Mickey Reichert - Flight of the Renshai

The grocer scratched his head, still clearly unconvinced; yet he could not discard such a significant possibility without fully exploring it. "And, I suppose, this friend of your'n wants money to take care of my… problem."

"Nope. Ain't wantin' no money."

That clearly took the man aback. "So what's he doing it for?"

Now that he had the grocer's full attention, Treysind considered his words. He could not afford to squander the grocer's interest now without risking losing his hero, too. "I telled ya. He hates brawlies. An' he loves ta fight. Wants ta work he's sa'ward an' earn some glory fo' he's name."

The grocer grunted into a silence that stretched uncomfortably long.

Treysind tried to imagine the thoughts spinning through the grocer's head, wondering what kept him from plunging into what seemed like a perfect situation. He supposed the grocer needed to exercise a certain amount of caution. If Calistin lost, and the brawlies found out the grocer had given up their location, they might harm him or his store.

"I ain't fightin'," Treysind reassured the man. "An' m'hero ain't knowin' wheres I learnt how ta find them brawlies." He hoped that addressed the grocer's concerns without adding to them.

"Well," the grocer finally said. "You didn't hear it from me, but them brawlies come out as soon as it gets dark and the shops close down, looking for their share of the profits." He glanced around to ascertain they were alone, then moved nearer to Treysind and lowered his voice further. "They normally use the alley, too."

Treysind nodded encouragingly. He hated brawlies even more than the shopkeepers did. They practiced their bullying on street kids, took what little of value they could find, and thought nothing of raping, maiming, or killing boys like Treysind.

"Your best position's three doors down." The grocer made a gesture westward. "Khalen, the fabric-seller bought a load of expensive Eastern material last fortnight and hasn't found a buyer yet. He's short on cash since, and the brawlies been tapping him for every copper. I'm the only reason his family's eating, and he's hinted about doing something desperate."

"Thanks." Treysind wrestled down a smile. It would not do to appear gleeful, even though he felt like dancing. Calistin had become his hero by mowing down brawlies. It seemed only fitting to satisfy that endless Renshai bloodlust, that eerie godlike skill, by pitting it against the worst miscreants society had to offer. No compromise had ever seemed more appropriate. And he, Treysind, had given birth to the idea and brokered its commission. He, Treysind, had done something totally and unarguably right. For the first time in his life, he felt empowered, capable, and smart. He turned, preparing to leave.

The grocer muttered under his breath. "In for a copper, in for a gold." He called to the boy, "Treysind?"

Treysind stopped, whirled.

"They usually come in a group of five. Sometimes six. Their leader, they call him Savage, he's enormous. I'm a tall man, but he's got a head on me. And strong…"

Treysind nodded, waiting for the grocer to continue.

The man pursed his lips and shook his head. "Just tell your friend these ain't your regular small-town brawlies."

"Don't worry. He likes 'em big."

"I just don't like to see young heroes killed by their own bravado. Such a waste."

Treysind refused to worry.When it came to warfare Calistin never made mistakes. "Gonna take more'n a mess a brawlies ta take down Cali-Stan." With that, he turned again and retreated.

Treysind could barely hear the grocer's soft reply, "I hope you're right, boy. I just hope you're right."

Tae awakened to the sound of yowling, Imorelda in clear distress. Immediately, the smells and sounds of prison night assaulted him: urine and vomit, sweat and feces, whimpers, moans, and sonorous snoring. Worried to awaken the other prisoners, Tae reached out to Imorelda with his mind.*Quiet, please. Imorelda, what's wrong?* *She tricked me,* Imorelda moaned.*The queen of Bearn tricked me.*

Tae sat up.*Matrinka? She's the least cunning person in the entire world.* *I told her I'd have those nasty kittens if she ate the placentas, licked the babies clean, and fed them herself.*

Tae knew Matrinka was desperate enough to do any or all of those things for a new companion.*And she agreed?* *Yes, can you believe it?*

Tae blinked. As the drowsiness of having just awakened receded, he realized the ludicrousness of Imorelda's statement.*Wait.You can only talk to me. How did you manage to get across the specifics of that deal?*

Imorelda shrugged off the most important part of her story.*Oh, I can talk with her now.* She added immediately,*Isn't it awful? Horrible, mewling brats clawing at my insides. Maybe I should have said she had to carry them, too.* *Imorelda, focus!* Tae tried to follow his own advice. He had done nothing more threatening than take a seated position, but he could tell by the change in his neighbors' breathing that both of them had awakened. Deliberately, he lay back down, curling onto his side, facing the bars.*You can talk to Matrinka now? How?*

Imorelda remained silent a moment, then showed Tae a thought more concept than words, a comparison to the variety of pitches spanned by human voices. Apparently, Imorelda "spoke" to Matrinka on a different thinking level. Once Tae wrapped his mind around that concept, it opened whole new possibilities. *Imorelda, you know how you sometimes catch a thought I'm not actually trying to send to you? Like when I was picturing Alneezah.* *Yes.* Self-satisfaction accompanied the sending.*And you don't even know it.* *Can you do that with Matrinka, too?*

Another pause.*I… don't know. It didn't happen.*

Tae tried carefully,*Could you… do that… to other people, do you think? Maybe all people can-* He could not continue. The thought was too grandiose and shocking. What if Matrinka and I are not the only ones with this ability? What if all humans can learn to communicate with their minds? He knew elves had a mental form of communication, called khohlar, which they could direct at exactly one elf or at everyone in the room, including humans. Gods had also addressed people using only projected thought. What if we have this talent, too; but we just never realized it before? It seemed impossible. Humankind had existed too long not to have stumbled upon such a thing in its history. Especially in the days when they had more direct interactions with Outworlders and deities.

Imorelda stepped from the shadows to sit in front of Tae's cell. She licked cobwebs from her paws.*I don't think so. I've tried to send thoughts to others, but they never act like they heard.*

Tae felt certain if they had heard, they would have shown some reaction.*But you couldn't communicate with Matrinka before, either. Now you can.* Tae had to know.*Try saying something to that drunkard across the way.Try on every level you can.*

Imorelda turned her back on Tae in an obvious gesture of disdain. Since it was all done through the mind, she did not have to face the person she addressed. Her tail lashed irritatedly.

For several moments, she remained in this position, while Tae feigned sleep. *Nothing. He's dense as a rock.*

Tae closed his eyes in disappointment. Clearly, not all cats could use their minds this way. Imorelda disdained normal cats as "morons who can barely communicate their basic desires." Why should he expect humans to come in fewer varieties than felines? *But your neighbors are chatting.*

Tae had to restrain himself from leaping to his feet.*The pirates are talking? With their minds?* That changed everything.*What are they saying?* *How should I know? I don't speak gibberish.*