Launuru hated herself for her cowardice as soon as she'd run away, but was too ashamed to go back. It was too late to fix things; she'd gambled her relationship with Verentsu, hoping to turn friendship into love, but now she'd made such a mess that there was probably no way they could go back to being friends.

Wine Can't be Pressed into Grapes

by Trismegistus Shandy

Part 16 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.

Launuru hated herself for her cowardice as soon as she'd run away, but was too ashamed to go back. It was too late to fix things; she'd gambled her relationship with Verentsu, hoping to turn friendship into love, but now she'd made such a mess that there was probably no way they could go back to being friends. She thought — hoped, even — that he'd come after her; if he wanted to, he could catch up — but she came to the bridge by the tombs, and he didn't seem to have followed. She wept softly. She'd seen the disgusted look on his face when he pushed her away — that was the end.

She walked up to Terasina's tomb, ducked under the low entrance, and walked up the short tunnel to the vestibule. The candle Melentsu and Verentsu had brought was still burning, the incense smoldering. She bowed, then curled up against the wall near the altar and spoke quietly.

“I'm sorry, Terasina. I promised I wouldn't hurt him, but I think I did. But I had to tell him, you see? Or maybe I should have let Tsavila tell him, but I don't think that would have been better... I thought, the last couple of days, that he was coming to love me, but it all ended when he found out who I used to be. I'm sorry.”

Still weeping, she sat there for a long time. Eventually her tears ceased and she stared numbly at the opposite wall. The candle went out, and there was only the faintest indirect sunlight from the entrance and the dim glow of the smoldering incense.

After a long time, she heard a faint whisper. “Launuru.”

“Terasina? Is that you?”

“Verentsu is worried about you.” The voice was stronger now, but she couldn't see the ghost as she had in the city. “He was shocked at what you told him; it will take him time to grow accustomed to you.”

“I'm sorry. I don't think he will. He looked sick when I told him I loved him — he pushed me away — ” She started crying again.

“He's worried about you; he thinks you're lost or hurt.”

“I am.”

“Go find him. But listen first. Take the strand of my hair I gave you and cut it in two. Take a strand of your own hair and twist it with one of the pieces of mine. Hide this near where Verentsu sleeps.”

“All right... how will that help?”

“Verentsu needs you. He doesn't realize it yet.”

That wasn't exactly an answer to her question, but it was probably all she was going to get. “Thank you,” she said. She stood, then bowed to the altar again, and left the tomb.

None too soon; the sky had grown overcast, and as she hurried across the bridge and up the trail toward the house, she heard a crack of thunder.

Tsavila knew she should have her mind on the rite, but all through it she found her thoughts wandering to Launuru and Verentsu. Had she found a chance yet to tell him who she was? And if so, how had he reacted? Lentsina had to remind her sharply more than once to keep her attention focused on the light of the candles, the words and gestures of the rite, and the spells she'd been learning.

“I can scarcely believe your father has neglected your education so,” Lentsina had exclaimed, the first time she'd had a private conversation with her prospective daughter-in-law. “He could not teach you these spells himself, of course, nor could your poor mother, but he could have gotten some respectable enchantress to start teaching you years ago, instead of waiting until a few months before your wedding...! We'll have to make double time.” And she'd driven Tsavila hard with her lessons, making her study and practice for long hours she hadn't put in since she first started learning practical wizardry.

The more she learned of the mysteries of wizardly marriage, the more she was glad she had not made so fatal a mistake as to elope with Launuru. But the long hours of lessons and practice, well though she understood their purpose, inevitably made her somewhat resentful of Itsulanu's mother. Supposedly it would all be worth it when she and Itsulanu left the wedding feast and entered their hermitage, but for now —

She was glad when the rite was over; returning from the shrine to the house, she hurried her steps, hoping to see Verentsu or Launuru or both, and learn what had passed in her absence.

She found Kazmina first; her old friend was in the garden with Itsulanu and some of his friends from Nesantsai, playing iavalem. She couldn't say too much in front of the others, but she asked Kazmina: “Where is your cousin?”

“She and Verentsu and one of your other brothers — Melentsu, I think? — and his wife went for a walk. I haven't seen them since breakfast.”

“Oh... they're not back yet?”

“They may have returned without me seeing them, I suppose. Your fiancé and his friends have been teaching me this game — ”

“Let's not play another round,” Itsulanu said, looking at the sky. “It's liable to rain soon; we'll go inside after this round and find something else to do.”

“There's something I need to talk to Verentsu about, my love. I'll see you soon.” Tsavila went in the back door and down the halls of the ground floor, asking various guests and servants if they had seen Verentsu or Melentsu, and soon found her youngest brother, emerging from the back garderobe.

“Where is, ah, Shalasan? Did you speak with her?”

“I'll tell you,” he said in a low voice; “let's find somewhere to speak privately.” They retired to the small parlor and closed the door.

“You lost her? How could you lose her?” she demanded, once Verentsu had given her a vague and unsatisfactory account of the morning's events.

“We were talking, as I said, and she ran away. I chased her, but I tripped and fell, and after that I never caught sight of her again. She doesn't seem to have returned to the house. Melentsu and Nuasila helped me look — I convinced them we should try to find her ourselves before we tell Father; I wanted to talk to you first, especially. Melentsu and I just came back from searching the woods along the trail — I was going to go out again after checking whether she'd returned to the house in the meanwhile.”

“What happened before she ran away? What did you say to her?”

Verentsu looked uneasy. “He'd been telling me how Kazmina turned him into a woman and how Father put another spell on him, and that he wasn't in love with you anymore — and then he, she, said she wanted to stay a woman, she liked it better that way, and then — ” He broke off, frowned, and said: “How much of it is true, Tsavi? Did Father really do everything he said?”

“Yes. He trapped Launuru when he was coming to meet me, put a geas on him, and made him walk eight hundred miles — a lot further, really, because it was such a meandering route — to northern Netuatsenu, and give himself to Znembalan as a slave or experimental subject or whatever. Znembalan gave him to Kazmina, and she set him free and helped him come back here... But you're not telling me everything, Veren. What did she say, what did you say, just before she ran away?”

“I was trying to convince him to ask Kazmina to turn her into himself again, and then he said he loved me — she — she embraced me, and started crying, and... I kept telling her to try to control herself, she didn't naturally feel that way, it was the magic making her, Father's spell or Kazmina's or some interaction between them. And then she ran away.”

Tsavila felt there was still something her brother wasn't telling her. “You hurt her,” she said; “I hope she's found a safe place to cry it out — I'll help you look for her. Give me a few minutes and I'll try to work a locating spell; if I can't find her, we'll have to get Father involved.”

Verentsu knew what to do; he sat very quiet while his sister worked her locating spell. She concentrated on her memories of Launuru, especially those from the last couple of days, and on her memories of the trail along the creek where Verentsu had seen her last, as she started the spell-chant.

A few minutes later, she opened her eyes and announced: “This is odd. I can tell she's still alive, and unhurt — physically, I mean; I can't look into her mind for some reason, but I'd guess she's pretty depressed right now. Something is blurring things around her so I can't find her or look into her mind. She's not very far from where you saw her last, she hasn't wandered deep into the woods or been teleported away or anything, but I can't get a clear view of her.”

“So some other wizard is involved...?”

“Most likely Father or Kazmina. I don't know why Kazmina would lie to me about not having seen her since breakfast; or why Father would use such a concealment spell, for that matter. I'll go ask him.”

But before they found their father, they met a crowd of people rushing in at the back door, laughing, carrying iavalem mallets, shaking off the rain that had just started falling.

“Have you seen my father?” Tsavila asked Itsulanu.

“No,” he said; “I think he and my father are upstairs, perhaps, with Mauksenu...?”

“Thanks; I've got to talk to him about something — ”

“What's wrong?” He could tell, of course, that she wasn't simply frazzled with the stress of wedding preparations; usually she was glad to be betrothed to a man so quick and sensitive, but now she cursed his ill-timed perceptiveness. But before she could think of a good reply, Melentsu came in out of the rain (already pouring hard, bare minutes after the first drizzle had sent the iavalem players indoors), leading Launuru by the arm. She was soaked; the seat and back of her dress were dirty, though not torn, and she looked exhausted. She glanced at Tsavila and Verentsu, then looked down and wouldn't meet their gaze.

“I met her on the trail — she was on her way back to the house,” Melentsu said. “Tsavila, perhaps you'd better take care of her.” He gave his brother a baleful look.

“I'm sorry I wandered off,” Launuru said, in a dead-sounding voice. “I expect you were worried.”

Kazmina spoke to her rapidly in Ksetuatsenu; Launuru replied woodenly. Kazmina took her arm and led her away; Tsavila followed. Verentsu started to follow as well, but Melentsu grabbed his arm and stopped him. Tsavila said “Leave her alone for now — I'll talk with you later.”

She and Kazmina supported Launuru on both sides and led her to the bedroom in the servants' quarters she and Kazmina shared. On the way, Tsavila accosted a couple of slaves and told them to bring hot water, towels and blankets.

Launuru let Kazmina and Tsavila lead her to the bedroom, remove her wet clothes, and dry her off. They didn't ask her what had happened until after they had her in bed, covered up with blankets.

“What did my brother say to you?” Tsavila asked.

“He was disgusted with me,” Launuru said. Then, recollecting herself, she said: “No, he didn't say that, but I could tell by the way he spoke, the look on his face... he pushed me away when I touched him, he told me to control myself — that I didn't really love him, it was a spell making me think I did. Is it? I didn't think so, and I thought that sort of spell stops working once you become suspicious of it — ”

“Generally it does, but perhaps if the wizard who cast it is really good... But I looked, and there's no such spell on you. Not a love spell.”

“Tell him that, please! Maybe he'll change his mind... probably not, though.” She was crying again. She buried her face under the pillow.

Tsavila and Kazmina spoke quietly for a few minutes in Rekhim. A slave or servant (Launuru didn't poke her head out to see which) came in, bringing something, and left again.

“We've got a hot bath for you,” Tsavila said. “And I need to ask you — where did you go, after you ran away from Verentsu and before you met Melentsu?”

“I hid in your mother's tomb,” Launuru said. Perhaps her words were muffled by the pillow, for Tsavila asked again: “Where?”

Launuru removed the pillow and sat up. “We were by the creek, near the tombs. I went in your mother's tomb and sat by the altar for a long while. I guess I lost track of time. I thought — your mother always liked me better than your father; if she had lived — and she said Verentsu needed me — ” She hesitated, wondering if she'd said too much, whether it was wise to talk about the ghost. Hadn't Terasina said not to tell anyone about her?

Tsavila embraced her. “Come on,” she said after a few moments' silence, “let's get you cleaned up.”

Launuru let them bathe her like a small girl, staring into space. She could never be Verentsu's wife, and after this debacle, even if she became a man again — a distasteful prospect, but probably the least bad option — they could never be friends again, either; this horrible episode would poison everything. Unless Terasina could help, somehow... She wasn't sure what the ghost had meant, but she had to get the twisted strands of hair into the tent Verentsu would be sleeping in.

Tsavila didn't comment on what Launuru had said about her mother, and for a few moments Launuru wondered if she thought she was going mad with grief over Verentsu's rejection; but then she realized that Tsavila probably thought she was talking about something Terasina had said two or three years ago, when she was alive. Or maybe her ghost appeared so routinely that another apparition excited no comment? She hesitated to ask, but finally decided to speak up.

“Your mother said she might could help,” she said, as Tsavila was wrapping her in blankets again and putting her to bed. “She said — ”

“When?”

“An hour ago, when I was curled up next to the altar in her tomb — ” She broke off, seeing the worried look on Terasina's face. “I heard her plainly. She said Verentsu needed me, and she said I should twist a strand of my hair with one of hers. Where does Verentsu sleep?”

“Shh,” Tsavila said, looking worried; “relax, get some sleep. One of us will watch and make sure nobody disturbs you.”

“You think I'm mad, don't you? Tell me where Verentsu sleeps, please! It's important. Kazmina,” she said, switching to Tuaznu, “ask her which tent Verentsu is sleeping in tonight...”

Tsavila and Kazmina spoke together in Rekhim, casting worried glances at Launuru. Launuru thought about how to tell them, and remembered Tsavila's amused reaction when he'd told her, two years ago, about seeing his great-grandmother's ghost on a visit to his grandparents' farm, and Kazmina's annoyance when he saw and heard the ghost of the suicide in the miller's barn... She curled up in the bed and pulled the pillow over her head again.

“Launuru,” Kazmina said in Tuaznu after some minutes of quiet discussion, “I don't think it's a good idea. It just might work, if Verentsu were in his own bedroom, but even then, if it didn't work it would make things ten times worse. As it is, even if you managed to figure out which tent and which cot was his and stay hidden until he laid down, and even if Verentsu didn't give a yelp when he found you — ”

“What are you talking about?” Launuru asked, poking her head out. “I'm not going to wait until he goes to bed, I'm just going to put the twisted hair somewhere in his tent like Terasina told me. But you don't believe I heard her, do you?”

“You said you heard that tramp's ghost, but I was there too and I didn't hear anything.”

“You were too busy exorcising rats.” She switched to Ksiluri, and said to Tsavila: “I saw her night before last, too, at your city house — I wanted to tell you before, but first there were too many people around, and then the geas wouldn't let me speak freely, and — Anyway, she told me where to find a strand of her hair, and she said to keep it with me to protect me. How would I know that if she hadn't told me?”

“How would you know what?” Tsavila asked.

“There was a kerchief on the upper shelf of one of the cabinets in her old bedroom, the one we slept in — I couldn't see it by the dim light, but she told me where to find it and it had one of her hairs stuck to it. Hair is important for magic, right? You use people's hair to cast spells on them?”

“Maybe for some spells,” Tsavila said. “Are you sure you didn't dream this?”

“I had this hair tied around my wrist the next morning — ” Where was it? She sat up, careless of the blanket falling off her, and looked around. There were her wet things, hanging on the clothes-horse — she rummaged through them, straining her eyes in the lamplight to see Terasina's grey hair against the undyed cloth of her bandeau. “Here!” she said triumphantly.

Tsavila looked at it dubiously. “It could be my mother's hair,” she said. “If you found it in her bedroom, I suppose it probably was. But whatever you're trying to do with it — please, have more respect for her memory! This unscientific folk magic — you should know better!”

“But she asked me to take it — ”

“You had a dream about my mother,” Tsavila said gently. “That's not strange, since you were sleeping in the bedroom you knew was hers, the one she died in — of course you'd be thinking about her as you drifted off to sleep. And you found that hair during the night or in the morning and it seemed to connect with something in the dream. I'm not saying you're going mad. But you need to stop this,” and her tone was suddenly quavery with suppressed grief and anger, “this wishful thinking — I loved my mother, I knew her fifteen years longer than you did, and I've accepted that she's dead; why can't you?”

“I'm not — ” Launuru stopped herself from saying more. I'm not saying she's not dead, she wanted to say, I'm just saying I've talked with her ghost. But this was hurting Tsavila to no good end. She decided to stay quiet. Terasina had said that she shouldn't tell anyone about seeing her; this must be why. After a pause she resumed speaking, in a quieter tone, “Very well. I suppose you're right — I need rest. Could you perhaps ask the servants to bring me supper in the room? — I don't think I want to eat in the dining hall, with Verentsu, tonight.” While she spoke, she palmed the strand of grey hair.

“All right,” Tsavila said. She spoke with Kazmina again in Rekhim, and left the room. Kazmina said: “She told me — you think you saw her mother's ghost?”

“I thought so. Now I'm not sure,” Launuru lied.

“It's natural enough,” Kazmina said; “you were sleeping in the room she died in, and you were already upset with worry about what Tsavila and Verentsu would think when you finally told them, and guilt about not telling them yet — it's dreams like that that get ghost stories started. And I suppose the rats in Davas' barn didn't help either.” She smiled and caressed Launuru's hand. “Rest. Do you want me to put out the lamp, or turn it down? I could get you something to eat or drink...”

“Just turn the lamp down,” Launuru said. “I'm not hungry yet.” She laid down, pulled the blankets over her, clutched Terasina's hair in her fist, and thought hard.

Verentsu stepped toward Launuru, wanting to say something to him — to her? — but Melentsu grabbed his wrist. Just as well; his mind was in a whirl and he might say something that would sound strange, even suspicious, in front of all these people crowded in the back vestibule.

Tsavila turned to him and said quietly: “Leave her alone for now — I'll talk with you later.” Then she quickly caught up with Launuru and Kazmina, taking Launuru's other arm and leading her down the hall to the servants' quarters.

When they were out of sight, Verentsu was suddenly aware that everyone in the room was staring at him. “Let's go somewhere,” Melentsu said quietly, and they left by the opposite door.

“What was that about?” came a voice from behind them. They turned. Itsulanu had followed them; he was still carrying an iavalem mallet.

“Let's keep it quiet,” Melentsu said. “Shalasan and Verentsu quarreled — I don't know about what. She's upset, and he's not happy either.”

“Oh,” Itsulanu said. “Shalasan looked — Is she all right?”

“She wasn't out in the rain much longer than you, I suppose — she might catch cold, but her cousin and Tsavila will take care of her. I expect she'll be all right.”

Kazmina and Father, between them, could take care of Launuru's physical health, Verentsu supposed. But her soul was another matter — they were mainly to blame for her psychic distress.

“I should talk to her again,” he said, “only — Tsavila said I should leave her alone for a while; maybe at supper...”

“Yes, give her some time alone,” Itsulanu advised; “and then apologize — even if you don't think you did anything wrong, or don't know what you did that upset her. Perhaps you were just going a little too fast for her.”

“It wasn't — ” Verentsu gave up; he couldn't explain the full truth, and couldn't think of a partial truth or lie that Itsulanu would believe, given that even Melentsu had been dubious about his responsibility for “Shalasan's” condition.

“I can see that you've had your eye on her, and it looked like she was pretty partial to you too — yes, I know you think I'm too obsessed with Tsavila to notice anyone else, but I'm not blind. Still, you need to give her time — not too much time, I suppose, since she and her cousin will be leaving soon after the wedding, but don't push her too fast.”

“I won't,” Verentsu said. “Don't worry.” He meant: I won't push her to marry me, as you think I was doing; but then he realized that he should, perhaps, not push Launuru to change back into himself too fast. If nothing else, it would provoke gossip if 'Shalasan' were to disappear before the wedding; and Launuru probably needed time to get used to the idea of becoming a man again, after getting her heart set on remaining a woman and — ugh. How could she get into that state? Were Father's geas and Kazmina's disguise spell interacting in ways neither of them expected? Or might there be some other wizard interfering...? There were certainly enough wizards around, though he couldn't figure out why any of them would want to mess with Launuru's mind.

“Come on,” Melentsu said; “Let's find Iantsemu and Riksevian and see what they need help with. Itsulanu, what about find something for the iavalem players to do indoors until the rain stops? There's a box of psanalem tiles on the shelf in the front parlor.”

Verentsu followed his brother to the library, where Iantsemu and Riksevian were going over plans for supper and the games and entertainments afterward.

“There you are,” Riksevian said; “how did your little walk go? Did Shalasan say yes?”

Verentsu scowled, and Melentsu gave Riksevian a forceful “cease!” gesture, one hand chopping at the other. “They quarreled about something,” he said; “Itsulanu already told him to apologize whether he did anything wrong or not, and I've already told him I'll thrash him if he doesn't apologize, so you two can keep your mouths shut.”

“Ah,” said Iantsemu. “I hope things go better with you soon... We need your help here, Veren. You know Father's wizard friends, and Itsulanu's kinfolks, a lot better than we do — who should we have sitting where, at supper? And who's the right person to blindfold Itsulanu and lead him around during the wedding-eve games?”

Verentsu sat down next to them and looked at their scribbled plans. “Don't put Tarwia next to Setsikuno, they can't stand each other,” he began, and managed for a few minutes to put Launuru's predicament out of his mind.

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.