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Off-Grid

The Tree House


Ribbon-light washed the room, dancing pastels pierced with blades of darkness. It was scarcely an hour for calling, even calling on kin, and Bentamin had considered waiting until he might bring breakfast and therefore at least seem convenable.

Only the matter nagged at him until finally he accepted the hour with the necessity and thought himself into the main room of his cousin’s house.

It was a comfortable room, with large windows overlooking the wild wood, through which the Ribbon-light now danced. There had been some rearrangement of the furniture since the last time he had visited: the desk had been brought out of its alcove, and set with a better view of the window for it and the second desk that now faced it. This relegated the dining table to the alcove, which he found a pity, until he saw a smaller table out on the porch, last evening’s wineglasses reflecting the dancing pastels.

The lights were out, which of course they should be at this hour, when only the guilty were awake. Bentamin opened his shields the tiniest bit, seeking. He touched one pattern—or was it two?

He sighed sharply. The ambient in this location was always turbulent, and he had known he was going to wake Tekelia. Only one had not expected Tekelia to have a guest, if indeed that second pattern was anything more than a Ribbon-born reflection.

He turned back to the larger room, thinking that he must of course go, when he felt a definite and distinctive flutter against his senses, and his cousin came into the room, tying the belt of an extremely colorful robe and shaking dark hair back from an irritated face.

“Good morning, Tekelia,” he said politely, keeping his voice low against the possibility of that second pattern.

“Bentamin,” came the response, with scant courtesy. “Have you a clock?”

“Several,” he replied. “I was minded to take their counsel and seek my bed, save a certain matter did not allow of sleep.”

Fierce eyes, equally black in the Ribbon-light, considered him.

“That sounds dire,” Tekelia said at last. “I suppose you had better tell me. Tea? Cake?”

“I would not . . . disturb the house,” Bentamin said delicately, and his cousin grinned.

“We’ll take to the porch, then, and see how far your good intentions carry us.”

* * *

Settled comfortably in the chair, Bentamin looked out over the wood, letting the turbulence swirl around him. His shields were barely open; he was Civilized and the full force of the ambient was not for him. Tekelia, however, was entirely open to the chaotic dance, so that Bentamin could scarcely see where his cousin ended and the ambient began.

Or, he thought, perhaps there were no boundaries. Tekelia was what the Haosa—the unCivilized, who lived off the Grid in the shadow of Ribbon Dance Hill—dignified as a Child of Chaos, which might be more literal than was comfortable for a Civilized man—though he be the very Warden—to dwell upon.

“Ah,” Tekelia said, “now you are able to find your rest. Shall I bring you a blanket?”

“Your pardon, Cousin; I was reflecting on the nature of comfort. Which brings us to my topic.” Bentamin took a breath, releasing the name on a sigh.

“kezlBlythe.”

There was a sharp creak, as if Tekelia had shifted in the chair, though the reply was perfectly calm.

“I understand why sleep refused you. Tell me, Cousin, what will you do about the kezlBlythe?”

Bentamin raised his hands, showing empty palms to the dancing Ribbons.

“That had always depended on how and where they made their mistake,” he answered. “My concern is that they have made it, and if so, lives are in it.”

Another creak as Tekelia leaned forward.

“Lives are always in it with the kezlBlythe; death is the only seasoning they can taste. The twins are safe with us—”

“Are they?” Bentamin interrupted, sharply, and waited until Tekelia murmured.

“Yes, as of this heartbeat. They are asleep, healthy, and well guarded. Now, tell me, Bentamin.”

“Yes, of course. Yesterday, Avryal kezlBlythe filed a petition with Haven City Council that xinRood’s fortune be transferred to the kezlBlythe holdings and xinRood be listed as a Failed Line.”

“That seems precipitate. What was her reasoning?”

“That the children now living off-Grid is in practical terms no different from the children being dead. Real property must therefore pass according to the law, and the kezlBlythe have long been the heirs of everything xinRood owned.”

He paused.

“The suit to have xinRood entered as a Failed Line was separate. In my opinion, it is merely spite.”

“Others have put forth these gambits,” Tekelia remarked. “The Councilors have precedent to guide them.”

“It’s not the precedent that bothers me,” Bentamin said. “It’s the timing.”

“You think—no. Tell me what you think, Bentamin.”

“I think that the kezlBlythe sent Civilized children off-Grid, and are confident that they will succumb.”

“Then they have fallen into the error of overconfidence,” Tekelia said. “Vaiza—the boy—is a Wild Talent.”

Bentamin blinked, recalling the twins’ patterns as he had last seen them. Surely, they had been Civilized—then. Yet Tekelia—like him—was rarely wrong in such matters. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.” Absolute certainty rang against the ambient.

“And the girl?”

“Torin is a difficult case. She burns not so brightly as her brother, but she does burn. If her Talent is Wild, it is very modest. If she is Civilized, you will shortly have competition for your honors.”

“I’d welcome a ’prentice gladly. But how is it that you don’t know, Cousin?”

“Well.” Tekelia sounded amused. “For one thing, they are siblings, for another, they are twins, for a third, they have been in close proximity to a norbear for the entirety of their lives, and for a fourth, they have seen all of their kin fall to kezlBlythe’s malice, and therefore trust no one but themselves.” Tekelia paused, and added, “Geritsi has made some progress there, and I believe Dosent is becoming intimate. In addition—”

Tekelia flung an arm up toward the sky where the Ribbon-dance was paler now, ceding pride of place to the rising of the star.

“In addition, it is rather noisy in this locality. Perhaps you have noticed.”

“If the girl is Civilized, she ought to be showing distress by now,” Bentamin said.

“Not,” Tekelia countered, “if her brother is shielding her.”

“They’re very young.”

“They are. I submit that necessity is a stern teacher. Nor ought we to discount the norbear. As for surety . . . ”

Tekelia lifted a shoulder.

“We have been reluctant to probe too deeply, given their history. And, to be honest, I had thought we would have some time to allow them to become accustomed to us. However, you tell me that the kezlBlythe are on the move. I will therefore make it my business tomorrow to discover the twins’ specific condition. When I have done so, I will inform you.”

Tekelia paused, hand raised. Bentamin waited.

“You ought to know that there is a village meeting tomorrow evening, and that the twins’ future is on the agenda. Shall I reveal the kezlBlythe’s new actions?”

“Not all, I think. Merely make it known that the kezlBlythe have not forgotten their cousins. As for the twins, their lives and their futures . . . ”

Bentamin looked into his cousin’s eyes, revealed under the lightening sky to be one blue and one brown.

“I would rather the twins stay at Ribbon Dance Village, than being sent further out from the Grid.”

Tekelia laughed. “If you think the village will not vote to keep them, here and safe, Cousin, you very much mistake your Haosa.”

“No, I don’t think I’ve mistaken my Haosa at all,” Bentamin said earnestly. “Only have a care. kezlBlythe does not merely think that the children will fail; they think that they have failed. Given that the kezlBlythe never wager save when a win is assured, it concerns me that they have . . . done something to ensure the children do not disappoint them.”

Tekelia sighed and seemed about to say something when the door opened, and a firm voice said, “There you are. I’ve started the kettle warming.”

A slender woman stepped out onto the porch, pale hair loose along her shoulders, wearing a robe only slightly less colorful than Tekelia’s. Bentamin shifted, and she raised her eyes to find him.

“Warden,” she said calmly, inclining her head.

“Trader,” he answered, matching her tone.

“Padi,” Tekelia said, rising to place light hands on her shoulders. “Did we wake you?”

“Not at all—I’ve an early meeting at the port.”

“I remember,” Tekelia said. “I’ll make the meal while you get ready. Bentamin, are you staying?”

“I think not, thank you, Cousin. I have meetings as well.”

He rose and bowed more fully. “Trader yos’Galan, it is good to see you again,” he said composedly, while his mind raced. Were they lovers? But how could that be? He supposed he would have to ask eventually. But now was not the time. Now was the time to take his leave.

Padi yos’Galan returned his bow with precision.

“It is good to see you again, also, Warden,” she murmured, and went back inside.

Bentamin turned to his cousin, who spoke before him.

“Will you at least take one of Entilly’s cookies?”

“That’s kind, but I am not in need,” Bentamin said. “Tekelia, find what you can. I fear—”

“As I do,” Tekelia interrupted. “I’ll look, Bentamin. In the meanwhile, trust the Haosa to keep them safe.”

“I do,” Bentamin said with more honesty than the Warden was often permitted. “Only—the kezlBlythe.”

Tekelia grinned, feral. “Despite their chosen mode, the kezlBlythe are Civilized. Let them try us in our home.”

“Let it not go so far as that,” Bentamin countered, and thought himself back to Civilization.


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