Elfhome

Any questions about what that all might have entailed was driven from Tinker’s mind as Forest Moss pushed his trembling hands up under her shirt. A moment later, he had his face pressed against her bared stomach, his scars rough against her skin.

“Domi.” Pony growled softly.

Tinker caught Forest Moss braid and yanked his head back.

“Please, oh please, let me taste you!” Forest Moss begged.

Tinker flinched at the thought, but growled, “Tell me something worthwhile!”

Forest Moss whimpered and groaned, running his hands over her stomach. “Something worthwhile? Something worthwhile? Gods above, nothing in my life has been worthwhile since the oni took my eye. Time has taken all that I had. There is only darkness where my lovelies once lived.”

“Did this nivasa talk with Earth Son? Convince him to lure the children here?”

Forest Moss went still and his eye slowly widened. “Oh.” He finally breathed. “I did not recognize him. Yes, I saw him with Earth Son.” He pushed his face into her stomach again and moaned softly as he rubbed against her. “I thought nothing of him whispering in Earth Son’s ear, twisting him around and around until he was just as warped inside as I was. Ah, but Earth Son’s lovelies were much more wise than mine — they killed the spoiled brat before he could be the death of all.”

“What about the children? What are the children?”

“They are beautiful — until they’re unmade — then they’re like everything else — just so much dust.”

There was a ding and the elevator door opened. Blue Sky leaned out. When he caught sight of them, he leapt out of the elevator.

“Tinker! Tinker!”

“What is it?”

“It’s your grandfather!”

“What?”

“Your grandfather! He’s here!”

“What? My grandfather is dead. You know that. You were at his funeral.”

“No, no, the other one! Your great-great-great-something-grandfather. The elf one! He’s here and he’s taking Oilcan away!”

36: Between a Stone and a Iron Mace

Somehow Oilcan managed to escape without being immediately loaded onto the gossamer and hauled back to Easternlands, kicking and screaming. He quickly explained that he had a household and frantically pointed back toward Sacred Heart.

All the while the back of his brain screamed reminders that this man had built a massive palace to trap his heart’s desire in — endlessly painting — until she agreed to become his lover. The male was relentless. Suddenly the story seemed creepy instead of sweetly romantic.

Forge nodded without glancing toward the enclave, his focus wholly on Oilcan. “We were told nothing except that my son’s orphan had been found in the middle of the war zone and there were no clansman here to protect him. We came as quickly as we could.”

“We?” Oilcan had the sinking feeling he was about to be outnumbered.

“Your grandmother’s brother came with me.” Forge waved a hand upwards toward the gossamer. “Iron Mace against Stone.”

“Against” implied violent force. It seemed an ill-omened name to Oilcan, especially if the force was applied to him. As if summoned by name, the elevator started to descend again.

“I am just an architect.” Forge said. “While being methodical and exacting makes me excellent in my craft, I react too slowly for battle. Mace would not hear of me going into a war zone alone.”

The elevator reached the ground. The door rattled open and a lone male stepped off. He was all that Oilcan expected in a high caste elf: tall, elegantly beautiful and ornately dressed. He wore gold-hued wyvern armor, rich green breeches tucked into tall gleaming boots, and a duster of green fairy silk painted with dragons. Beside him, Forge was short, rough and earthy. Was that why Forge had felt like he had to court Amaranth so cautiously?

“Mace,” Forge put an arm about Oilcan’s shoulders. “This is my grandson, Oilcan Wright.”

“He’s human.” Mace frowned down at Oilcan.

“Yes, I am.” Oilcan felt the need to underscore that. Not an elf. Not a child. Not to be taken from Pittsburgh. “Unbounded Brilliance was my great-great-great-grandfather.”

The look on Mace’s face made Thorne Scratch shift forward. “He can call the Spell Stones. He is still domana-caste.”

Forge squeezed Oilcan’s shoulders. “He has Amaranth’s eyes and smile, and that’s all that matters. Besides, what is one generation or five to our cruel overlord’s work? We breed true whether we like it or not. Look at him. Is he not all wood sprite?”

“Wh — what?” Oilcan asked.

“The clever little spirits of the woods.” Forge gave Oilcan another half-hug. “My mother was part of a new caste that the skin clan were creating. Small and clever.”

“Dangerously clever.” Mace said.

Forge grinned at his brother-in-law. “Yes. We are. We remind people of mythical forest guardians, especially after we escaped en masse and set up the first Spell stones.”

The elevator spilled out Mace’s Hand and there was a subtle shift of sekasha.

“Come.” Forge gently tugged Oilcan toward the enclaves. “Tell me about my son.”