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36: FORCE OF NATURE


Tinker always moved like a force of nature now, because it was never just her going from point to point. She had her Hand and random strays who attached themselves to her. There were tengu darting overhead, keeping watch for snipers. There were EIA guards holding reporters from various news agencies at bay. There were members of Team Tinker hanging out, pretending that they weren’t part of the militia. Royal marines still flooded the area and at least one set of Wyverns herded some of the red-coated marines after Tinker in the name of extra protection. She decided to walk to Prince True Flame’s camp because it was such a short distance that it seemed silly to drive. It felt like the world shifted with her as she came out of Poppymeadows and headed toward the sea of white canvas tents where the Fire Clan had camped under the massive Wind Oak trees.

Everyone watching and waiting for her to do something.

She controlled the urge to do cartwheels or juggle to justify the intense focus. Pittsburgh was rattled by a full-on attack—complete with giant monsters. There was no reason to make light of their fears. If she was feeling helpless with everything that she had at her command, then the average person—human or elf or tengu or half-oni—was probably feeling utterly powerless.

* * *

Walking with sekasha was an odd learned skill—especially when you didn’t know where you were going and they did. Tinker hadn’t completely mastered it.

“Just walk in front of me!” she snapped at Stormsong. “All I can see is backs and shoulders.”

Stormsong shifted forward with Cloudwalker flanking her. The two plowed through the sea of red-coated royal marines.

Windwolf had planned to make the grove of large ancient Wind Oaks into their Pittsburgh-based palace. Tinker had worried that the place would always be tainted by Sparrow’s ambush. Now, it barely looked like the same place. All the trees but the oaks had been cut down and used as either firewood or rough timber. The tents of the royal marines had taken up the entire area like a sudden explosion of giant white mushrooms. Round patches of grass marked where some of tents had been taken down. The month of occupation had beaten down everything else into pathways of hard-packed dirt. It was obvious at a glance that half of the royal marines were going to be leaving Pittsburgh while a large number of them would remain.

Stormsong suddenly made a hard right, detouring them around the edge of a large tent. The structure was larger than the one where she first spoke with Windwolf’s cousin and made of sturdier white canvas. The furniture within was the same. A teak folding table, richly carved chairs, a map chest, ornate rug, although this time everything was sat on a wooden riser to make everything more weatherproof.

They had dodged around the west entrance to come in via the east entrance. The reason for the detour was immediately clear: the Stone Clan domana were heading out of the west opening, fighting among themselves.

“Spare us your endless childish whine, Cana Lily,” one of them was saying. “I have decided on a course of action and you will obey me. That my decision benefits the Wind Clan is immaterial. Get your people to your gossamer. If you are of a mind to ignore my order, I strongly suggest you have a long private conversation with your First.”

Tinker was glad that they had avoided the Stone Clan domana.

It meant, however, they collided with Prince True Flame. He wore wyvern-scale armor with a massive sword strapped to his back. His golden hair was woven into a tight, plain sekasha braid. His First, Red Arrow, was one step behind him.

Bow. Stormsong signed in blade talk as she shifted back to her normal position one step behind Tinker.

Tinker bowed to the prince, thinking of Tooloo’s war against her daughter. Pure Radiance set up True Flame’s grandfather as the first king of the elves. Was this merely a war over the gates to Earth or did Tooloo want something more democratic for the elves? How deep did this go? Did Tooloo want to disband the clans too?

Prince True Flame smiled warmly at her. “Beloved Tinker, I am heading for the East Coast via the train. We will be at Brotherly Love by midnight. We leave Pittsburgh to you, our little goddess of war. You did well yesterday. The Wyverns were impressed.”

Behind him, Red Arrow nodded.

Tinker blushed as she’d been wondering what the elf society would be like if they got rid of the royal family. “Thank you.”

“May the gods watch over you.” Prince True Flame gave a slight bow in farewell.

“May the gods watch over you,” Tinker echoed and returned the bow, this time without a reminder from Stormsong.

Prince True Flame walked away, calling out orders to the royal marines.

“I am glad you rested well,” Windwolf said in greeting to her. “The Harbingers understand the peril and are united with us but Cana Lily is still lost in the Clan Wars. He felt the need to debate every detail of our plans. This took twice as long as it needed to.”

“I would have been disappointed if you had already left.” Tinker hugged him, still afraid that she might lose him. Yes, the others would be going with him to the East Coast but he was the only one able to fight as a domana.

“Because of Cana Lily, it was decided that the Stone Clan would load their gossamers first.” Windwolf waved toward the airfield far to the west of the grove. Several living airships hovered in the pale blue autumn sky, framed by the vivid crimson of the Wind Oak leaves. The gondolas that the translucent beasts carried were black, edged by red or green, marking them as part of the Stone Clan. They bristled with weapons and had sawtooth prows that could work as rams against enemy ships. Windwolf’s smaller gossamer was a distant shimmer in the western sky. Tinker knew that it was unarmed. Until recently, there was no airborne enemy in the Westernlands to fight beyond one nesting pair of wyverns. Even then, a human with a rifle dealt with those, not the gossamer.

“So, when they’re done, you will leave?” Tinker hugged him tighter.

“I must go and protect our East Coast holdings and make sure that my brothers and sisters are safe.”

Tinker nodding, knowing that if it were Oilcan, helpless and alone, nothing would stop her from saving him. She was glad that Windwolf had made her a domana at the start of summer. Even with all her cleverness, she would have lost so much if she hadn’t had the power of the Spell Stones to call on.

Had Tooloo wanted the domana helpless? Surely not. It was one thing if they were alone on their world, but humans were just one sidestep away. Even if they didn’t know how to make a gate now, they knew that Elfhome existed. They would find a way. Worse, the Skin Clan might still have forces on Earth. They might be marshalling forces even as the elves stood helpless.

History showed—again and again—what humans would do to natives unable to match their firepower.

“I need to reestablish the domana link to the Spell Stones,” Tinker said. “Oilcan recovered the nactka last night. We can use one of them to cast a mei-wide spell to repair the damage done.”

Concern flashed across Windwolf’s face. “Spell-working is very delicate stuff. I spent decades learning it.”

Tinker shook her head. There was no way she was casting a spell of her own design that could kill or maim all of Windwolf’s brothers and sisters. “Forge will be the one who designs the spell. He’s been working on it since yesterday. I’ll help how I can.”

How could she help? She knew next to nothing about spell-working. All those spells had been edited out of her copy of the Dufae Codex—probably because her curiosity would make them irresistible despite the danger.

“We’ll need to be able to communicate so we’ll know when it’s safe to cast the spell,” Tinker said.

“It will only take me a few hours to reach Aum Renau. At that point, we can use the distant voices.”

“You’ll need a copy of the shield spell for yourself,” she realized. “Since the first didn’t seem to change you, there’s no telling what trying to reverse it would do.”

She had printed off the shield spell at the tech center but hadn’t thought to print more than one. She had the original email but Windwolf didn’t have a computer. She could send a tengu with him. The simplest solution would be to print off the spell. She didn’t have a printer at Poppymeadows. Oilcan might have one.

“I’m going to Sacred Heart.” If there wasn’t a printer there, she’d send the tengu out to find her one. “I’ll have one of my Hand bring you a copy of the shield before you leave.”

They stood a moment, silent, wrapped in each other’s arms.

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you,” he said.

She didn’t want to let him go but the clock was ticking. Once the Stone Clan was loaded and the airfield was clear, he would call his gossamer to the field and leave.

* * *

Forge’s Second Hand were guarding Oilcan’s newly constructed front gate. They opened the door to Cloudwalker’s knock and allowed Tinker and her Hand in, cutting off all the people following in her wake.

Briar Rose greeted her in the foyer, smiling widely. She bowed and said, “Domi, welcome. Oilcan is not here at the moment. The kids are rearranging their new furniture. How can I help you?”

“Is Forge here? Awake?” Healthy?

“He’s up on the second floor with the two little ones doing wood sprite stuff.”

Two little ones…? Oh! The twins! She’d forgotten about them.

For one brief flash of terror, she considered turning around and fleeing back to Poppymeadows. She could get the tengu find her a printer from there.

Courage! They’re just little girls. Insanely clever little girls, unafraid to do the impossible. But little girls nonetheless.

She went up the stairs to find her grandfather and sisters.

* * *

Forge had taken over one of the second-floor classrooms as his bedroom. It had been painted rich forest green. The far wall was all windows from the waist up. They stood open to let in the autumn breeze, billowing out gauzy white curtains. Since Forge intended to stay a hundred years or more, he’d shipped in beautiful handcrafted ironwood furniture from his Southern holding. A massive armoire—eight feet high and ten feet long—created a room divider, cutting the big classroom into two defined areas. (Windwolf had brought such a piece from Aum Renau that broke down into a dozen individual pieces—a bit like wooden Lego blocks—so it could be moved easily.) The back of the room held a big four-poster bed with drawers for storage underneath and white drifts of mosquito netting hanging from a canopy tester. In the front of the room, there was a big round table with six sturdy chairs, a drafting table with a simple stool, a map cabinet, a set of tall bookcases, and a big secretary desk with a fold-down writing surface and a host of little drawers making up an upper cabinet. Under the deep sills of the windows were a dozen three-drawer campaign chests with metal fittings to protect the corners and legs. It felt very homey and permanent. It certainly explained why every time she saw Forge, he was wearing a different outfit.

Today he wore a loose white-cotton poet shirt and black pants of some soft denimlike fabric, styled on the same lines as carpenter pants. His long brown hair was up in a ponytail with writing tools tucked behind each ear and forgotten. He looked like he might be thirty-five at the oldest, not several thousand years old.

He leaned over the table, bracketed by two little girls in adult T-shirts worn as dresses.

Tinker hadn’t been sure what “wood sprite stuff” meant. She guessed that Briar Rose meant the odd magical and technical things scattered everywhere one looked. The chalkboards were covered in diagrams of spells and mathematical formulas. There was a big plastic ice chest floating by the door. There were four luggage mules, which Tinker instantly coveted, roaming the old classroom. She had always wanted one but they were insanely expensive. How in the world did the twins get four? Why were the mules picking their way around Forge’s room instead of waiting for the twins to move? Wasn’t their default mode “conserve energy when user isn’t in motion”?

On the top of the campaign chests was a large, obviously damaged, partially dissembled robotic dog. Beside it was a 3D printer making what Tinker assumed to be replacement parts. The robot was less coveted (she had access to elfhounds after all) but again was insanely expensive. Judging by the Team Tinker stickers on the printer, it was from her salvage yard, which meant Oilcan or Riki had moved it for the twins’ use. She was leaning toward Riki because Joy was sitting beside it, eating rugelach cookies as if wallowing in decadence. Little Miss Pocket Dragon gets anything Little Miss Pocket Dragon wants.

If the tengu had gathered all this equipment—luggage mules, hovercarts, and 3D printers—then there was probably a printer nearby that could print off spells. Somewhere. Just not in Forge’s space. Maybe upstairs…

Tinker was distracted by a miniature racecourse set up throughout the room. Jumps made of books and chunks of limestone. Banking turns and even a tiny loop-the-loop made from scrap lumber. Four white mice on little floating carts were zooming around the racecourse. Three of the mice had different colored scraps of fabric around their necks like scarfs that fluttered in the wind. All four were making fake engine noises as they raced through the jumps and turns. “Vroom! Squeal! Vroom-vroom!”

The distraction level was so high that it took Dark Scythe a full minute to realize that Tinker was standing at the door, taking in the chaos.

Fleeing might have been the correct choice.

But then, Tinker noticed that there were spell orbs whizzing around the girls’ heads, threatening to bean Forge if he got too close. Where did the twins get the spell orbs? From Forge? Why didn’t he give ones to her and Oilcan? She had secretly wanted one since she saw the pair that Jewel Tear had. Or had the twins made the orbs?

Tinker had expected identical twins and that she would have trouble telling them apart. But one looked more like Oilcan. Something about the nose and eyes. The other twin made Tinker realize for the first time Lain’s family contribution to her. It was very much Lain and Esme’s determined jawline.

“Hey, it’s Tinker!” one of the mice squeaked in a little girl voice.

“And Pony!” another one squeaked.

The mice abandoned their race and came zooming toward Tinker and her Hand.

Her Hand did not cope well. Not surprising as she was a little freaked out herself.

“It’s okay!” Tinker threw out her hand to block Pony from pulling his ejae. “They’re not…” She parsed through options. Real? Mice? Dangerous? “Hostile.”

Pony took his hand from his sword.

Of Forge’s two Hands, only his First, Dark Scythe, was in the room. He had started visibly at the sight of Tinker and then locked eyes with Pony. They did the silent communication thing that Firsts did when sekasha collided. It was hard not to think that Dark Scythe was saying “help” or “not her too.” The rest of Tinker’s Hand drifted back out of the room, apparently satisfied that the area was safe and now fleeing the chaos under the disguise of giving Tinker privacy to be with her “family.” Tinker wanted to ask them to stay but it was probably better to limit the number of weapons floating around.

“Tinker! Pick me up!” one of the mice demanded as all four scrambled off their floating carts.

She knelt down to eye the mice closer. They were tiny little robots, only crudely made, but they still projected so much personality that she could guess some of their names. The timid one in the back was probably Nikola. The one loudly demanding to be picked up, its right ear torn and dirt streaked across its face like war paint, had to be Chuck Norris. She picked up Chuck, surprised at how fragile the mouse felt. Chuck waved at Tinker enthusiastically.

How were they doing this? They weren’t even born yet!

All four mice squeaked, talking over each other. “We made mini-bikes.” “We can race just like you!” “We’ve seen videos of you racing!” “It was so cool!” “Vroom! Vroom!”

Tinker realized that some of her fear of her siblings was because she had been feeling somehow responsible for their very existence. That because she was born, they had been born, orphaned, running for their lives, and doing crazy, insane things. But there was no way that she could be blamed for whatever these mice siblings were. It was all set in motion before she was even born. She was not responsible for this insanity—and so her siblings felt a little less terrifying.

But only a little less.

“You’re Chuck?” Tinker asked the mouse she was holding.

“Yup! Chuck Norris! Always was! Always will be!”

“I’m Scarlet Overkill!” Scarlet wore a red gingham scarf.

“I’m Nikola Tesla.” He had a blue scarf and a voice that sounded like Christopher Robin. “Pleased to meet you.”

“I’m Hunter Green!” Her scarf of green velvet was starting to fray at the ends.

Tinker was glad for the scarf color-coding because otherwise she wouldn’t have been able to keep track of who was who as the mice moved around.

“Hey, guys?” the twin who looked like Oilcan called. “Weren’t you racing? Did someone win?”

“Busted!” “Oh no, the race!” “Put me down! Put me down!” “Team Mischief, Go!”

Tinker put Chuck Norris down. The mouse ran to her tiny floating cart and took off at full speed.

“No fair!” Hunter Green cried and the other three followed.

The twins watched Tinker walk toward the table with guarded expressions. They seemed as leery of her as she was of them.

Tinker had never thought of herself as beautiful—probably because of the number of times that people had thought she was a boy. Roach’s entire family. Windwolf the first time he met her. She realized now that it was merely that they took cues from what she’d been wearing and the shortness of her hair. The twins were pretty and they looked only slightly different from her at that age. A lot less dirt. Better manners. Not prone to cursing or saying snarky things. When they got older, and got dressed up nicely, they would be beautiful. Which made her wonder how she could still look in a mirror and think of herself as plain.

She was fairly sure the twins knew who she was. It had to be fairly obvious—unless she had even more sisters that she didn’t know about. She wasn’t sure what she should say, so she defaulted to simple manners. “Hi. I’m Alexander Graham Bell, but everyone calls me Tinker. Sometimes Beloved Tinker—although I’m not sure why. Something about Tinker being too short a name.”

“I’m Louise Mayer,” said the twin with Lain’s chin.

“I’m Jillian Mayer,” said the twin who reminded Tinker of Oilcan. “We have extra tablets, so we’re giving one to Forge with a copy of his son’s journal.”

Forge took out a handkerchief to dab at tears welling up in his dark eyes. “It is a wonderful, wonderful thing. I feel so blessed. When Unbounded Brilliance vanished, his mother and I had so many questions. Had he been murdered somewhere nearby, buried just under our noses? Had he been slain by a monster that we had not hunted down and killed? Or had we somehow wronged him so badly that he fled our home? It is comforting to know that he had found a cause to dedicate himself to—one that could save our people from our ancient enemy. Yes, it is still tragic but at least his life meant something. He left something behind. While his life was short, he found love and had a child that he adored with all his heart. That is precious beyond words. I only wish my beloved could have read this before she was so cruelly betrayed.”

Tinker felt another stab of guilt. “I’m sorry that I didn’t…didn’t manage to shield you from the spell. I assumed that Oilcan was in Oakland…”

“It is what it is,” Forge said. “You cannot protect everything dear to you during a war. A stray arrow. A random horror attack. Treacherous mud. A flash flood. A chain breaking from metal fatigue. Disease running rampant through a camp. Even things that you think are within your control rarely are.”

Tinker felt as if Forge had just listed ways he’d lost people he cared about. If she protested, saying that she should have known to send a copy of the spell to Oakland, it would be like saying that Forge was responsible for all those earlier deaths. She nodded, struggling to let go of her guilt for his sake. They should be able to reverse the spell and this was only a temporary problem. Right?

Tinker really hoped Forge knew how to reverse the spell as her knowledge of biology and healing was almost nonexistent. “How do we fix this?”

Forge shook his head. “Much as you wish to rush, we cannot immediately revert everyone. There must be a period of recuperation for anyone affected by the initial spell. The drain on the body is similar to a deadly disease. To attempt a second transformation spell now would put them all at serious risk of such things as organ failure.”

Tinker flinched with the knowledge that she would have cast the spell instantly last night if she had had it on hand. “How soon, then?”

Forge pulled down the neck of his shirt to show that he had an active healing spell inked onto his chest. “Given the correct precaution, tomorrow morning at the earliest. This is one of the most basic of our recovery spells, so all should be familiar with it. I have advised Wolf Who Rules Wind to have his siblings’ people know that it should be placed on the affected. I have let Oilcan’s Beholden know that we need to track down Forest Moss and Jewel Tear and make sure their recuperation is accelerated in this manner. I have also contacted my holdings to the south. They will deal with the Stone Clan domana there.”

Tinker wondered where the two Stone Clan domana ended up the night before that they needed to be tracked down. She’d warned that redheaded girl that the Phipps wasn’t a secure place—where had she gone after that? Thorne Scratch had refused to allow Forest Moss to stay at Sacred Heart. Did she need to tell the tengu to find the girl and make sure she was okay? Where had Jewel Tear gone? Shouldn’t she be upstairs someplace? Tinker thought casting the spell on the Pittsburgh-based domana was going to be the easy part of fixing the problem. They couldn’t transmit the complex spell via the distant voices. She’d discovered that limit while picking the lock on the spell-locked box from the whelping pens. To hit Windwolf’s siblings and whoever was in the Stone Clan holdings in the south, they were going to need to use a wide-area spell like the one that the Skin Clan used. At least Oilcan had managed to secure the nactka. The magical devices would allow Tinker and Forge to reverse the spell in one go. At least…hopefully they could.

“Can we reverse it?” Tinker asked.

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Jillian said.

“I am glad that you are here,” Forge said. “I can teach you three what is safe to pass on.”

“Safe?” Tinker, Louise and Jillian all echoed.

Forge laughed. “I am sorry, it is not a subject to make light of but I delight in your youthful curiosity.”

“There is nothing more dangerous than a curious wood sprite,” Dark Scythe murmured.

Forge indicated Dark Scythe standing behind him. “My people will trust you. I suppose the Harbingers’ Hands are well used to us too. I worry about the others who do not know that our curiosity is checked by our love of others. All spell-working was outlawed after the Rebellion. Because of Tempered Steel, we were allowed to improve crops and do limited work on animals that could be otherwise considered disabled. For example, we were allowed to cure fainting goats.”

“Fainting what?” Tinker asked.

“Fainting goats!” Louise said. “They’re goats with congenital neuromuscular disorder that makes them appear to faint. It’s not a true faint, where they would lose mental awareness, but a sudden muscle stiffness that makes them topple over when startled. Earth has them too. They’re said to be easier to keep fenced in because they can’t jump over fairly low barriers, so farmers continued to breed the animals despite the defect. I think it’s cruel, though, as it makes them unable to run away from true danger.”

“That is the general opinion of those who would otherwise ban spell-working,” Forge said.

“Will they allow the spell be reversed?” Tinker asked.

“They who?” Jillian asked.

Forge turned to his First. “What will the Wyverns rule in this?”

“We convened and discussed it late last night since the answer to that question would be needed in short order. The Wyverns will allow it. All those who lost their link to the Spell Stones were born with the connection. It would not be a sin to return them to the way that they were.”

“Excellent!” Forge said.

“For real?” Jillian muttered in English. “They had to debate that?”

“They’re touchy on the subject,” Tinker answered in English. “The Skin Clan did a lot of horrible things to the elves when they were their slaves. They see any spell-working as a slippery slope, so they’re careful.”

“But you and our cousin…?” Louise murmured, avoiding Oilcan’s name.

“Don’t try to apply logic to it—you’ll only hurt your brain,” Tinker said quietly.

Forge gave Tinker a querying look.

“It’s good that we’re allowed to fix those who have lost their ability,” Tinker said instead of admitting what the conversation had really entailed.

The twins nodded solemnly as if that was totally what they were discussing. Was she that good at looking innocent? It was impressive and terrifying at the same time.

“How do we do it?” Tinker asked, trying not to think of the future when she was going to be responsible for heading off her little sisters. Were the other four going to be this sneaky too?

Focus, Tinker, focus!

Forge was sorting through papers and thus didn’t notice her sudden panicked thought. “When we set up the stones, we gave out copies of the spell that could be used in cases like yours, where a domana wanted to give a person who they had marked with a dau the ability to access the esva. The stones represented a huge tactical advantage. We had thought all of the command positions would be given access to them. All four clans, though, only spell-worked a few thousands of their people during the Rebellion. We started to be concerned that it meant that the domana were hoarding their power.”

“Or they were afraid of their Hands,” Tinker said.

“Hmm, that is possible.” Forge pulled out a giant piece of paper with a complex spell drawn out onto it. “Only domana overseen by sekasha are allowed to promote someone into their caste.”

Tinker recognized the general design of the spell as being similar to the one that Windwolf had used to change her into an elf. His had had a few embellishments, probably to deal with the fact that she was human—mostly human.

Forge stepped back to let the twins study the paper. Tinker wasn’t sure if he realized that they were taking pictures of it. He continued with his magic lessons. “The idea of the Spell Stones came to us after the warlord Death complained that most offensive and defensive spells on the battlefield were dependent on ley lines. You could build a fortress on a fiutana but if you marched to meet the enemy, attempting to expand your area of control, you had to make do with whatever level of magic was in the area to tap. Protective spells like those of the sekasha can fail if the area has too little power to support them. We discovered that magic could be jumped from one point to another up to a mei. We considered creating a talisman of some sort, but to be honest, that seemed too simple—trite—to us.”

Given the level of mechanical technology that the elves had now, Tinker doubted that any handheld device would have had even a fraction of the versatility. She hadn’t studied the Spell Stones closely while at Aum Renau: after she disassembled the laundry machines, she was actively discouraged from going anywhere near the Spell Stones. But even with her casual examination, she could tell that they could be easily expanded. It would be like plugging another board into a computer. The finger positions and key words gave a mind-bogglingly wide range of triggers. She’d been impressed by the highly ingenious design. It tickled her now to know that it had been her family that invented them.

The conversation detoured into Forge explaining to the twins what the Spell Stones looked like and how they were constructed. It was impressive that the two girls took turns listening intently and then making detailed notes. A lifetime of joint building meant that the twins could tag-team the process that Tinker always tackled solo. More than once, the twin making notes would make a slight noise or utter a single word, and the other would back Forge up to a previous point for clarification.

Forge’s description featured elementary magical construction principles that Tinker had already deduced from her brief inspection. The Spell Stones were basically vertical casting circles with the spells permanently inlaid onto them. Around the stones was the vast circle of the “operating system” that decided which spell would be triggered. Tinker would need to nail Forge down later for a more in-depth discussion. They were getting lost in the weeds.

“What we need to know is how the domana are linked to the Spell Stones and how the Skin Clan broke the connection and how to repair the broken…part.” Biology was not Tinker’s strong suit; she didn’t like the arbitrary nature of it. Evolution. Mutation. Resistance. It was all too-random chance instead of good concrete numbers. The only reason she knew anything at all about how cells worked was a lifetime of interactions with Lain. There was a reason she hadn’t known how to heal Windwolf other than slapping a randomly picked spell out of the Codex onto him.

“Ah. Where to start?” Forge considered a moment, scratching his chin. Her grandfather, Tim Bell, had the same habit. Tinker hadn’t thought that such a thing was biological. She eyed the twins, wondering what quirks they might share.

“Magic etched itself into our genetics long before the Skin Clan enslaved us,” Forge said. “It is woven into our very warp and weft. It is the same with all creatures born on our world, some more imbued than others, but none have been untouched. Without magic, most of the creatures of Elfhome would die. It is why the transfer of this city—to and fro, between the two universes—has never triggered an ecological disaster on either world. Humans and elves are among the few creatures that can live on each other’s worlds. Even the dragons, if stripped of magic, will eventually die. Every creature of Elfhome is harmonized to a different spectrum of magic, depending on where its ancestors evolved.”

“Like with the monster call whistle?” Jillian asked.

Monster call whistle? Riki had used some kind of whistle to pull Impatience off Tinker shortly after she had turned Turtle Creek into blue soup.

“Yes, exactly,” Forge said. “When the Skin Clan would vanquish a nomadic tribe, they would attempt to erase it completely by scattering the members far and wide. The thing is that they rarely would move their slaves beyond their home continent. It meant that in any one region, all the slaves shared the same harmonization even though they came from countless different tribes. When we designed the Spell Stones, it became clear that the various clans wanted devices that only they could use. At that time, it made sense tactically, so we cooperated.”

“But wouldn’t the Skin Clan of that area be able to use them too?” Tinker asked. Pony had been sure that the enemy wouldn’t use a general death spell since they were too close biologically to their slaves.

Forge seesawed his hand. “Evolution is a messy thing. Random tosses of the dice and then never throwing anything away, just in case it would be useful again. Even before the Skin Clan started to play with our genetics, at least eighty percent of it was bits and pieces of ancient architecture. A bit here from when we were fish in the sea. A fragment there from when we scuttled about on four limbs. The Skin Clan were invaders. They were from a section of the world where none of their slaves had crawled out of the sea and swung about the trees before becoming proper elves. It is entirely possible that they were originally humans or oni who had gotten lost in caves and ended up on Elfhome. We have no way of knowing what their origin was as they erased even their own traditions to merge us into one race.”

“I thought it was related to the ability to see magic,” Tinker said and then remembered that Tooloo had been the one who told her—wasn’t she? Or was it Lemonseed, who prefaced her story with a disclaimer that she didn’t know everything related to the events? Neither one was a reliable narrator.

Forge shook his head. “We did require that every domana have the last improvement that many of the Skin Clan were adding to themselves—the ability to sense magic. It was vital to detecting the results of the scry spells and determining range and even judging if you’re connected to the Spell Stones—but no, it’s not the genetic factor that determines who can call the stones.

“It means that even you”—Forge tapped Louise’s nose playfully—“have the ability to call the magic from the Spell Stones despite not being able to see the magic.”

Tinker probably could have used the Stone Clan Spell Stones before her transformation if she had known the initialization spell. Her grandfather had edited it out of the electronic edition of the Dufae Codex that he’d given her and Oilcan. It had handicapped them as children but it also meant that the Stone Clan had remained unaware of them until that summer.

“What determines the ability, then?” Tinker asked.

“The harmonization that we spoke of. It is a tremble in the ether. The domana only needs to pluck the string, so to speak. Nor is the ability an on-or-off thing like those switches for the lights overhead. We had to use multiple identifiers to make sure all the domana could call their stones—not just for our generation but the generations to come.”

Louise fumbled through the Elvish. “So it’s a…dominant gene?” She did a quick sketch that biologists used to represent genes. They always looked like worms to Tinker. “That is to say, a child receives a version of each gene from their parents. We call them alleles in English. If the alleles of a gene are different, then only one is expressed. The one that is expressed is dominant. The other is considered recessive; it is masked by the dominant gene.”

Forge gave a surprised laugh. “I’m simplifying the science. The Skin Clan has taught us very many harsh truths about what the cells in our bodies can do. They are much more fluid than one supposes. A frog, for example, starts out as an egg, becomes a tadpole without any legs, and ends up as a four-legged creature. That process is not controlled by genetics alone but also by processes within the cells. There is a parasite that invades tadpole bodies and triggers the ‘grow a set of legs’ process in the cells, causing the adult frog to have six or more limbs.”

“Why would it do that? How can it do that?” Tinker asked, disliking biology even more.

“The affected frogs are slow to evade predator birds, which are another host for the parasite in their lifecycle. Evolution can be as cruel a master as the Skin Clan.”

“How does ‘too many legs’ relate to our problem?” Tinker asked.

“As I said, there are many trash pieces of old genetics in our system, most of which are not active. They are from the periods of time when we were closer to frogs than apes. Trust me, you do not want to know how we came to realize this.”

Dark Scythe sighed. “Now they will surely want to know.”

His First was completely right. The twins’ eyes gleamed with curiosity. Tinker had seen the whelping pits—she didn’t want to know. Besides, that was all messy biology.

Forge ignored his First. “We have retained much of the genetic trash at the same level as ‘elves have two eyes, ten fingers, and ten toes.’ For example, citrus has a certain vitamin in it necessary to ward off sickness. Most animals can produce it within their own bodies via an enzyme in their liver or kidneys. We elves have the genetics to do so but for some reason, we lost the ability.”

“It was lost in humans too,” Louise said. “It’s nonfunctional gulonolactone oxidase pseudogene. We have the gene within our DNA but it doesn’t actually work.”

“Fascinating,” Forge said.

Of course the one with Lain’s chin was into biology. The messy nature of the science must not annoy her little sisters as much as it annoyed her. It was one big difference between them.

“Wolf Who Rules Wind is a rare creature in that his parents were domana from different clans,” Forge said. “It was unusual during the Rebellion and unheard of during the Clan Wars. Any one of his siblings could have inherited both sets of identifiers from their parents—but sometimes families only have girls or boys. That Wolf Who Rules kept his ability to call both sets of Spell Stones is an important clue to exactly what the enemy spell did.”

“How so?” Tinker and Louise and Jillian all said.

Okay, that was spooky, Tinker thought.

“We thought that domana like Wolf Who Rules Wind would be much more common over time. It meant that the initialization spell needed to be slightly different for all four clans. Setting it up that way meant that you could hold two spells from different esva.”

The twins looked to Tinker for confirmation. Tinker nodded slowly. She had been aware of it but hadn’t actually considered it from a design angle. She had only been able to pull the trick in space because the Wind Clan and Stone Clan initialization were on different hands. Fire used the same hand and fingering as Stone but different activation words. She could only assume that Wind and Water were likewise tied together. Having the foresight to set it up that way was pure genius.

“Fingering is always the same, no matter the esva,” Tinker explained to the twins, holding up both hands with the fingers molded into the correct position. “The activation words are different.”

Forge launched back into his lesson. “Our enemy has had thousands of years to analyze what we have done. What they have had to study, though, were domana who were born to single clans. Wolf Who Rules was the first person who could use multiple esva and he has been under Pure Radiance’s watchful eye since she named him. Our enemy obviously did not realize how deeply we layered the ability to call the Spell Stones. Someone like Wolf Who Rules would have natural redundancy.”

Which was why Pure Radiance encouraged his parents to spit out kids until one of them had both esva. It weirded Tinker out to know that she “harmonized” to three different continents. That was practically half the planet.

Joy suddenly appeared on the table as if teleported. She made the sekasha stiffen as she came within biting range of their domana.

“It’s okay!” Tinker was slightly dismayed that the twins echoed her a heartbeat later. Was this now a thing? That sharing genetics put them on the same wavelength? Surely not. Surely. Right?

“All gone,” Joy announced, tossing the cookie bag to Jillian.

“You promised to be good if we gave you cookies,” Jillian said.

Joy made a rude noise. She marched across the tabletop to Forge, making Dark Scythe take a step forward, intent on the baby dragon. Forge merely looked interested. Joy ignored the sekasha to rear onto her back legs and extend her front paws to Forge. She made a grabbing gesture.

Like approaching a strange dog, Forge curled his fingers into a protective fist and held out the back of his hand.

Dark Scythe was obviously trying not to show that he was dying inside to keep Forge from doing anything stupid, while at the same time letting his domou do whatever he thought was wise.

Joy caught hold of Forge’s hand with both of her front paws and turned it this way and that, eyeing it closely. “Just Brilliance. Not mine.”

She let go of his hand. Turning, she eyed Tinker.

Oh, shit, Tinker thought. It was her turn. She had a thing about getting her hands near dragons, no matter their size.

Joy waddled over, still on her back legs, to do the “give me” gesture again. When Tinker didn’t move, she made another rude noise and this time snapped her fingers impatiently.

Pony had shifted forward. He didn’t bother to disguise the fact that he was not happy with the idea of her trusting Joy.

“She won’t hurt you,” Louise whispered. “She only attacks people trying to hurt us.”

“It’s fine,” Tinker murmured to Pony and copied Forge’s “strange dog” approach.

Joy’s paws were like a kitten’s. Soft pads with needle-sharp claws that lightly pricked Tinker’s skin. Tinker expected the same brief inspection. Instead, Joy swarmed up her arm to perch on her shoulder and press nose to nose with her.

“Joy!” Louise cried and lunged across the table to grab the baby dragon.

Joy, however, had anchored herself firmly via Tinker’s ears and a tail wrapped around Tinker’s neck. “Hmm. Brilliance…”

“Let. Go. Of. Her,” Louise growled, tugging gently.

Joy ignored Louise, still nose to nose with Tinker. “Clarity. Junk. More Junk. Still mine.”

The baby dragon let go. Louise staggered backward.

Pony picked up Tinker and backed away from the table.

“I’m fine! It’s fine! Everything is fine!” Tinker beat on Pony’s arms until he put her down.

“I’m sorry!” Louise cried, backing away with Joy still in her hands. “I’m really, really sorry! Maybe it would be better if she wasn’t here.”

One of the laptops on the table made a loud noise, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

“Oh! The timer! I forgot I set it!” Jillian said loudly as she jumped to turn it off. She typed on the keyboard and then closed the laptop before Tinker saw what she had entered. “It means that the final piece for Tesla should be almost done.”

The mice popped their hovercarts up onto the top of the campaign chests and raced over to the printer. They dismounted to dash around the printer and the half-dissembled robotic dog, talking excitedly.

“What’s so important about the robot?” Tinker asked.

“Tesla?” Jillian looked surprised. “It was the last present our mom and dad gave us. They got a nanny robot to protect us as we went to school. We couldn’t have saved the babies without him.”

“I broke Tesla trying to save Louise from Yves,” Nikola said sadly. “I nearly got us all killed.”

“You were brave.” Jillian stroked head of the timid mouse who was somehow their baby brother. “And you did save Louise. Yves would have killed her if he’d got in a second shot.”

Tinker felt a flash of rage at Lain’s older stepbrother that only cooled with the realization that the man was probably dead. At least, Esme seemed sure of it. The more Tinker heard about Lain’s family, the less annoyed at Lain she became. With Yves and Sparrow both in Pittsburgh during the first Startup, the Skin Clan would have been able to easily keep track of Lain’s every movement.

Tinker suddenly realized that only three of the mice were dashing around the robot. One of the mice was missing, as was Louise with Joy. She glanced around the room, feeling uneasy about the three disappearing.

“Tinker?” Jillian called her attention away from the missing siblings. “We asked the tengu for a printer. They said that you had one that you weren’t using and that we should ask Oilcan about it. He said that it should be fine to borrow it. ‘Should be’ and actually is—that’s two different things. Is it okay that we borrowed it? I know that it’s a little late to be asking now but…sorry?”

“It’s okay.” Tinker didn’t care about the printer being borrowed. She’d seen the grief that Oilcan had gone through when he lost his mother and—by default—father. Strangers had cleaned out his family’s rented apartment, throwing away everything he hadn’t packed into one suitcase. He’d treasured every little thing that he’d managed to bring with him. “Print as much as you need.”

Tinker turned back to Forge. “I’m going to work up an action plan of what needs to be done to fix this mess. First and foremost, I’ll need to make sure Windwolf has a copy of the shield that the twins developed.”

“I can print off copies!” Jillian edged toward the door, pointing upstairs. “The tengu moved all our gear over this morning. I can run up and be right back with them.”

All our gear? Tinker had been hoping that the twin had a printer nearby but she hadn’t expected that they had already moved lock, stock, and barrel to Oakland. Had they decided not to stay in Haven? Did that mean that they meant to stay at Sacred Heart? With Oilcan as their guardian, or Forge? Or did they assume that they would be living with her?

Focus, Tinker, focus!

“Good,” she forced herself to say. “Thank you.”

Only after Jillian disappeared did Tinker realize that the girl had taken the remaining mice with her. The room suddenly seemed very empty. How did such small souls take up so much space?

She pushed on with her plans. “I’ll have one of my Hand get the spell to Windwolf. We’ll be able to communicate with him via the distant voices, so we’ll cast the counter-spell when…when we get it ready…and the time is right?”

She felt an odd spark of magic from somewhere above her. She ignored it as Sacred Heart was full of elves, any one of which could cast some kind of minor spell.

“So the important questions are: how soon can we get the spell ready, and when will the time be right?” And maybe something about a game of chess with monkeys?

A second spark of magic made Forge lift his head to stare upward.

“Odd,” Forge said.

“You can still feel magic?” Tinker asked as a third spark went off.

“Yes, I’ve lost connection to the Spell Stones so I can’t tell when someone is tapping them, but a magical device used within the same building still sparks against my senses.”

“Magical device?”

Oilcan’s kids had almost nothing to their names except human goods that Oilcan had scrounged out of thrift stores. Were the twins using something? Did they invent something?

“A very elaborate spell…” Forge murmured as a luggage mule picked its way past him.

It suddenly hit her. The twins, the mice, and one of the luggage mules were gone—as well as the floating ice chest by the door. Those little brats! They created as much chaos as possible in order to sneak the nactka out of the room!

“Shit!” Tinker growled as the fourth spark rippled over her. “Shit!”

How many baby dragons were locked in the nactka? Ten? More like six now!

Tinker started to run.



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