Chapter 6: Families vs. Relations

“Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.”

“I should have called it something you somehow haven’t to deserve.” - Robert Frost, Death of a Hired Man.


Zere’maya loved walking along the sides of the caravan as they journeyed from place to place. It had become a comfortable routine – tinker around with her devices until she was frustrated (or something else broke), touch Karl to get a fresh juice up, then walk or ride alongside the caravan in the middle of the night, enjoying the good, cool ‘sleeping weather’. The bugs were so intense that everyone who had to be out of the vardos wore veils, men and women alike. For Zere’maya this was great, she could look like everyone else and with no skin exposed if she woke up in the middle of the day she could travel outside.

They had covered hundreds of miles, she was sure, and it certainly wasn’t surprising why. They were walking slowly or camping during the day, walking briskly all night. Zere’maya thought that perhaps this was like the Dead Marches, but places like that were anything but dead.

One of the non-gypsy, working men came up to her. She turned to face him, walking along.
“We’re coming up to Pisania.” He said urgently.
“Well, I guess that means that I’ll sit in my Vardo and peek out the window, as usual. Unless this town is big enough so I can walk by myself discretely.” Zere’maya countered pleasantly.

The man shook his head. “You have been called to turn back rots from the feet of first the boys and men who were not gypsies, then the gypsy boys, then finally the men. Rotten feet – you can heal them and without hurt, without pain.”

“That’s a big exaggeration, but with a lot less pain, and yes. Given the possibility of leaving their toes in their boots or letting me heal them, the men will now allow me to help them. I’m glad. It gives me something else to do besides play ‘E.T., phone home’ with my equipment and amuse the children. They’ve heard all my stories, I’m glad for being useful. I painted some of the decorations, too. I am well on my way to going stir crazy. Do you have a boil, or something?”

The man paused. He seemed slow-witted, and was either embarrassed or struggling to find words. Zere’maya made encouraging motions and walked alongside him, giving him time to collect his thoughts.

There were actually towns of people living out in the swamps, mostly up on poles, sometimes on boats. She hadn’t been allowed to be seen by the townspeople yet, not directly. Each member of the caravan had a pass – explaining where she had come from would be easier in the more prosperous areas. Currently she and Karl had a bed down in the forge – Karl’s wagon had gotten so shiny and new looking while the others had continued to wear that it stood out. Her magic – her life, Zere’maya knew – was now seeping into the forge.

The man finally answered “You could tattoo me, maybe? Or fix my old tattoo?” Zere’maya thought.

“I can look. But be careful, I might have the opposite effect and pull your tattoo off.” The man nodded heavily. He bared his arm, showing letters going down his arm. Scars had obliterated many of them, and the marks were blurred and distorted.

“I’m going to try touching your arm, if you’re up to the possibility of pain and that I might blur your marks more, maybe even remove them.” Said Zere’maya. She folded her hands inside her headcovering and lightly touched outside of the tattoo, brushing her fingers inwards.

“How does that feel?” she asked.
“It stings, a bit. Wanna touch it?” he asked. She brushed a finger lightly along the mark. He growled.
“Kind of thought so. Your tattoo has metals in it – it’ll probably swell where I touched you directly, and we’ll see tomorrow if your body will absorb some of the inks now. I can take tattoos off, I don’t think I can make them better.” Said Zere’maya. He shrugged.
“Touch it all then. “He replied. There was urgency in his voice. Zere’maya shrugged and laid her palm over the skin, just above the surface, brushing against his hairs. He groaned and grabbed her wrist pressing her palm into him. Zere’maya could feel tiny pricks against her own skin as the pigment lifted out. He brushed her hand over the marks. They continued to walk. Zere’maya pondered if she should call for help. His skin was beginning to sweat, and perhaps some fluids from under the skin again was making his skin tacky, a bit slip. They walked along. He licked his lips. The result was not speech, more like a tuneless steam-whistle sound rising in pitch like an engine about to explode. Then he breathed in again, raspy. Then he spoke.

“I was born where the earth rises up against people, sweeps over their homes. It’s hard to breathe inside when the air is full of earth, where it creeps in where you can’t block the wind. Parents lie down with their children and we pretend to sleep so they will go away. There isn’t much to do in a sandstorm, sometimes we get bored, we write on each other like this.” He drew a breath.

“I know, I had friends with l-o-v-e on one hand, h-a-t-e on the other. And variations. D-o-n’-t on the right, s-t-o-p on the left. R-o-s-e on one th-o-r-n on the other. It’s the cold that did it, snowed in. “ she talked softly, trying to make eye contact.
“Your hair is so beautiful. Can I touch it? We’re coming to a city now. A city of women.” He continued. All right, this was creepy. She tried to pull her hand free.
“If you are thinking about what I think you are, Karl is protective of me, I may not be a gypsy woman but you can’t just grab me, I’m a person, not a tool. Karl?” She called out.
“You’re so tiny, you could walk under my arm.” He said, finally looking her in the face, smiling – and Zere’maya pulled away.

Karl was there; she walked into him. He must have been coming up behind her. He put his arms around her. “Enough already. She’s not superstrong like me. You scared her.”

“I’m all right, that was just unnerving.”

“Haro’s a bit unnerving to all of us. We’re all going to be harder to get along with these next few days. We’re coming up to the first outlying city. More like a university than a town, and Haro’s never had a woman. He wasn’t trying to take advantage of you, he wants to be as appealing as he can be when we get to Pisan.”

“He’s going to need bandages right now. He held my hand into his skin, he’s going to be bleeding. Please explain to the men that I didn’t harm in on purpose, he grabbed me and held me to him.” Replied Zere’maya.

“Nothing goes unobserved in a caravan. You’re fine. Your reputation is fine. I’m the only man in the caravan who can overpower Haro, it took me some time to hear and get to you.”

Haro was mumbling apologies. “But I can see that my marks are going to be better now. Thank you healer.”

Zere’maya and Karl thanked him back and Zere’maya was returned to her vardo, up in front. Zassh was already there, her deep eyes filled with concern.

“I’m all right, I’m all right.” Zere’maya made a little gesture in the air.

“Sooner or later Haro’s going to pick a fight with the wrong townie and we’ll never know why he never got back to us.” Said Zassh.

“I should be thinking of finding a way to control someone like him, but the only reason I’m here and un-meddled with is because people like Haro can as well.” Said Zere’maya.

“And people like me, if you want to consider me a person.” Said Karl. Zassh frowned.

“You are so a person. You’re just magical. And you’ll most likely bodyguard Haro so he won’t get into trouble with the townies, won’t you, Karl?” said Zassh. Karl frowned.

“I can’t bodyguard both of them at once, Zere’maya and Haro. The gypsy men would still not touch her if Mother Faa and her Rom hadn’t insisted that for healing it was worth it. I can’t make them watch over Haro. I think you’re still stuck in the vardo for the time being. The town people – they often don’t like gypsies much. And they like power. You may not think you have much but I can see a townful of women all wanting to be made young again or something equally urgent, and ----“

“I get it.” Zere’maya said glumly. “I’m here to do powerful magic and I can’t be allowed out without a keeper.”

“Well—“ Zassh shrugged. It was the cute little “W-eell” made popular by Elizabeth Montgomery in in Bewitched. Of all the experiences she hadn’t thought would be useful, watching reruns was topmost. Good thing there was no real Prime Directive. Zere’maya shrugged. Zassh continued

“Aruin and Inchkin can now walk along, even, a little. They are so happy, even with a little bit of mobility. I can carry them to the care vardo and they can use it like anyone else can. They still don’t trust you, very little trust anyway but dislocated hips could be fixed without losing what made them whole while together.”

“Maybe I can do something with freckles to put patterns on.” Said Zere’maya. Karl brightened. “And I could try making up a tattoo machine. If you can lighten marks I can make new ones. The men will be happy.”

“I could raise scar tissue. That’s basically overdone growth. Make raised lines. Would that help?” included Zere’maya. She understood her own human need to give pleasure, to serve, to be needed. With nothing but time and what little magic she could pull from this resistant world, she could try to use keliod scars to raise tattoos, create patterns that could be felt as well as seen.

The three of them pondered the situation together. Zere’maya thought, how like these people. No one thinking of punishing Haro for his actions, right to thinking about lifting his burden. She could already imagine standing between Karl and Zassh, seeing to Haro’s tattoos after he was healed up somewhat, doing what she could for him. He did not have to steal her services.

There was a knock on the vardo door, and Mother Faa came in though the back door. She nodded politely to Karl. “You have to leave here. I have matters that don’t concern you.” She said. There was a note in what she said that implied privacy. Karl nodded and slipped out the front door.

Zere’maya shivered. Mother Faa felt like power – a whole lot of power. Following her was Inchin and Aruin’s mother Ulaanaa. She looked grim – as she generally did when she wasn’t smirking.

Despite what seemed to Zere’maya as a perpetually nasty attitude topped only by her daughter Aruin, the woman had slipped easily into gypsy woman society. Zere’maya had struggled with resentment.

Mother Faa stared at Ulaanaa. “I’m here because my daughters have made me come.” She said finally. “Children here – they can control their parents. I don’t like it but I have no home to go to. You know I got thrown out.” She said in a monotone. Zere’maya shrugged.

“I know very little. Most women won’t talk to me and would rather not look at me. I talk to Mother Faa, to Zassh, and to Karl, who is kind enough to protect me. The men let me help them but don’t stay around to talk. You seem to have many friends here. I often see you laughing with other women, and when I come, no one will talk any more.”

“I told you that this wouldn’t work.” Said Ulaana to Mother Faa. Mother Faa shrugged. Zere’maya looked pleadingly to Zassh.

“I’m staying out of it.” Said Zassh.

“Great. You all enjoy knowing about something I don’t know about. I’m happy for you. Would you pass me my knitting basket? We can ride along and I can make up some socks as we go. I’m comfortable on the charcoal pile. If you want to, you can spread out some blankets and recline as we go. I have a music device, that little bar thing. If you press the end you can hear some music. You’re welcome to the forge wagon.” Said Zere’maya. Mother Faa passed her knitting basket. Zere’maya began casting on, working in the round.

Sometimes the best way to communicate is to listen. Zassh looked out the window, occasionally making faces at Zere’maya and Ulaana. Now and then muttering “You two are impossible.” Under her breath or sighing windily. When that didn’t work she looked pleadingly at Mother Faa, who gazed back at her stonily. Zere’maya could tell that Zassh had been told to keep her tongue, to not fill the empty area. Zere’maya kept knitting along.

“What are those needles?” asked Ulaanaa.

“I knit socks and gloves and mittens on two circulars. My father taught me this way. Where I came from socks were cheap, not worth making for the time it took but it was always nice to know I had something handmade on my skin. I always bring my needles, it’s nice to have something familiar to do with your mind and your hands.” Said Zere’maya.

“No, I mean, what are they? Glass?”

“No, they’re just cheap, replaceable plastic needles with a plastic cord between.” Zere’maya held them up to show.

Ulaanaa took the project, looked it over carefully. Zere’maya was beginning to notice a smell from her. She remained quiet.

“That’s too large for a sock.” She said.

“Right now it is. I will felt the sock, I don’t much care for knitted looks, but I do like soft fuzzy felt.” Said Zere’maya. Was Ulaanaa here to run her down in front of Mother Faa and Zassh? Zere’maya felt vaguely betrayed. She took back the needles and returned to making Karl’s sock.

“You’re a healer and you have nothing better to do than make socks?” asked Ulaanaa. Zere’maya shrugged.

“What should I be doing?” she asked gently. There was another long pause.

“I can’t have any more children.” Said Ulaana grimly.

“I’m so sorry to hear that.” Said Zere’maya.

“My body was ripped by the girls. I was shunned. I sent them away. My children stayed away from me. My body – the boy after that died. I wasn’t allowed to come home. When the caravan came around again I left with them. My daughters tell me you hurt them.” The last part was almost a bark.

“They tell the truth. I should have many tools that I don’t. I’m sorry for hurting your daughters.”

Zassh had been looking from one to another. She went back to looking out the window. Mother Faa was staring at Ulaanaa. If nothing else Ulaanaa was brave, Zere’maya would never have openly and sullenly sulked in front of a being so very dangerous.

“Normally when I travel I have medical care with me for the most common problems people have. This is a way for me to survive in other communities. Someone probably robbed me – I don’t have the wagon I usually travel in, I don’t have my equipment. All I do have are my own healing abilities and my knowledge and a few tools. I may be able to help you with little pain. Not none, I’m afraid. Like with anything that touches me, if I touch you – you will mend. This will take some time and won’t be painless, but Mother Faa can see to it that I and Karl and a chaperone – so that your reputation will be maintained – can be together while you mend. While I touch you – you will not need to eat or to drink. You can wash and expect to be clean. That I can give you right away, and with that healing can begin.”

“If you can heal so well --- “ Ulaanaa paused “Why do you look like you do?”

“Looking funny isn’t an injury. Freckles and frizzy hair is how I’m supposed to look. Besides which, I have an injury that will take time to heal. Karl gets to eat and drink for me, and sometimes for your daughters – I don’t think he would mind taking on eating and drinking for you.” Said Zere’maya.

Zassh laughed. “I really don’t think he’d mind, no. He loves to eat!” Mother Faa actually smiled.

And so began Zere’maya’s medical practice. Zassh found Zere’maya later that day sitting by a pond, skimming rocks. “You have this great power, and you spend your time knitting… And telling stories… And skipping rocks.” Said Zassh. Zere’maya shrugged.

“We’re stopped for a few hours. Here’s a pond. Here are flat rocks. Hey! Here’s my arm! Why not?” Said Zere’maya. She tossed Zassh a stone.

“I think if I had your abilities I’d want to heal everyone sick, be famous, do some great good and have everyone know it was me.” Said Zassh.

“I come from an advanced civilization.” Said Zere’maya. “I am having real problems with the ability, but we’ve pretty much eliminated death and old age. You want to know why? The rock-skipping out there is ~choice~.” Said Zere’maya.

“No, really!” said Zassh. Zere’maya shook her head.
“I don’t know if I can help you ‘get it’, but there are people out there who think about things differently than here, just like Gypsies here think about things differently than Georgio do. Maybe better, maybe worse, but for certain different. Let me give you an example.

When I was your age I was in a world that had just completed two huge world wars. There were high-status jobs, but no job had the fear – and respect – and distrust – and power over other people than the people who spent their lives learning how to solve conflicts that would have been solved with violence using money and debate. If you can’t solve your conflicts with money, if you can’t solve them with talking, then the physical force begins – points of view supported with brute force.

Attorneys, courts, the legal system and government, all with potent symbolism. The gavel being a symbol of justice, also the scales. Allowing that in some parts of the world men still got married by forcibly dragging women out of their houses, well, a hammer is a symbol of a better way.” Zere’maya took a breath and looked at Zassh.

“I know about that. And you know that nothing like that exists among us. We have courts, of course, but there isn’t even a worry that we would beat on each other. No gypsy man is tempted to beat his wife or his children. The feeling hearing about this is disgust and disbelief. Women’s honor – disgrace – holds a tighter grip than ever a fist could. “ replied Zassh.

“Out there are huge schools whose main pursuit is the maintenance of beauty. A Preservationist is like an Attorney in my culture. We hadn’t reached the point where we understood that ecology was as important inside human society as it was to the world around us. The preservation of society is an essential condition of any plans an individual may want to realize by any action whatever.”

“You do realize that you’re talking to a gypsy girl. Look around you.” Said Zassh.

“I am, and you can’t see it, you’re in it. In my time we had the Amish, people thought of them as historical re-enactors who maintained the quaint and they couldn’t see the plastic. The Amish loved plastic. They preferred that it look like what they already had, though. They didn’t wear cotton. Head to toe in no-iron polyester. What they wanted wasn’t to be quaint, what they wanted was life centered around an individual-valuing society. Specifically a child-valuing society.”

“We’re no different.” Said Zassh.

“Neither are the people out there.” Zere’maya gave a grand gesture.

“So the grand universe isn’t filled with spacemen like in your Star Trek and Star Wars stories. Your grand universe is run by scullery maids who hold as totems of their power sacred dustmops.” Replied Zassh.

“Yep, that’s pretty much it.“ said Zere’maya.

“And this isn’t a story, that’s really how it is?” asked Zassh. “That’s so depressing. No great sweeping epics. Great cosmic powers so that you can refine your argyle sock technique.”

Zere’maya’s face puckered. “I’m going to regret telling you this.” She sighed. “See all around you? Life, sunrise, sunset, people’s laughter, bugs making more little bugs to bite us the next day? That’s what a preservationist does. I’ve remembered some more of why I come here, why I do this, why I’m a great wizard, or a mad scientist, or a sacred scullery maid or whatnot. Why I do the Gandalf thing. It’s for the same reason Gandalf did it, and why the rebels did it on the middle three Star Wars movies. Someone is likely to mess all of this up. Maybe for power, maybe for glory, but stupidly, risking it all. We go into places where life has been destroyed and do what we can to set it right. We go into places where someone has developed the ability to turn all you see into the great salt flats – only without air as well as water, as well as shelter.”

Zassh’s head ripped around. “Someone could destroy – all of this?”

“In an instant. My chess buddy – he’s from Siberia. He was responsible for the Tunguska explosion. If we hadn’t stepped in to mute the effect he would have ripped off the atmosphere and blown it into space. Yes, people can be that messy. That’s why I’m here. That’s why when I’m not sleeping or healing someone – or skipping rocks – I’m tinkering with my tools and trying to remember.”

“I come from a society where people who clean up messes have the highest respect of all. And I’m one of those people and I’m trying to remember what I need to do.” Zere’maya was crying again. Zassh reached out and took her hand. It tingled, like stepping into cold running water.

“I’ll help you. I’ll learn how to hold that power.” Zassh felt another kind of tingle running up her arms.

“If you can get permission from Mother Faa, I’ll teach you. I know that she’s a great power in her own right.” Said Zere’maya. Zassh laughed.

“That’s not our way, but I need to learn your ways. I’ll ask her permission. Then we’ll begin.”

Thus began the partnership of Zassh and Zere’maya.

The tattooed man thought they were marvelous, because somewhere along the line they'd found a man who wanted to have horns, like a satyr or faun. Zassh had seen pictures of people with horns, and he was very, very pleased with the additional hairiness she'd been able to coax from his body, and even his reshaped skull -- far from horns, but he claimed they were buds, coming in. Mother Faa thought the deliberate changes were hysterically funny -- the making of freaks to satisfy the capricious human heart, she thought.

Karl was increasingly quiet. The roads when Zere’maya had joined them were little more than cattle tracks. Sometimes the Gypsy men had needed to cut brush to get the caravans through. Now they were in traveled enough areas where the roads had ruts – sometimes the pan baskets hit them as the vardos moved along. He guided them over the roads, roads Mother Faa said her people had followed since ten generations had come and gone.

Zere’maya told the same stories over and over again that her father had told her of how the Gypsy people had come to be -- that long, long ago they had lived in a long, narrow land and had served their king faithfully. But one day an evil king had come to the land and he made war on the Gypsy people, and forced them to war on others. They had agreed to fight, but had fled in the middle of the night, traveling far, traveling wide, never to seek comfort under a king nor fight any monarch's battles for him ever again, to wander free, and bear the cost of the wheel way forevermore. The longer they traveled, the more the children asked for the same, increasingly small cluster of stories. What they did, though, was ask more questions – what happened to Mork, miss? Was he continuing to grow younger? What was the evil king’s name, and was he left-handed like Zere’maya and Karl were? Why were they left-handed? Could they hear Zere’maya’s father tell the tales, because certainly Zere’maya had forgotten some of the best parts?

Zere’maya had laughed and said that her father had taught her that on a world under a sun so far away that the star she was born under could not even be seen in Mother Faa's sky. Mother Faa had replied, in all seriousness, how Zere’maya could know for sure that the evil king's sun had also been her own, perhaps her uncle’s search for the Gypsy homeland was right, but simply not far enough.

She had told that story nearly every night since that first retelling, with urgent calls and interruptions from the children so that she would remember every bit of it. There was no shortening of it for the sake of something more urgent to do – it was human of them – as children tend to do everywhere.

Mother Faa like Zere’maya did not need a lot of sleep. One night, late, Zere’maya had asked her whether or not she minded traveling with a sort of vampire. Mother Faa had replied that there had to be special allowances in the case of a Gypsy vampire and Zere’maya had laid her head down on her lap and sobbed. When she raised her head Mother Faa was gone.

Mother Faa had also occasionally been strange about Karl -- usually a raised eyebrow and silence, but once, when Zere’maya had asked about whether Mother Faa was worried about her young granddaughter (who obviously was sweet on Karl) traveling with him, she had replied that she was not worried about Karl seducing Zassh, she hoped he would not get careless and eat her.

Zassh had given Mother Faa such a stern look Zere’maya had dropped the subject.

The Gypsy men and boys -- all but the very youngest -- had their own lives running parallel to the Gypsy women and girls, and the young children ran freely and innocently from one group to the other. Zere’maya rarely saw Karl except from a distance during the day, and at night when she shared his vardo and his bed.

That had gotten even more uncomfortable. At first she had slept with Karl in his vardo. Then she had been moved to Inchkin and Aruin’s vardo, with Zassh as chaperone. Then moved back to Karl’s vardo, then when that was so saturated with her power that the copper roof had begun returning to a freshly hammered brilliant color, they were moved to the forge. First just Karl and Zere’maya, Zere’maya carefully protected from direct contact with any bare iron, then Ulaanaa and chaperone, four hammocks set up so that Zere’maya could get bare skin contact with both Karl and Ulaanaa, swinging along over Karl’s charcoal pile. First the old quilt that had covered the charcoal was removed and replaced with a worn (and very smelly) horse blanket. Now with entering the city days away Mother Faa wanted them moved again, the forge now looking too shiny, too toy-like next to the travel worn rest of the caravan.

Zassh was fixing up and cleaning up the most ill kept and travel worn vardo of the caravan. Zere’maya was pleased that they weren’t being bunked in the wash wagon – or in the fresh produce wagon, trading a first step into the potato bin for their former first step into the charcoal pile.

Ulaanaa was putting up fairly well with her nothing by mouth life, allowing her raw skin to heal. Once she was healed Zere’maya was willing to operate to close her fistulas, but was not looking forward to this. There was no one trained to do anesthesia. She had worked with what little pain relief she had on Ulaanaa’s daughters only to save their lives. She was remembering more of her training – but the idea of training someone to use ether, nitrous oxide or chloroform on someone she was rebuilding did not seem safely possible. Zere’maya could now remember making chloroform in a lab setting to prepare for just this sort of predicament, but doing so while pretending to be Robinson Crusoe and actually going through with this were two different situations. Zere’maya could not help but remember that Ulaanaa was stoic – not one but two impacted labors and still among the living – but Zere’maya was hoping that her healing touch leak would accomplish some of what she probably would have to do while some other person held her down, screaming. It did not help her now that the community she came from found human beings to be a rare and exotic species. Most sentient beings weren’t even humanoid-ish.


Some facts of life were just the same. As on her world the caravan brought news, sold a few items, provided a show, and moved on before the locals got tired of them. The preparations were everywhere as the people in the caravan made ready to visit a small, outlying city, bringing novel goods, rare services, and entertainment.

The days were getting warmer, and they were traveling upstream, towards the other side of a valley, and along a great riverbed. More and more often she would turn her ankle on a strange stone.

Complaining, she held one up to Karl. For the first time he looked angry.

"That's no stone, that's a dragon shell." he responded, then rode on ahead leaving Zere’maya standing by herself. She turned the eggshell over in her hands, and then looked up.

"A dragon world. Cool." She shaded her eyes, looking up to see if she could see any. Zassh threw her long, tan arm around her shoulders.

"Don't worry, you'll see them up there, soon. We're about a week outside of range. First you'll see the big blacks, then we'll see the babies as we get close to the nesting area."

Zassh gave her a big, sloppy kiss on the cheek as she skipped on ahead. "And thanks to you we might even not have to deal with Karl sulking for the next few weeks! Yeehah!".

Zere’maya looked at the shell, then ahead to Karl, puzzled. Why would dragons make Karl sulk? Karl in a bad temper? It was hard to imagine such a thing.

She looked ahead to Zassh, tall and rangy, dancing along. For a Gypsy woman she was almost marriageable age, that is, about fifteen. She was actually taller than Karl and it might be, on this world, and she would have to get used to the idea of young teens being married.

Of all the teens, though, she was the only one who spent much time with Karl. If anything he should be with the older teen boys and young men, but Karl still spent much of his day with the women and children – and the children unreservedly adored him.

Zere’maya reflected. It should hurt, at least a little to think of Karl having a relationship with a future, with another human being, actually. Even if she hadn't been so old Zere’maya could never really be his wife, bear his children. She tried to feel rejected. She couldn't. All of a sudden Jacqueline popped into her mind and Zere’maya choked up. Again, so puzzling. Her dream life in her hands and she found herself fighting back melancholy, and the longer she was away from home the more intense her feelings of loss.

She knew she had only been here a few weeks, but home – her real home – she was finding herself not thinking about her home for minutes at a time, just blending in here, another outcast traveling with a Gypsy tribe.

"Do you think that Karl will join the band someday?" Zere’maya asked one of the other young women, one of the married ones. The woman sneered. Zere’maya stared, not understanding why that was called for. She whispered to Ulaana, who was coming into the band, and the two of them covered their mouths with their hands and laughed. Zere’maya frowned. That did hurt. What had she said? What was the big unshared joke?

Mother Faa leaned out of her vardo and shared a few low words with the women. They looked ashamed. Both of them came up to her separately and asked for her forgiveness, but offered no explanation.

That evening she walked outside of the campsite with Karl, who actually looked unhappy.

"The other women are acting really strange." said Zere’maya, leaning into his shoulder. Karl cuddled her into his lap.

"Women are strange. If it took this long for you to see the strangeness in this group of them, you've done really well." He kissed her, lingering, his hands wrapping around her back.

"You are acting strange, too. Why do eggshells make you sad? Even dragon eggshells? What is it, did dragons eat your whole village or something?"

Karl looked up into the sky. Zere’maya followed his gaze.

"My parents are dragons." he replied.

"No!" Zere’maya put her face to his skin, tasting him. "You are a mammal. Are you kidding -- I've -- I've been with you for months and you seriously think I'm going to believe you're a reptile?"

Karl looked glum. "You can believe it or not, it's still the truth. I was born from an egg. The royalty of this world are dragons that can take human form if they want to. I was born human. The only thing dragon like about me is that I'm nearly invulnerable. You're the only being that has ever hurt me, Zere’maya. And plenty of others have tried."

Karl sighed. "Of course none of the women of the caravan would have me. I don't even know if I could ever marry a human woman, or if I'd hurt her by accident. You're tough -- and you like me, you really, really like me." He was crying now, and so was Zere’maya.

She ran her hands over his hair, buried them in his curls.

"I don't know. I've never heard of another human baby born in a shell. The dragons won't have me, they think of me as horribly deformed. I have no magic -- none. I ride with the Gypsies because the Gypsies let me. No one wants me in the world, no one but you."

Zere’maya put her hand on his chest. "I don't feel anything different about you. You just feel like a man." She reached deeper, like she reached into Aruin and Inchkin to heal them. She frowned. She thought she did, but it was like in a dream when you want to move your legs -- but you can't. Nothing stopped her she just -- couldn't.

"That's very odd." she said. "If it's any comfort, you have magic, there's no other way I know of that you could stop me from even wanting to go deeper into you. You." she paused, looking deep into his eyes "Have. Magic. I just can't influence it, or control it."

"Can you imagine what it's like to want to fly, to want it with all your heart, but you can't?" Asked Karl.

Zere’maya looked into the sky. "In my adopted home, on Thea, I can fly. On some of the worlds I visit I can fly. I usually can't, of course, that's not a human thing to do but on some worlds the Magic works that way." She frowned again.

"I've never tried to fly here, actually." She tried to, or to be more accurate, tried to try to. Again, like a dream, she could imagine it but the actual will to do it wasn't inside of her.

"On my home world magic was something you could want to do, could think through, but didn't work the way it works in most places." She told Karl. “It's as if the intention didn't take hold as well there as in most other places. This is very different." They looked up into the sky together. There was a dark shape high above them, and to the best of Zere’maya's knowledge there were no planes or gliders. That was a cloud shape, a bird, or a dragon. It was at the very edge of the horizon, and soon drifted off. Zere’maya could not be sure what she saw.

"Are we near a guild house, or a college of magic, or a respected magic using family?" asked Zere’maya. "It's time for me to compare notes, to consult my peers. They may very well have put the wards in place for a reason I can't know, and I'm not in the business of changing the rules on my host planes, just finding and dealing with people who potentially create catastrophes."

"Magic users here who aren’t Gypsies tend to be dragons in human form." said Karl sadly. I've been magicked over more times than I can count. Nor are they likely to take you as a serious magic user since you aren't a dragon yourself."

Zere’maya laughed. "I've been a dragon on other worlds, does that count?" Karl shook his head, laughing.

"I do rather like you as a woman. Not that I'd know what to do with you if you were a dragon, like I'm supposed to be but not." He sighed, looking off to the mountains.

"All the were-dragons are born to the great dragon queens. I was an egg for the longest time, waiting my turn to hatch. I could hear everything, but like in a dream. Until my turn came, when the dragon king tired of being in human form to control the people, wanted to fly as dragons again. My egg was chosen -- I don't know why or how -- and the great forges were fired, and my egg was put into the flames. The humans were given gifts – and great feasts -- and everyone celebrated -- the birth of a new dragon to rule the people. My egg baked and baked.

Finally, when it burned all the way through with a great gush of water I fell through, into the fire. Not a dragon hatchling, just a tiny, squalling baby, squealing in the coals. They reached in, they pulled me out, I had no burns on me, just as a dragon would have -- but otherwise I was completely human. I couldn't eat raw meat. I needed a wet nurse. For a while they raised me, maybe hoping that I would show signs of my dragon nature, but in time the court grew tired of me. I was moved out of sight, forgotten bit by bit.

Eventually I was thrown out of Dragon Mountain. Even being tossed off the side of a cliff couldn’t do more than terrify me. Mother Faa’s caravan was nearby. They took me for pity’s sake, the same reason they took Haro.” Karl sighed.

“The same reason they took me.” Said Zere’maya softly.

“I am told that another egg was placed in the furnace and my replacement now holds power. It hardly concerns me now. Sometimes I want to learn to change so that I can bear down on them and burn their castles down, sometimes I want to bleed -- to lose what little dragon nature I have and forget, become an ordinary man, grow old, and die among the humans. Appearing to be one for so long you do wish to be, especially when there seems to be no way to be what you know," with that he punched the ground, "you know you are. I wish I could be a dragon but if I can't, I wish that I could forget that I ever was."

Zere’maya thought for a moment. "Would you want to take the place of whomever's in charge?" She asked. Karl shook his head.

"I was in the egg when I experienced most of dragon life. I haven't been invited back as a man. I know I want to fly, I don't really know what ruling would be like."

"You like leading the caravan, dancing in the center, having the last word." replied Zere’maya.

Karl laughed. "When everyone is going in the same direction it doesn't matter much who rides first."

Zere’maya thought. "You do realize that if you did become a dragon you couldn't ride with the caravan."

"If Mother Faa would let me I'd ~~pull~~ the caravan. Of course I want to be human, too." Karl spread his fingers wide. "I want everything!"

Zere’maya looked serious. “I just realized something.” She said. “I want to go home. The job here isn’t complete, I don’t know if I’ve missed it or failed, but more and more I’m dreaming of being back where I came from. Back in my home world. Normally I’m thinking about my job, trying to stay alive, working, I don’t have time to think of Ora and Thea, my twin home planets. Jobs have lasted longer. But – I’m done. It’s not that I don’t like you, or this world, I’m just so homesick. I don’t think I’ve ever been homesick in my life. Now I am.”

Chapter 5: The Storyteller

"To be nobody but yourself in a world that wants you to be anyone but yourself is the hardest thing in the world." - e e cummings

A long time later Zeremaya felt Karl shaking her.

“I can’t imagine how you could sleep on a pile of charcoal.” He commented.

“For the discomfort? That’s nothing. I haven’t had anything to eat or drink in two weeks. I’m beyond famished, beyond thirsty. I’d be tempted to try except feeling my body reject what I put in it would be worse than what I’m feeling now.” Replied Zeremaya. Karl offered his bare skin. Zeremaya leaned into him thankfully.

“It’s amazing how strong you are. I’ve only tired you once and that was emergency level, all-stops draining for hours and hours. Do you even feel it when I replenish myself from you?” asked Zeremaya.

“That time, the healing – that hurt. I think that was the first time in my life that I felt what pain was. Since then? It feels good -- like I can move something that I slept on funny. I rather wish you would pull out more.” Said Karl. Zeremaya smiled. “I can use you like a big ‘ol pile of fuel and do more here. But I don’t think you came here to feed me.” She made an enquiring gesture.

“Actually, while you were healing the twins, you tend to ramble on and tell stories. They can’t tell them, but have related bits and pieces of the tales you have told them over time. People are very confused and want you to tell the stories yourself.” Said Karl. Zeremaya shrugged.

“I told the stories because most of the time what I have to do to their bodies is uncomfortable to painful – I’m trying to distract them. It’s hard on both of us, so it helps us pass the time. There would be a real market for handheld games in this world, but the games I brought are still broken.” Said Zeremaya.

“I’ll take a big hit later just for the sake of Aruin and Inchkin if you have something that would make their lives easier. In the meantime you are called to the counsil.”

Oh, great, thought Zeremaya. At least she didn’t have to worry if her stories were appropriate for children – gypsy children were considered pure. On the other hand she had loved trashy tv when she was the twins’ age. They had enjoyed her retelling (and embellishing and explaining) Knight Rider plots among other gems of television storytelling.

She figured she would let the audience guide her narrative. That generally worked. Among magicians she wasn’t considered a great power, but what she was known for what finding something to do that no one could have predicted; a lot of that was based on the legends and great tales she was raised on, and that they didn’t know.

Zeremaya went back to Karl’s vardo to put on the clothes laid out for her -- she was wearing a green and silver threaded skirt and blouse this time – she wondered whose. People had been making use of her “fix by touching” abilities, though no doubt with plenty of work afterwards to restore whuzo – the gypsy equivilant of kosher. It would seem that this magical ability to restore newness was worth risk from her touch. It was nice to be needed, anyway.

Karl marched her out, into the circle of light by the fire. The people parted as if touching either one of them would make their arms die then fall off. Many of the parent age gypsies held back barely contained sneers – at which of them Zeremaya didn’t know.

Well, that made it easier. With a reputation that bad she couldn’t do anything to make the situation worse

Zerema made a dramitic swirl of her skirts and sat facing the friendliest part of the crowd – the children. She had mentally labeled them the “Karli army of the dark” because these children looked up to him so – he was seemingly endlessly patient and being the blacksmith had a job children in particular found fascinating – the loud sounds, the explosions of steam, the actual items he made.

“What sort of tale would you like me to tell? She asked. Several gypsy men behind her picked up instruments – drums, pipes, violins, mandolins. Zeremaya felt her shoulders relax. This she had heard, smelled before.

“While you debate I’ll tell one of the oldest stories I know – only told by my mother’s family tribe as far as I know, so for me it’s special.

“When the Gypsies were the lords of their own country” as told by Zere’maya.

“Once a long time ago, long before anyone born now the people we know as the Gypsies, all of them in their different tribes live in a land that belonged to them. Most people think that we have always wandered, but long ago we had our own place to wander, traveling back and forth along a long, narrow, mountainous land between two great oceans of salt water. Many other kinds of people lived there but some of us were settled, and some of us moved around. It was a time of peace and prosperity in a land that was always capable of feeding everyone , for the trees and plants that grew there came up year after year, and the weaving plants could be used to make wonderful things. Iron was as precious as rare gold, and only the most noble used it, but stone there could be used as iron can here. We had wise kings to guide us, and all was well for the Gypsy people and the others who shared their lands intil a new, vicious people came down from the North, enslaving the Gypsies and putting them to the task of being warriors.

The gypsies would not fight them, and would not fight for them, their hearts were filled with dispair.

Secretly, the kings and tribal leaders made plans to leave their land – better to die on the endless oceans than to have their skills and knowledge, and so they wove boats of reeds and collected them, disgusing them from their prison guards as roofs, as beds, whatever they could persuade them, making preparations to throw themselves into the ocean, to die there or be cast on some new land, for what was happening to the people there was worse than death – they were losing their hearts – better to die with their hearts than live without them.

So, they prayed, and when their great, dark Goddess told them that the time was right they hooked their woven boats together, and great connected pads of Gypsy ships floated away. The time was terrible on the water – all the animals died and people despaired of reaching land and resolved themselves to their fate. But as time was diminishing they saw land, and washed up on the first of many islands they would take, traveling ever East, spreading, looking for the land where they could wander free and free to be who they are, the Gypsy people.”

Zeremaya folded her hands. “Of the tales of us as warrior people, and of the second great migration there are many, but my uncle had heard of the Middle American people – the Maya – and always wanted to meet some, to see if they were the people who stayed on our long yearned for, far to the West, Narrow Land where we all have come from, long ago.” She smiled. The gypsy children fidgeted.

“We’ve heard that story many times. Tell us a story we haven’t heard.” Said an older girl, obviously chosen as a spokesperson for all of them. Zeremaya sighed. She was tempted to dig into her memories of Saturday morning cartoons, but she knew what the older people wanted to hear – what did the people she had been living with for half her lifetime believe about the world, how people worked, and what was she, Zeremaya, capable of as she lived among them?

“How the great Magic came to be” Zere’maya began.

A long, long time ago there were great, powerful beings, beings who were not capable of harming each other they were so powerful, but they were childlike – they still could bicker and they had no parents to teach them – they had to solve their own problems.

What they did was make small beings, and put a little of themselves into each one – so that each being was connected to the others like a necklace of beads is each connected to the other through their unseen string. Each being got a little bit of the powerful beings’ strengths and a little bit of their restless, unguided natures. The different beings’ groups would fight with each other and in their winning and losing the greater beings found amusement for their lonely, uncontented lives.

So this went on for a long, long time. At some point the attention of the great beings wandered off, or they died – any way they haven’t been seen for a long, long time but we have found the remains of their cities, and their writings, and know something about how they put a little bit of themselves into those other beings. Some of our people wish we could find them to ask them why they would do this, others just shudder and are glad that they seem to be gone for good, and hope that they are never known again. Some think that God himself became appalled and ended their pointless, hubris-driven lives, I certainly don’t know where they went. I would not go looking for them and if anyone of you thought you were near one I would advise turning around and going the other way.

The more of the people with little bits of these powerful beings are together, the stronger each one of them becomes. The more bits of these powerful beings one person has, the stronger they are. But when there is someone born who has bits of two different beings, beings that had warred against each other, the magic becomes unstable, and much, much more powerful. What these people can do with their urges – especially their anger – makes them a danger to themselves and others.

People like me have bits of more than one of these beings in our blood. We were saved from hurting ourselves – and the people around us – by others who go looking for great surges of power to dampen them, to offer to teach them, to contain them – but if all fails to end them before they and their power. It’s a sad duty when it gets to this point but failing that duty –“ Zeremaya sighed.

Zere’maya looked left, looked right, and glared. The children pulled in their breaths. The effect was complete.
“Such is the risk of going to help one of our own.” Finished Zere’maya, holding up a warning finger.

“The moral of this story is that children are to be helped, however dangerous they may be. Adults are here to help the children, even to the point of laying down our lives if we must, and at last, desperate terrible need protecting all the children by ending the life of one.”

Zeremaya laid her hands on her thighs and leaned forward. “Questions?”

“Yes. That explains how you left, but not how you became a vampire.” Said a boy. Zeremaya laughed.

“Because people gossip and when gossiping tales become bigger. I told Karl that I was a Strigoi Vii – an energy sucker. I had drained enough energy from him to remain alive myself, to leave Karl and then return to finding the person I was to find. He brought me here instead. I had taken from him, though in need; he had the right by the law I was living under to expect that I would work for him. I’m more or less bound by the rules of the genies to him. What I am is closer to a Jinn or Genie than a vampire.

Do you want to know how I became a Strigoi Vii? “ There was a general murmer of agreement from the children, a rumbling from their parents, and dead silence from those older.

“There were legends that people in my family could shapeshift – my relations included powerful shamans and I felt drives inside myself needed explained. Though my father had raised me I sought out my mother’s people. I was not welcomed with grace – and I was young. I created enough bad magic so the people I have been around sent someone to collect me. I went to a place of power – great magical power. They sent someone who had the ability you know as Strigoi Vii – who could absorb large amounts of power, drain by touch. I had no training and a bad temper.” Zeremaya shrugged “Also no good raising on how to control myself. I threw a tantrum and when confronted by my collector I declared that I could do his job better than he could. I got his abilities, and the magic went out of control. I was grabbed by a woman trying to save me from what she thought was a hurricane wind, and I was pulled by his leadline into the universe. I have been working his job and my own ever since.”

“But you are a vampire?”
“I’m not dead. See – I have bones – and middle fingers. In fact, I have a daughter, Iscah, who is a powerful dhampir – who joined me in my work when she grew up. We don’t yet know what magic her children will bring with them.” Concluded Zeremaya.

There was silence. “It’s hard to be afraid of a mother who loves her daughter, even if she is Strigoi Vii.” Said a very small girl.

“She has power to be careful of, but she means no harm. She has abilities that are inherently evil, but what she does with them is good. She is a knife.” Said Karl.

At this point one of the men stepped in and began to play; his fellows joining him. The adults still stayed far enough from Zeremaya and Karl as if their breath would hurt them, and Zeremaya noticed that a leather-backed cloth from Karl’s vardo was placed where both of them were seated.

Zeremaya felt a pang of pain. She was two, maybe three weeks from her home and loves and life. Karl had grown up like this, among but not of. She shrunk back a little – maybe not so that everyone could see, but inside.

Zash came up to her.
“You know, you are right at the border between child and woman. You are going to have to bear with the fact that my presence is polluting. Children can’t be – they are always pure. Women --- “ Zeremaya gave a little hand motion.

“Leaders are almost like children. They also have to explore out further. If I want to lead one day I have to learn to live with one shoulder to the dark.” Said Zash.

“How different from being a preacher’s family, where you have to be just a little bit more righteous than everyone else.” Said Zere’maya. Zash shrugged.

“You left everyone who ever knew you, everyone you ever could have known is hundreds of years dead. Why?”

“Same reasons as most people coming of age. Some run from a past and other are hoping to make a different future for themselves. Of course I didn’t know when I left my father that he’d not see me again, ever, but that didn’t seem important at the time. I don’t think he ever quite knew what to do with me. There wasn’t really any culture, as such, that he could show me besides what I could see for myself so he read me lots of gypsy stuff.” Zere’maya laughed bitterly.”I spent much of my time with my father learning about Gypsy culture and much of my time among gypsies being a living show and tell project. After I wasn’t amusing, visiting my mother’s family, everyone kind of ignored me. Not cruelly, but there really wasn’t any more place for me to fit in there than there would be here. I thought that if I could force out of them which woman was my mother by use of magic – I’d fit in. Either place, no matter what I did or did not do – no more trace of me left behind than a fish leaves on water. Even as a black sheep, or a bad example I would have liked to count for something. One of the good points of having a head injury is that the past is so sharp. I don’t remember now, I can feel,” at that Zere’maya drummed her fist into her stomach,”How it was when I could not wheedle or trick or intimidate anyone into admitting that they knew who really was my mother. It hurts all over again, as if I was eighteen all over again, burning for answers.”

“Immortal vampire monster wants her mommy.” Said Zash. Zere’maya made a face at her. “I ~am~ a mommy, not that I really remember much about her but – “ Zere’maya’s fists beat down on her legs “as much as I do know, even though she is an adult I know she still needs me. I would never, never leave or abandon my Iscah as my mother left me. Never.”

Zash look at her differently “You don’t intend to stay with us, do you?”

“I once wanted this. I don’t fit here any more. I left that world knowing I would never fit in and went on with my life. Even though I can’t remember much of it I know getting back to my work is the worthier part. I once would have gladly laid down and died if I could only have done so as one of a party like this. I would have done anything to live this life. But I know I moved on, sad, but no longer trying. Somewhere there’s a way of life for me to get back to. This is wonderful, like the late fulfilling of all my childhood fantasies and dearest hopes. But I’m not a child anymore. I didn’t get to do this. I want to find out what I did, indeed, find myself able to do.”

Zash looked amused. “So you gig is, I take it – to save the world. Over and over again.”

Zere’maya looked contemplative . “I think that’s a side effect. I come and go from places like a fish (or that’s how it goes when I’m doing my job well) – but when I come into anyone’s life – big change.”

“And you can tell me all that without remembering anything about your life.” Zash’s tone was teasing.

“Yes. I ~~know~~ it’s a really strong hunch anyway.” Said Zere’maya with certainty.

“I’m recording what I remember now about being a child, because I know that I will forget again. People who recover from head injuries find that the past fades back to its proper place. And if I don’t recover, well, maybe someone will take my recorder to my daughter someday, who will want to know.”

Zash’s face washed over with thoughtfulness. “You’re talking about a person you just have a name for, that you can’t remember parenting, you can’t remember her face or even what her voice sounds like, but you think about her over and over again, every day of your life.”

Zash looked over to Zere’maya. The old vampire had fallen asleep. In many ways though Zere’maya acted like she was her age and looked like she was her mother’s age, her habits were that of someone very old indeed.

I’m going to have to get you back home somehow, thought Zash, and when Karl came walking by them again she had him pick up her frail friend and carry her back to his vardo. In all of that she never so much as shifted. Carrying Zere’maya was like moving a very small child, or someone who had been completely fatigued.

Who would have believed that the first demon she would meet would be so – vulnerable?

Chapter 4: Agreements

“The human race divides itself politically into those who want to be controlled, and those who have no such desire.” - Heinlein


The girls were still not happy about it but with Mother Faa there and insisting, Zeremaya got to look at their bodies, see what the problems were. Zeremaya had already known that this was an awkward, difficult joining at best.

Aruin was more or less complete, though her pelvis was rotated forward in such a way that walking was not possible, with neither of the legs developed as they should be.

Inchkin was much more complicated. The two girls had only one belly button. One girl went from head to pelvis to legs. The other girl ended below her ribs. There were folds and redundancies of skin where the second girl’s back met the first girl’s pubic bone that Zeremaya had no way to identify without stroking them and asking which twin felt sensation, and their relationship with her was strained at best.

Inchkin dangled downward, if Aruin could have stood or walked that is. Zeremaya was uncertain how much she could learn from examining them below their join without heavy technology. What she had that still worked could tell her more than her abilities alone could, but not anything about the ethics of what she was being asked to do – make whole, separate children from a physical child and a half. Rather like herself there was no role in society for two people who shared one body, not much different from having one body that was stretched between two cultures. Being a living, breathing collectible shown to others for whatever they would gain from a gander didn’t count. Are we worth more than the lives we live, wondered Zere’maya.

Zeremaya asked first one then the other to wiggle her toes. It was no wonder they did not want to be more closely examined – a fairly easy cut would yield one complete sister – and one dead sister, without kidneys, bladder, probably more.

She thanked them, then walked outside to think. In her own Earth a pair like that would have been separated with the loss of the parasite a tragic need. In anywhere else they would have been cared for and left together, with the minimum done to maintain health, for conjoineds rarely wish to be separated as adults. Humans (as such) were very rare; other kinds of thinking were present in the universe and she had met far stranger than the little girls.

She walked back in.

“As I don’t know how much longer I’ll be here I’m going to give you all my opinion. That may ruddy well kill you, and I don’t know if my answers will be right for you.

Choice number three – what I think we would have done on Earth. You two are separated. Since we don’t have dialysis machines here, you’d have to sleep every night with someone with my healing abilities skin to skin or, if it’s possible, every night we could use technology – which I’d have to teach you and would be very risky – or magic to shunt you two back together every night. If Inchkin doesn’t do either she’ll die of uremia – one of the more pleasant ways to die, I’m told. I’m sure you’ve been told about this choice.

Choice number two – what I think would be done where I’ve been the past twenty years. You’d both be allowed to grow up. You’d be encouraged to learn to live upside down, and encouraged to consider giving up eating at all and most drinking since there’d be such a high risk of you breathing in food and fluids. We’d keep you as small as we could so that your sister could carry you as easily as possible, with the least deformation of her back.

Choice number one – what I think should be done. This is a human’s world and you two need to look as much as possible like two people to everyone else. We deform both of you so that, with the help of a corset like mine, your heads are at a Y to your legs, and who controls the legs is kept quiet.

You’ll wear out from misuse this last way. But – one of you hanging upside down and not eating won’t work here. And if we take you to two, any mishaps and one of you dies. It’s the most freakish choice, but it’s also most fair.”

Inchkin and Aruin were silent. As Gypsy children they would be given more weight to speak than most children in other societies. Mother Faa sat quietly. Zassh picked at a hangnail, looked up, looked over, sighed.

Finally Zassh spoke. “If I were one of only two or three living representatives of such a rare and usually deadly difference, I'd want to be left intact, especially if I could be sure to be perfect if someone changed me. Inchkin and Aruin’s bodies are something special; what you are telling us is that if you change them they will be less than they are now. Why would we want to do that?”

Zeremaya was stunned. “Then why are all the children expecting that I will make them whole and perfect?”

“Because we have someone like you in every town, sometimes several. They would love to experiment on the twins, make something of them that they are not, without any proof to us that they would not in fact kill them in the attempt. I wanted to throw my arms around you and love you when you told me frankly that you knew changing them in itself could kill them.” Said Zassh. Inchkin nodded.

“That’s fair.” Said Zeremaya. “As a favor to me could you encourage the children not to badger me with “When? When? When?” questions then? I can tell you that the people I’ve lived among tend to leave people as they are – changing them only when there is great need. There wouldn’t even be this conversation – except – “ Zeremaya hesitated, “With quality of life issues. Right now the girls are small, but they are likely to be much bigger than any of we women could carry for personal care. I would respectfully suggest that I may be able to help them to walk. I don’t have the ability to change them outside of their will. They are now healthy little girls, and about to go through a growth spurt to compensate for years of not being able to eat properly.”

Aruin gave a big smile “If you mean I could hug my baby and walk around like other kids, that’s great!” Inchkin nodded. I’ll always think of you as ‘booger eater’ thought Zeremaya, smiling.

“That’s the other reason why twins would be separated – weird relationships between the twins because of conjoinment. Inchkin really isn’t a baby ---“

“It’s just a game we play!” interrupted Aruin. Zeremaya looked at Inchkin. She smiled – very cute on that round, slapped-cheeked face. “Life among the monoheads.” She completed.

“I could take you where I come from and you could meet several different sorts of dicephalus intelligences.” Said Zeremaya. “Some species are two-headed like you are. Others join for long periods of time sharing a body while they complete a pregnancy – they tie together and stay together until birth. One intelligent species grows buds. Although you are a very uncommon human being there are worlds where “monoheadedness” is a physical defect.”

“If we were to go to one of those worlds would we be better off walking or buttshuffling?” asked Inkchin.

“You might find your own way to do it. You are also assuming that you’d be around people who walk. I have shoes for parties out there that have fancy, decorated bottoms – because on those worlds my feet are used more like hands are. After all, legs have a longer reach than arms do.”

“Cool!” came a mutual response. Zassh was covering a smile with her hands. Mother Faa was unreadable, but Zeremaya was beginning to get used to that.

“Tell you what.” Said Zeremaya. “Why don’t the two of you work on becoming the first joined-twin contortionists that I have ever heard of. You tell me where you need your bodies to change. I probably will have to tell you that I can’t do for you what you’d like, but if we handle each day as it comes.

“Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.” Cut in Inchkin.

"Yes, that’s right – we’ll work together on this. You two will have to deal with the plain fact that having you two walk is what I believe is right for you while I do what you tell me is right for you. Deal?” she held out a hand. First Inchkin, then Aruin shook solemnly.

“And if you get sneaky or make us make promises that you know we don’t mean, we will send our respects through our big brother Karl, who is stronger than anyone.” Said Aruin.

“Deal. Oh.” Zeremaya’s face fell “Um. Your mother – what will she want for you?” She looked, uneasy at Mother Faa’s face. No change. Then Zash’s.

“Mother will tell you that we are becoming fat. Like you.” Said Inchkin gleefully.

“She’s a bad baby, never mind her.” Said Aruin.

“Ah.” Said Zeremaya.

Zeremaya looked around the vardo, trying to gain a handle on the moment. Zassh and Mother Faa clearly were not about to help her out. They might very well take the side of two little girls, who whatever else they were – were also bright children, and were old hands at dealing with medical types. Ah-hhhhhh.

“Given that I have never cared for a pair of human beings like you before, and that you have had a great deal of experience with us ‘monoheads’ maybe we could try to start this all over. Zassh since you know all three of us, would you please make introductions?” asked Zeremaya.

Zassh started.

“Please allow Zassh a few moments to compose her thoughts.” Interjected Mother Faa, who actually had a faint wash of a smile pass over her face.

“For real?” asked Zassh.

“It is unethical to treat children with unusual anatomies according to a different set of hospitality traditions than other children.” Said Zeremaya, trying to hold her face deadpan.

“Very well then. Inchkin and Aruin of the Spine of the World, yourselves are guests of the People of the Burning Stars – the ones for whom the mulos took pity and under the mercy of our Black Sarah and of Abraham, our Shuvanis made a path for us to walk the other worlds. This world is gripped in ice but the Earth was gripped by those with frozen hearts – so these ten generations we travel star paths, making new lives. Inchkin and Aruin are born to Ulaana who gave them to us for the good of the children, whose father is a man of no consequence.” Zassh gazed firmly at the two girls, who had the look of someone who had seen formal introductions but had not yet been the subject of that honor themselves.

“Zeremaya, you were found by Karl, also a guest of the People of the Burning Stars, who found you wounded and understanding you to be a healer, brought you here to tend to the critical needs of Inchkin and Aruin – who we must save as we can even as one of our own. Your father is a good man of many peoples, and your time is two generations from The Devouring – you are both poshrat – with a Gypsy mother – and bound to another’s curse, belonging to the Deathless until you can fulfill a rash oath, made in anger. Neither Gypsy nor Gajo, neither Mulo nor alive, you remain until your God has mercy on you or until you fulfill what you have created.”

Zeremaya nodded. “I would prefer didikai as I was not raised as a gypsy, but, yes. I don’t think I’ll complain as much about being somewhere in my forties by appearance if in actual time there have been more like three hundred years have passed on my homeworld. I did not know. There hasn’t been any reason to return.”

“Been busy?” asked Inkchin.

“You’d be surprised. It’s a big universe out there and if you’re possibly immortal one thing leads to another and you’re surprised at how late it is.” Replied Zeremaya.

“But you said you left when you’re Zassh’s age – you’re more close to Mother Faa than Zassh and three hundred years isn’t forever.” Said Inchkin.

“Every day I spend among others of my kind – I’m like them. Every day is a repeat of the day before, I heal to whatever I was, forever. Add in the best care of my body and there you have it – life in good health, never-ending. But – if I do something to try to lift my curse or if I go to a world where time moves, my life plays out. I’m two weeks and change older. Every day I wake up is one day I become older. Add in any damage I do to my body – “ Zeremaya shrugged.

“Every good deed has its just punishment. Currently I’m as mortal as any women, plus I’m injured.”

“I don’t know why you’d leave health and safety to come here.” Said Zassh. Zeremaya shook her head.

“I’m still addled enough that I don’t know why I’m here or what I was supposed to be doing. Every now and then I get – glimpses – and sometimes I remember more. I think I’m someone who acts to protect, mediate and represent people on worlds like this so that people on other worlds don’t meddle and muck about. But don’t quote me on that. This is just my hunch; my best guess. I really don’t know.”

Zeremaya left much later, bemused that the twins had found much to console her about rather than she going to help them. They were right, though – she was the one who was different from what she had been, while they were as they had been – healed up from an injury people with ordinary anatomy could have.

She spent some time walking beside the moving vardos – a slow, pleasant, easy stride. Well, how many gypsy hearts must have looked upwards and longed for freedom? How wonderful that some of them found a road away and out.

Here, she knew, there were few people. Most of the roads were open, most campsites not near others. Unlike her home there were already pokeberry plants, hazels and willows to weave, and, obviously, iron. Her heart seemed to burst – how wonderful that people her own family had grieved might be dead, indeed, but dead with children, wandering on – and maybe even between strange worlds no one in the Giorgio world knew existed when she had left.

Too quickly she found her feet dragging and she slowed her step, letting each wagon pass her until she reached Karl’s forge. She swung up easily – she could not forget how to climb a hay wagon, no matter how many hundreds of years she may have lived.

Sarah Mary and Elvis Presley – another gypsy/Indian person like her. Maybe she would meet him in the next town. She felt giddy, like she herself had escaped something.

She lay back on the pile of charcoal, covered with a blanket. Karl’s vardo was so heavy it rocked more than the others. Now that she was used to traveling, traveling with the most sway pleased her. It was like traveling under the hay when she was a girl, the grass her father cut for her pony.

Princess, she thought. It had been many years since she had thought of her pony. Beautiful pinto, feathers that would pride a stallion – she looked like the grumpy gelding. Maybe she would make friends with Puzzle and be able to ride beside from time to time.

“S’weird, Puzzle. I know I’m not the kid I was, but it feels like – everything’s been made right again. I get to be here, and go to school maybe, and become the queer gypsy woman doctor like everyone thought I was going to be. All of a sudden I don’t feel like a grandmother, I don’t feel like I’m in mid-life. I feel like maybe my whole life off of Earth and somewhere else maybe -- maybe just isn’t important. I’ll ---- “she twitched, falling asleep. In her dream Puzzle, her pony, had tried to bite her. Zere’maya kicked at the pony’s face, and in her dream went riding off, only her pony was Princess, and she was even younger, fourteen, riding bareback in the fields next to her house, back home, back on Earth.

Motherhood, and grandmotherhood faded into the background and away.

Chapter 3: The Caravan

“Nobody has ever before asked the nuclear family to live all by itself in a box the way we do. With no relatives, no support, we've put it in an impossible situation.” - Margaret Mead


She walked backwards in her mind, step, step, step into the black, into sleep. Two guides appeared – one slender and tall, and black, like oiled leather. His face and hands were mutilated and she recognized him as Mr. Nobody – the strange, Satyr-like being she kept longing for. The other guide was very young, barely out of childhood. Her hair was strange. . . part of it was like Mr. Nobody’s blue-black and coarse. There were patches of off-black fuzz, and parts or the fuzzy sections were intershot with silver. There was an area the size of a dime where her hair was pure white, and Zeremaya knew that there were others. Her face was grained, like wood, dark and light, one hand warm almond, the other deep black. The strange creature was pregnant, and her nose was sharp, like a beak.

“Mother, mother” the girl called out. “Father and I are looking, looking. You must forget us. We’ll drive you away if we have to. Trust us, we will remember that you love us for you, you have to give yourself to this world.” The man and his daughter (Zeremaya knew in the dream that this was true) began to pick up rocks and throw them at her. They hurt, and Zeremaya began to run in bewilderment. She was running along a river bed, she turned her ankle on a rock and fell down, cutting her hands and her knee. In her dream her healing magic worked correctly, and as she could in real life, she got up, smoothed over her burning knees and began to fly away from them.

Karl was running alongside where she flew. He was crying, stumbling. Zeremaya flew along beside him and tried to pull him into the air, to show him that he could fly as easily as she could. She waved her arms and the wind began to beat around them, but as hard as she tried she could not lift Karl. Karl did not fly, though he could run, and could cry.

Zeremaya turned at right angles to the path, and dropped into another setting. They were sitting outside a French stone castle, on a world where there was a huge planet in the sky. That world was dry and red. Hers was green, and small, as if she and Mr. Nobody-girl were sitting on the top of a dome – the horizon was close enough so that she could see the curve of the world, see the sweep of the sky.

“I’m only eighteen years old. This hasn’t happened yet.” Zeremaya told the girl.

“I really shouldn’t be talking to you, you need to go back. You’re hurt and you have to conserve your strength. Please go away, or I’ll have to make you and that will hurt you. I don’t want to have to hurt you, Mom.” The strange girl looked into the flames of the campfire, tried to look anywhere but at her.

Zeremaya held up her arms pleadingly. “If you are my daughter, you are also a mother, I can see that. Could you just leave your child? Just give me a clue, and I’ll go. I love you so much, I need to know where you are and that we are still a family.”

The girl was crying now. “Look, I just came because Jackie is beside herself worrying about you. I’m pregnant, you can see that, I couldn’t be on a world where time stops, even for a little while.

We all love you, we’re fighting like mad to get you back, but you have to assimilate to survive. Do you remember any of your Earth books? You’re on a Yellow planet, like Earth is – well, was. When you left it. You used to have perfect recall. Think about The King in Yellow. You are inside a story like Robert Chambers just like Earth was-is and we have not forgotten you and you have to wait for us to get you. You can’t win this one, Mom – you can only tear yourself to pieces trying. Now please, I don’t want to have to push you away, please, oh please leave, and be safe, and we love you!”

Zeremaya walked over to the girl, tried to kiss her but like in dreams she passed right through her. Zeremaya sighed and stroked her hair.

“Which way is the way out?” she asked the girl. She looked around. “That way.” The girl pointed. There was a black void in the sky as if the whole scene was on a computer screen and the screen had been broken.

Zeremaya walked into the black. She trusted Mr. Nobody-girl, who was perhaps her daughter.

She woke up, spooned between the twins and Karl. Zash was looking at her.

“Did you feel – did I do anything that affected magic?” Zeremaya asked her. Zash opened up her mouth to speak, but as she did the corners of her mouth reach back, touched, and Zash fell over, twitching.

Zeremaya gasped, and woke up again. She looked around more carefully this time. She touched her tongue to the back of her hand, felt the softness. She pinched a fold of the soft flesh between her fingers, then gently pinched her own tongue the same way.

“I am having the most disturbing nightmares.” Said Zeremaya. Zash nodded. “You were whimpering in your sleep. Karl tells me that you often break into sweats, cry, and struggle when he lies with you.”

“I’ve not remembered any nightmares before this one. I’m still all gooseflesh.”

“You’re two weeks away from a really bad physical injury and who knows what sort of magical damage. It’s probably a sign of health that you can remember your dreams.” Said Zash.

“At this point I could stand not to remember dreams like that.” Said Zeremaya. “They’re already fading away. Which is a blessing.”

The door to the vardo had been left open but was covered by a bug net. Zeremaya shuddered, thinking about the quantity and variety if insects that would be hunting her if she was on the other side of the curtain.

The quality of light and life was changing. The little girls were starting to stir. One of them rolled over and sneered.

“So, it’s the great Georgio magic –doctor.”

“My goodness, for a little georgio kid you’ve got a fresh mouth.” Replied Zeremaya.

“I’m a little gypsy girl, not a georgio.”

“Were you so little when you started traveling?” asked Zeremaya. Zash smiled, rolled her eyes.

“I’ve always been here, and I’m a little gypsy, don’t forget that. And I don’t want your dirty magic. Which one of us do you want to kill, anyway?” she scolded.

“I nearly died myself trying to save you and for that matter my mother is Gypsy, for real. She left to marry someone, then went back to her tribe when I was about your age.” Said Zeremaya.

“As if that would ever happen.” She rolled her eyes.

“S’true. And it’s also true that I’m here to help you feel better, but I don’t want to do anything that Karl and Zash don’t want me to do. And I’m sure neither Karl nor Zash would want you to come to harm. Either of you. “

“I hate you. I hate lying Georgios who are rounders and sleep with nice Gypsy men and besides, Karl belongs to Zash. She should cut your throat for what you are doing. You don’t fool me. You’re going to get all hyped up and magical and even if you’ve got Karl and Zash fooled don’t forget that I know you’re just a lying, no trusting georgio rounder.” She ran her tongue over her lips again.

“Rounder, Rounder. “ a deep breath again. “Rounder.” Bitter and halfsmiling, still looking more satisfied, she curled up and from time to time as the two women talked the young girl repeated the word, muffled but clear enough.

“Am I sleeping in your bed, Zash?” asked Zeremaya.

“Me? Oh, no!” Zash reassured her. “Karl has his own vardo, which does belong to my grandmother, Mother Faa. In time I’ll be the women’s leader, so perhaps in that sense you’re in my vardo, but -----“ Zash’s voice trailed off, embarrassed.

“Karl is not Gypsy, no more than the twins are. I would be surprised if you could marry Karl under any situation. What is he, a hostage?” Sometimes unfavored children of powerful people were foisted off on traveling troupes.—babysit our embarrassment, and we’ll let you travel free.

Zash shrugged. “Not the usual, but sort of. Kind of. You’ll have to ask Mother Faa.”

“I had a dream, where I was talking to my daughter – well, it’s possible that I was talking to my daughter. Maybe. I’m so fuddled I can’t tell.” Said Zeremaya.

Zash shook her head. “There’s problems with the magic on this planet. We’ve got a whole system of wards and balances up, you’d have a hard time getting through a message on Georgio magic. And if you’d used Gypsy magic I would know. I’m just beginning my training but knowing when someone’s trying something, sending something long-range – a good quarter of the people in the caravan here would be banging on the side of the Vardo, trying to find out what was going on.” She finished.

The other sister, they realized, was awake.

“Doesn’t she look gross snoring with her mouth open? Sometimes she drools on me. Sometimes I put a booger in her mouth.” Zeremaya and Zash began to giggle.

“Hey, anything hanging open like that.” The little girl shrugged. Karl groaned and shifted “What’s so funny?” He asked. Then,

“I’m starved and parched. Let’s find someone who made something to eat.”

“You should be starved and parched. You’re a pregnant man, eating for three!” teased Zash. Zeremaya smoothed her skirts.

“All right then. I’ll go with you, at least for a little while. I need some real sleep in your Vardo, Karl.”

They peeked out the back door. The caravan was moving, had been for a while. Though they were waking up for “breakfast” it was apparently at least noon and more likely afternoon.
Again Zeremaya had lost a block of time, given up in healing magic but at least this time she was not as depleted – she was merely ready for bed, wretchedly, wrung-out tired.

The Zeremaya saw the horses. The caravan behind her had a quad pulling it, four beautifully matched horses bigger than most Gypsy horses, Drum sized. Karl grinned

“That’s my own forge they are pulling, that’s why we have our four biggest stallions pulling it.” Zeremaya looked out to one side. “And those horses?”

“Some of the geldings, we use them in the shows. That one, he can do counting tricks. He’s dreadful with his temper, though. Don’t get near him – he has me as a friend, my best friend Bondar – that’s the big black on the right – and his abilities to raise money – or the gypsies would sell him for sure, and he’d be fed to the farmer’s dogs for sure if that happened.”

Zeremaya looked over the stallion Karl referred to as his “best friend”. He was part heavy draft horse, certainly, but was a beautiful Drum horse even so.

“Yeah. He’s a bit too black almost a blagdon: solid color with white splashed up from underneath-- for Rom tastes, but he’s so smart, and good natured, and check out that mane and feathers!” Karl let out a long whistle. Bandar shook his mane and knickered to Karl.

“The grumpy gelding – he’s got just beautiful coloring, perfect pinto coloring and feathering all the way to his knees.” Remarked Zeremaya.

“Beauty is as beauty does. Still, I’d stay out of biting range.” Said Karl firmly. “Puzzle is a puzzle. No one knows how he does his counting trick, as smart as he is he is just a soreheaded horse.”

“What does Zash ride?” asked Zeremaya. The pride in Karl’s voice made his pitch waver. “She chose wonderfully. She has the most wonderful six year old little girl, smart, beautiful, she came up when her mother was giving birth and the filly just slid into her arms. The two have been close, so close for years – what a wonderful horse relationship!”

The vardos were rolling along slowly, one by one after each other in the deeply rutted road. Zere’maya stepped off the moving vardo to walk alongside. Never lose the knack, it’s like riding a bicycle, she thought smugly to herself. Karl rolled off and walked beside her, striding with her so that they fell back very slowly.

“Aruin and Inchin ride almost at the front. The forge wagon’s heavy; it keeps the space and smooths out the ride for the others, also the wheels are double as well as the horses so we pack down the road if it’s dusty. My vardo rides second to last, right ahead of the chicken wagon. I can hop you up and into a good many of the wagons, show you around.”

Karl exchanged a quick word with one of the men; he unhitched one of the ponies walking alongside and picked Zere’maya up and put her on it. Zere’maya frowned.

“I don’t know how I just noticed, but you are much stronger than you look.” She commented. Karl froze. "Maybe even stronger than a man. Are you a magical being, like me?” Karl swept his eyes up the vardo they were walking past. The cloud that had gone over his face passed away so quickly Zere’maya was left doubting what she had seen.

“Look at the ironwork, that’s one of my very first caravans I smithed!” Zeremaya looked it over carefully. “That’s some innovative metalwork, that must have taken you some man-hours ----“ she sighed, ran her hand over her hammered earring. “I always wanted to try something that large.”

“Well, my mentor thought I had the time, and better to practice on a roof than on someone’s pots and pans. I hammered every single one of those copper shingles one by one, working to make each one of them just a little different, just a little better. You can lay copper tiles down in just about any plan, so I started with the hole in Mother Faa’s vardo roof, and the project grew – until what you see there. The locals don’t tend to realize that the whole roof is copper – but in the beginning when I was making it, the whole roof glowed -- iridescent pinks, oranges and reds mixed in runny rivulets with brassy yellows, blues, greens and purples. Eventually it turned potato brown, as you can see, and now it’s “mossing up” with more and more streaks of green each year.” Karl sighed, remembering. “From there I moved to other metals, and much of the eighteen wagons came from these hands.”

Zere’maya looked up and down the vardo row. “Is copper very cheap?” she asked. Karl shook his head. “When I say ‘came from these hands’ I mean that I took every bit of copper from the rock it came from.”

“How is that possible?” asked Zere’maya.

“I can’t be burned. Pretty much can’t be hurt. None of the gases do anything to me either, anymore than having my head under water – no damage, none at all.” Admitted Karl. Zere’maya gave a low whistle.

“Man, what a great ability for someone who can smith like you can!” said Zere’maya admiringly. “As long as you have access to ores and fuel, you can make metallic copper – and other metals, I’m sure.”

“Yup. It’s great, not being able to be hurt.” Said Karl. He sounded very unsure of this, though.

Zere’maya took a closer look at the vardos. Although they looked like wood many of them had metal plates over their surfaces, and iron weavings – much lighter and more durable than any wood could have been.

“The gypsies tolerate me better because I can pretty much “make money”. When I came here I was just a little kid – couldn’t be hurt meant that I couldn’t be punished. I’d run wild and done just as I pleased my whole life. A lot of them will remember for their whole lives how I was before I understood why I needed to behave. I’m not too dumb, Zere’maya. Once I knew I had to please people I put my mind to it. Of the people our age Zassh is the only one that even talks to me, really. And the adults – well, you have to be accepted by your agemates before you can be an adult. If I was a Gypsy man I would have been married and had a family years ago.”

“So – you could leave?” asked Zere’maya. “I did. Okay, I did try really hard to get back in. But out is possible. There are other people, there’s no way a caravan this big is performing for other Gypsies.”

“That’s true.” Said Karl. “You haven’t met the people we perform with. Do you have any ideas about who you were sent to help, how they live, or what the problem is yet?” he asked. Zere’maya shook her head.

“My hunch is that the person who goes doesn’t usually know. My nature should be pulling me to the problem – a whole flow of energy going towards one point would do that, but I’m not being pulled anywhere. I’m afraid whatever wasn’t supposed to happen – went down. I lost. Game over, game pieces still on the board, left and lonely. As to the other, it’s a good thing I take notes of what I do remember every night. I have at least some record of what I did recall before even that little bit gets swallowed up. I’m more and more forgetting that I’m not eighteen, that I have a daughter who is older than that. The funny part is that I don’t remember forgetting, I don’t feel like anything is missing, then I listen to my recorder and go ‘huh!’ – I’m glad that I can remember after meeting you fairly well.” Karl laughed.

“Some days of my life I wouldn’t mind not remembering – hey, here’s a vardo you’ll like!” He swung aboard, Zere’maya following.

The inside was clean – operating room clean – and strangely cool. Zere’maya could see the large water basins, portholes that looked like saddles with openings in the middle, and each with a long, slender hose. The other side had a bench with foot rests on each side of a line of holes, with bowls of sawdust in them.

“I’ve never seen a Gypsy portable bathroom before.” She mused. “Why do you need one?”

“Most of the places around here have very shallow topsoil, so both sorts of waste are very valuable. We don’t mix, so we end up at the next farmhouse with clean fertilizer on the one side, “Karl nodded towards the saddles with the hoses, “And we have a worm bin under the other which we change from the outside, leaving worm compost. At the front is a whole-body shower, not as good as washing in running water but sometimes here that isn’t possible. We do collect rainwater on the roof so it’s almost whuzo – and better than dirty skin.” Zeremaya looked it over. “And the roof comes off so you can run the whole vardo under water when you have the opportunity – which being gypsies you would do anyway, we’re ‘people who smell of water’.”

“Just like anywhere,” Karl continued, “we have our ways of keeping separate that which should be separate – cleaning clothes away from cleaning dishes. We have a very nice women’s needs vardo, just for women since we’re a fairly large caravan.”

“Well, since I can’t eat I don’t imagine I will need it, I’ll take your word for that.” Said Zere’maya. She slipped out the vardo, back onto her pony. Karl dropped out and they resumed walking slower than the caravan, slipping back by just moving forward a little less than the group. Each family vardo Karl pointed out in turn, telling where it was made and by whom. Each vardo had its own story, made by nongypsy crafters here. Zere’maya noted that there were other women blacksmiths on the planet.
“I, on my own world – I never met another woman who worked with metal with the exception of women who made jewelry.” She brushed her ears again. “I made these earrings, my uncle taught me mostly, and other smiths outside the community. I’d only met a few even women jewelry makers, and honestly, I would have preferred to work the big irons.” She sighed regretfully. “Of course, cold iron and fire would quickly end all my problems. I can’t risk getting hit by a spark, even, not as I am.” Karl gave her a sympathetic look.

“I can imagine that’s hard.” He commented.

“Sure. I miss water. I can only rinse out my mouth. I can’t eat anything. I can’t be exposed to sunlight for long, and I can’t handle energy like that. If you can imagine, it’s as if I had iron all through my body, implants, batteries. If I wasn’t leaking energy I could do all these normal things – it’s so very frustrating.”

Karl reached up, fingered one of the hoops “You can do this, and now you can’t touch iron, can’t work metal? You must be suffering. Though I’ve been wondering – what’s this hoop made of? “ He fingered the white metal hoop.

“It’s meant to be easy to locate by my people, not stand out too much for yours. It’s palladium – most people assume it’s silver.”
“Not with that strange blue mark on it.” Said Karl. “I’ve been trying to think of what sort of white metal might weather blue, but I haven’t come across any. Very strange.”
“Huh.” Said Zere’maya. That means it got really hot while attached to my ear. I can’t remove it – without tearing my ear – I hope not many other people notice.”
“Did you make that earring, too?” asked Karl.
“No, I think I was in a hurry. I would have had my identification in one of my own earrings, but grabbed a handy one on the way. I think I thought this would be a days job, maybe even an hours job. A lot of little signs point to me not expecting I would be gone long.”

“What does palladium ore look like? I could make some hoops for you to match the little one.” Asked Karl.

“Palladium is lighter than platinum, and greyer, and usually found in the same ore, like rhodium, ruthenium, iridium and osmium are in platinum, like silver is often in gold. I’ll help you if I see some of the host rock. Platinum is a whole ‘nother metal to work than silver, gold, iron or copper though.” Said Zere’maya. “Much harder, much higher melting point.” Karl only grinned.

Zere’maya rode along happily. Karl at least was thriving. She was good for him in some way – he was as happy to find a smithing woman as a comic book geek or gamer would be to find a gamer or comic book girl.

“Ah, here’s another you’ll like.” Said Karl, and Zere’maya swung up behind him. She could already smell the feathery scent – this was the chicken coop.

“Oooh – they’re beautiful!” exclaimed Zere’maya.
“And they perform, too. Don’t they look just like the horses?” said Karl proudly.
“And the puli dogs too – amazing feathers – and so small!” “Makes them easier to travel with, and between their strange looks and small size no one ever thinks we’ve stolen them. No one else has horses, dogs, or chickens like the Gypsies do.” Karl was as proud as if they were his own children.