Judgment of the Elders
Gregg Schwartzkopf
Copyright 2014 Gregg Schwartzkopf
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This is a work of fiction with all persons, places and situations represented originating in the mind of the author. Any resemblance to real persons, places or events is strictly coincidental.
Acknowledgements
Many people supported my efforts to become a published author. I’d be remiss if I didn’t thank them publically. Megs, Sarah K., Hemang D. and Lindsay N. all reviewed early versions of this manuscript and offered valuable critiques of the characters and plot. No author should proceed without trusted beta readers, and I trust all of them.
Thanks are also due to the Backspace Writers Forum for providing a safe place for aspiring authors, like me, to get feedback and encouragement.
Kathie Middlemiss, of Kat’s Eye Editing, is responsible for all the correct comma usage and proper hyphenation. As my editor, she ensured that my sentences all made sense and my particular twisted humor remained generally accessible.
The cover is the work of JH Illustration’s Jeanine Henning, who turned my basic idea into an evocative image.
Last, but far from least, thanks go to my wife, daughters and in-laws for accepting my desire to write fiction and encouraging me to take steps toward getting it published
CHAPTER ONE
I live in a cave. It’s a well-appointed cave with two big tables, sturdy chairs and a feather bed. It has geothermal heat and lighting courtesy of permanent fairy-fire globes. It could use an espresso machine, but other than that, it’s pretty sweet.
The cave’s most important furnishing, my prize possession, is a six-inch-diameter sodalite crystal ball imbued with telepathy. It is crucial for keeping track of opponents, secretive communication with a few members of the Elder Council, and reliable, omniscient narration.
They call me Interloper around here and I run an impressive spy network. But that’s enough about me. After all, this is not my story.
The morning after the Elders rendered their monumental decision, I brewed a cup of rose-hip tea (which is no substitute for espresso) and fired up the crystal ball, focusing on the small suburban community of Palmer Park on Long Island. I needed to monitor the possible consequences of the judgment. The target of my snooping sat at a breakfast bar in the efficient kitchen of a modest two-story house. The teenage blonde was clearly frustrated, confused and angry about the current situation and was taking it out on the older woman dishing up oatmeal from a pot on the stove. The youngster had a hand cupped under each breast.
“Plaid?” said Cass. “You had to get plaid? It will show through the blouse.”
Magolyn responded in her “reasonable” tone of voice. “The bra matches the plaid of your skirt, so it won’t clash.”
Cass wasn’t placated. “It’s a religious school, Maggie. They won’t want to see undergarments. I thought you studied humans.”
“I’ve studied their history and culture. I don’t monitor underwear fashion.”
“While we’re on the topic, I’m not wild about the matching bikini briefs either. They feel… ”
A man entered from the living room. “They feel like they should be covering your penis, and they’re not. Get used to it.”
Cass scowled at the newcomer. “Thanks for the reminder Jamil.”
This was the Forest family’s very first day in Long Island, New York. Maggie, James and Cassandra were just typical Canadian immigrants making their way in suburban America… only they weren’t any of those things, with the exception of technically being immigrants. Just a day before they had been Clan Speaker Jamil Olcort te Willowwalk, his bondfast Magolyn and Caswel Esmar te Willowwalk, disgraced Knight of Whiteleaf. They were Alfarans, nobility among the Fae.
Jamil Olcort currently looked more like an overworked accountant than Clan Speaker. His golden hair was pulled into a short ponytail, allowing him to fit in at any Grateful Dead concert. His expression telegraphed his disappointment in this assignment and he knew exactly where blame for his annoyance should rest.
“Don’t get huffy with me, you sorry excuse for an Alfaran. We have a lot of information to cover and by the eldest Elder’s eldest wrinkle you’ll have every detail memorized by tomorrow or face consequences. I still don’t understand why Felson didn’t get the honor of monitoring you. He’s Clan Defender and more responsible for your whereabouts than I ever was.”
Jamil’s bondfast intervened before the situation escalated. Even before this unusual exile, Jamil and Caswel had engaged in heated debates about Clan politics. They were oil and water. That wouldn’t change just because Cass had a lot less testosterone now.
“Jamil, please calm down. You were chosen because of your skill as a diplomat. We need to carry off an elaborate charade for fifty moons and your ability to shade the truth is invaluable. Further, the Elders know I’ve studied human culture extensively, so they probably wanted me on this assignment as much as they needed you.”
“If Caswel had held to his oath as a Knight of Whiteleaf, none of us would be here.”
Sighing, Magolyn pivoted her attention back to her new charge. “I’m afraid he’s right about that Cass, though this is the most unusual punishment the Elders have ever imposed.”
Magolyn was understating the situation. The judgment was unprecedented. Cass’s mind returned to the vivid memory of the Council passing sentence in the Basin below Crescent Mound.
He recalled the stern expressions and the formal tone of the pronouncement. As the magnitude of his punishment increased with each phrase, the ground beneath him seemed to shift and the words of Elder Kaviss seemed to come from very far away. Then, even as sentence was passed and the transformation began, the calculations began to unspool in his unconscious mind. He presumed there was a way around this. He could not remain both human and female for fifty moons. There had to be a loophole and Cass was the man to find it, even if he wasn’t a man at present.
Magolyn noted Cass’s faraway expression and touched his shoulder, bringing him back to the present. “Don’t daydream, Cass. You need to learn our cover story. You are now Cassandra Forest. That way we can continue calling you Cass. I will be Margaret and Jamil will be James. We’ve moved here from Canada, giving us an excuse for any cultural differences.”
“I presume I’m a student. What do you and Dad do for a living?”
Jamil bristled. “Don’t call me that.”
Cass decided he might just enjoy this. “It’s who you’re pretending to be. I have to call you that… unless you prefer father.”
“Only use it in public then. I’m working as a freelance food critic, presuming I can choke down the stuff humans eat.”
“This job makes enough to afford a house in the suburbs?”
Magolyn rolled her eyes. “Of course not. The Elders have supplied us with enough gold for a bank account. We’re saying we inherited money from a wealthy grandfather. I’m going back to school to study anthropology. It’ll be interesting to hear how humans picture their own culture.”
Cass gave his new mother a skeptical look. “How did we secure a house on short notice?”
Magolyn shrugged. “The Elders had a house ready for us.”
“Why would they have a house in the Mortal Realm?”
Jamil slapped the table. “Silvanus’s leafy nethers
! When the Elders say they’re sending you into perdition, but they have a place for you to live, you don’t argue with them. We just said thank you.”
Cass got the point. Don’t question the Elders. “Where are we, anyway?”
Jamil snorted. “The accurately, but unimaginatively, named Long Island. It’s near a large human city built on a small island, but mercifully not called Small Island.”
Rural parts of Suffolk County contain a few Fae gates, as do many other out-of-the-way places in the Realm of Mortals. Cass had visited the New York City area before and had some familiarity with the region. He proceeded to other matters. “Why pick a parochial school?”
“We think they still use rulers on students.”
“Jamil! That’s not it at all. Our Lady of Abundant Mercy had openings in the sophomore class and we thought a smaller place would be easier to manage than a large public high school.”
“What brand of Christian is that?” said Cass.
“It’s a Catholic school. We listed our religion as Unitarian. Like Canadians, they’re widely misunderstood. Furthermore, they have members who believe a host of different things so we can’t be pinned down to a particular philosophy.”
Shaking his head, Jamil said, “I’m so glad we Alfarans have this figured out. The one thing the Clans all agree on is the Great Mother.”
Cass, for his part, thought the whole family backstory seemed convoluted. He prayed to the Great Mother that they could make it believable, but he needn’t have worried. We humans prefer having explanations rather than mysteries, so even implausible rationalizations seem better than having no clue what’s going on.
Cass decided to leave his concerns about the family’s story unvoiced. He also clammed up about a few other concerns he’d noticed while getting ready for school.
Alfarans differ from humans in several ways, including having no body hair. Cass was initially upset at having arm hair, but being so very fair rendered it nearly invisible. Leaking fluids from odd places, however, bothered him a lot. Humans purge the toxins we ingest or inhale in messy ways, whereas Alfarans have remarkable immune systems. You don’t live to see twelve hundred summers by catching every passing virus. As a human, Cass would need to carry tissues all the time.
Magolyn read his mind (figuratively, as Alfarans are not normally telepathic).
“I’ll need to give you a tutorial on cosmetics and feminine hygiene.”
“Wait just a second. Do I have a monthly cycle?”
“Well…yes. The Elders wanted you to experience every aspect of the human condition.”
“How very thoughtful of them.”
Nature itself replaces Alfarans as Elders pass away or younger members meet with fatal accidents, so they have no need to give birth. Cass was used to having natural sterility.
Jamil’s thinking paralleled Cass’s. “You’d be wise to focus on observing human life and keeping a low profile. Don’t go back to flirting… we don’t want any accidents.”
Cass was painfully aware that hormonal hijinks were a bad idea. He had no concept of how human women survived childbirth. The Elders’ punishment might involve experiencing many indignities of the human condition, but he’d ensure teen pregnancy wasn’t one of them. Not that he intended to avoid all awkwardness and embarrassment. He already had a plan regarding his situation and how to get out of it.
Magolyn continued. “You’ll need to meet with Mr. Gunderson at OLAM for your sophomore schedule. He’s the vice principal, so try not to antagonize him.”
“Oh, please. It’s because I’m a charming liar that I ended up here. I think I can bamboozle the vice principal.”
Jamil and Magolyn looked at each other and then back at the petite but confident girl smiling at them. Jamil broke the silence. “Actually, Cass, you’ve always been forthright and blunt; valuable qualities in a Knight of Whiteleaf, but humans don’t appreciate it much. We all need to be boring and unobtrusive so nobody looks too carefully at our background. So don’t bother the humans.”
“Humans adore me. What about the human women I had eating out of my hand?”
Magolyn answered, “Your affiliated animal is a rabbit. An aura of innocence and harmlessness was your Alfaran birthright, helped along by your handsome features. You don’t have your natural gifts anymore. You will have to rely on wits.”
Jamil clasped his hands. “May the Great Mother have mercy.”
Cass just continued smiling, ever confident that he could turn any bad situation to his advantage. I sat back to watch, knowing that life would deliver him a swift kick. At least it could no longer target his testicles.
CHAPTER TWO
While Cass readied himself for school, my focus shifted back to the gate. I had a suspicion and my observations confirmed it.
Cass and his guardians passed into the Realm of Mortals just before midnight on the last day of the new moon in early September. A certain young Alfaran air mage, however, only managed to get through the gate a few minutes before the thin crescent of moonlight rose ahead of sunrise, sealing the passageway.
Esmeralda Shafil te Glenhollow had visited the Mortal Realm on only three occasions. In each case, Caswel Esmar was the reason. The first time was two decades ago when she and Cass were entangled in a relationship. He’d wanted to visit the American Gulf Coast during the celebration of something called Mardi Gras. It had been a wild ride exemplifying all the excesses to which humans are prone. She experienced intoxication for the first time and was exhilarated. Then she experienced her first hangover and vowed never to return to the lands humans called home.
However, a scant two moons prior to this excursion, she’d come to the Mortal Realm chasing a rumor that Cass was here again. She found him cavorting with a human woman, and was consumed with jealousy, even though her relationship with Cass had ended long ago. She reported her discovery to the Council of Elders. Their verdict was a given; their punishment unexpected.
So now Esmeralda stood in a wooded grove on Long Island having packed a small bag with oatcakes, cheese, a spare cloak, and magical tools. She saw Caswel’s exile as an opportunity. He would be disoriented by new living conditions and a new body. He would have no access to magic. She intended to make him pay dearly for his betrayal, but she needed to work quickly.
Esmeralda was a sharp dresser in the Realm of Fae, favoring a green, ivory, and silver color palette, which complemented her pale complexion and raven hair. On this morning, she wore a green silk tunic decorated with silver stitching. It was stylish, by Alfaran standards, but atypical of modern human clothing. She knew she needed to blend in, but that meant dressing like a primitive. By the time she walked into the nearest small community, hazy sunshine was breaking through the pervasive cloud cover. Clothing was on display in several shop windows lining the main thoroughfare, but she was unfamiliar with human commerce. Humans once bartered for merchandise. Now it seemed they relied more on tokens of exchange, judging by the Fall Fashion Sale signs.
On her previous forays into the Realm of Mortals, Esmeralda limited her contact with the natives to avoid discovery and exposure. Accomplishing her revenge on Cass meant she’d need to successfully masquerade as a human. That required making a few polite inquiries.
She spotted a dark-skinned woman opening the door of a small, white clapboard building marked with a Christian cross. Esme was wary of this symbol, knowing that wars with cross bearers drove Fae from the Realm of Mortals centuries before. Still, she recalled Christians prided themselves on being generous when they weren’t being violent. She hoped this human would help her.
“Pardon me. I’m sorry to be a bother, but I need clothing and don’t know where to get any.”
The human woman looked Esmeralda up and down, clearly wondering about her mode of dress. “It’s no bother, sweetie. I’m happy to help. Do you have a place to stay? How are you fixed for money?”
Esme tried to explain her situation. “I sleep out of doors and I have no hu… local currency. I have jewe
lry I might trade, however.”
The dark-skinned woman shook her head. “We have donated clothing. I can let you have some of that. I can also call some of the area shelters for you if you need a place to stay. I’m Carla. What’s your name?”
Esme decided that polite flattery would get her fairly far in the Realm of Mortals. “I’m Esmeralda and I prefer being close to Nature, thank you. I will accept the offer of clothing though. That’s very kind of you. I can get by with a skirt, a pair of blue janes and letter T shirts.”
“You mean blue jeans and T-shirts. You’re not from here, are you?”
“No, I am foreign.” Esme recalled that she and Cass had pretended to be European tourists when they attended Mardi Gras. It seemed a plausible ruse, but the best laid plans of humans and Alfarans…
The woman dismissed Esme’s oddness at first, asking “What size are your hips? You look to be petite.”
Esme lifted her tunic above her waist. “My hips are this size.”
“Sweetie, you’re not wearing underwear.”
“Underwear?”
“Lingerie. Unmentionables.”
It took Esmeralda several seconds to recall that humans wrap their nether regions with cotton or silk to protect outer garments from stains created by the numerous secretions we exude. Alfarans have no such concerns and spend considerable time in the buff.
“Yes… I will also need the underwear to… wear under the over wear. Thank you.”
“We don’t get a lot of underwear donations in the gently-used clothing bin.” Then the very helpful Christian pushed just a little too far. “I really think you should let me call some people who can help you more than I can, sweetie. I think you should see a doctor.”
Esmeralda panicked.
“Evacuare” The spell surrounded the woman’s head with a bubble of airlessness. As soon as her would-be benefactor collapsed, Esme lifted the spell. She felt guilty about blatantly using magic, which risked exposing her true nature. She also hadn’t planned on assaulting random humans, but she wasn’t about to let some medicine man poke and prod her. She had no time for searching out donated clothing, so she took the woman’s shirt and skirt, leaving the tunic behind. Esme was certain the helpful Christian shouldn’t mind sharing her outfit. The fit was poor, but she made do.