H - 73: It's Not That Hard (Patreon)

The journey across the desert to the ritual site was part of the rite, but upon being pressed, Naaren somewhat reluctantly acknowledged that the journey back wasn’t necessarily so. It had always been done that way, but chiefly because there just wasn’t physically any option.

After camping outside the ruins, and holding a spirited discussion over breakfast, the Hiiri priest eventually conceded that, after all his people’s rituals had pragmatism forged into their very core, and it would be most un-Hiiri-like to do something needless or silly just because it was traditional. Kaln was somewhat anxious to get home and check on what his family were up to, Zhiiji didn’t seem to care excessively about Hiiri tradition in general, and Isabet seemed to feel rather passive about the whole subject. In the end, Kaln was pretty sure that what tipped Naaren’s decision over the edge was the presence of two restive young dragons who had just about lost patience with traveling at a human’s walking pace.

That, and all of them who hadn’t experienced flight were eager to—even Isabet, who wasn’t much less terrified of the dragons than when they’d set out two days ago.

And so, the group were back at Riincroft minutes after packing up camp, Zhiiji still cheering with exhilaration as she leaped off Vanimax’s back. Kaln was honestly surprised Vanimax had been willing to carry passengers, but he could only take it as a good sign.

An hour after that, he was ensconced in a shaded sitting area where a recession in the cliff wall that didn’t quite qualify as a full cave had been further augmented with a canvas awning, sipping a glass of fruit juice chilled with ice magic, and watching a crowd of huntresses and even a couple of the resident elders help Zhiiji unpack and process lengths of cactopus tentacle, while Isabet stood by keeping them all too frozen to coil up and produce spikes.

Having never been in this situation before, Kaln now found it deeply uncomfortable to be lounging about like a king while others did the work. Apparently it was more than Hiiri pride could bear, though, having such a generous and helpful guest dirtying his own hands after he’d already given them so much. He had been allowed to produce the cactopus from his own bag of holding, and then very gently but inexorably bullied into sitting in the shade to bask in some hospitality.

Vanimax was doing the same, out in the sun, once more being fawned over by huntresses whose motives he didn’t seem to entirely grasp, simply accepting such adulation as no less than his due. Kaln didn’t actually know where Vadaralshi had disappeared to, but she had proven herself gentle with the Hiiri and particularly good with children, so he was only mildly worried about that.

“You seem to have had a good journey,” Liiri observed, approaching Kaln with the aid of her walking stick.

“Our conversation was…very illuminating,” he agreed. “I promised to visit her again. Not sure how typical that is…”

“Not very at all, but then, you’re hardly the average Hiiri pilgrim,” the old woman said with a grin. “Even so. I’d have preferred a…somewhat more average escort for your proper introduction to our culture. Either of those two alone, offset by a couple more conventional huntresses, perhaps. But they offered and you accepted, and it’s not our way to dictate who does what from the top down.”

Kaln looked out across the prep area alongside her, where Zhiiji was loudly directing her increasingly annoyed-looking lackeys in de-spining and carving up cactopus flesh. Naaren had vanished even faster than Vadaralshi; being familiar with the personality type, Kaln figured he’d just had enough of interacting with people for the day.

“I understand her,” he said, “but what’ve you got against Naaren? He was great the whole way.”

“Nothing,” Liiri said firmly. “Not one thing have I against him. Naaren is a truly good lad—dutiful, caring, and loves his people and this land. You couldn’t ask for more from a priest. He’s just… Well, our culture has a certain ideal of what manhood means, as do most cultures, and he’s not that. It grieves me, to see such a fine young man his age with no wives.”

“The ladies don’t go for the strong, silent type, hm.”

“The ladies know he can be trusted, and relied on, and gives good advice. But a man who prefers to sit by himself carving sculptures and rarely smiles is not what huntresses seek in a husband. You’ve met Maanet; he is so much the perfect man that I sometimes wonder what else he’s repressing to be so.”

“Naaren gives a really good speech, though.”

She nodded. “He is, as I said, a fine priest. I don’t know what Hii-Amat spoke to you about, nor do I need to; communion with the goddess is a private thing unless you feel a burning desire to share it. If she said anything to you about the nature of power, though, I strongly advise you to heed it. Hii-Amat, goddess or not, is someone who keenly understands power—what it does to people, how it twists in the hand. How it must be contained. It was embarrassingly late in my life that I truly understood how and why she built our culture the way she did.”

Liiri extended her left arm, turning it slightly; the sunlight glinted subtly upon her carved armbands with the long cord winding between them.

“Our families are built to disperse power—to separate it. Authority is placed in one set of hands, control in another. It works well. Very well, compared to some cultures of which I am aware. We are incentivized to care for one another, to uphold each other’s happiness. It is a good system. But it is a system, and therefore flawed. There are some whom it…fails.”

Lowering her arm, she nodded in the direction of the activities before them.

“Zhiiji is far from the only Hiiri I’ve known who never quite fit in, and eventually stopped trying. Cases like Naaren sadden me more. His people are everything to him, and he’s just not the sort of personality to be able to reap the rewards he should from his service.”

“That’s…everywhere, though,” Kaln said. “Every culture. There’s no way to build anything so universally accepting that anyone can fit in perfectly. Izayaroa’s done her very best to build exactly that, and even Rhivaak has its misfits.”

“Yes, exactly. As someone who will one day find himself wielding great power over many souls, Ar-Kaln Zelekhir, you would be wise to take this lesson to heart. To think about what it means, and what can be done about it.”

Kaln sucked in a deep breath, and covered his sudden unease with a long sip of cold juice. He couldn’t argue with her, though part of him very much wanted to. Hii-Amat had indeed warned him of this exactly—of the coming peril which, in his concern to deal with the immediate dangers and obligations his ascension had wrought, he had not even considered.

But it was true, they were right. He might be the most junior of godlings now, surrounded by those whose wisdom and perspective eclipsed his own by vast reaches. But at the end of this lay power, immense power, and responsibility for the lives and well-being of who knew how many countless souls.

He was just Kaln from the Archives. A scribe, a librarian, a good guy to talk to… Not someone whom he had ever felt should be in charge. But he had better get used to it. There was no avoiding that future, now.

“Since you’re here,” he said aloud, deciding to avoid it for the moment anyway, “there’s something I wanted to discuss with you, Elder Liiri. Forgive me, I’m still only minimally aware of your ways, so I’m not quite sure how sensitive this matter is.”

“You would be very hard-pressed to shock me, young man,” she said wryly. “Speak your mind. If it’s at least sensitive enough for you to wonder that, I can promise to take it seriously. Within reason.”

“It’s more a matter of…common courtesy. I am planning to…extend an offer of employment to a member of your community. You all seem very close-knit; I just didn’t want to accidentally show any disrespect to the Hiiri, or the Croft.”

“Mmm.” Liiri leaned back to peer up at him, her expression closing down. “Yes, I had a feeling this might be coming. It was your trek through the wilderness that made up your mind, then?”

“There’s nothing like journeying together to get a sense of who a person is,” Kaln agreed.

“She doesn’t like to talk much about her past, but you do know you’re talking about someone with…baggage, I hope. She’s safe enough here, with us, but you’re talking about living in the Evervales. That whole realm is full of schemes and plots and those who traffic in them.”

“Yes, but I am talking, specifically about Dragonvale. Considering where we will be, and with whom… Well, can you imagine a safer place for a wandering soul to nest?”

“Safe is certainly a choice of word,” she shot back, “one which wouldn’t occur to most. The lair of the dragons themselves? Those two may be relatively housebroken, but those are some true monsters you’re living with. I mean no offense to your family, Kaln, but it is what it is.”

“Monsters they may be,” he replied with a gentle smile, “but also people, wiser and more circumspect than you might think. The one dragon responsible for ruining their reputation everywhere north of Rhivaak is gone. I wouldn’t even propose bringing someone back to our lair if I were less than certain that they could fit in comfortably. Trust me, the family will appreciate the skills she can offer, and know how to behave themselves.”

Most of them did, at least, and Vanimax was… Well, he did seem to be improving a little.

“We also appreciate those skills,” Liiri said pointedly, “and I rather suspect you knew that would be the sticking point—the reason you feared this might ruffle fur. Which it well may, Ar-Kaln. It hasn’t been long, but the Croft has become accustomed to having those skills at our disposal. To lose them just as suddenly will be keenly felt.”

“I know,” he said gravely. “Thus, I am willing to offer reasonable accommodations. Which I can do, remember? The steaks were amazing, but don’t forget who brought the meat.”

Liiri opened her mouth to answer, then paused, squinting. “Wait. Steaks?”

“Just as a case in point. I know the rest of her cooking is of similar quality.”

“Cooking?” Liiri repeated incredulously. “Wait. Kaln, are you talking about Zhiiji?”

He blinked. “Ah…yes? Wait, who did you think I meant?”

“Countless heavens, boy!” she exclaimed, clapping a hand over her eyes. “Don’t do that to an old woman! My heart only has so many more shocks it can bear. I thought you were trying to poach Isabet. Yes, gods and hells and silver bells, take Zhiiji! Bring her back as roughly used as you like. Or just keep her, see if I care.”

“Isabet?” he asked. “Hells, Liiri, I wouldn’t do that to her! She’s terrified of the dragons, even after traveling with two of them. Living in Dragonvale would be her personal nightmare. Also, no disrespect intended to her skills, but there’s nothing she can do that Emeralaphine can’t do better in her sleep.”

“Well, forgive me for assuming. We’re in the opposite position here: an ice mage’s power is absolutely life-changing for desert folk! Meanwhile, despite what she loudly believes, we ate just fine without Zhiiji around and will again once she goes. Listen.” Her expression grew more serious, losing both the humor and performative outrage she’d just displayed. “Don’t take any of this as a sign that I or we or anyone dislikes Zhiiji. To know her is to know she has no malice in her soul. Also no patience or consideration for others. She’s family—this is her home, these her people, and she will always be cherished here. You don’t get to choose your family, as a rule, but you love them just the same.”

“Family are the people you find yourself stuck with,” Kaln said with a smile.

Liiri nodded, her eyes twinkling. “And some family are easier to love when they sod off into the sunset and only turn up once every five years with treats for the kids and a new handful of wild stories. Zhiiji is of my tribe, did you know? It’s actually rather funny that we both met here at the Croft. I was there the day that girl was born. I remember it well, as it was about four years before I knew for a certainty that her cause of death would be showing that big mouth of hers to the wrong person. I won’t say I have no worry about the prospect, Kaln, but… Well, this isn’t sudden. I’ve had plenty of time to make peace with it. And hells, if the one who does her in turns out to be a dragon, that’ll probably appeal to her sense of adventure. And self-importance.”

Kaln looked back across the open area, which was quieter now than it had been minutes ago. Under Zhiiji’s haranguing, her helpers had eventually fallen into an efficient rhythm. The cook herself was now working swiftly with a huge knife, separating chunks of cactopus flesh into separate piles of edible meat, tough fibers, and spines. Her hands were as blindingly fast as they were precise, her expression one of rapt delight that suddenly reminded Kaln of the master calligrapher from back at the Archives. The look of someone whose expert command of their craft did nothing to diminish the joy of it.

He’d never felt that way, himself, about anything. Getting decently good at things tended to sap them of the thrill of discovery.

“I think she’ll do better than you may expect,” he mused, considering Zhiiji’s comments about handling the royalty of the Nourdells, and how very like dragons kings and queens were.

“Maybe so,” Liiri agreed, “maybe so. Who knows? Perhaps your nest of monsters will turn out to be whatever thing it is she’s been looking for all this time. Or maybe just another step on the way to finding it. Either way, you have my blessing, for whatever little it’s worth. Elders among the Hiiri provide guidance and a good example, not authority—and it’s not as if Zhiiji’s ever listened to anyone’s advice anyway. But I have the feeling she won’t turn up her nose when you ask her.”

***

His opportunity didn’t come for some time; eventually, what made Zhiiji take a break was pausing to insist that Isabet and her helpers got some food and water into them. Only when they were all eating and Zhiiji herself was chewing on a juicy chunk of cactopus flesh did Kaln catch her eye.

All he did was smile, but it prompted her to saunter over to his perch in the shade.

“Bit awkward to just sit around while people are working ain’t it?” she said by way of greeting.

“Ugh, I know,” he grumbled, grimacing. “You’re not kidding—I don’t think I’m cut out for celebrity status. But I was pretty forcefully given the impression it would be taken as an insult if I didn’t let them pamper me a bit.”

“Yeah, polite society is like that, no matter how different the societies and their ideas of politeness are. Most places, you’ve gotta learn to just stampede over people to get anything done.”

Rarely had Kaln so definitively disagreed with anything in his life, but this didn’t seem like the time. “So…”

“So!” Grinning, Zhiiji picked up a cup and poured herself a generous dose of the pleasingly sour cactus pear juice. “I’ve been poached by every kingdom, chiefdom, and two-bit warlord in the Dells—by this point I can smell it coming. Let’s hear your offer.”

Well, that told him what kind of historical competition he was up against in terms of negotiations, but fortunately Kaln had a secret weapon—one he suspected Zhiiji in particular would appreciate: brute force.

“Whatever you think is reasonable is fine,” he said sweetly, smiling.

Zhiiji paused mid-sip, staring up at him. “I… To be clear, I was talking about compensation.”

“Yes, that was what I understood.”

Slowly, she lowered her cup. “Wow. Gotta say, that sure is a starting position.”

“Well, I have the hoard of Atraximos the Dread at my disposal, and I don’t particularly care what happens to it. So yes, you can name your terms. You strike me as someone who knows her worth, and values her craft too much to gouge someone who doesn’t deserve it.”

“An argument could be made that any rube who makes an open-ended offer like that deserves a vigorous gouging, but nah. Let’s put that aside.” She grinned, idly swirling her fruit juice. “Tell me more about myself, since you’re the expert.”

“Now, don’t put words in my mouth,” Kaln retorted, smiling back. “Expert, no—but I’m a decent judge of character, as you and I were just discussing the other day. And in my judgment of your character, the compensation matters much less than the job. You would much rather do something interesting and important than get excessively paid just to cook for another powerful client. Am I right?”

“There’s…some truth in that,” Zhiiji conceded. “I dunno, though. I’ve met the kids and they’re personable enough, in a spoiled princeling kinda way, but I’m not getting interesting or important from them. Whether the client has to order the guards to lop your head off or can do it with their own jaws… Power is power. Powerful people are what they are, and within a few prescribed variations, they have more in common than different. Aside from power, what’s so intriguing about your dragons?”

“Actually…you’ve sort of hit the nail on the head,” said Kaln, now frowning thoughtfully. “What I’m asking for isn’t just… Well, okay. This is going to require some explanation. I’ll give you the short version, but you’ve got to let me add the context before you jump to a conclusion.”

“I’m listening,” she said in the most neutral tone he’d ever heard from her. Neutrality didn’t really suit Zhiiji.

“I need you to help me seduce my wives.”

The cook raised her eyebrows. “Oho. All right, that’s not an immediate no, but I will need certain assurances. I reserve the right to change my mind after meeting them, and my safeword is—”

“Zhiiji,” he interrupted in exasperation, “I just said don’t jump to conclusions, I just said that!”

“And do you usually phrase your requests in the most easily misconstrued terms possible, or is that the only way you could think of to catch my attention on the fly? Or do you just have your brain permanently down your pants?”

“Do you wanna hear me out or not?” he demanded.

Zhiiji grinned and made a magnanimous gesture with her free hand, sipping her juice.

“All right. So, I’m not sure how much you know about dragons and their two forms; I don’t think this is very common knowledge, so you’ll just have to forgive me if I’m retreading old ground here. In their larger forms they gain a lot of advantages in weight and power, plus the fire breath and flight, and most importantly, defense. Those scales are practically invulnerable, and it’s very difficult to even inflict pain on them.”

“The wing sails are a vulnerable point, as I recall, but I see where you’re going.”

“The tradeoff,” he continued, “is that they lose a lot of sensory acuity. Or… Actually, their vision and smell seems to be much sharper in that form; a better way to describe it is that the experience of their senses is far more blunt. There’s no emotional component to smell, their skin can feel almost nothing, and they can barely taste anything.”

“Wait.” Zhiiji straightened up abruptly, her expression going sharp and nearly alarmed. “Are you telling me these dragons, for all this time, haven’t even been eating proper food?!”

“They hut large game,” Kaln said solemnly. “Just drag the big animals home and tear into ‘em raw. It’s…quite the sight.”

She covered her mouth with one hand, visibly aghast.

“Pheneraxa—that’s Vanimax and Vadaralshi’s other sister—I’m pretty sure never got to try human food until a couple weeks ago when I arrived. The other two I suspect are less unfamiliar, but it’s clear none of them have had much experience with well-prepared meals. Obviously, their mothers have had much longer and fuller lives; I’m certain they have more experience, and their own preferences. Izayaroa is fond of street food, and Emeralaphine apparently collects antique pastries.”

“Wait, she what? How? Why?”

“Suspended in preservation magic. She showed me a wedding cake that was, at minimum, three thousand years old.”

Zhiiji’s face twisted into an incredulous grimace. “What the hells is the point of that?”

“As a matter of principle, I don’t criticize people’s harmless hobbies even when they can’t bite me in half. Anyway, I’m not done. The other salient point about dragons that may not be common knowledge is that socially, they’re…well, they’re sort of the opposite of Hiiri. Their family units are very top-down. This group lived under Atraximos, but none of them liked it. They grudgingly tolerated him, because he kept them safe from outside threats, but mostly because he probably wouldn’t have let them leave. With him gone… Understand, as far as I am concerned, this is my family. Full stop. From their perspective, I am the head of the household, and that mostly by virtue of my ability to forcibly knock them around if I choose. There is a…mismatch in our expectations.”

“Uh…huh,” she drawled slowly, frowning in thought.

“So yes,” Kaln said with a wry smile, “there is the fact that I am a pretty terrible cook, which is not great for me but especially not for the exiled princess who also lives with us.”

“It’s not that hard, man. Takes a little effort and a lot of practice, like anything else.”

“But more importantly,” he continued doggedly, “what I need from someone like you, Zhiiji, is…experiences. I have three consorts who relate to one another more like mutually hostile sovereign states in a perpetual three-way detente than members of a family. I consider this an unacceptable situation, and I mean to rectify it. That is not something that can be done by force. It needs persuasion, diplomacy…seduction. If you were a royal chef to as many households as you claim, I don’t have to explain to you why really good food is crucially important to all of those goals.”

She smirked. “Well. I can’t say the outcome of a treaty negotiation usually hinged on how flinger-lickin’ my canapes were… But I also won’t say it never did.”

“Exactly.” Kaln nodded, grinned, and held out his hand. “I’m offering to pay you well, Zhiiji, because what I’m offering you is the biggest challenge of your career. At least so far, and possibly ever after. You in?”

“Oh, you’re one who always knows just the right thing to say,” she replied, smiling back but not yet clasping his hand. “And you know what, that does more to convince me you might actually pull off this grandiose plan of yours than anything else could.”

She studied him for a long moment, then her eyes shifted to his belt, and for a second Kaln feared they were about to jump back to their previous misunderstanding.

“I will give you a quote for my wages once I’ve had the opportunity to inspect the facilities. The kitchen and equipment I’ll be working with, and the availability of ingredients. And stuff like my living quarters and exactly how dangerous this job is going to be, too, I guess.” Zhiiji pointed at his waist—not at the groin, though, but the sword hanging at his hip. “Plus! That. Throw it in, and you’ve got a deal!”

“My sword?” he said, blinking. “Well… You know what, sure. It’s not as if I’m very attached to it. Deal.”

Kaln carefully unhooked the khopesh and held it out to her across both hands. Zhiiji grinned hugely and actually licked her lips as she took it from him, one-handed. It was a single-handed sword sized for a human wielder; in her grip its shape made it resemble some combination of greatsword and battleaxe.

“Oh, hells yes!” she crowed, deftly spinning and then slashing with the blade, causing Kaln to hop backward. “The enchantment compensates for height! This is gonna be fun. All right, boss, I’m in.” Grinning, she braced the sword by its blunt edge across her shoulders. “Cooking for a dragon household, assisting in your social schemes, and teaching you and that princess how to cook.”

“Whoah, wait a second,” Kaln protested. “That wasn’t part of the deal. The whole point of bringing you on is so I don’t need to—”

“Negotiations have concluded!” Zhiiji barked, pointing the enchanted sword at him. “Nobody’s saying you need to be an expert chef, but this is a basic life skill. I’m sure your calligraphy puts my handwriting to shame, but I can write. Everybody who needs to eat needs to know how to cook.”

“Look, maybe we can meet halfway on—”

“Yes, this is halfway. Acknowledging that I’m talking about a scribe and a princess, here, and that you’ve got dragons working for you, I’m not also going to insist you also learn how to hunt. All right! This has been a rewarding visit home, but you have good timing—I was starting to feel restless again anyway. I’ll go pack up my junk, you round up those giant scary kids of yours, and let’s move out!”

Kaln watched her swagger off out of the shade, the sunlight gleaming across her new weapon, and winced.

“Sorry, Percy.”