mother, and why they never looked the same way twice. Just checking up on him, maybe a mixture of sympathy and guilt.

"Could one of them have been waiting to meet you, and gone rogue?" asked Zere’maya.

"I really don't think so." said Karl. Zere’maya sighed.

"There's something I have to tell you." She explained about the seeming endless flow of magic, how it would seem it didn't originate in Karl -- just too much, and the mysterious emptying of the bottle implying that his anger and misery were going somewhere -- magic being like electricity, if it can go out, it also is coming in.

"So you are saying that something happened -- someone gave me magic while I was still inside the shell?" asked Karl. Zere’maya nodded.

"It's not much, but it’s the best I have to go on. I freely and willingly chose to serve here, this whole world is too new and too strange to me to not make the most of the rest of my life -- or the rest of my time here." Zere’maya smiled.

"I know you can't cut me, but I can cut you." smiled Karl.

"It would be very difficult, I'd heal quickly, and why would you do it?" asked Zere’maya, surprised.

"I have a very blunt knife, but good enough to cut that little rabbit-skin purse of yours, it's very good for cutting fur -- at least when with you, Zere’maya." said Karl. At the sounds of his words the vardo slowed and stopped. He kissed her gently, then got out of the vardo to tend to the horses and settle the camp down for the night.

Zere’maya smiled. The first time she had heard that joke was in ‘Seven Brides for Seven Brothers’, from the innocent young wife reading to her future sister in-laws. "Some say, too, the custom of parting the bride's hair with the head of a spear was in token their marriages began at first by war and acts of hostility, of which I have spoken more fully in my book of Questions."

She had traveled worlds where marriage was conducted without thought to lovemaking, and it was up to her to imagine what the lives of those outside the Gypsy camp might be, here, where husbands might get their wives sisters, and at their marriages no brides were kissed.

Zere’maya smiled, and began to prepare for Karl's returning.