“What's your custom here in Niluri?” Kazmina asked. “Is a woman normally allowed to ask a man to marry her? It's hard to judge from Tsavila or you what women are normally expected to act like here; even in Setuaznu, enchantresses are allowed more privileges than mundane women, and as for you...”

Wine Can't be Pressed into Grapes

by Trismegistus Shandy

Part 14 of 22

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License. Feel free to repost or mirror it on any noncommercial site or list. You can also create derivative works, including adaptations to other media, or new stories using the same setting, characters and so forth, as long as you mention and point to the original story.

An earlier version of this novel was serialized on the tg_fiction mailing list from December 2010 to March 2011. Thanks to the people who posted comments on that draft.

Tsavila stood in the hall outside her father's study for a few moments, but there were too many people going back and forth; she couldn't stand there blocking traffic, with servants and slaves hauling luggage up the stairs and into the various guest rooms. She saw through the open door across the hall that her Aunt Nantsuno was unpacking her things; she stepped in and greeted her. They chatted for a few minutes, not having had much chance to speak after supper; but Tsavila's mind wasn't on the conversation, and several times she had to ask her aunt to repeat herself.

“You are too young to be going deaf, Tsavi,” her aunt gibed. “Are your thoughts elsewhere? With a young man not a hundred yards from here, perhaps?”

Tsavila blushed. Any other time in the last few weeks, such distraction would have been due to thinking about Itsulanu when she should be tending to other business; but not now. It would not do to tell her aunt that, however. “I am very nervous and excited,” she confessed. Not only about the wedding.

“It's natural you should be. I remember the days just before I married your Uncle Orintsu, may Kensaulan lodge him safely, how I could scarcely sew a straight stitch or remember what my mother had said to me five minutes afterward — ” Tsavila's mind drifted back to the subject Aunt Nantsuno had thought she was thinking of in the first place: what would Itsulanu think of all this business with Launuru? Should she plan on telling him at some point? If there was danger that he might find out from someone other than her, then she should tell him herself, soon. But how would he learn of it?

Suddenly she heard her father's voice calling her. “It was good to speak with you, Aunt Nantsuno,” she said. “See you tomorrow.”

She dashed across the hall to her father's study, almost colliding with a servant carrying an ewer of water. Her father was standing at the open door; he let her enter and closed the door behind her. Launuru and Kazmina were sitting in two of the wooden chairs.

“What did you decide?” Tsavila asked, in Ksiluri, as soon as her father had closed the door. She didn't sit down right away; she was too nervous. Her father went to his ornate chair and sat down.

“I should tell Kazmina what we've been talking about as well,” he said in Rekhim. Then, to Launuru, in Ksiluri: “Do you mind if I summarize our discussion in Rekhim, so Kazmina will understand?”

“Go ahead,” said Launuru.

Psavian went on in Rekhim. “Launuru wishes to remain a woman, and to try to induce Verentsu to take her to wife. She promises to tell no one of how I exiled her or how she returned; we have not yet agreed on a suitable story to explain her disappearance and her reappearance in altered form. She will continue to act as Kazmina's cousin until after the wedding; after our other guests have left, Kazmina should alter her appearance. Also, she wants the privilege of being the one to tell Verentsu about her recent history, and asks that, if Verentsu is inclined to marry her, I should not require a dowry of her parents.”

“That's fair as far as it goes,” Tsavila said. “But I think you should compensate her for putting that geas on him. A thousand kings might be enough.”

Her father looked displeased. “If she marries Verentsu, they will have a fifth of all my movable property when I am gone; that would be more than five thousand kings.”

“All right. But I think you should give her at least a thousand kings now, even if she doesn't marry Verentsu. Or maybe a few hundred kings and credit for five or ten major spells, whenever she wants them.”

“Let us return to this point later,” her father said. If he hoped she would get distracted with the wedding and forget about it, he was mistaken. “Before we switch back to Ksiluri — Kazmina, have you any suggestions for Launuru's cover story? We need to explain his disappearance and her return, without dishonor to her or to us.”

Kazmina rubbed her nose. “I don't know that I can suggest a good reason for him to disappear,” she said. “Do you have slaver-gangs here in Niluri? If so, maybe he was taken by them and escaped after several months. But as for him changing into a woman, well — my father and I are the best wizards in the world at transformation, but we aren't the only ones who can change a person's sex. Perhaps he fell afoul of some hostile wizard...”

“I would prefer not to cast vague aspersions on some unknown member of our profession,” Psavian replied. “But such a transformation does require some magical explanation. Perhaps some barbarian wizard... Yes, that may be plausible enough.” He summarized Kazmina's suggestion in Ksiluri for Launuru's benefit.

“That's rather far-fetched,” she said. “When was the last time you heard of foreign slaver gangs kidnapping people right here in — I mean, right close to Nilepsan?”

“But,” put in Tsavila, “the fact that you've changed could be proof enough — people will know that some powerful magic was involved, and so something out of the ordinary must have happened to you — once they accept the barbarian wizard, the slaver-gang is easier to believe. — And people know that Father doesn't do transformations, so no one will think he had anything to do with it.”

“I suppose,” Launuru replied. “I don't like it, though — if I tell people I was kidnapped as a slave, and then changed into a woman by some barbarian wizard, they will think I — they'll think that the master I escaped from, the wizard or whatever barbarian chieftain he serves, was using me as such men use slave-girls.” She blushed furiously. “This story should avoid dishonor to me, not only to you and your father.”

“Oh,” Tsavila said. “I should have thought of that.” She tried to think of something better, but nothing came immediately to mind.

“Well,” said her father, “we don't actually have to decide upon a story until it is time for her to end the 'Shalasan' masquerade, after your wedding.”

“Sure,” Tsavila said. “Another thing — there was that scullery-maid at the academy who claimed that Launuru was her baby's father. Whatever story we come up with about where Launuru went and how she got changed needs to belie the false rumors that girl started.”

“Who is she, anyway?” Launuru asked. “I don't know why she would claim that — ”

Psavian shrugged. “Our minds seek order in a chaotic world,” he said. “When you disappeared from the academy, all who knew you would naturally wonder at this and some would seek to learn the cause. Providing them with a plausible reason for you to run away diminished their motives to seek further.”

“You mean... You put a geas on her to say that, didn't you?”

“By no means,” he said. “It was not necessary. After I sent you away, I investigated the academy and found this girl, who was with child by one of the schoolmasters. If the truth had come out, they would both have been dismissed. I told her I would provide for her and the baby until it was weaned, and help her get another position after that, if she would tell people that the student who had just disappeared was the father.”

“Oh... So where is she now?”

“At a farm near the academy; I pay the farmer a few nobles a month for her lodging.”

“So... you should have her talk to people and tell them she was lying about who the baby's father was, to protect her lover from getting discharged.”

“Very well. I will visit her soon after Tsavila's wedding and ask her to do so. As for your cover story, we can think about it and discuss it further in the next day or two, and make a final decision when Kazmina alters her appearance for the last time and I remove the geas — ”

“Oh, no. You should remove the geas now. She's given her word she won't tell anyone but Verentsu.”

Her father looked determinedly at her; she looked determinedly back. Kazmina looked apprehensive. Launuru cleared her throat.

“Have you already modified it so I can tell Verentsu?” she asked.

“Oh,” Psavian said. “Not yet. I'll do that now, and then I'll remove the geas entirely tomorrow or early the next day. Sometime tomorrow I'll arrange for you to have a chance to speak privately with Verentsu, with some suitable chaperon who can see you but is too far away to hear...” He trailed off, and looked fixedly at her. Tsavila watched, looking for the flows of magic around him. Looking carefully, she could see the geas becoming visible to wizard sight, then altering as her father directed the full force of his attention to it; but she couldn't quite follow the changes he made, they were so subtle and made so quickly. She thought about asking him to go slower so she could see what he was doing, but she should have asked him that before; she mustn't interrupt him now... Almost before she had time to think this, he was finished.

“Good night, Tsavila; good night, ladies. We all have much to do tomorrow.”

Tsavila's bedroom was on the same upper storey as Psavian's study; she would be sharing it that night with Tsaikuno and one of her cousins on her mother's side. She parted from Launuru and Kazmina at the head of the stairs, bidding them good night.

“Are you sure you can find your room again?”

“Yes,” Launuru said. “Have a good dream.”

On the way back to their room, she told Kazmina what had passed in the Ksiluri conversation, and Kazmina told her what she, Tsavila and Psavian had said in Rekhim.

“She asked him to give me a thousand silver coins?” Launuru said, stunned. She was too flustered to think of the Tuaznu word for a king coin; it wasn't the same as the word for a person who was king. “Did he...?”

“He didn't say yes,” Kazmina said. “I think she'll keep asking him about it, and he'll eventually give you more than nothing but less than a thousand.”

“That's good,” Launuru replied. “Even if he doesn't give me any money, it's good because he'll feel he's getting off lightly just taking the geas off and letting me court Verentsu.”

“Maybe,” Kazmina said. They reached their room and started undressing for bed. “He said he would give you a chance to talk to Verentsu tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Launuru replied. She felt suddenly more nervous about her next meeting with him. “Kazmina, what should I say? It seemed like a good idea, I wanted to be the one to tell him instead of Tsavila, but now... How can I tell him?”

“Tell him who you are, or that you love him, or both?”

“Yes, that too. Should I tell him I love him first, and then tell him who I am, or...? What will he think of me?”

“What's your custom here in Niluri?” Kazmina asked. “Is a woman normally allowed to ask a man to marry her? It's hard to judge from Tsavila or you what women are normally expected to act like here; even in Setuaznu, enchantresses are allowed more privileges than mundane women, and as for you...”

“Psavian commented on that too,” Launuru said as she laid down. “He said he could tell by looking into my mind that I loved Verentsu, but he was surprised that I asked right out if I could court him.”

Kazmina blew out the lamp and, moments later, slid into bed beside Launuru. Launuru went on: “And, no, it's not the usual thing for women to ask men to marry them — there are exceptions, priestesses and noblewomen and widows who inherited a farm or business from their first husband, but most women are supposed to wait for a man to propose marriage to them, or for their parents to arrange a marriage for them. But I won't wait — if I can't get Verentsu to marry me, I suppose I'll ask you to change me back into a man before you go home. It seems horrible, the idea of changing into a man, but going home as I am now, without Verentsu's support, would be nearly as bad... And after Tsavila's wedding, I need to go home, either as a woman telling my parents I'm going to marry Verentsu, and we've already got it arranged with his father, or as a man, not telling them I've ever been a woman.”

“I'll be happy to change you back, if you want,” Kazmina said. “But as for tomorrow — it seems to me you should tell Verentsu who you are first, so he won't be surprised at your acting in a way that's unusual for a woman when you ask him to marry you.”

“You're probably right,” Launuru said. “I just don't know how... Where should I begin?”

Kazmina was silent for a while. “What are you worried about?” she asked sleepily.

“What will he think of me? I'm afraid he'll be repelled by this change, that he'll think it was dishonorable to let you transform me so I could get to speak with him and Tsavila...”

“I don't know,” Kazmina replied after another long pause. “You know him better than I. It looks like he's very partial to you as you are now, but of course that might change when he finds out who you are.”

“Yes, that's just what I'm afraid of — instead of a woman, he'll see a strangely mutilated man...”

“You can explain how my magic works,” Kazmina put in. “Maybe that will help.”

“But I don't understand how — ”

“Not how I do it, but what how it affects you: you're a real woman now, just as you were a real goose when we were migrating hither. There's no way anyone could tell you apart from a born woman, if you didn't tell them who you were.”

“That might help. Thank you.”

She was silent for a while, and soon heard Kazmina snoring softly. But it was some time before she fell asleep, her mind turning the chances and possibilities over and over until they all seemed equally likely.

Kazmina woke hearing soft voices and seeing, for a moment before she shut her eyes again, the lamp being lit. But it was another few minutes before she sat up and looked around her. Launuru was bathing, a hot tub of water having been brought in, presumably, by whatever servant or slave she had been talking to; but the door was closed and they were alone.

“Good morning,” Launuru said. “There's hot water and soap. The slave said we should be in the dining hall in half an hour.”

“All right,” Kazmina said. Until Launuru was finished bathing, she didn't see any point in getting up. She thought for a while, then, still lying in bed, said: “I thought of something. You said you didn't want to tell people you'd been taken as a slave, because they would think your master had raped you?”

“Yes, exactly. I want to figure out some better story...”

“Perhaps after that, you killed him and thus escaped. The imaginary insult to your honor is already avenged in imagination; as soon as people hear that you were raped they also hear that you slew the rapist, and no dishonor remains... does that satisfy you?”

“No,” Launuru replied, sounding annoyed. “I'd rather come up with a story that gives me a good reason for suddenly leaving the academy in the middle of term and not coming home for six months, and having somehow become a woman in my absence... Perhaps I got a forged letter that I thought was from my brother, saying he needed me to come to a certain place and help him, and then... It needs work.”

Kazmina thought some more. As Launuru dried herself off and got dressed, she said: “What about this. You were sold by the slaver-gang to a barbarian king; he put you to work building a palace or tomb or something, and after you'd been there for a few months, you organized a revolt or escape of the slaves. It failed, and you were recaptured, and then your master had his wizard turn you into a woman to punish you — he singled you out because you were the leader of the revolt. But before he could rape you, you slew him and escaped again, this time successfully.”

“That's better,” Launuru said slowly. “I suppose the barbarians must have more frequent slave revolts, since they don't treat their slaves humanely like we do here...”

Kazmina scowled, stood up and went to the basin of water. It was still quite warm enough. She picked up the rag Launuru had used and started scrubbing herself. Launuru was strangely blind about the way slaves were used here. She went on, oblivious to Kazmina's displeasure: “Still, I'd rather come up with a story that doesn't involve me being a slave.”

A few minutes later, they left their room and followed the corridors and stairs to the dining hall. More than half of the guests present at supper were already seated at the tables, and six or eight slaves were rapidly coming and going with platters of food and drink. Kazmina thought again of a vague notion that had occurred to her sleepy mind last night during supper, of maybe doing something to help them; but she'd need to be able to talk with some of them privately to do much, and that meant working through either Tsavila or Launuru as an interpreter. On further thought, she doubted that either of them would be willing to help, and if she confided this idea to Launuru, Psavian could see it in her mind.

But Tsavila wasn't the only one here who spoke Rekhim; there were all the other wizards who'd arrived yesterday, and more who would be arriving today. Maybe one of them would be less complacent about slavery than Tsavila or Launuru.

Tsavila, as before, was sitting near the head of the main table between her father and Itsulanu, with Itsulanu's parents and Tsaikuno across the table from them, and other wizards further down the table. Verentsu, at another table with some of his brothers and sisters-in-law, had a couple of empty seats to his right; he waved to the women as they entered the room. Launuru headed toward him, and Kazmina followed at first, but when they reached Verentsu's table, she said to Launuru:

“I think I'll sit over there,” she said, pointing to an empty space near the foot of the main table. “I'll let you talk with Verentsu without worrying about excluding me from the conversation.”

“I'm sorry,” Launuru said; “I've been very inconsiderate, the last few days, talking in Ksiluri with him and others and leaving you out...”

“Much of that couldn't be helped,” Kazmina replied. “But if you don't mind...?”

“Go ahead,” Launuru said, and sat down, speaking to Verentsu, perhaps making Kazmina's apology for going to the other table.

Kazmina found a seat at the wizards' table next to a man a few years older than herself. “Good morning,” she said in Rekhim; “I think we met briefly last night, but I can't recall your name; I was tired and sleepy from the journey. I am Kazmina daughter of Znembalan, of Setuaznu.”

“Pautsanu son of Hastelan,” the man said. “You've traveled further than most here, I suppose...?”

“Probably. Are you a native of Niluri?” He looked like he might be, but his Rekhim was unaccented, and his father's didn't sound like a Viluri name.

“Yes; I come from the northeastern hill country, but I've lived in Nesantsai for six years, and I've known Itsulanu for most of that time. How are you connected to the bride or groom...?”

“I've known Tsavila since we were small girls; we met the year the conclave was in Vmanashi.”

“I missed that one,” he said. “My father was too sick to travel, and I stayed with him.”

“I'm curious,” she said. “Do people in northeastern Niluri keep slaves, the same as here?”

“Not as many,” he said; “in the hill country the farms are smaller than around here, and fewer people can afford to keep slaves. What about in Setuaznu?”

“Slavery has been abolished in my country,” she replied.

“Ah!” he said, “that must have been recent, or I suppose I would have heard about it...?”

“Yes — just five months ago. My father freed our own slaves earlier, but it was five months ago that the revolutionary council declared slavery ended everywhere in Setuaznu — ”

“That is, I suppose, in all the territories they control. How much of the country is that?”

She flushed. “I don't know for sure; probably far more than half... It will be the whole country soon enough.”

“Perhaps,” he said.

At this point they were joined by a late riser, a woman about Pautsanu's age who introduced herself as Tarwia of Maresh. Kazmina continued trying to get some idea of her table-mates' ideas about slavery, but with little success after this; Tarwia was apparently a long-time friend of Pautsanu and they found much to talk about, mostly ignoring Kazmina. It seemed that Psavian had noticed this; when Tsavila rose and left with her mother-in-law- and sister-in-law-to-be, Psavian invited Kazmina to come up and sit next to him. She couldn't think of a good excuse to refuse, though she dreaded the inevitable falseness of their conversation, both of them unable to speak in the presence of the other wizards about the matters that concerned them most.

But if this bothered Psavian, he didn't show it; he was a smiling, genial host, asking how she'd found the accommodations, apologizing again for the necessity of squeezing so many guests into so few rooms, and suggesting various things to do in the afternoon and early evening while he and Tsavila would be busy with wedding preparations. He led the conversation back to her father, this time avoiding politics and focusing on her wizardly training.

“He had already taught you the basic spell forms when we came to visit during the conclave, yes?”

“Yes — he'd started me on them when I was seven. By the time you and Tsavila came to visit I could cast a few basic spells, including one to keep my wits about me when my father changed me into an animal — do you remember how we demonstrated that at the conclave?”

“Remarkable,” he said, shaking his head. “Tsavila didn't cast her first spell until she was thirteen; even if the most basic spells of our school are perhaps more complex than those of yours, your early rapid progress is amazing.”

This was an interesting shift from the condescension he'd shown when she first arrived. Probably he now felt the need to stay on her good side, since his plans required her to transform Launuru one more time before she left. — But there was that invitation he'd given, during the shared dream, to stay in his home for as long as the war lasted. Why?

“Thank you,” she said. “My father is a very good teacher.”

The full novel is already available from Lulu.com. I'm serializing it here in twenty-two parts, at least one chapter per week if I can manage it.