*A very short post, because I haven’t had time to look through the back log yet and also because today we have a ton of business stuff we need to do (groan.) If any of you are collecting these posts, I’d really appreciate a compilation mailed to me. I’m hoping to go over it, once Through Fire is delivered.*
*You guys know we talked about doing a shared world. We went with a whole continent so that Dave can have his jungle and I can have my big city with diners. We’re working on a contract which we should have in a week or two (and yes, we’ll post it for your enlightenment although we haven’t decided yet if anyone not in the group can play. OTOH if it’s very successful, we’ll inevitably enlarge it. For now, here’s the eighth chapter of Elf Blood, book one of Risen Atlantis. And for now it is ©Sarah A. Hoyt 2014. All rights reserved. Do not copy, distribute or otherwise disseminate without the author’s name, and a link to this page. You do not have the right to alter it. You do not have the right to claim it as yours. For permission to do anything other than quote it for review or recommendation purposes, email Goldportpress@gmail.com. This is a work of fiction, all coincidence between it and real people place or events is assuredly imaginary.*
For previous chapters, see here. There will be some missing, but you can find them by paging back. I need a minion to keep an up to date compilation and send it to me every Saturday night. If you’re good, you’ll get a t-shirt or something.*
The lights from Pomae were light a splash against the horizon, and even in the elven steed I could feel the power from the city coursing through me.
Things had started to assemble themselves in my head, on the long drive. Among other things I’d realized why people like me were feared by mortals and also, I thought, by elves. Oh, the elves disguised it as all sorts of things: hatred and disdain and good old fashioned snobbery.
But I’d come to think they were yellow with fear, afraid of people like me, because we could call magical power like humans could, without depending on the feed line of the hill, on the magic flowing through the collective minds and power of the elves… on the community that controlled them. Un’uruh I might be, and I’d heard it said most of my life with a sneer and a curl of the lip when it came to my father’s people, but what it meant in fact is that I could get my own elf steeds, and live life my own way too…
I wondered if all Un’uruh were capable of it. If Ardghal was, for instance.
I took the elf steed all the way into Pomae. I could feel it shying and wishing to rear at the entrance to the city, which was natural since it was a wild thing, with a lot of old magic blood in its veins, and they dreaded the cold iron and the rational thought of the humans who had built Pomae.
In other days I’d have let the poor thing go, feeling its distress, feeling sorry for it. I still had no intention of going full elf-ruthless and not feel pity on anyone, ever.
Oh, I could see it could be a temptation, when you had this much power, this handy. But I didn’t intend to let it take over me. It would require watching, I thought. The problem with the elves was that not only didn’t they watch themselves, they would have no idea why they needed to. Having been raised by my mother, I didn’t think I could ever forget myself to that point.
But I’d watch for it.
Meanwhile a little ruthlessness was needed. I’d been pushed around like a ball in a particularly energetic billiard game, and I still had no idea why or what elves and police and all of them had meant to do with me.
I suspected Ardghal was the victim of a plot, but he might very well have been the instigator. There was no way to know.
But I meant to find out.
So I had the elf-car drive me all the way to the police station where I’d been questioned. A trendil of magic, sent ahead, gave me a good feeling for where that Un’uruh detective was. He was at the station. Good. I wondered if, like me, he’d discovered the power of Un’uruh. I doubted it. I suspected most people never did, which was why the elves could get away with trampling us under foot. Or perhaps the trampling was what kept us so scared of anything having to do with elves, we never tried. Hadn’t I been pushed, I’d never have found out.
By the time we got to the station, the elf-mount was truly rearing and fighting, and I let it stop and got out, and released it, watching it speed out of town, its shape changing from a car to a maddened cat-horse.
People who’d seen me get out gave me a wide berth. And even I would have given me a wide berth if I had been a spectator a week ago.
I walked to an alley to the side of the station, and I sent that tendril of power again, finding the Un’uruh officer – did the police know what he was – and sending out my call.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are!”
I felt resistence, puzzlement, and then, as though unable to fight back, acquiescence.
Minutes later, a tall man, much more handsome than he had any right to be, stepped into the alley.
And I realized with a shock he wasn’t the one I’d met before. And he wasn’t Un’Uruh.