They held each other until they heard the signal that a verdict had been reached.
The Prime Minister almost didn't wait for them to get back before asking for the jury's verdict. There was no surprise. They were both guilty. Mal looked at the two tigers and did not like what she saw. "You, Henrik Potter, lured a trusting man who had come here to Metamor Keep to voluntarily to share in our fate, our curse, and our destiny. He did you no wrong and his only mistake was looking past the claws and fangs and imagining he saw a likeable man underneath." Mal shuddered with disgust. "His mistake, however, does not excuse your crime. And, I will not allow a man who can look past a face like yours and try to see a man beneath it to suffer such an injustice. I can't turn back the clock, Henrik Potter, but I can lock you in the dungeons for six months for the crime."
Mal turned to Wicker. "Wicker Potter. I'd be willing to believe you were led into this life by your father if it hadn't been for your rather blunt statement about some people being prey. None of us here are animals, despite our different appearances. Where you think you fall on the food chain does not entitle you to special behavior here in the Keep. Therefor, after a four week incarceration in the dungeons, you will be brought before a council to be chosen at that time. You will be made a ward of the Keep and you will be monitored. You will either curb your aggressive tendencies, harness them for good, or you will find yourself in my hands again. Is that clear?"
Wicker stood his ground and seemed defiant. "Perfectly clear, woman." Mal raised an eyebrow and said nothing for a good minute. Wicker did not flinch or blink, but he did seem to smile softly. "Make that eight weeks. Take him away."
Wicker left calmly with his head held high, memorizing each face on the jury, each court guard, and everyone, in fact, that was there to witness his conviction.
After Wicker was led away, Clay led Grey to the place he had grown up in. "My mother moved out a few weeks after I changed." Clay said as he walked past the broken pottery and busted tin pieces of the abandoned storefront.
"My br-my big sister has her own place within the Keep with her husband. With dad and Wicker in jail, we can have this place to ourselves for two months."
The unchanged man wrinkled his nose. "It'll take that long just to clean out this place."
"Naw," the stallion said with relative humour. "When you've got a pair of bored five foot tall dung beetles around, you'd be surprised how fast a place can get clean."
Grey made a face but said nothing.
Clay turned around with a chest full of clothes. "These were Tin's before he changed. I think they'll fit you. My old pants might fit you, if his don't. He had shorter legs, you know."
Grey smiled weakly and looked at the pile of clothes... the chest had been cedar lined so they smelled nice, at least. "Tin was a bit on the husky side for a 15 year old."
"My mother's side has a lot of tall men," Clay said with some gentle cheer.
"Or so she told us. I haven't seen anyone one on that side of the family since the Battle of the Three Gates. I guess they've written us off as dead." He looked at the pink and brown skin of his palm and then scratched at the long black hair hanging off his wrist with his other hand. "It's not like I can visit them and find out."
Grey was absorbed in sorting the clothes, obviously trying to imagine what a monster Tin must have been. In truth, Tin was only about 5foot tall and barely weighed 5 stone, when the change hit. Mother just happened to be a terrible seamstress , preferring to err on the side of huge. Grey was too quiet, he realized after a moment.
"Grey? This is where you're supposed to ask, 'What was it like, changing, Clay?'"
Grey looked up and actually looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Clay. What was it like, changing?"
"It's different for different people. For me, it was like having a cold for awhile. I had a fever, I was sullen, and then I was a little hoarse." He cleared his throat a few times for effect. Grey actually chuckled at that. "The big problem for me was that my mother was wolf and my dad was a tiger and most children of mismatched animal morphs usually become one or the other. Usually, meaning, of course not always."
"Right," Grey said catching on. "Your dad claimed your weren't his son."
Clay deflated at that. "I wish it were only true."
"Hey, if you were my son, I'd be proud of you no matter what you were."
Clay grabbed a few random pieces of clothing from the chest and grabbed Grey by the arm. "Let's play dress-up."
Grey laughed nervously as the stallion dragged him to the master bedroom.
"That's the first thing my sister said to me when she saw new body was finished with me." She grew up as a boy and never really played much with dolls. Tina measured me and altered my shirts a bit. I'd always been a big boy, but I couldn't get my head into my old shirts. My old breeches were a lost cause, they rubbed against me in all the wrong places and I had to go to a tailor to get a few pairs that fit just the right way."
He picked up Grey and placed him on the bed standing. He started undressing the man only to stop when he saw the man turn white. He hadn't seemed shy last night, but something was bothering him. "Are you ok, did you want me to stop?"
Grey sighed and looked confused himself. "I'm trying to figure out just when you became in charge of me."
Clay suddenly saw what he was doing to his new friend. To his rider. If anything, the rider should be in charge, at all times. His hands went to his mouth slowly as he considered what he had been about to do. And what he 'd already been done. Having had to admit his desires in a court of law before complete and total strangers must have eaten at the man's ego.
Outside the Keep, same sex affairs were frowned upon, to say the least. Inside the Keep, it still produced a certain amount of smirking, especially among Followers of the Way, but it was at least tolerated because of the curse. Grey had been brought close to tears in the courtroom and then Clay, his Steed, turned on him by dragging him across the Keep and comparing him to a doll that he might dress up.
"I'm sorry," Clay said, softly and sincerely. "Tell me what you want me to do."
"I... I don't know." Grey admitted. "I'm just a little confused right now."
Clay waited for a moment, but the unchanged man standing on his mother's bed just seemed to stare off into space. Then his fingers were back at the top of his Grey's light fall breeches. Grey started cutely and Clay tried not to smile with delight at that. As Clay undid the top bottom, he asked,
"Would you like me to stop?"
"No," the man said after a slight hesitation.
Clay undid the next button. "Would you like me to stop?"
Grey swallowed and then took a deep breathe and then swallowed again. "No."
Clay held his fingers over the last button, letting Grey feel the weight of it. "You know, Grey, there's no reason you have to be in charge all the time. It's hard always being the one to do everything. Sometimes it's good to just switch with somebody, and let them do all the worrying."
He looked up and saw tears in the man's eyes. This crying man was so incredibly dear to the stallion at that moment that he was ready to cry, too. "I never wanted... to be weak. I wanted to be strong for you."
"Now, it's my turn to be strong for you." Clay whispered.
"Don't... do this for me..." the man said in a small faraway voice.
Clay slowly undid the final button, letting his hot horse breathe fall directly on the silk beneath. "Then I'm going to do this for me, my rider. Is that alright?"
"Yes," Grey said in surrender.
Wheeler awoke to a distant pounding.
It wasn't even dusk yet, but Wheeler and Clay had eaten up much of the day getting to know each other. It was exhausting, but rewarding work. Clay was completely spent, but Wheeler's tattoo wards speeded up his recovery time. He'd never been both master and slave to anyone before and he wondered if he could make a relationship like this work. He wondered if this would survive the change.
The pounding came again and Wheeler threw on some of Tin's old clothes. They were tight in the crotch, but they fit. Clay was wearing his silk underpants, so Wheeler left them there with a gentle pat and ran down the steps to the front door.
It was a coyote, but not his friend, the monk. "Thalberg requests your presence at your earliest convenience."
"Thank," Wheeler said a little gruffly. "How did you happen to know where to find me?"
"The Prime Minister suggested you might be here." The coyote said as if that name would mean something to Wheeler. "If you like, I can take a message back to Thalberg."
"Oh, yes, I'll need five minutes to get ready. Thank you for letting me know."
The coyote smiled and then trotted off. Wheeler was going to have to ask if he was supposed to tip messengers here. He ran upstairs and found his silk clad pony still snoring away. He matched his outfit as well as possible and then shook Clay awake. "I have to go see Thalberg. I'll bring back some food for dinner, but I need you to do something for me."
"Hmmm?"
Wheeler pulled up his blouse and exposed the two inch high mystic glyphs.
"Could you rub here?"
Sleepily, Clay rubbed his hands across the three glyphs and Chang's distant voice called to him. Pain. Agony. Hope. The warmth of healing spread over Grey's body as it hadn't in almost two years. The warmth in his chest became heat quickly. Clay loved him, he knew, otherwise, the warmth would never have become such a burning ember so quickly. Three passes was all the pony could manage before his arm became too heavy. He loved the horse morph, too, and he kissed Clay on his muzzle.
Clay's eyes fluttered once more. "You smell nice."
"It's the cedar on the clothes, now get some rest."
Wheeler was deliriously happy when he left for Thalberg's office.
It did not last.
When Wheeler entered the Stewart's office, Malissa and Coe were there as well as the alligator and two other creatures he did not recognize: a chicken morph and a smaller lizard morph that very well may have been Thalberg's son for all he knew. They stood off to the side, so Wheeler ignored them.
"I am glad you requested this meeting, my lord," Wheeler began still high from this day's exercises. "I wanted to apologize."
==ON YOUR KNEES!
The command, called out in Noble Khumari, caught Wheeler completely off guard. Instinct and training threw him down to the floor before he could figure out what was going on. He heard his new pants rip, but he hardly cared. He was absolutely shocked to the core. He tried to gather his wits, but he couldn't even remember what he'd been saying seconds ago. Clay should be here, he thought.
Clay should be here.
Thalberg came out from behind his desk. The alligator seemed to be inspecting him. "Incredible. What kind of spell is he under?" Wheeler felt stupid and, for a second, he was sure he had only imagined that he had heard a shrill woman's voice that had commanded him to his knees. "I 'm not-"
==SILENCE!==
To hear the highest dialect of Khumari, after so many years! The screeching woman's voice just plowed through any effort he made to erect mental walls against it.
Training over took Wheeler's brain. He snapped his mouth shut and hit his forehead on the floor to apologize. It hurt since his body was expecting a woven mat beneath him not stone, but he took the pain without question. He felt his throat muscles constrict painfully. He whimpered in frustration and did not move.
"It is not a spell, Noble Thalberg, but deep, intensive training." This was from the lizard that might have been the Stewart's son, but Wheeler could not bring himself to look up. His accent was pure noble Khumari and he seemed to emanate calmness. Wheeler could feel a gentle magical probe lapping against him and he knew this young lizard morph was not what he seemed. "At least, the tantric wards are not reacting to Mong-Ho's commands. He is on his knees because he was trained to do so. Apparently, by a Tantric master that is all I can say with certainty."
"Remarkable," the steward said. "Mong-Ho, ask him who his master is."
==NAME YOUR MASTER!
"Please, I can not," Wheeler started.
==NAME YOUR MASTER!!!
The displeasure was thick in the woman's voice and it took a second to associate the screeching with the chicken he'd seen as he entered. He pictured Clay in his mind and tried to deny the image and that made the tattoo burn in shame. Wheeler let out a strangled cry. He answered in lesser Khumari then, in his panic. "I have no master. I have been freed."
==LIAR!
"Noooo!!!" Suddenly, the bird morph was ripping at the hole in his pants.
==WHERE IS YOUR SILK, THEN?
"Please, Mong-Ho, there is no need to attack the man, I only want some answers."
"He lies and says he has no master."
The younger lizard seemed unperturbed by the roster's screeching. "Tantric slaves are not trained to lie, Mong-Ho."
"They are trained for discretion! They can be trained to lie!" the hen screeched. "Especially a westerner."
==WHO IS YOUR MASTER?
"I call no one master!" Again he could not help himself but to answer in Khumari. The hen was using the neuter form of master now.
"Ask him what his interest in young Clay Potter is," this came from the prime Minister and when Wheeler heard Mong-Ho inhale to repeat the question to him in Noble Khumari, he screamed.
Wheeler screamed like someone shoved a hot poker into his heart. They might as well have. He would not hear the question. He could not allow himself to hear the question. He would not have to answer the question if he did hear it from the cruel chicken morph behind him. But he did not count on Mong-Ho 's innate ability to out scream anyone.
==WHO IS CLAY WHEELER TO YOU?
Wheeler gouged his face but could not stop the answer from coming out. In Khumari, he told them that he was Clay's rider as well as his slave in turns. He wailed but could not stop the explicit details from pouring forth from his mouth. The question had opened a flood gate of emotion and even as Thalberg and Coe grabbed his hands to keep him from clawing out his own eyes, Wheeler told them everything. Everything. About the rat who stole the apple. About lying in the alley wishing he would be raped or killed. His soul spilled out completely before enough of his blood could drain out of him.
He fell limp to the floor, crying, in great big racking sobs. Thalberg looked incredibly pale, which was a feat for the cold blooded alligator. Even Mal felt pity for the man. Ye, the smaller lizard, translated as much as he could. Wheeler was vaguely aware that the smaller lizard cleaned up a lot of what had spilled out of him and for that little bit of dignity, the slave was grateful. Wheeler could almost feel the magic sight of Ye on him as he said, "The wards seem to be reacting to his distress, protecting him."
"I still do not understand, if the only magic on him are protection wards, why the dramatics?" Thalberg asked, regaining some control over the session. "Why is he acting this way?"
"He has been very well trained. Understand, please, that he willing opened himself up so that his master could control him." Ye said softly. "To serve so completely, is an honour so very few achieve. But it is also an honour that can not be given back." Thalberg shook his head confused. "But why is he acting like we're torturing him?"
A ripple spread across the pool of calmness that surrounded the smaller lizard. Ye sighed and looked down. "He did not give himself to us. We are not his masters. We are uninvited into the garden of his soul and he is a most delicate flower."
"It is show," the hen screeched. "He is warded. He will heal."
"He's not lying, is he?" Thalberg asked and Ye murmured that Wheeler was completely open to them. Thalberg sat heavily down on the floor. "I'd only wanted to ascertain if this man was a threat. If only Wessex were here to verify his intentions, as he has done in the past."
"I feel like a rapist." Mal said under her breathe.
"I could order him to forget, if it make you feel better." Mong-Ho offered glibly.
"If only you could make me forget," the Prime Minister spat. "Would that work, Mr. Wheeler, if Mong-Ho ordered you to forget."
"No," he sobbed, "I would only pretend to forget and hope the act would become fact."
Mal glared at the two native Os-Var-Khumaris. "How can you people, by that I mean your whole damn island, how can you turn people into this?" Ye sighed. "In our country, those who serve are the most honored. Those who serve so completely that they allow themselves to become possessions are honored for their sacrifice. A slave like your Wheeler is revered as highly as the Emperor's household staff or advisors. To us, there is no shame in the selflessness."
Thalberg ran his claws through the weeping man's hair. "I am sorry, Wheeler. When Coe described the symbols on your chest, Ye and Mong-Ho recognized the pattern as the slave wards of their homeland. The first two symbols agreed with the meaning you told Coe, if with some variations I could understand you glossing over. The third one, neither Ye nor Mong-Ho recognized, but it certainly wasn't your name."
Wheeler did not respond to any of this and simply continued to bleed and weep onto the stone floor. There was no question for him to respond to, as Ye gently reminded Thalberg a moment later. "I'm sorry, you see, recently we had a few incidents with people who were under the control of others who would not step directly within the Keep. The glyph we couldn't identify... Mong-Ho and Ye agreed it might have been a control glyph. We asked a trusted Keeper with great magic sight to examine you from afar. It had the strongest magic of all three, but Sean did not know or understand what he saw." Realizing he still hadn't asked a direct question, Thalberg sigh.
"What does the third glyph mean."
"Hope." Wheeler whispered. "The worst torture of them all."
"What does it do?"
"It lets me hear Chang's voice."
Mong-Ho crowed at this little tidbit. "I knew it! I knew it!"
Thalberg continued the stroke Wheeler's head. "What does he tell you to do?"
Wheeler broke down further and the racking sobs made it hard for the four
Keepers to hear the answer. It was heartbreaking. "He doesn't... tell me
to do... anything," the words stumbled out one by one between sobs. "He
tells me... I am... beloved."
Clay awoke just pass dusk to an urgent pounding on his door. He wasn't in the bunkhouse, so he was a little disoriented at first. He found Kee hopping from on foot to another.
"It's your friend, Wheeler. Something happened to him. You have to come quickly."
Clay didn't even bother putting on more clothes; his loins were covered. That would have to be enough. He chased the messenger back to Thalberg's office where he discovered the young dragon morph, Ye, his fellow countryman, Mong-Ho, and the raccoon healer, Coe, standing over Grey. "Grey?" The man looked up and his face was in tatters. Clay suddenly felt a touch so cold, his legs went numb and failed him. Coe and Ye jumped up towards him.
"Don't let him fall on his legs!" Coe cried out but Clay did not hear him as they broke his fall inches at a time. Neither of them was up to supporting Clay's weight. All Clay could take in was the pitiful way his beautiful rider looked and the smacking sound he made trying to get the words out. Clay crawled on his hands and knees to Grey's side. Grey said, "I'm sorry." He said it three times before he stopped and started crying softly again.
"What happened?"
Ye said simply, "We have shamed him."
"What?"
Ye spoke slowly and sadly. "His western mind could not fully accept his Eastern heart."
White lightning appeared in Clay's eyes and his tail shot around like a ferret in heat. Anyone who spent time around horses or even the Duke, knew all too well what those things meant, yet Ye continued blandly. "He is a slave without a master and he is suffering for it."
Clay grabbed the little lizard, "I want to know what happened here." Brian Coe put his hand on the draft pony's shoulder. "We happened here." He sighed as Clay released Ye. "Thalberg thought he might be a danger to the Keep."
Clay was flabbergasted. "I knew Thalberg didn't like him, but to rip up his face...!"
"I did that," the man sobbed from the floor of Thalberg's office.
"What?"
"I used to be a slave... when I was in Os-Var-Khai... I should have told you... and they... and they thought I was a threat so they used commands on me to make me talk..." the man's voice squeaked pitifully as another crying jag overtook him. "I tried not to talk... but I was too weak. I'm so... so sorry... I told them... everything."
"That's ok, Grey. Really."
But Grey shook his head and would hear none of it. Clay ripped open Grey's shirt and saw the glyphs half faded. Clay ran his fingers over them and they seemed to flicker.
"He wants to die," the hen said regretfully. "The shame is too great. His Western mind is too small to understand the honor he has."
Clay ignored the bird. Between his bantam bunkmate and what he'd had heard about Mong-Ho, he was coming to the conclusion that all birds were idiots. "No," the horse insisted, "There is no shame. Grey, listen to me. Listen to me! Did you tell them about the bit in the stall and how you put the bridle on me?"
Grey nodded miserably.
"Good, because that's my favorite part." The horse said honestly. "Did you tell them how you rode me to Laracin's courtyard? Laracin is the big tree, by the way. I think I forgot to mention that."
Grey nodded, his eyes remained closed however.
Clay called his name several times and slapped him to get his attention. Coe went to stop Clay from slapping his rider, but Ye gestured to let the stallion handle things.
When Clay was sure he had his friend's attention, he spoke again. "Did you know that the prime Minister was engaged to get married, Grey? You should see Malissa's fiancée, Grey," Clay paused, "She's a hottie. You see, Grey, there are others here like you. Like us."
The glyphs were darker now and now seemed to sigh.
"Like me," Clay added in a stage whisper after a beat.
Clay continued to stroke the glyphs and now even he could feel that mystic warmth Grey had described. "You see, I always knew I was different. Not just because I didn't change when I was supposed to. Not just because I liked boys better than girls. But I was always afraid to find out why I was different. I was afraid to find out how I was different." Clay took a deep breathe, not liking the attention he was getting from the three other Keepers in the room. "In one night, you changed all that. Now, I want to know everything about me. Everything. And I want to learn about you."
Grey smiled weakly. "You really aren't upset with me?"
"No, but if I see Thalberg anytime soon, I might rip his scaly head off," Clay said half- jokingly as he continued to rub the glyphs gently. He could actually watch the scrapes healing before his eyes as the warm glyphs danced beneath his fingers. A phantom scent of jasmine and sandalwood tickled Clay 's nose as Grey's eyes closed once more, but in a relaxed way this time. Clay leaned in closely and sniffed his friend deeply. The sweat and blood of this delicate man were evaporating into a fine perfumed mist at his touch.
"You smell good," the horse said approvingly in a quiet little whisper and kissed Grey lightly on the forehead. Clay awoke in the middle of the night to find himself alone in his parent's bed.
Even with the moonlight falling into the room from the windows, it still took a few minutes to find Grey lying in a fetal position on the floor. He wore the silk underpants that Ye said were something of a status symbol in Grey's class. Knowing that, he was surprised that Grey let him put it on, but then with Grey things were apparently going to be ON or OFF. When Clay was in charge, Grey wasn't about to argue with him. It was a simple enough concept for Clay to grasp and while he didn't think anyone should have to live like that, he had to admit that there was a certain appeal that someone would live like that.
What did annoy him, however, was how this neediness manifested itself at times.
Still, he wasn't going to yell at the poor guy, not after the milling Thalberg and the rest of the Duke's cronies had put him through. He got down on the floor and saw that Grey wasn't even sleeping, he was staring under the bed. He was a still as a pile of mud. "Grey," he whispered softly. "Grey?"
The man's eyes flickered towards him and then he looked away shame-faced. Clay didn't know what to call the state Grey was in, but he recognized that he was seeing right into the unchanged man's soul. Although, he was no longer truly unchanged. Thalberg's little interview seemed to have stripped every piece of dignity out of his rider.
Something turned within Clay and he felt love swelling within him for the helpless man in front of him. He reached forward with his hairy hands and touched Grey's cheek gently. He stroked the cheek and Grey closed his eyes as if not to cry. But there was something different about the man's face and, for a moment, the stallion could not place it. "Sit up," Clay told him softly and nudged him into that position. Grey complied no faster than the horse-morph moved him, but Clay was too busy staring at him in the moonlight to really be annoyed.
"You look younger," the horse morph muttered. "No, not younger... just... you had scars on your face when you got here." Clay counted the days since Grey made it to the Keep. "It's too early for the curse..."
Grey looked down and rubbed his chest distractedly.
Clay took his cheek and pointed Grey's head so that their eyes would meet. "Look at me when I talk to you," he snapped. That was harsher than he wanted it to be, but Grey did look at him and he didn't look away. That was progress, at least, and he wasn't going to apologize for it. Clay took a moment to adjust his voice to a calm pitch. "What happened to your scars?"
"You did," Grey whispered. "You erased them by stroking the tattoo the way you did."
"Pity," Clay said, his tone light, "I liked them. They made you look like a warrior."
Grey's face just about fell off and Clay's heart skipped a beat. "I'm sorry," he said miserably.
Clay had to jerk his chin a little to get Grey to look at him, again. "No, it's fine."
"No, it's not."
"No, really," Clay had to smile. "We can always make you new scars." The words were a joke, but Grey's face suddenly had such a hopeful, forlorn look that Clay's felt something hitch in his throat. "If you could heal like that, why didn't you touch the tattoo during the fight with Wicker. You could have fought back."
Grey tried to look away but Clay's hands always gently tugged him back. Finally, he answered. "I can only heal myself a little. I need someone who loved me to do it."
Love heals all wounds.
That was a bit of a jolt to Clay. He loved Grey. It wasn't just fondness or caring or concern. Love.
"Wow," the horse morph said. He let go of Grey's chin and touched the tattoo in the moonlight. He touched the tattoo and felt it squirm pleasant at his touch. Grey did not move or flinch. Nor did he look away. He loved the man. He wasn't sure if he could say it outloud, but he didn't have to.
Grey knew.
Grey knew.
His blunt hands were then touching Grey's chest. And when Clay moved the man's right arm out of the way, it stayed where the stallion put it. Grey began taking in deeper breathes as Clay explored his body in the semidarkness. Clay was fascinated by the image in his mind. Grey was a pile of mud that the stallion could mold anyway he chose to. Anyway. He fingers groped and pulled and Grey responded, completely compliant to Clay's wishes. Then Clay picked up Grey and placed him back on the bed and began smelling every square inch of the man. The man smelled good enough to eat. "What... are you... doing?" the man said quietly as Clay began to pull the silk shorts down towards the pink human feet.
"Does it matter," Clay said, half teasing. Half serious.
"No," Clay admitted with a wavering voice.
Clay pushed his stomach onto the edge of the bed and looked up playfully at
Grey between his legs. "Why doesn't it matter?"
Clay swallowed before he spoke. His voice was far away. "Because I love you. Because I'm yours."
Still, the next day, Wheeler was miserable.
He walked Clay to the stable. They passed a bakery where a cat morph was busy sweeping the stoop and Wheeler tried to describe how he felt. He felt awkward and selfish talking about it, but his lover insisted on knowing how he felt. "I just hate being a victim, Clay. I think if I keep acting like a slave, the world is going to treat me like one."
Clay looked at him, stung. "I thought you liked what I did last night." "No," he reassured his stallion, "I loved what you did last night. But I'm almost thirty..."
Clay gave him an evil look that did things to his body and said, "That could change, y'know. Your hair does seem darker, , after all. More gold... less silver. Is the tattoo supposed to do that? Maybe it's the curse."
"I don't know if the tattoo is," Nobody's ever loved me as much as you do.
"But doesn't the getting younger thing happen pretty quickly?"
"Yeah," the horse morph agreed. "But it could still happen slowly." They walked in silence for awhile before Clay had to nudge him again. "What are you thinking?"
"What happens to us if I become a little boy?"
Clay thought about that. They walked in silence for a block before Clay just started chuckling evilly. Wheeler blushed furiously and tried to change the subject. "Shouldn't we be at the stables by now?"
Clay shrugged. "The Keep's funny that way. It knows we still need to talk."
"Talk?" Grey sighed, "What happens if I become a woman?"
"I'll miss certain things," Clay admitted. "There are some things I don't think I would do again, in any case. And there would be certain advantages. Clay Potter, stud pony. I like the sound of that."
Wheeler was flabbergasted but pleased at the same time. He couldn't believe this is the same quiet kid from a few days ago. But then, no one who traveled in the caravan across the flatlands had ever guessed that the cargo master crawled on his belly each night begging to be flogged by the short and flabby family man who owned everything in the fifth district in Yesulam. Thank the gods for magic sound baffles. "But you wouldn't be able to get me pregnant, would you?" he added with a nervous laugh.
Without warning, Clay tugged him close and bit his ear playfully and roughly. Wheeler's heart skipped a beat but he held his ear in shock. "Do not doubt my manhood, Grey."
With wide eyes, Wheeler stammered, "No, sir."
Then he blinked and checked his hand for blood, but there was none. His hand went absent mindedly to his chest but Clay stopped him with a word.
"Don't."
"No, sir," Wheeler stumbled along for a few feet before noticing the smile of the Stallion's face. "Gods, you're good! Are you sure you've never done this before?"
"I am very sure," the young Keeper said. "After I tucked you in back home, I went to the library and got a book." Wheeler completely felt the blood drain from his face. Clay giggled at the expression of his discomfort. "We have a very good library, you know."
"I guess you do." They continued to walk. "I didn't even know they had books on this kind of thing."
Soon they walked passed the bakery where a cat morph was busy trying to hang a shingle declaring that the shop was now open. "We've walked by here before."
"And yet, we've gone in a straight line," the horse-morph said. "Now, if you don't tell me what you want to tell me, I'm going to be late for work and then I'll have to punish you."
Several sensations ran through his body at once then. The desire to please conflicting with a need to be punished for even displeasing him in the slightest. "Is the whole Keep really like that?"
"Grey..."
"Ok, what if I become... an animal?"
Clay just brayed where he stood and then grabbed Wheeler and tickled him under his shirt relentlessly until Wheeler backed into a wall and slid it laughing. "You are an animal, Grey! A big horny animal of a man."
"Clay, not in public, please!"
"This is Metamor keep," the stallion said as he got in one more tickle. "Nobody cares."
A passing guard grunted, "Get a room," as he walked past them.
"Ok," Clay conceded. "One person cares."
"I care," Wheeler growled back. "Dammit, nobody's looking at us twice because they think I used to be a woman! What happens when or if I'm a stallion? Will you walk with me hand in hand, then? Huh?"
The stallion suddenly looked down and seemed to shrink a little into himself. "I'm sorry."
Wheeler frowned and then smiled wanly. "Gods, is that how I look when I do that?"
Clay suddenly lit up. "Well, yeah. Except, you know, my eyes are prettier, but, you're much better at pouting. Let's enjoy the hand-holding thing while we can still enjoy it, then."
Wheeler took his hand and leaned in close. "Oh, well, no wonder you can't keep your hands off of me." They walked a few more paces before Wheeler spoke again. "I mean, what if I really change. What if I become a dung beetle. Or a fish. Or even a tree like Laracin."
Clay thought about that and then dragged him into the alley where they first met. "If I'm going to be late for work, I might as well be good and late." "Oh, my..."
Clay buckled his breeches up as Grey sat on the ground pulling his pants back.
"If you like my silk shorts so much, why did you even bother giving them back to me this morning?"
"Because it's so much fun getting you out of them."
Clay scooped the man up in his arms and kissed him. He was lucky, many morphs can not truly kiss their lovers at all. The dexterity he'd lost in his fingers had apparently settled in his lips, or so Grey insisted. He was willing to believe that, he supposed.
"You didn't answer my question, before," his rider and his groom chided.
"If you become a dung beetle... I'd rip off your legs every morning and leave you upside down in my chamberpot and use you. Then at night, I would rub your tattoo until your legs grew back and I would rub my waste over my privates and make you lick it off."
Grey went completely ashen and did not say a word.
"If you became a fish, I would use you as a cod piece I suppose, and keep you in my breeches with the tattoos facing me. As I walked, I would it's warmth as you struggled helplessly against me."
Grey sat frozen with horror.
"If you became a tree, I would carve my initials in your side. I would piss on your roots and make myself a little knothole so I could violate you while you stood in the middle of the Keep holding up the stars. I would tie my lovers to your trunk and flay them with your branches while the two of you screamed for mercy."
Grey swallowed and got up slowly. He looked wide eyed at the stallion.
"That must have been some book," he said breathlessly.
"I just skimmed it," Clay shrugged with a laugh. "I was joking, by the way. When it comes to the curse, you can't make plans. When the curse was new and fresh, 14 was the absolute age a child would be hit with the curse. I was 17 before I changed. Or maybe it took three years for me to change, who the hell knows." Clay stopped to study every inch of his rider's face, a face the man would not be wearing a week from now. There was anxiety and concern there. "No matter what happens, I will... always... love... you. I 'll be there to take care of you."
They stepped out of the alley into the corral. Grey looked at Clay, bemused. "You know, I always thought I was getting turned around in this place because I was getting drunk all the time."
Clay was a bit bemused himself. I will always love you. He'd actually said it. And, he meant it.
Wheeler walked back to the old tinker and pottery shop that was now their home. It was a much shorter walk, because his spirit was lighter and the Keep was being nice. The streets were busy but he maneuvered around the Keepers with little problem.
Hope. He was full of hope and it was delicious. Clay loved him and the whole town had seen them together, hugging, laughing, and holding hands. People had looked, of course, but there were gentle smiles on almost everyone's face.
They had spent an hour pre-dawn talking about what it was they had. The stallion told him what it felt like to create a piece of art from simple mud. With obvious wonder in his voice, Clay told him that he hadn't felt that sensation since his hands became blunted and a little hoof-like, until Wheeler had laid there passively, a lump of clay he could shape into anything he desired. That's what he wanted to do. Shape him. Mold him. Reward him. Punish him. Clay wanted to put his mark on him, as Chang had.
As Dramm had.
And as on one else before him had.
The stallion thought of him as his Rider. He had promised that, with a word, Wheeler could take the reigns anytime he wanted to and their roles would be switched.
Wheeler hadn't known what to say. He had never really wanted to have any one subservient to him. It had only been fear and shame that made him seek something other than what he had had with Dramm or Chang. With the horse morph's promise, all his mental anguish now seemed silly and trite. He had what he wanted right here, wrapped in horsehair and inhuman sinew.
The change had seemed so far away before dawn, but it was going to happen any day now.
Any day now.
He found the messenger coyote morph, Kee waiting for him at his new home's door step. He was holding a black lacquered box that had the Royal seal Metamor Keep on it. Not knowing if he was allowed to let the messenger in, Wheeler broke the seal and opened the box. The box contained two large colorful plumes that could have only come from Mong-Ho, the chicken from Os-Var-Khai, a clump of ancient black hair in a yellowed fold of rice paper, a lock of dark hair that must have been Mal's, and a single reptilian tooth. Wheeler's jaw went slack and he nearly fell off the steps. The box was small, but he suddenly needed two hands to keep the contents from spilling out.
Kee cocked his head to one side, and offered a hand for support. "Thalberg said that you would understand what the contents meant and I also have a message that is meant for you only."
Wheeler nodded but he was not going to let anyone in Clay's house without Clay's permission. "Go ahead."
Kee nodded and closed his eyes. When the messenger spoke, he spoke with the young reptilian voice of Ye in the formal Khai tongue flawlessly. "Please forgive this most humble messenger this task of conveying our most sincere and humble apologies, for it is too huge for a mere man to bear properly. Please accept, instead, these tokens of the dishonor we have brought upon ourselves, until such a time your worthy self is ready to accept our apologies in person. Your most worthy self's presence is requested at your leisure so that you may be tendered an offer of employment in the service of this land's highest Thomas Hassen, this land's most humble servant." Kee opened his eyes and his tongue rolled out happily. "I think I got that right, didn't I?"
Wheeler could only nod as he slowly shut the lid on the black lacquered box. There were butterflies in his stomach as he followed Kee back to Thalberg's office.
Mal was already there, and Thalberg asked Kee to run after Ye and Mong-Ho, but Wheeler asked him not to. "There are no apologies needed," Wheeler said quietly. "I should be thanking you, in fact. You stripped me of all of my illusions and I am better off without them."
Thalberg did not know what to say to that, so he felt compelled to say as much.
"They were heavy and I was very tired." Wheeler hung his head for a moment and tried to smile. "You have no idea how tired I was,"
Thalberg left it at that and looked into Wheeler's face. "You look... younger. Has the curse begun?"
Wheeler smiled and imaged Clay towering over him, twice as large as he was now. "No, the wards Chang wrapped me in keep me young and healthy." As long as serve the one I love. He took a breathe, "I doubt it will protect me from the curse."
Thalberg sighed. "Good, because I do have a position to offer you and I would like to offer it to you before the curse takes hold." Wheeler nodded. "I appreciate that, but anything you offer I have to discuss with Clay before I can accept."
There was a slight pause before Thalberg continued. "I... understand." Thalberg sat at his desk and motioned for Wheeler to do likewise. Wheeler almost kneeled on the floor, but decided the Stewart and the Prime Minister would be more comfortable if he sat on one of the chairs provided. "Some time ago, the Emperor of our sister kingdom, Os-Var-Khai, sent us three gifts of great value. In that time, the Duke has sought for gifts of equal value to send to Os-Var-Khai."
The thought of returning to Os-Var-Khai, one last time, of presenting gifts to the Emperor in the name of his cousin, Duke Thomas... was overwhelming. It made sense that he should be the one to do it; he knew the language and the customs and he was a relative of the Duke. He knew trade routes and how to manage a caravan. And, if he was to do it, he would have to do it before the curse struck. A woman held many of the rights men held in a few lands, but little respect. A child would command no respect. And an animal morph would be killed out of fear and the goods stolen.
The whole trip would take about a year round trip. If Clay let him go. Of course, Clay would let him go; there was no one else better suited for the trip.
Except... there were two others who spoke in the tongues of Os-Var-Khai. Gears began to turn in Wheeler's head. "May I ask what those gifts were?"
"The gifts were Ye, Mong-Ho, and a panda you haven't met yet, Wasoko." Mal, the Prime Minister, said with a certain gravity and a certain gentleness.
"As you can guess, finding gifts even remotely comparable in value is a difficult task. I was hoping you might tender some suggestions."
"You see, Metamor Keep has many powerful magic-wielding enemies." Thalberg said. The fact that Wheeler was talking to an alligator wearing a navy blue velvet blouse with applets and a gold monocle was proof of that.
"Os-Var-Khai's magics can reach across the world and they would make a powerful ally."
Mal nodded. "But we've never returned the Emperor's gesture in equal measure. While our relationship hasn't exactly been strained by what many in the far Eastern lands would consider a breach of protocol, we do need to nurture that relationship. To encourage that bond."
Thalberg nodded and folded his scaly hands on his desk. Wheeler could see he knew what he was asking. "You have no idea how great a service you would be performing for Metamor and your cousin."
Mal came around the desk and Wheeler could see where she had lobbed the hair off. As tradition dictated, the loss was quite noticeable. She sat on her knees before the unchanged man and took his unresisting hands into hers.
"We will comply with whatever arrangements you feel need to be done." Wheeler nodded hollowly. In a way, what they were giving him would be considered a gift. He should never have left Chang and Os-Var-Khai so many years ago. He had felt like dirt doing it and he knew he'd live to regret it, but pride ate at him. Wheeler had felt he needed to start acting like a man. He'd been afraid to let the magic transform him further. What a fool he'd been.
To bask once more in the glory that was Os-Var-Khai...
But his stallion...
"What does the Duke say about this?"
Thalberg and Mal looked at each other. "The Duke isn't aware of this... appointment," Thalberg muttered.
"It is within my power to make you ambassador to Os-Var-Khai, Wheeler," Mal said firmly, "In that official capacity, the gift, or gifts, you present to the Emperor would be of your own choosing."
Wheeler could only think of one gift that would be worthy.
"I have to talk to Clay," he said weakly. He placed the penance box on Thalberg's desk. "Please see that these are returned to their proper owners."
The two important Keepers still at Metamor Keep nodded and took the box back.