Closed When Suspicions Arise [Wrenmae]

[Nira'lia]

512 Fall 6th It was the middle of the day and the Syliran contingent continued to travel towards Sahova. Men and horses alike made their way through the vast Wildlands. It was a cool day, something which most could truly appreciate. The thick trees shaded their eyes from the little sunlight that Syna blessed them with. There were also the carriages, most of which held the supplies of the contingent. However, in the very furthest travelled those who were sick. These were the ones who were members of the sick camp. Rumors were that the so-called plague had been brought by the Zeltivans. Those who were regarded as sick were encouraged (at times, forced) to stay at the very back of the group. On that day, Nira’lia preferred to ride at the back of one of the carriages. It was one of those reserved for the sick that could not currently fend for themselves. The Konti disliked riding on horses and found it much more comfortable this way, even if most preferred not to stay near the sick. But she was a healer. It was her job to be near them, and she didn’t see anything wrong with it. Wrenmae, still unconscious, was resting on one corner of the carriage she was on. However, just like Nira’lia had realized days before, he looked absolutely healthy. He actually looked like someone who was simply sleeping peacefully. All around him, men coughed and sneezed, some even clutched injuries that somehow refused to heal. It was strange, everybody’s physical condition seemed to be degrading, but Wrenmae only seemed to be getting healthier. The Konti eyed him carefully, and then she looked at the blue pendant in her hand. The pendant swirled beautifully. It had such an enchanting imagery to it that Nira’lia could not help but admire. That evening, after the group had set up camp, Nira’lia went aside and looked at the flask once again. She hesitated about what she was about to do. The past few days had been hard on her, and she had learned that sometimes it was much better not to speak at all. She wondered… would the same thing happen this time around? Making sure that nobody was close enough to hear her, she raised the pendant to eye-level. “Zan…” she called out. “Zan, I want to ask you something…”

[Wrenmae]

For a moment, it was almost as if the familiar did not understand. The water continued to twist and turn within the little vial, as slowly as it always had. But it was only for a moment. The entire bottle lost consistency, shifting into the blob form of Zan. Rather than speak, out here in the open, it ducked out of her hand and slithered into her tent, no doubt bidding her follow.

As Nira’Lia stepped into her tent, there was a man, naked, standing there with a bright grin on his face. He looked like Wren, at least, mostly. The body was the same honed and weathered lithe, and all the same scars criss crossed his skin like leylines. However the similarities ended there. His face was different, a shaper nose, slightly darker skin, and his eyes were the bright effervescent blue of Zan’s form. His hair was similarly colored blonde, wavy and almost moving against his skin. He stood proudly, untouched by the cloth that festooned each other man Nira’lia had encountered, and he seemed to be unmoved by their stark difference in propriety.

“Well, well, well, Ni-ra-li-a,” he said with Zan’s voice…albeit clearer and not plagued by the same watery quality, “Let’s have a chit-chat, you and I. I’ll play the part of me, Zan, and you play the part of you.”

Poking at his body, completely oblivious to any concept of modesty, the familiar frowned, “I really don’t get it…ya know? What’s so enchanting about being so static? Ya’ll can’t shift and change so easily and it feels like your body is some weird prison.” He poked his dangly bits, his expression still dubious. “You know, our folk never mess with all the messy stuff your kind uses for procreation. Get big enough and SNAP” He snapped his fingers, “You split into your children. Easy, simple, no fuss, and no muss. No awkward positions, weird breathing, or messy finishes. Just biology at its most efficient.” He paused. “Err..as biological as I am, I guess. Anyways, enough about me…what about you? You wanted to talk or something?”

[Nira'lia]

As soon as she entered the tent, the Konti gave a surprised squeak and her cheeks immediately went red. She was a medic and was supposed to remain unflinching at the sight of such things, but she had not expected that. She had expected Zan, tiny and watery, and had no idea that she would be met with a slightly different version of Wrenmae… a Wrenmae as naked as the day he was born. However, as much as he resembled Wrenmae, he spoke with the same bubbly and quirky intonation as Zan. Nira’lia forced herself not to run right outside the tent. Regrettably, she couldn’t really take in much that he was saying. All she could think of at the moment was that she really hoped he would put on some clothes. “So you can assume Wrenmae’s appearance. I did not know that,” she said, stating the obvious. Her voice was utterly embarrassed she did all she could to not simply look away. Especially when Zan started to inspect his new body, Nira’lia almost burst out laughing. This was so inappropriate that she could find no other response. “I do have some important questions for you!” she finally voiced out. Unfortunately for her, she couldn’t convey her seriousness amidst her mind thinking that something had to be said about his appearance first. “Zan, put on some clothes! This is highly inappropriate… what if somebody saw you right now? Put on some clothes and let’s talk!”

[Wrenmae]

“Yeah…” Zan murmured, looking down at his arms and body, “Apparently I can. New stuff all around, huh? Maybe since ole master’s snoring away, I get some ability to act as he does? I dunno, really, new to all this bonding stuff. In any case, I made some changes. I think it’s important to know I’m not Wren, I’m Zan. Totally different. For one, I’m handsome.”


If anything, the Konti’s reaction seemed to absolutely baffle the familiar. His brows furrowed, mouth turned down in a frown. Without warning, he crossed over to her, mere inches away, and poked at the red sheen rising in her cheek, “What manner of reaction is this? Are you ill?” He pushed into her cheek with his finger and withdrew, scratching his chin absently, “Clothes? Oh! Oh! You mean your second skin?” He pinched at the clothes around her own body, grasping bits of fabric and pulling it taught, letting it go and shrugging, “No, I’m alright. One set of skin is enough for me right now. Besides, what’s the problem with people seeing? Doesn’t everyone have one of these?” He poked his groin again and shrugged. “At least I’m assuming so with you fleshba-err…people.”

Stepping back from her, Zan took a moment to examine the Konti. Without warning, he reached forward and gripped both of her breasts, squeezing them in his hands, frowning in concentration.

“There’s another oddity. What are these anyways? I assumed some sort of decoration, but I see they are somehow attached. Certainly squishy, malleable, and yet infuriatingly static…like the rest of you. Is this a disease? A pouch to carry things, perhaps, or a symbol of station or rank?” He let them go, not looking at her anymore, more staring around the room. “Man,” he remarked quietly, “Feels weird not to be flying…how do you still-forms manage it?”

[Nira'lia]

“What are you doing…!?” she asked in surprise. Her voice was shrill and much louder than she had expected. The Konti stepped away from him and pushed his hands aside roughly. Her cheeks became even more scarlet, something she was not aware was possible. The Konti felt herself flare, both with embarrassment and unbridled anger. Never before had she felt so violated this way. Without even thinking, her hand went high in the air and she slapped him across the face. The sound of her hand hitting him made a sharp, resounding noise. Because of his brash actions, she did not even stop to realize that he had no idea about what he was doing. The noise of both the slap and her scream had somehow caught the attention of a squire who had been passing by her tent. “Lady healer?” asked the squire. There was concern in his voice. “Are you alright, ma’am?” She heard the entrance of her tent ruffle, and soon there was a hand pushing it aside. In a panic, Nira’lia grasped the folds of her tent’s entrance and shut it tightly. A huge part of her was petrified of someone seeing her and Zan in such a compromising situation. “I am fine. I apologize for the noise!” “I understand,” replied the squire. The squire had taken back his hand by that point and didn’t make any move to enter. It was evident that he was very much puzzled by her weird behavior, but he did not push the subject further. After a few moments, Nira’lia was relieved to hear the sound of his footsteps going away. “Zan!” she hissed. “Put on some clothes. Do you hear me? Can you… uhm, are you able to morph a second skin on you? Is that something your magic lets you do? Quickly now. If not, I am going to run to Wrenmae’s tent and get you clothes. I am serious, and I need you to be serious here as well.” Oh, what would Eridanus or Imass say if they saw this? She couldn’t let this get any worse.

[Wrenmae]

Her reaction was as unexpected as it was violent. The moment her hand caught his face and sent the familiar reeling, Zan was already transforming back into water. When she turned on him, hissing her admonitions and demands, the human figure was gone.

Zan was gone.

In her frenzy to keep the knight out of her tent, Zan had resumed his form as Sarawanki and slipped up into the corner of the tent, laying so flat he was only a shimmer on the ceiling.

He replayed the events in his mind, trying to figure out what had caused Ni-ra-li-a to suddenly assault him. Had he attacked her? Certainly not. His curiosity was purely academic...or rather, just curiosity. He hadn't inflicted any harm on her...fleshlings bruise easy, maybe she bruised easier? But it didn't explain how rashly she'd become in just a few moments. Was her heart there? Maybe she was...oh yes, right. Females were different than males. Maybe her vital functions were hidden in those flesh orbs. Perhaps he'd almost stopped her heart!

The shock of what he MIGHT have done far outweighed the logic of what he should have already known. As far as he knew, females were practically different species.

"I did not mean to put your life in jeapordy," he said at last, his voice quieter and less exuberant than it had been previously, "I'll just be quiet then, like a mouse, no, less than a mouse, a piece of stone. Not like a Kirt though. They talk too much...for stone I mean. But stone, I'll be that."

Zan retreated into his sealed form, dropping from the ceiling of the tent and bouncing across the ground, a flask once more. The most notable difference was the color. Rather than a bright glowing blue, a muddy, sluggish, darkness had taken the inside of the flask.

And Zan was silent.

[Nira'lia]

Her hands let go of the tent’s folds as her panic receded, but that didn’t mean that she was less startled. In truth, she wasn’t aware that she could even be more startled at this point, but she was. Did he seriously not know about how inappropriate he was being? When she thought about, he was from a completely different world. What would he know about what was acceptable or not? He didn’t even know what breasts were for! “Oh, Zan…” she said weakly. There was gut-wrenching guilt forming in the bottom of her throat. It felt heavy and awful, and her eyes softened as she looked at the clearly upset creature. “It’s not… you didn’t put my life in jeopardy at all, but… uhm…” She was actually at a loss for words. The Konti had just been fondled by him, and she had responded with anger, which she had thought was reasonable at the time. ‘What else was I supposed to do…!?’ The Konti kneeled down on the soft ground of her tent. Guilt and pity intermixed in her expression as she picked up the flask. Zan had lost his bubbly tint of blue, and what was left behind was an odd color. Nira’lia had never thought that any colors were ugly to look at, but at the moment, she absolutely detested the muddy tint that he portrayed. “I’m sorry, Zan. Please don’t be sad. I was just surprised is all… we fleshbags are strange, we think it is not correct to run around without a second skin, and we also think that it is not right to hold a woman’s… uhm, chest without her permission,” she attempted to explain. She was even using words from his vocabulary. Perhaps that would help, she thought. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine; I forgot that you weren’t from here… I’m so sorry.” She paused for a while. The Konti felt so bad. “I would love to hear about your home planet, Zan…” she said in a soft tone. “Do you have women? Oh, that’s a strange question… now that I think about it, I don’t even know if your gender. I assumed you were male, but…” the Konti grinned. “I realize now I don’t really have a clue! You have to help me out here! Zan, let’s talk about your planet, please?” It was such a lame attempt. She just hoped it would work.

[Wrenmae]

Cautiously, the brown tinted bottle lost its shape and the water-shaped Zan was laying in her palm. Somehow, he looked depressed. There was a distinct lack of motion in his usually wild undulations and, if anything, his color was a slight tint darker. While nowhere near as dark as he had been in the flask, there was an air of despondency around him.

“I do not understand your customs,” Zan said at last, his voice sharply contrasted with the bright gleeful it usually was. “You are so different, without your second skin. Are your kind ashamed of their shapes? Do they not take joy or pride in the form they were born in?” He spoke slowly, a change of pace from his mile a minute dialogue, “There are no females on my planet. We are all one gender. I told you how we reproduce….bigger and bigger and bigger and then we split into children. I did not understand your concept of gender till Mizahar. There is no such thing as gender among my kind, and no one wears second skin.” He sighed, a bubbling, watery sound. “I don’t miss my home. We have war, terrible conditions…so many of us try to get into Mizahar, to bond, to leave…but I heard that familiars taken has dwindled much since the Valterrian. More and more of us are trapped, and I was lucky…but I left my friends and family behind…my brother, Shin. I miss him most.”

The only indication of his life was the warmth emanating from his core, but he sagged in her hands, pooled, almost became semi-viscous water. “You’re wondering why Wren doesn’t get sick, aren’t you? I’m not supposed to say. Secret secret, could get him into trouble.” The familiar was edgy, nervous, “If you promise to take a familiar when he wakes up, I’ll make him tell you the truth…but…but, I don’t want you to hate me.”

If possible, he sagged more. “I don’t get to talk so much, always trapped up in that topsy turvy stabby guy. He used to be better, lots better, before they tortured him in Sunberth. He lost his family, all of them, his fault. Well, sorta. It’s a long story I’m not supposed to talk about. I wasn’t there for that, but I think he’s given up on being with anyone. I think he’s resigned to being alone. Lone, lonely lonerson. McLonely Lone Loner.” It was impossible for a creature made of water to try, but the familiar’s voice hiccupped and sobbed as he spoke. Just as he soared unfathomably with exhilaration, so to were the unimaginable voids of his sorrow. “We’re both so isolated sometimes, ya know? And you’re my first friend since Wren…and sometimes Wren isn’t even a friend, just my talking house. Annoying talking house-bag, fleshbag. People wouldn’t like us if they knew the truth, but I promise we aren’t so awful…we can’t help it, not our choice.”

He was hardening again, becoming the bottle, shutting himself away. “I’m sorry I startled you, don’t hate me forever, or for the lifespan of my master, or even for a day or so, because I don’t like the idea of being hated…by you.”

[Nira'lia]

Zan was still clearly upset, but at least he had reverted back to the form that she liked best. And despite him being less energetic in his movements, at least he was being talkative. He told her about his home, and she could see that he thought it was a destitute place. At that moment, Nira’lia remembered how she had seen his most precious moment through his eyes. With a gentle expression that came naturally to her, the Konti listened to him patiently. She was about to inquire more about his brother, but the familiar continued to speak. In the end, his next statements made her completely forget about her inquiries. ‘…He knew I was going to ask about Wrenmae’s health? Why would he think that?’ The only conclusion that came to her mind was that there really was an explanation behind it. And, according to Zan, it was an explanation that could get Wrenmae into trouble. He was right, she could ask Wrenmae directly… but Wrenmae was unconscious at the moment, and who knew how many more days it would take. It was precious time being wasted, and she needed to know as much as she could from Zan. “No, Zan!” she said, startled. Nira’lia could feel his being becoming solid once more. She shook her hands, as if trying to snap him out of it. He couldn’t turn back into a flask now! “I… I can’t take a familiar, I’m sorry! I decided long ago to stay clear of… of magic...” she explained to him, attempting to sound as convincing as possible. “Did you need someone for your brother? I… I know mages… I help a mage guild. I can try to look for someone who is interested in looking for a familiar like you. I’ll even tell them about you… and it would be nothing but nice things. I like you as well, and I’m sure your brother is just as splendid. I can help you both!” Her words had come from the heart, no matter how desperate they sounded. She was starting to panic. There were so many things going on in her mind at the moment that she couldn’t tell which one to attend to. Finally, she chose to just jump to the most important one. She felt bad for pushing the topic, but she had no choice. “You… you have to tell me Wrenmae’s secret…” said Nira’lia with a shaky voice. “Is it magic? If everyone else knew how to do what he does, then everybody would get much better as well. The power I borrow from Rak’keli is not enough at the moment. We need to know, Zan. Please! At least give me a clue! How long has he been able to do this? Is this something he picked up from Sunberth?” Sunberth, a city that she hated the most. Just like Wrenmae, she had terrible memories of it. They were headed there at the moment and she would need to face her fears soon, but that did not mean she liked talking about it either. But she had no choice but to ask.

[Wrenmae]

Zan had almost completely returned to his sealed state, but Nira’s urgency brought him back to his watery state. The Familiar seemed nervous, if such a thing could be said of a creature with such a fluid form. Ripples spread across his surface, colliding and breaking. His shape was undefined, almost jagged with nervously fluctuating water particles.

“You heal flesh without need of suture, needle, or antibiotic. Is that not magic? I was…only asking you to help me get my people out of that world, but you’re too afraid to try.” He retreated backwards, freezing suddenly, alert, still, before sliding into her palm again, just a distended puddle.

“I’m not allowed to say. Dangerous, dangerous. We’d be hated, reviled, I don’t want to be reviled by anyone.” He drifted off of her palm, dancing through the air in a spectrum of caught colors and nervous motion. “No one understands, no one ever does. How about we do something else? Huh? Forget the whole thing ever happened? Let's talk about what you'd look like as a cat! Or...or...you can tell me what those things on your chest are for! Or, um...We can go out and talk to more people! We can tell stories about our lives so far! We could-“

The rustle of the tent flap behind Nira’Lia was the only warning she had that another had entered the tent. When she turned, Wrenmae stood in front of the entrance, nonchalantly blocking her passage. He looked healthy, vibrant and energetic as always, even despite the long time comatose. He was still wearing the clothes he had been carried in, and appeared to be unarmed. Still, even though his mouth was upturned into a tiny amused smile, his entire presence radiated unspoken threat. Stepping forward from the tent flap, he brought up both hands and clasped them together. Zan drifted over to him, hovering over his shoulder almost sullenly, frightened...his entire being shivering.

“Good afternoon Nira’Lia, Zan.” He nodded to each in turn, “I do so hope I wasn’t interrupting something…important.”