Chapter 17: Tall Tales of the Short Woman

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

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

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

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

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

Dragon Compassion

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

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

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

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

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

She was far less than pleased with him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


The Dragon Prince

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Zulaikha and the Her Dream of Love.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 16: Ghosts and Magic

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

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

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

He kissed her on the forehead, tenderly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An Adirondack Ghost Story

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Zere’maya sighed and leaned back on Karl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did Uncle Balint ever marry?” asked Karl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 15: Negotiations

Someone once asked me why women don't gamble as much as men do and I gave the commonsensical reply that we don't have as much money. That was a true but incomplete answer. In fact, women's total instinct for gambling is satisfied by marriage. - Gloria Steinem

The next morning was a grand rush of activity, the packing up of the camp when having made stay not on a nameless road site but in dignity, in shelter, visiting a friend.

Apriliya's site was made as much as possible just as it was. The ruts and the ash pit would heal by themselves, but the great fire purifying the site made it sweet and proper for the next visitor.

Zere’maya went around the farm doing Apriliya's will, newing and making minor repairs. By morning the dull ache inside her had become a sharp pain and she needed to burn off magic for her own safe existence. Magic here was still slow and slipshod; Zere’maya wished she had leaned up against the barn the night before and thrown her magic into a newing of the whitewash -- her pain made the problem worse rather than better.

The gypsies were enjoying themselves famously. They would rather be between one place and another. Camping was good -- staying was sticky. Some of the farmhands wanted to come along, which Mother Faa allowed with good humor -- all would be expected to return quickly to the farm. That was how it was and how it always would be -- young people might like a gypsy flavor but the difference between a bit of and a whole life of was clear most often before they could reach the next town. If anything Apriliya was grateful. That would give her time to go in and clean up their rooms.

The combined material, imaginary, and symbolic presence of the gypsies in society outside them didn't have much effect on the life inside of the gypsy camp. The children never dressed up for fun to be Georgios, didn't find escaping to Georgio society to be a play of fantasy. There was intense curiosity, of course, but about as much of a wish to "go over" as any farmer, as much as she might love her cows, might wish to swing a leg over and join the contented crowd on the other side.

Cows, on the other hand, do try to break out. To the gypsy children it was perfectly obvious. Zere’maya chuckled to herself.

Zere’maya could hear Zash coming up alongside her. It had been only a matter of time; solitariness was almost unknown among the gypsies and Zash, having been silently in love with Karl for who knew how long, wanted to at least be Zere’maya's sister. Zash laid her head on Zere’maya's shoulder.

"Why, do you think, did my mother go back and not bring me?" asked Zere’maya. Zash laughed. "That's not a Gypsy question!"

There seemed to be some sort of answer in that question, somehow, and the two women looked down the hill at the camp.

"Do you think you'll have any gain to make Karl bleed?" asked Zash. A wicked look ran through her eyes "So maybe I can bleed a little, too!"

Zere’maya shoved Zash. "I supposed you are forgetting that you would be only a little sister to me?''

Zash shrugged. "Inevitable. So, don't worry about it."

"I suppose you are forgetting that he's not even a human being?" asked Zere’maya.

Zash shrugged again. "Once you're dilldillo enough to want a Georgio, that would hardly make it any worse." Zere’maya had to give her a point for that.

"I suppose that it doesn't matter to you that he doesn't even own the clothes he's wearing?" said Zere’maya. Zash grinned.

"Actually, he'll own you, and you will make him rich. Problem? No problem. You are my solution." she said proudly.

"Zash -- you didn't put him up to asking me, did you?" asked Zere’maya, scandalized. Zash shook her head seriously.

"It's more like I have been talking him out of asking you so far. It's been wonderful seeing him so happy." said Zash. Zere’maya was stunned -- Karl still seemed pretty miserable to her.

"How unhappy was he?" asked Zere’maya.

"Another not a Gypsy question. People are what they are and always will be. Unless, of course, they change. Then they are different. Until, of course, they change back, or to something else." said Zash.

"I believe you also have desire to take Mother Faa's place." said Zere’maya.

"It will be, or maybe not. It's not here and may never be. Karl is here, and he's beautiful, and he would make a fine Rom, and that's that. Really and truly, and you wouldn't interfere with me for wanting him. I know who you are, and what you stand for. You're to make things right, as should be done. Why shouldn't I want such a sister, now? What a grand thing, to have an evil big sister."

Zash looked at her, and Zere’maya could have melted in her eyes. "I want to see your world. I don't want to leave my people, but I want to take our road out where you are. I want to wander far. To me, after meeting you" Zash sighed. "To wander only on this world now that I know that there are others seems almost like being pegged down to just one spot. I almost wish I didn't know."

Zere’maya hugged Zash. "Look, you don't have to leave a world to enter a world. There are so many people right here. It may be your job to lead your caravan somewhere else, but I don't know about off world, and I don't know if it's needed."

"I'm glad that when I leave there may be you to take care of Karl, if he can be a Rom, anyway. There's so much we both don't know about this world it hardly seems worth it to go to another. So much I really need to begin to learn."

Zash frowned at Zere’maya. "I made that charm for you so you could be one of us. You could be happy, as a wife maybe, but as at least a diddikai should be able to be. Part of you is of us and I will tie the cords around you and Karl, if you can only find a way to break him, to chav him."

"You really want Karl." said Zere’maya. Zash nodded.

"Mother Faa can't be happy." said Zere’maya. Zash shrugged.

Karl came bounding up the hill. Both the women stopped talking.

"Did you tell her?" he asked Zere’maya accusingly. Zash laughed; Zere’maya threw up her hands.

"I think the whole caravan knew before you did. There's no such thing as privacy in this way of life. I'm not even sure if there's such a thing as a private thought."

Karl smiled. "Well, you'll be happy to know that we're all charcoaled up. We were able to completely load up all we could carry from the farm. We may be hungry, we may have troubles, but I really don't think anyone will be cold."

"Next time I am going to try to find a place to be with a halfway livable climate." groaned Zere’maya. "At least each of the big wagons has a charcoal burning stove and we have plenty of charcoal."

Zere’maya was as glad as might be to not be involved in the charcoal making. She was also glad she was not involved in the smoking and processing of meats that had been done here. Mummified meat didn't taste good to her, especially since she had been making it every year she could stand, all through her childhood.

Zere’maya shuddered at the memory. She could easily live the rest of her life without seeing steaming guts fall out of a pig stomach and that went twice if the person who made them drop out was her. And triple if she had to catch the falling guts rather than cut.

She wondered what Apriliya got in return for the massive amount of materials that the Rom were taking with them, but Zere’maya also knew that it wasn't her job to bargain. And, since no one had known that Zere’maya was coming any gifts she had brought with her had not been in the original bargain.

Zere’maya started to laugh. Apriliya was coming up the hill, wearing the dress Zere’maya had 'fixed'. The fabric around the chest bagged out.

"Your dress misses me." smiled Zere’maya.

"No worries. My daughters will take it in. And maybe I'll be able to put in a pair of patch pockets." said Apriliya. "I'm going to miss you, farm girl."

Zere’maya hugged her. "Shhh about the farm girl, everyone in the caravan thinks I'm a gypsy." Apriliya kissed her.

Zere’maya walked along, looking at each very different vardo, all richly decorated. She swung up onto her own and got ready to make the fast march, riding past the walled town and its strange temple, up to the mountain of the dragons and -- it would seem -- to winter camp with Mother Faa's caravan.

She would winter in the vardo, it would seem. It was built for severe weather. The outside was brightly painted canvass, not actually touching the outer canvass roll top shell, and between the walls were at least two and probably three thick, felted wool inner walls, each with their own supports of delicate steel. The top was much wider than the bottom, and the entire thing was built not with wood, but with fancy enameled ironwork, like riding in a canopy iron bed. Her featherbed was backed with beautiful mirror work, held in place with metal framing. With the wood this never got too cold. The metal framing itself was connected to the charcoal stove where she could warm herself and cook meals when need be. The inside lining showing between the ironwork looked like wallpaper, almost -- the inner canvas was painted with cabbage roses like gaudy French sheets, blue and green and cheerful.

When the weather was very hot there was a note of sheepy smell from the wool insulation but most of the time all she could smell was sandalwood, faint smoke from the charcoal stove, and a great deal of "eau de Karl".

The pan box was where it should be, outside and to the back. Getting food requires going outside, just getting heat or tea could be done from within.

Zere’maya didn't know why the vardo was made of metal here -- for that matter she didn't know if the gypsies here knew that on her world the elaborate carvings would be made from local wood, carved as they went. The end effect was the same -- houses that looked as if the would be sweet if licked, as if made of sugar candy.

In her time the people designed their own house-car bodies made of wood, fiber board, metal, or canvas and placed them on new or used automobile chassis. Some of them were cabin trucks, some of them reminded Zere’maya of pictures she had seen of double-decker busses.

Zere’maya's gypsies lived between hippie culture and mainstream America, respecting the easy order of things and the individual's place in it -- no feeling of human beings being outside of nature. They would have distained the idea along with the encroachments that people in areas they traveled through tried to make for what they saw were the Gypsie's best interests. Many worked with their hands: artists, silversmiths, jewelry makers, leather workers, gem cutters, and other craftspeople were among the many occupants of cabin trucks.

Zere’maya's mother, in fact, had repaired computers -- that was how Zere’maya had been able to find her. The maintaining of systems fit in fine with the values

Her community had plainer looking vans, at least on the inside, but on the outside -- if anything -- they made up for the external simple appearance.

The change had made sense to Zere’maya at the time. For these travelers their own houses were billboards, bringing a taste of the community outside.

For the RV riding people their homes were more like spaceships -- no one to look until the end of the journey, a home inside an eggshell, traveling through space, like Hienlien's The Rolling Stones still grounded to the planet, like submarines of the asphalt rivers that bound together towns, villages, cities.

The next few overnights would be boon docking -- just like in the Bible. Even back then you had to bring a tool, go away from people, dig a hole and cover it back up. Nor did either these people nor the ancient Hebrews carry rolls of Charmin, though the Temple and the public bathroom at the center of town had had these items, and very nice for that matter.

If that was not bad enough, at least one of those nights would be walking through the night, cutting though the least hostile territory at the time least likely to cause a confrontation. In areas like this the toilets were the first items to be put out, all the contents came along for the ride, and no cooking outside was allowed.

The problem extended back a generation, when the parents of this caravan were stopping here for a while. Their parents were asked to enroll them in the school; the gypsies had complied. The locals, one family at a time had pulled out their own students. Then with only the gypsy children going, the gypsies had tried to spend the winter here, as they had been welcomed to do.

The children of the local community, unlike those of the gypsies, had nothing to do and no one to mind them and no culture of how to take care of each other and themselves. There were accidents. There were visits to the camp by the children of the community, including one tearful midnight removal by a child who was hiding from her parents. Words were said as to why a girl would want to stay the night, away from home.

After weeks more of uneasy comments, silence, and minor events the school's doors had been barred and the school set on fire. The Gypsy children had torn open the side of the building and run for their lives, sure (and correctly) that they would be blamed for burning the building themselves. Though the invitation had been made by the elders for them to stay no one had consulted the children, and those children now ran the town.

The old people of the town, those who knew that the building had not been burned by the gypsies, who knew that the parents had removed their children, who knew that the schoolmistress had survived rather than burned alive if the building were very old or already dead. It was a dreaded crossing.

Zere’maya knew that feeling every day in school, not knowing what it was until in third grade her teacher had remarked to the class that she was "Sara Cornsilk, queen of book thieves".

Home was safe, even without her mother there. She was happy there. How badly she had wanted not to go to school -- it had physically hurt her.

Quietly, in her own mind, she wondered why her mother had left her there to deal all on her own with being gypsy in a community like that.

Everyone knew but Zere’maya, but no matter how many times they told her she simply did not have the ability to understand.

Chapter 14: Gypsy Magic?

The more clearly we can focus our attention on the wonders and realities of the universe around us, the less taste we shall have for destruction. – Rachel Carson


Although Karl was able to sleep soundly Zere’maya woke up in the middle of the night.

She grabbed a shawl and found a dry hill where she could watch the sky. It was an Earth-like sky, with a slightly smaller moon and some other orbiting bodies, as well as a star pattern minus any Milky Way. She was rarely on any world long enough to learn their stars.

I suppose it was right in front of me, she thought. Magical leak, so someone has found a way to make real zombies – all the power I have with none of my brains nor any of my will. I’ve handled zombies before. Never been tagged personally, though. Horrible to think about it being me, but finally I have some sort of working theory on how magic has gone wrong here – Magicians – dead ones – still pulling in all the power they would have if they were alive, powering – something or someone.

“How did it come about?” she asked softly, in English. “There’s no poverty in that society – no one worries about going hungry or homeless in their society. They treat the gypsies and for what I understand other people as if they were all brutish animals, but empathy to their own with callousness to others is part of the dreadful nature of human beings.”

Was that what a society of all girls would be like, she wondered, a clique – only bigger?

In theory destroying all of their trophies – grotesque bookmarks stored somewhere – she should be able to pinch off the problem, and maybe buy some time while we try to reach them and get them to not pee in the community pool.

She suddenly thought of the possibility that two sections of neck skin had tags in them. Zere’maya didn’t think that the Alelieans would be able to recognize a transmitter if they saw one, and if two transmitters were placed in contact and started to feedback?

In her mind she saw one hell of an explosion and a large crater where that city was – goodbye Maia, Maia’s mom, that sweet little boy Tomas – or their equivalents in another city if her skin wasn’t in Cucuteni.

Physically there was more reason now for everyone to keep her alive as long as possible. As long as she had her own will there would be power draining two ways – her own physical strength, her mechanics were strong enough to draw the attention of the people who watched out for new magicians on Earth – and enough to cause a good deal of damage before she was stopped and dragged out of there.

Mostly, Zere’maya was supposed to be discounted as unimportant. She was a magical housekeeper -- her job was to do what was needed to be done so that no one noticed what she was doing. If all went well she and her Rhea got in, got out, and the dishes at the local eatery didn't so much as jounce.

If it was a close call, rain of toads, mudslides, natural/magical disasters of various sorts, but in some way the worst was mitigated if not prevented. People didn't eat their children. The children grew up and had no idea how close they came to not. Parents grew old and died and planets didn't explode.

If the task failed, all of the above and usually more, and the magic in everything faded -- the closer to the disaster the more magic left the area. Eventually the situation was so bad that the magic user had to pack his or her own power, there was none to draw on, and even that world itself would be greedy enough to drain the resources dry. Earth had had failure after failure. This world had also been unfortunate.

That's why an older woman was sent -- more experience, more unlikely to be noticed. Zere’maya stopped, then thought it out. More likely to not be rash, either -- young people had been found to love life more but lay it down far easier. The old broads are tough to kill.

Zere’maya sighed. It was true that of all the places she could be, serving as Karl’s wife was the best she could see. Zere’maya and Karl would have to have one of the young, virgin girls make the cuts in her wrist and his to mingle their blood before they could be considered husband and wife. How that could be done Zere’maya hadn't a clue. It was true that Karl would have to buy her, and that he didn't have any money, and that her family was as out of reach as anyone could be. It was also true that somehow, some way that she would then be providing for *her* Rom -- her man. it was also true that she could leave such a marriage any time she wanted to -- and so could he. That was part of the freedom gained from being part of a caravan -- the whole group supported the whole group.

So -- for Karl to actually marry her he would have to have enough money to buy her, enough money to throw a wedding feast, and there was no source for any money that Zere’maya could see. He may be an invulnerable and very skilled man (who could possibly have the ability to become a dragon) but at the moment he was squinchy broke because he had no family among the gypsies.

Not only was Mother Faa not throwing her out, she was leading the others in encouraging her to not spread her gifts elsewhere, so Mother Faa must think that I should start a family in the caravan. She probably thinks that I can take care of Karl, that he can be my Rom. Anyone can see that I have indeed taken care of him so far.

Think, old woman, think. What have I missed in a rush of feeling, what assumptions am I making when there is no reason to think that way?

You don't know where your Rhea is. Be fatalistic; be a gypsy, don't worry about what you can't change.

You don't know where Karl's mother is. Zere’maya sat down, staring into the sand, trying to find the holes in the story that she had filled with her own narrative, holes that needed to be filled with what was actually there.

"I'm assuming," Zere’maya said to the open air, "That Karl is hatched from an egg, that he is a dragon, that he was sold because people I trust have said so." She repeated herself at least three times, listening for any part of what she had heard that was from within her own assumptions and not what was said. She decided at last to take these ideas as true until proof arrived of otherwise.

"I'm assuming that Karl is born of a dragon mother, because he came from an egg, and also a dragon father. That may be wrong, as I am a demon in human form and can sleep with a dragon in man form. First question to ask someone who knows -- can dragons sleep with humans? And, if they do could the dragon back in human form lay a man's egg?"

Zere’maya asked herself the question aloud in several different languages, several different ways, looking for herself working into the facts. Finally she remembered, "Man of Steel, woman of wet tissue paper" and laughed. It was more than just two different species looking alike. On a magic weak planet, who would even know if it was possible? It was improbable at best.

Assume that Karl is a dragon, no special cases apply.

Zere’maya squeezed a handful of sand, wanting to do some magic on it. The night's private festivities had left her not only sated but in fact painfully overcharged. It felt as if she had a hard ball inside her, pressing outward. She couldn't think of anything to do with the sand, nor anything else at this time of night. Waking up Inkchin and Aruin would be cruel.

And this was after someone was draining off her magic energy, she thought. Zere’maya could see her own shattered spirit beginning to repair.

"Ehhhhh." said Zere’maya, staring into space. She could almost see the problem. It slipped into her mental line of vision then infuriatingly -- was gone.

At the moment Karl was not unhappy. He was no longer alone, a state almost impossible to come by physically in a gypsy caravan, but emotionally being by yourself can be done anywhere. She carefully replayed Karl's story.

The problem slipped back over her eyes, and locked. She had already looked up the class of dragons that people had described. Karl would retain his invulnerability at any shape he took.

Certainly she could not kill a dragon of any size, and the same would go for any human. Dragon eggshells, however, could be affected by human magic once the dragon was out. Could they then be able to be affected by human magic when still containing a dragon? The eggs waited in an open area exposed to human beings until they were ready to be forged -- and every human knew how dragon eggs were hatched.

Could dragon kill dragon? And if not, why did the dragons attempt to kill Karl? Not only as a new hatchling, but as a one year old, two year old, three year old, four year old baby, as the dragons, highly intelligent, still kept on trying? A being invulnerable enough so they would simply drop him down a cliff and hope he could not follow them home?

Somebody, probably a whole group of somebodies most likely decided at the time of his wait on the wall that this child would live. Not likely a dragon. Not possible a gypsy -- if a gypsy had blessed (or cursed) a baby like this they would have focused on the baby's heart and nature not the baby's simple survival.

The gypsies see a woman who always meets with Karl, who they can hear Karl screaming at. They do not know that this is his mother, they do feel that this is the sort of relationship. The woman never looks the same way twice, yet everyone is convinced that this is the same individual.

Why?

Zere’maya poured the sand on to the hill, then scooped it up again, poured, and scooped. It didn't matter that she had no idea how it worked. Sand poured. It was simply the truth -- Zere’maya's future was in the hands of people -- beings -- she had yet to meet.

Unless her Rhea simply showed up and scooped her up she had to go forward as if she was to stay here, that she had failed -- Jauqueline would see her vanish, and for the rest of time drink her coffee alone. At least she would know quickly. For Jauqueline, she would know within minutes, her time. For that Zere’maya had to be grateful. Fatalistic, like a gypsy. Out of everyone's control.

Zere’maya imagined, briefly, appearing back in her garden. "Darling, I got married this time!" she would say. Out of balance, out of Zere’maya's control. She let that dream pour out of her hand, pour out with the sand.

Zere’maya walked the bank of the river, carefully checking -- she picked up a piece of dragon shell. It melted in her hand as if it had been coconut butter at the merest touch of magic.

Woman of wet tissue paper, indeed. Her balanced trained magic and what gypsy magic she had learned made the eggshell as pliable as frozen butter. There was quite a bit of shell, and she could see that other people had stood here and melted shells before, and the temple used it as in her childhood had used plastic, taking matches or lighters to melt plastic picnic silverware into new toys. It was possible -- though unlikely -- that dragons knew that their shells were held together by magic rather than mundane forces, but it was possible that they did not know what humans could do with it.

It might have not even been important, seemingly. Zere’maya could read the gender of chicks through the shell -- chicken shells were just calcium carbonate and applied after all the biologicals were completed -- if you would open up a chicken you could see eggs pre shell, just bags of white and yolk. If Zere’maya could reach through a mundane shell and reach the outer membrane a magic user could reach the outer skin of a dragon egg. How much deeper, was the young dragon itself within reach?

Zere’maya expected that with the right magic, maybe the right tools -- it would be. Her best conjecture, then, is that somehow Karl had been affected in the shell, and that she was affecting that spell in some way. Either the original spell was a real doozie, incredibly powerful for this world, or he had some connection to a continual flow of magic.

Finding out which of the two -- if indeed it might not have been both as it was for a creature like Zere’maya -- was well worth trying to do here, not futile, and not something she had been trying to do again and again for the past months.

Zere’maya sighed. At least she had something different to do now. Task number one -- understand dragon magic, especially as related to human magic. Most likely gypsy magic would be outside and invisible to both so she could fairly safely assume that her input would be difficult if not impossible for both sides to perceive for what it was.

Old women hold on to life. It was a habit for Zere’maya, making sure she would continue. Younger people had other priorities.

Dragons -- what were they in relation to the people? The people seemed to be ordinary human beings, though she could not tell Karl from any other being without touching him, bare skin to bare skin. Next task -- identify another dragon, not Karl, and learn all she could about how to detect them. Seeing them well up in the sky didn't count. They fairly often now saw dragons overhead, which passed comment as much as an airplane trail overhead would do. These beings seemed to be out of sight of the ordinary people -- unlikely to land and do anything frightening.

In her overhearing the gypsies talking about the local people there had been no mention of dragons being involved in any way -- the conversation was about the very usual -- what the locals' customs were, with perhaps an aside of the dragons being more involved in the distant past.

Still involved, but hardly important to the necessaries of life, it would seem, thought Zere’maya. They weren't worshiped, at least not at the Temple Zere’maya had visited. Sacred cleanliness, sacred eating, sexuality, the sadly ordinary occasion of a mother Goddess without any effect on the standard in society of the women in the community -- all that brilliant energy is spent for mere superficial indulgence, thought Zere’maya. Playing with pleasure for the sake of playing being wonderful, and her experience at the temple was a sensual delight even for a creature made up of and for the sake of pleasure like Zere’maya was, but it was pleasure without pain, without temptation, without strife. Pleasure run wild, unable to be built into anything better.

Pleasure, in effect, grew like a weed here, choking out and poisoning out the more valuable competition.

Zere’maya's visual mind spun through, ideas coming in and out of focus. One locked.
"I have read Brave New World too often." she said to the open air.

Something to watch out for, all that I have learned may interfere with what I can see here.

The skies had no more to tell her. She went back to bed, drained.

Lying next to Karl Zere’maya slept, and fed. All she needed was to touch him and his free will. After he rose she remained sleeping through the day. He had been full of energy, energy to gorge on.

Karl shook her gently.
“Zere’maya, you need to wake up. The elders want to see your neck.”
“It’s still holding my head up.” She said sleepily.
He quietly walked her out, turned her around and showed them her neck.

“There it is. She’s lived among us, put her life at risk for us. Proof – she died as one of you. Now you need to stop treating her like she doesn’t belong among you. She’s born to you and she’s earned the right to whatever she didn’t get by having the wrong father. If it was good enough for her to be murdered as Gypsy then we have no right whatsoever to deny her.”

She could feel Karl tying up her hair. Out of the corner of her eyes she could see all the gypsy men gathering in a crowd behind her.

“Please – it’s not safe for me to touch you – if you give me time I can make myself safe –“ She paused. She knew how to pull back to draw directly on human life. None of them had seen her as what they would see as fully vampire, not even Karl.

“If you are to be ours, remain as you have been among us. We have to meet you.” Said the oldest gypsy man. Zere’maya looked around desperately for Mother Faa, anyone she had confided in depth about her abilities.

“You are going to do magic on me. I don’t want to harm you, I don’t know if this is safe.” She continued.

Karl held her steady, warning her not to move.

The youngest of the boys counted as man touched the scar on the back of her neck. It burned, hurt. He grinned in response to her look of motherly concern.

One by one each one of the men touched the long scar, naked of skin. Each time burned, made her body shake. She guessed it was like emergency surgery, needed, as she sickened, her stomach burned, she was unable to stand Karl holding her up against the ongoing row of touching hands.

Finally they were done, each having made contact with her scar leaving her hurt rather than the opposite.

“Young man, you end too soon. She is one of us, and it is not proper for a gypsy woman to be with any but a gypsy man.” Mother Faa’s husband gave Karl his knife. Karl gasped.

“That’s it? That’s all?” asked Karl.

“What do you want, a circumcision or something?” asked the old man, amused.

“Now you two are a Rom and his woman. That’s what you wanted, yes?” said the old man.

“And our gift to her is on her neck. We all are her father now, and it will be much harder for anyone to find her among us. She’s far less dangerous to the tribe now.” He finished.

Zere’maya ran her hand over her neck. The area was filled in again with skin – and their rich, untrained magic was running through her. It was jarring – like hearing two songs at once, both loud, unlike each other and moving in and out of tempo.

“I’m going to need training. It’s too much.” She said weakly.

The oldest man offered her a skin of wine. “Drink.” He offered.
“I can’t eat or drink. Other than people -- I’m sorry.” She said.

Karl offered her the skin. Zere’maya shrugged. She carefully took a swallow. She smiled.

“Thank you.”

“It’s a patch, it should make your life more normal as well. I don’t think that you will have to eat, you may need to drink, I don’t know, but this will bind you more closely to the world, to all of us.” Said the old man.

“I am about to be very disrespectful, ungrateful, probably more.” Said Zere’maya tentatively. The old man cocked an eyebrow at her.

Zere’maya took a breath to speak. “Sir, I can’t look in my materials and see “what to do when some people who are supposed to be 18th century technology remove your scars and mend your micro-implants. I know you, as a group, are as technology savvy as I am. I’ve suspected it for a while, and now I know. I’m thankful, please understand, but, I’ve got to tell you – I know.” She coughed in embarrassment.

“Can’t just call it out on Gypsy magic, huh?” said the old man.

“Magic is technology that you don’t understand.” Said Karl, firmly.

“Well, then. That is a problem. And you’ll still have that problem when you’ve healed from what we did to you.“ said the old man with the air of someone who has made this speech again and again. “To you – it’s magic because you don’t understand, and you’ll just have to come to your own conclusions as to why ~~~you~~~ don’t.”

Chapter 13: Meeting the Elders

"But, after all, it is the leaders of the country who determine the policy and it is always a simple matter to drag the people along, whether it is a democracy, or a fascist dictatorship, or a parliament, or a communist dictatorship. Voice or no voice, the people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. That is easy. All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked and then denounce the peacemakers for lack of patriotism and exposing the country to danger. It works the same in any country." - WWII Nazi Leader Hermann Goering


Zere’maya was brought (not too gently) to the main security offices.

She sat down with her two escorts standing behind her.

The woman was smiling -- well too polite.

"Perhaps you'd care to open the conversation?" she asked.

"You caught me phrogging. I’m a phrog -- from another world, possibly another plane as well. I leap from world to world never staying long anywhere inside the body of another off-worlder creature – a Rhree. I was dropped off here to live among you without you knowing I was here to do a task for magic but there's been no activity, no contact, I can't call out and get back home. I wonder if I missed it all.

“Can you all think of a magic-centered disaster, probably some distance South of here happening about two months ago? I'm drawing a blank." said Zere’maya. The woman continued to smile, looking chillier.

"No, there's been no magic disasters that I know of, and your story of being off world is horse feathers. I don't know why you'd make up such a story. I can tell you have some power, but there's a rational explanation for it." said the woman.

Zere’maya reached in her pocket. “Have you ever seen one of these before?" she asked.

"Who hasn't? It's a slide rule." replied one of the guards.

"Look closer. It's completely nonmagical. Flex it. If you break it, it will mend, I think. That's one of the odd effects of this world on my own magic -- items touching me gradually revert to their just-made status."

The woman looked at the writing. "I can't read this, but there are many languages in the world I have never seen." she said.

"Keep on looking." said Zere’maya. "If you wouldn't mind, get a candle." The woman had one of her guards comply. Zere’maya reached into her pocket and got out a pair of chopsticks.

"Watch this." Zere’maya said. She ran the chopstick through the flame, watched it bend, then pulled it, leaving a string between the two ends. The guards had her turn around, took the other chopstick and melted that.

"That's thermoplastic. It's not common here, I imagine. If you singe the slide rule it will bubble and stink to high heaven, it's another kind of plastic." Zere’maya carefully gathered up the remains of the chopsticks, knowing that they would slowly return to new in her pocket.

The woman looked over the slide rule again and sighed. "Look, I know you have a lot of enthusiasm and have put a lot of time into your -- skills. I really, really think you need to stop practicing,” the woman held out her hands in a universally known gesture "and pick up some training classes at the Temple. And don't talk about the "other world, other dimension", O.K.? You'd probably advance fast, maybe we could even skip you ahead a few levels after you've learned the basic, ground rules we all follow, it's for everyone's safety and well being, you know."

Zere’maya did her best to look polite back. This was divine retribution if there ever was some. She had given this same speech to plenty of people before. She listened with respect well past the part about possible price breaks and possibly even credit for activities learned outside of the Temple. She waited until a natural break in the conversation where Zere’maya knew she was supposed to look chastised -- and she had gotten herself pulled into the magic fixing business by screaming back at her attempting helper.

The moment came. The woman and her guards looked expectantly at her.

"I see. Well, if you ever decide to help me, could I at least leave a magical tracer here? I'd like some sort of magic users to at least know where I am. My cell phone batteries went dead a long time ago." Zere’maya laughed at her own joke. Everyone else just stared.

"Actually, I was going to insist on you leaving a tracer with us. We like to know where untrained magic users are, just as your "task givers" do. She spoke the words with dripping condescension. Zere’maya nodded. "I should warn you that even if you don't leave an imprint here we can still jam your abilities completely, and without your imprint the effect is --- cruder. It would be mostly easier ~~~for you~~~ if you sign." These last words were purring with power.

‘You never read up on how to win friends and influence people, I offered freely to do so and you followed up by threatening me,’ thought Zere’maya. She smiled -- showing a few too many of her teeth in her nervousness -- and dug her thumbprint deep into the wax tablet offered. Her thumbprint glowed brilliant green, then faded. Zere’maya knew that they had been able to read more than her simple identity.

Another woman walked in, looking coldly furious.

“We do have news to give you, as it were.” She replied. Zere’maya raised an eyebrow.

“I still don’t believe in such a thing as off-world, but for the sake of community peace we have to give you news that your sister has died.” She said. “We will give you the location of her remains so that your family can give her a proper burial.”

“What makes you think I have a sister?” asked Zere’maya, truly blindsided.

“You have a twin, obviously. A healthier, better favored twin, but still she is your near double. We caught who we thought was a rag head tapping into the magics of this world and of course we had to make an example of her.” She said.

“A ~~~~~~~ rag head?” asked Zere’maya.

“Someone no one decent would know of. You dress rather like one, though on closer inspection it’s obvious that you are from some other group. People of no account. Criminal element.” She said

“They buy and sell children, they steal.” said one of the women. “They marry off their children, live easy while their little ones earn their living.”

“Illiterate, stupid, dirty people, they don’t read or write, despise education. So we have to make it very clear that they must not come near us, and never contaminate the Source of Magic.” Said another.

Zere’maya could feel the color draining from her face. “So. How was my sister judged?” she asked quietly.

“She fought us, so we fought back, of course, since she raised a hand to us.” The warrior gave a dismissive wave. “And of course the mistaken identity.”

“So – you killed her.” said Zere’maya. “You’re sure she was dead?”

“Absolutely certain. The magical attack would have done the job, of course. But since we had to communicate with people who run from learning, who have to be shown what is wrong very plainly.” The woman took a deep breath. “We dropped the body near their camp. We pulled out her tongue to show them that they must not use incantations. We cut off her hands so that they would know that they must not cast any spells. We broke her legs at the ankles so that they would know not to step anywhere near where we might want to walk. No one could have survived the magics we used, and of course if anyone did, no one could live through what we did to her body. I’m sorry about the misuse of the corpse, we thought she was from a group of known deviants who would understand nothing less.”

She was walked rather quickly out of the building, where her horse was groomed and waiting for her.

Most places, Gypsy magic was completely imperceptible to any other magical system, reading as nothing at all, thought Zere’maya. That was one of the reasons why as a young woman on Earth her rough mix of random elements read from books, her powerful emotions, and her own natural mix of power sources had been such a disaster -- Gypsy magic can 'see' other forms but not in reverse. Zere’maya walked out of the Temple compound chanting to herself silently "Serves me right, serves me right, serves me right."

The girl at the temple gates walked up to Zere’maya as if they were old friends. "My brother, Tomas you know, he needs a job, and the word is that you want to buy men's clothing. He's good. He's really good. He'll help you if you give us a fair pay for the afternoon. I'm tired of selling fruit. Let's go Shopping!" The last word was said with an exited, high-pitched yelp, as if leaving that particular stretch of stone sidewalk was the best idea she could have possibly had. Zere’maya grinned and looked at the two.

"I know then that you know that I'm too green to have the slightest idea how to get good prices, too. And, you know I'm a magic user. What I need to know from you is if you really, really like that dress you're wearing."

The brother burst out laughing. My little girl looked ashamed. “You’re a good cold reader. I bet you knew that. You know I hate to change my clothes. I like my things. I was actually hoping maybe we'd go to lunch and Tomas would handle the money situation."

The three of them talked for a bit on how they could walk together in a way where Zere’maya could be in constant contact with the little girl's dress without standing out. After some discussing Tomas swung his little sister Maia up onto Zere’mayas horse and Zere’maya walked along with one hand on the horses' whithers -- with a fold of Maia's dress in between.

By the time they reached the first men's clothing store Maia's dress fit her perfectly, and was as thick and substantial as it had been when first made. Maia declared the afternoon paid for the both of them, very pleased. Tomas frowned.

"Don't worry, Tomas, we'll find a fair method to pay you, not necessarily money. I imagine that this dress made new would be a good half of the deal, Maia's payment, and yes, I know about hungry young bellies, too." Zere’maya smiled. The company of children, particularly well-behaved children, was one of the rare pleasures of this world -- she would extend and savor that, Gypsy child or Aleliean.

"O.K.,” said Zere’maya, "I'm looking to dress a man some years older than you, just about the right age to be married, and in a way that looks dressy but not silly. He's shorter than you, but not by much. He's got tight, fat ringlet curls and glorious brown eyes, and always looks like he's apologizing for something. "

She held out the amulet. "I have to use less money than what is stored on this device, I don't want to drain myself out for the sake of a fancy outfit." Zere’maya described what she had cashed in. The brother and sister looked at each other and shrugged. Fancy cooking items weren't their item of specialty.

"Well, if you were given enough to buy the clothes, you will probably come out all right. If we are careful, we can get lunch, too." said Tomas. Zere’maya laughed. "We will get lunch, too, and apparently right away, just to be sure!"

The children looked up at her excitedly. Zere’maya looked at the boy's clothing, and with a little bit of encouragement got him to ride the horse while they walked off for food, so that Zere’maya could do the same for him. Tomas was very clear that he didn't ask for this, and this wasn't pay, but since Zere’maya was all in new and now so was Maia, she wanted the same for the older brother, too. Zere’maya didn't say so, but as a rule teenage boys could stand just a bit more familiarity with soap and water and Tomas was no exception.

By the time they got to the market Tomas' clothes were fresh, and his attitude was resigned rather than thankful. Some facts of life do not change from world to world, plane to plane, thought Zere’maya cheerfully. We eat, we make love, we make waste, and before they discover girls young boys are bear cubs.

Zere’maya was still fairly well fed from yesterday's ox roast, but had a lot of fun helping to pick out the food for the children. Fair food, mostly. They were eager to explain to her that Temple food was very, and for that matter, excessively healthy. However their fathers (and that included anyone who came to the Temple, including women) could feed them whatever they wanted to eat. Tomas had looked after Maia for as long as he could remember. There weren't too many children of the women of the Temple, but those that were there got to do pretty much what they wanted to once they were old enough.

Father for a day, thought Zere’maya, bemused. Maia was happy to share with Zere’maya that she didn't want to work in the Temple when she grew up, she wanted to own a tavern and have people in it play music and serve food that wasn't sacred, involving a good deal of the favorites of youth, sugar, fat and salt. Maia would really love McDonalds, thought Zere’maya.

Soon enough even those empty pits were filled and they went off shopping. Zere’maya prolonged the trip as long as possible but soon had enough clothing for Karl, an elaborate gilded butterfly that really moved for Maia's mother, and assorted boy playthings for Tomas -- he didn't want anything really useful in Zere’maya's estimation, though she made some suggestions as Tomas rolled his eyes and Maia giggled.

She walked them back to the Temple. There was a beautifully dressed woman outside trying to look nonchalant. Maia ran up and gave her the butterfly. Zere’maya was glad to see that she was the friendly cashier.

"They are well fed and took very good care of me. They were wonderful hosts,” said Zere’maya. The woman thanked her and took her children back inside the Temple.

Regretfully, Zere’maya turned her horse towards the camp.

Karl had not had such a happy day. He had been wearing the farmer's sons worst clothes and been cleaning chimneys -- nor could Zere’maya bring Karl back a bath in a box. He scowled, and looked sad.

"I had a hangover most of the day and you were far away from me." he complained.

"I brought home clothes for you, and had a wonderful time, thank you very much," said Zere’maya in return. "There still is some credit left on your token, Apriliya."

Apriliya waved it off. "You must be a good bargainer, and that's surely nothing of mine. It will continue to work for a range yet, and when you go out of range the credit will end up back on my account. I hope you use it all. You're of good use on a farm."

Karl continued to sulk.

"Anyway, I'd like to return your clothes. They have had the usual effect by me, so they won't be dirty when you wear them. I'll change back and come back." said Zere’maya.

“Did you find your answers? You were badly battered and bruised when you were found," said Mother Faa. "And completely alone. Is the way we found you normally how you begin a mission?"

Zere’maya shook her head. "No, mother, there isn't any 'normal'. I'm joining a story in progress and the transition can be very rough. It's part of the process to enter the story at the point or near the point of crisis, so I've been injured any number of times. It's like they say -- to live a life without danger is as empty as living a life without love. However the people at the temple are given to some of the most disgusting exaggerations of their violence to scare visitors."

“They threatened you? That’s unusual. Though, not for us. The locals rather would prefer we lived like them and don’t understand why anyone would choose to live differently.” said Mother Faa.

“Actually, that’s pretty normal for human beings, to assume their way is the best way, and any other way is sign that the other people need to learn to think right.“ said Zere’maya.

*********

Zere’maya opened up the door to her vardo. Karl was in there, asleep, but snapped to waking, then reached for a cloth and offered it to Zere’maya. She unwrapped it, gently.

Inside was a huge section of honeycomb.

" Apriliya let me take it, to help you feel better. I'm so sorry I growled at you earlier, and I want you to know that I love the clothes, and I --- " he hurrumphed deep in his throat.

"I've been thinking about you. And I have so little. I can't properly buy you, even if I knew who to buy you from. I don't really own any of this," he swung his hands around, "It's all Mother Faa's really. But I do have myself, I'm a free man.

“And that's the last thing in the world I want to be. Zere’maya, please take me as your man, I want to marry you. I love you and I don't know what we were doing, or should have been doing, but I want to make it right ---" said Karl. Zere’maya put a small, square hand over his mouth.

"The one important thing in the world is to be needed by another. Karl, you need me." said Zere’maya.

"More than anything." said Karl.

"Then that is what is meant to be. I agree to marry you, Karl, in the gypsy way, where you must swear before God, and before all the people that you will leave me the instant you ever cease to love me." said Zere’maya. Karl threw his arms around her and laughed.

“The temple wasn’t so bad, except that they are horrible bullies. There they were, not knowing that I was standing in front of them, bragging to me of my own murder! No one could have survived what they said they did to me. They must rule by fear as well as by bureaucracy.”

“What did they say that they did to you?” asked Karl, suddenly serious.

“Oh, basically made a “no, don’t do this” poster out of my dead body.” Said Zere’maya.

“That is usual for what they do when they find gypsies, and find a crime and put the two together.” Said Karl. “We find them by our camps, mutilated.”

“They do mutilate people.” Said Zere’maya. “How?”

“Liars they pull out the tongue, prowlers they break their ankles, thieves they cut off their hands, people who listen in to private conversations get a stick shoved in their ears, people who spy are found with their eyes gouged out. There are other punishments, gruesome and crude.”

“Gross, sentient beings do the sickest things with their intelligence.” Said Zere’maya. “I wonder why they spared me.”

“You have healing magic, maybe they did not spare you.” Said Karl.

“Ordinary woman here, capable of death. One hand cut off without medical aid would be a lethal injury left alone. Two hands, two broken ankles and my tongue? Not possible, I could not have lived through that. That’s not even counting in the effects of any bad Juju beforehand, and I’m mostly magic. It would be easier to kill me that way than to kill me by damaging my body.”

Karl ran his hands though her hair. “Zere’maya – in any of your past experiences did you ever have an accident to your neck?” He asked.

“Not anything drastic. I think I got a few stitches here and there, and everything was mended by professional healers in a hospital. I’m still a woman, still very vain. Even at my age.”

“We have to go see Mother Faa right away. And I need you to prepare yourself to be very upset.” Karl was grim, serious. “And I think you need to prepare yourself to tell us exactly how your magic works.”

Waiting for Mother Faa to wake, and to send her husband out in the middle of the night, Zere’maya began her explanation.

“Karl, I think you know. I feel really foolish telling you – all magic is technology the viewer doesn’t understand. Juggling looks impossible but it’s skill, training, exposure to other people who can do it, and someone to watch who can’t do it to be impressed.

“I got pulled out of my world because I was able to do some acts that no one had ever demonstrated for me – part talent, part opportunity, and a whole lot of practice. It’s that when I go out to heal the magic – someone without training is doing something dangerous, someone with training steps in and either prevents them from being a danger to themselves and others, or offers them a safe place to practice their art. I was pissed off enough to be motivated to put a lot of work into what I did know and a few abilities came naturally. It’s as natural to me as what you are is to you – we just haven’t yet figured out how your abilities work. We will. I hope. Someday.” Zere’maya struggled for words. It had been a long day and she really wanted to get to sleep.

“We’re going to need some details, I think. I’ll let Mother Faa take the matter. It’s certainly more than I can handle.” Said Karl grimly.

“I don’t know what more I can tell you. Some experiences are hard to communicate and still are real. The first time I went into a lesbian private party. Knowing everyone had the same desires I did, knew what I knew. It was exhilarating, but it wouldn’t have been if people who got crushes on girls were common. It’s almost as much of a thrill to be on an all-human world. They’re rare.” Said Zere’maya.

“Zere’maya, you are the most erotic, beautiful, and interesting person I have ever met, and under almost any other situation the prospect of you hitting on, kissing, or doing more with other woman or women would be very appealing, but would you please straighten yourself before Mother Faa comes and gets us?” said Karl, exasperated.

“I want to talk about sex.” Said Zere’maya.

“Why?” bellowed Karl

“It keeps me from thinking about death.” said Zere’maya. Karl groaned. “There’s been too much death today. I didn’t like seeing you on fire in the campfire. I didn’t like hearing about that macabre bragging. It was like hanging pirates up at port to scare people, ‘oh, we’re so strict and scary’. I like life better. I like the idea of getting close to people.”

“I give up.” Said Karl.

Zere’maya fiddled with her skirt. “Karl?” she asked.

“What?” he answered.

“You didn’t used to say I was pretty.” Said Zere’maya.

“I didn’t now. I said – you are beautiful.” said Karl

“Well, you didn’t used to say that either.” replied Zere’maya.

“You didn’t used to look beautiful to me.” countered Karl.

“What changed?” asked Zere’maya.

Karl sighed. “If I could make ~you~ live with ~you~ for as long as I have you wouldn’t need to ask.” they shared a long, lingering smile.

Karl thought about Zash. Zere’maya thought about Jaqueline and their daughter. Thankfully Mother Faa came out.

“I expected to see you breaking out in scales.” she said. ”It seems not. Show me your great disaster.”

Karl pulled back Zere’maya’s hair, exposing the nape of her neck. For some reason Zere’maya felt driven to close her eyes, not see Karl and Mother Faa’s reaction.

“Your little woman is a great lot of trouble for us.” she said, far too calmly. “Take her home. I’ll begin the inquiries. Good thing old women don’t need much sleep.”

“What was that? Am I your little woman now?” asked Zere’maya.

“She knows I was going to ask you, and she knows that you can’t hurt me.” said Karl, walking her back to their vardo.

“I’m getting awfully tired of being directed around like this. I’m not used to it.” grumbled Zere’maya.

“We’re all going to have to get used to things we didn’t have to put up with. Listen. In our world books of great power are often bound in human skin.”

“Ugh. Disgusting practice. If you do that, though, you can use the power of the person whose skin you used – without their will, of course. No intelligence either, but much of their skin will remember.”

“Right, like a magnet split off still magnetized.” said Karl

“More like an antenna still capable of picking up a signal, that’s why ancient tribes kept the souvenirs, it wasn’t the piece of the dead one –“ intercut Zere’maya

“…but the connection to the living beings she or he was connected to.” completed Karl.

“Exactly.” replied Zere’maya. Realization passed over her face.

“Oh, those poor, poor bastards.” she said. ”There is no fix for this. There really isn’t. Even if I die, even if I go home – shit. Oh, damn. You have no idea how many of the rules I’ve broken, how many “don’t do that” things I’ve done now.” She ran her hand over the back of her neck.

“I never had any urge to look there, but I can feel it. They took a piece of me, like a bookmark. And why do they do this?” she asked Karl.

“The nape of the neck is an erotic zone. And the hair pattern there is unique to every person.” said Karl.

“I wish I had that erotic zone, I might have noticed I was – no wonder I’ve got a constant magical drain, but they aren’t going to like the effect – crap.” said Zere’maya.

“Can you explain it to me at all?” asked Karl.

“It’s holographic, like a magnet is. If I take a part of someone’s body and graft it to another, there is the risk of holographic exposure – neural networks like the magnets in the iron. The magic works the same way – only it’s ongoing – there are hundreds of millions of life forms, people and not people, and they are all in connection to me. Even to bits of me. That’s very, very bad.” said Zere’maya.

“So your body is always connected to this place, as long as the skin is here.” said Karl.

“Worse. My daughter’s connected too.” said Zere’maya grimly. ”Far away from your iron you can feel the magnetic pull. Far outside of the body the energy of the heart can be clearly measured. This is no different, same thing, only instead of atoms, instead of cells – the magicians are the connections, all lined up through space and time. That’s why I was pulled here, pulled to come, pulled to make the magic right again.”

“So you and your predecessor, the one you know they killed -- “ said Karl.

“Yeah – Damn! Two alien magic power sources, and I can imagine they have some of their own people in storage too – Shit!”
“Like you say, ‘It’s only magic if you don’t know how it works.’” said Karl.