Chapter 8

Ashur stepped off the platform and onto grassy ground that vaguely reminded him of the prairie where he and Mera had battled the aboriginal tribesmen so many months ago. The air was crisp in his nose which still felt slightly odd in his rearranged face, but it also had a slight musky odor. The indrawn breath felt strange to his human mind, yet familiar to his new body and he chuckled a little to himself at that.

It had taken most of Mera’s patience and several hours of coaching by Xakelle for him to assume this new form. Her assertion that both of them would be leaving “early tomorrow morning” had proven to be a hopeful statement, but not reality. In truth, it had almost reached noon before the Guardian had finally been prepared to venture out on his first intentional solo expedition. His sojourn through Xakelle’s world had been accidental and more about survival than anything else.

Morning had come far too soon for the Librarians after their amazing, yet exhausting threesome, but they were rousted out of slumber by a far-too-cheerful Xakelle. After completing their usual ablutions, all three sat down for a hearty breakfast. The maroon immortal soon polished off her food and turned to address Ashur while he was still eating. He could tell that she was eager. Overnight, her demeanor had gone back to the excitable mental butterfly that he had first encountered. During her time with them in the Library, she had been focused and level-headed, but now that she had completed her part of the project, she was obviously ready to move on to the next.

“Okay,” she half-babbled at him, “here’s the information that you need to know because you are going to have to go into this without a lot of direction.” She tapped a finger on her chin and looked up to the ceiling. “Now that I think about it, you are almost always going to go into these without much direction anyway so I guess this is good practice for you!” Her bright eyes dropped back to him and she smiled hugely. “That kinda takes a load off my mind ... sort of ... I think. Oh well.”

Now somewhat worried, the Guardian gave his partner a long look before turning back to Xakelle. It didn’t make him feel any better that Mera’s expression matched his own.

For the next half-hour, they listened intently as the immortal passed on as much as she knew about Sterora, Couset, its inhabitants, and their culture. Unfortunately, it was obvious that the little that she knew about them was vastly out-weighed by what she didn’t. She re-iterated that she had visited the planet less than a handful of times and, of those occasions, only twice had she had dealings with the species Ashur was about to encounter; the Brenpha.

Once her lecture was done, they cleaned up and relocated to the living room, pulling away the furniture at Xakelle’s insistence to give Ashur room. Any confusion about the rearrangement was washed away after the first change in his legs. His upper half had remained human which threw off his sense of balance and he stumbled about before finding his “feet”.

Sadly, his arms and legs had been the easy part. Even with Xakelle providing conjured images of Brenphan internal organs, some part of his mind shied away from making such a drastic change to himself. He had spent over four decades as human and it would seem that his sub-conscious was determined to keep it that way. To make matters worse, he had never made a full-body change before. This was new territory for him and only heightened his trepidation which made him instantly revert to full human every time he tried to change.

After several hours of increasingly frustrated struggle, Mera finally stopped him completely. She looked to Xakelle for a few seconds and he could see the telepathic conversation between the two women by their expressions. When they were done, Mera decisively nodded her head once, turned back to Ashur, and pulled him to her. She kissed him briefly and then placed her forehead against his. Calm flowed from her mind and with it came something more.

Concepts and sensations moved past his mind’s eye and made their way into his thoughts. This was more than Xakelle’s images. Mera wasn’t simply transmitting pictures, she was giving him the feeling of being something else, something alien. She was teaching his innermost thoughts how to be “other” than he was and the shift, even as gently and lovingly offered as it was, still scared some part of him and his mind rebelled.

There is nothing to fear, my love, she said in his mind. Her mental voice caressed and soothed him. Her awareness surrounded his and held it as mother would her child. Ashur sometimes forgot just how much older and emotionally mature his beloved was. Now he relaxed into her care, both mentally and emotionally, and let the serenity she was exuding sink down into his core. Once it permeated all of his consciousness, he opened himself to the changes she was trying to teach him once more.

This time, the mental adaptation was easier. Whatever piece of him that had feared becoming different had been quelled or appeased and his body began reshape to fit the form Mera was feeding him. His body felt liquid, shapeless. Even with Mera’s mental preparation and help, it was still one of the oddest sensations he had ever experienced.

Finally, after almost twenty minutes of painstaking effort, he pulled away from Mera and stood before the two women as a fully formed Brenphan.

“Well, that didn’t go as well as I hoped, but it turned out better than I was afraid it might,” Xakelle commented with her head on one side. She did a slow walk around him, examining his handywork. He started a bit when a prodding finger jabbed him in the side without warning and stumbled to the side. The backwards stilting of his new legs was definitely unfamiliar, even with his earlier practice. The former human wobbled and stumbled about for a few steps in an attempt to get his balance but was ultimately forced to lean against some of the furniture to steady himself.

“This feels a bit unnatural,” he chuckled, parroting Mera’s comment from the night before. He looked up and saw her grin wryly while trying to fight back a bit of a purple blush.

Drawing a deep breath, Ashur stood straight and noticed that he was now several inches taller than before. He turned to the stand mirror they had brought from Mera’s room and studied his altered body. From his new angle, he guessed that he was topping out somewhere in the vicinity of seven feet if he counted the crest of jet-black hair that crowned his head. Most of the sides were either shaved or naturally bald, but there were swirls of white coloring in random spots.

Not quite ready to look at his modified visage, the Guardian shifted his gaze downward. His shoulders had narrowed by an inch, but his waist was even smaller, though the musculature of his thighs more than made up for it. Grey splotches gave him a mottled look. Most of them were light, but he could see some that very nearly matched his hair.

He started to run a finger over one of those and stopped to inspect the longer tapered fingers. It was relieving to discover that the number hadn’t changed, but the tips were covered in a fine hair that gave them a sensitivity he would have to get used to. Once he was done, he completed his initial gesture and stroked the dark spots and skin in general. It was covered in fine hairs in the same way his human body had been and he noticed that the coloring of the patches was a pigmentation of the skin and hair.

Xakelle’s soft grunt pulled him away from his examination. Nodding his understanding at her interruption, Ashur finally looked at his face. It was almost flat with no nose, but he could see nostril slits open and close with his breathing. His eyes were nearly vertical, oblong, and a bright pastel green. At first, he thought there were no irises, but as he looked closer, he noticed they were simply a less opaque almond spot that matched the general eye shape. The new Brenphan looked around without moving his head and noticed that although he could see much higher and lower than his human eyes, his lateral peripheral vision had been slightly reduced. His jaw was curved with a shallower angle and a wider opening for his mouth. He worked it open and closed a few times to get the feel of it.

He turned to his partner and spread his arms to the sides. “Well,” he asked. “What do you think?” The words were uncomfortable in his mouth, but, until he reached Lophicury and Mera was able to learn the language from one of the local’s mind, he was stuck with the language he knew.

The blue woman stepped close again and reached out to rub his skin. “It doesn’t really feel any different except maybe a little colder.” Her fingers trailed down his chest and pushed in a little as though she were trying to examine the muscles underneath.

With a smile, she suddenly pointed down and looked to Xakelle. “Does that work like normal too?”

Ashur followed her finger and gave a guffaw to realize that he had missed the five-inch flaccid penis that hung directly between his thighs. He reached for it, but his hands were gently batted away so that Mera could lift and examine the dangling appendage.

“He doesn’t have testicles!” Mera’s exclamation bordered on offended and he laughed again. Indeed, his member swung freely without the encumbrance of a scrotum. The Caretaker had dropped to her knees and was staring fascinated at his groin.

“Really,” he exclaimed the question and gestured to his converted countenance. “I’ve got all of this happening and that’s what gets your attention?”

She squatted back on her heels, put her hands to her hips, and pouted up at him. Behind her, Xakelle was bent double over one of the couches in hysterical laughter.

“Well, of course!” She waved azure hands at his equipment. “I’ve spent centuries seeing alien faces, but never this part! Where’s his balls?”

There was no answer from the Immortal who had toppled sideways onto the floor, holding her gut and gasping for air between howls of mirth.

Ashur looked back down as Mera returned to her fondling investigation.

“Pervert,” he muttered with a smile.

Ashur took another deep lungful of air, adjusted the satchel at his hip, and started forward. By his estimate, it would be an almost three-hour hike to Couset. When Mera had asked about the distance, he had explained that he wanted that time to better acclimate to his new stride and other body movements; especially in more “natural” and uneven terrain.

After a few steps, he turned to look back to the traveling platform.

Ok, love, he said. You can bring it home now. Her mental peck on the cheek made him smile as the circle of white stone and its control platform faded out of existence. Curious, he moved back to where it had been and surveyed the area. The grass still stood straight and tall except where his feet had crushed it down.

“Huh,” he murmured to himself. Part of him had expected a circle of flattened greenery.

Satisfied?, came a droll question in his mind. He stuck out a mental tongue at her and set off for the city with a grin.

You didn’t know either, he gently ribbed her with a psychic cheek bussing of his own.

I was never curious. Her pithy response was combined by an image of the blue woman standing haughtily with her nose upturned. He let out a loud burst of laughter and continued on his way.

As he had suspected, it took the better part of his trek for him to finally feel fully comfortable in his new “skin”. By the time he reached the outskirts of Couset, his integration into the Brenphan form was just about complete and he made his way down side roads until he reached a major causeway pointed directly toward the city.

His clothes matched those of what Xakelle had assured him was an upper-class citizen which should let him move around the higher echelons of the city without much hinderance but, out here, even his limited sense of what constituted Couset fashion made him feel out of place.

This was where the farms and some of the industrial work was done and the Brenphans he passed were dressed for hard, menial work. Most just glanced at him for being in an unexpected place before returning to their work, but others openly stared. Falling back on his soldier’s demeanor, he straightened his spine and strode forward as though on a specific task and trudged resolutely onward.

He could just start to make out individual buildings of what might be a slightly more urban area when the noise of a large group of feet made him look back the way he had come. A small caravan of light wagons headed by a carriage was travelling at a fast walk toward him. The covered rectangular wagons themselves were being pulled by what Ashur could only guess were the Brenphan’s version of a horse. The animals were beige, hairless quadrupeds with high smallish heads and thick padded feet. They were connected to their trailing vehicles by an elaborate web of straps rather than the two-pole harness that he was used to seeing.

Large, heavily armed Brenphans of both genders were obviously guarding the caravan in two long rows on either side. Others, smaller and dressed in robes of various types, were running back and forth between the wagons and, occasionally, the carriage itself. Ten of the guards preceded the entire group with flags and other official looking adornments and Ashur stepped to the side to make room.

Not certain if custom required any sort of obeisance, he concentrated on looking off into the distance behind the line of wagons instead of staring openly and didn’t notice the waved hand which stopped the entire procession.

Startled, he turned quickly back to the coach which had come to a stop just past him. One of the attendants that rode on the side listened intently to someone inside, turned to look at him, then jumped down.

Mera, he thought to his partner. What’s going on?

I’m not sure yet, she responded. He’s not close enough.

Falling back on what he had seen nobles in his world do, he tried to stand a little taller and pulled his chin up slightly.

Stop that, Mera chided. Remember that you’re not in our world anymore. Different cultures have different body languages.

The footman approached to within ten feet and said something unintelligible to the human while beckoning politely back toward the carriage. Understanding the meaning behind the unknown language, Ashur moved forward at a slow, and hopefully dignified, walk while Mera started to read the footman’s mind. He was halfway across when she finally spoke up.

This is a government official of some kind, but I can’t tell the difference between name and title yet. It’s going to be a bit before I can really get a hang of the language, but I can give you the gist of the conversation until then.

As he drew closer to vehicle, the door opened to reveal a woman in obvious finery looking down at him. The footman indicated that he should stop a few paces away which Ashur appreciated. Tall though he was, the height of the coach would have forced him to tilt his head at an uncomfortable angle if he had been much closer.

The woman in the carriage spoke to him in a soft lilting tone for several sentences. Her language was a strange soft staccato as the words bounced their way to him. Running his new tongue around the inside of his mouth, he could feel the physiological differences that might explain the Brenphan’s linguistic peculiarities. He would have to talk to Mera about it.

Definitely later. She wants to know who you are and what someone of your stature is doing walking instead of being carried. I can’t give you any kind of fluency yet, but we can try to pass it off as a far distant dialect. Repeat after me.

“From far away I walked ... erm ... traveled,” he parroted. “I am ... new ... to land and am want to learn more. I am Ashur.”

After a moment of contemplation, the woman spoke again. Now she gestured toward him, the city, and then behind.

I think I’ve got this now, Mera said. She is welcoming someone of your “obvious importance” to the city and wants to know your business if you feel so inclined to tell her. Don’t say anything yet but look like you’re thinking about how to answer. I’m going to try something.

A faint buzzing tingled at the back of Ashur’s brain and he did his best not to jerk. Suddenly, images and words started to come to him and he raised a hand to his forehead.

That was certainly interesting, he remarked to his partner. A little warning next time please.

Sorry. I’ve never done that before. I didn’t know if it would work.

Ashur inhaled deeply and concentrated on the Brenphan official once again.

“I thank you for your welcome.” His speech was still halting, but he could feel the patterns starting to become more natural. “I’m sorry for sounding rough and uncouth. This is not my normal language and I needed a moment to adjust.”

The official’s expression took on a slight look of what Ashur could only think of as calculation.

“It’s not often that we receive visitors from far enough off that language is a barrier. How far have you traveled?”

“Much farther than you could possibly guess,” he replied, adding a drawl to his voice that he hoped sounded cultured to the official’s alien ear. “At this point, the distance doesn’t even make sense to me anymore. I’ve been learning the language of this region, but I’ve been off in the backwoods for longer than I should have. It would seem I reverted a bit; linguistically speaking. As I said, I am Ashur. May I ask to whom I am speaking?”

The official held out a hand palm up and, at Mera’s direction, he took it and laid two fingers briefly on her palm.

“I am Vernlat and I am returning home after a brief tour of the surrounding cities. May I ask what brought you to Couset? Judging by your dress, I would guess ... business?”

Ashur smiled deprecatingly. “Alas, no. I am a man of growth. It might be best to say that I am a seeker. I am on a pilgrimage of the mind, that most important organ that we all share. Quite some time back, I gave myself over to the pursuit of knowledge and have made it my life’s goal to acquire as much as possible. To this end, I have found it necessary to travel extensively across various lands and countries to study and learn. To my dismay, I find that very few towns, and even cities, have much in the way of new information for me to learn.”

Where is all this coming from? Mera asked wonderingly. I’ve never heard you talk like this before!

Ashur gave her a quick mental “later” and returned to his conversation.

“In my travels I have only found one or two great learning centers and have spent quite some time consuming their books and lessons like a glutton consumes food.”

He looked down as if in deep thought. “Perhaps that analogy is not far off. Perhaps my need for knowledge is much like an addiction. I must continuously learn or I feel empty.” His gaze turned back to Vernlat as though coming back from those deep thoughts.

“My apologies. It was not my intention to subject you to a dissertation of my life. You requested a simple answer and I have misspent your time. Please forgive me.”

Vernlat waved a hand dismissively. “Not misspent in any way, I assure you! Rare is the man that has such an interest in such things and I do enjoy rare things. May I be so bold as to offer you a ride to the city?” She stepped back from the carriage door to make room and beckoned him to join her.

He bowed appreciatively and raised his own hand in denial.

“I couldn’t possibly accept,” he demurred. “You are, obviously, someone of great stature and, therefore, someone of short time as I can see by the bustle of your retainers.” His wave towards the rest of the column took in the increased movement of her clerks who had taken the opportunity of the rest to transfer papers and boxes. “I would not interrupt your business.”

As if to make his point a young woman came running up from far behind the column, noticeably out of breath. The runner was small for a Brenphan, barely reaching to Ashur’s collar and her silver hair hung lower than any of the others in the party. She ran up to the carriage and stood respectfully out of hearing with her eyes turned down, waiting for the official to notice her.

“Nonsense!” Vernlat said expansively. “It is these small distractions that make the work bearable. If I cannot enjoy myself from time to time, what is the point? Please, I insist that you join me! I am not the only one of stature here. By your look and your bearing, you are also a man of importance and nobility and should not be tramping your way down this dusty road like a common farmer. I implore you to take your ease for the rest of your journey to our fair city.”

Ashur appeared to hesitate and then raised in hands in surrender. “You are as persuasive as you are lovely and it would be churlish of me to decline such a gracious offer. Before I do, however, is this something that you need some privacy for? Surely the important matters that you so evidently handle are sensitive in nature. I would not intrude myself into such delicate affairs.” He stepped to the side and gestured toward the young lady who was still catching her breath.

Vernlat’s face soured in distaste and impatience, but she waved the runner forward with a curt gesture while still addressing him.

“Unfortunately, yes, this is something I must attend to, but you need not absent yourself. This is a minor matter, soon handled.”

The runner handed over a thick sheaf of papers which Vernlat began to read through. Ashur took the opportunity to turn his attention inward.

What do you think so far? Mera was quiet in his mind, but he felt her thoughts moving like whispers as she turned the situation over in her own mind.

Her mind is definitely disciplined. I can tell that she is part of running the city, but she’s so focused on you and the puzzle of who you are that I can’t get much else. She’s cunning though. I caught glimpses of her wondering if you could be used to her advantage though she gave that up rather quickly. Right now, you are a curiosity to be enjoyed, not a serious tool for her advantage. Let me think on it some more. In the meantime, I want an explanation! I’ve never heard you talk like that! I didn’t think you could speak so eloquently.

The corner of his lip quirked minutely upward for a split second, unnoticed by the two Brenphans who were concentrated on their business.

Have I ruined your “barbarian” image of me, love? I do so hope that you can forgive my inordinately gauche mannerisms that must have portrayed me in the worst of lights. He sent along an image of himself in the foppish dress of many of the court dandies he had seen while serving in the Oudromore castle. The image genuflected in a deep and sinuous groveling bow that the true toadies had displayed. Mera laughed loudly in his mind at the image.

I think that just made it worse, she said. Is that where you learned it?

Yes. I spent two years in the castle garrison and everyone had to take one rotation a month in the castle and throne room. None of us actually liked the king and his court so our officers decided that the best thing to do was to share the duty. It held down the troublemakers though. Extra throne shifts were usually the punishment for minor infractions. I’m not sure anyone outside of the garrison knew about it though.

Vernlat finished her reading and turned to the runner with a snarl on her face.

“It took you that long for this?” Her tone was harsh as she smacked the packet with the back of her hand. “You should have had this to me hours ago!”

The runner wrung her hands together and threw a quick uncertain glance to Ashur. “My apologies, Shentet. I was forced to find alternate means to find the numbers. Anrit emphasized discretion.”

Her answer did not seem to mollify the angry woman. “Nonsense! This is information that should have been in the general records! It should have been right there! You should have been trained better than this! Return to the clerk’s wagon at once and wait there until we arrive. I shall be having a word with your supervisor!” The official pointed back along the line and the young runner fled.

“I’m so sorry for my unseemly outburst,” she said, turning back to her guest. “Please join me here in comfort and we shall continue our long journey to the city.”

As it turned out, the “long journey” was a mere twenty minutes of travel in the carriage. Vernlat did her best to draw out more of Ashur’s past and his travels, but, even without Mera’s suggestion, he felt it was wiser to provide little information. Instead, he turned her questions around to find out more of the city. Unfortunately, much of her conversation was less about Couset and more about herself and her station. She had been nobly born and was obviously one of those that felt her lineage gave her rights and privileges that should not be shared by the lower classes.

Ashur kept a rapt, interested appearance while groaning inwardly. It seemed that class attitudes transcended worlds and cultures. In some ways, it made him feel less of an alien here. Unfortunately, Vernlat’s preening was not helping him to understand this culture. He determined that he would have to find another source of information once he found lodgings.

Once they had passed the majority of the farms, the entourage came upon a tall stone wall with what might have been a gate many decades ago. Several sentries stood at either side of the opening that had to have been at least fifty feet in width. The guards automatically waved Vernlat’s group through without question.

At that point, Ashur thanked his host and asked to be let out. Vernlat implored him to accompany her to the city center, but he begged off; citing a desire to see the city as a pedestrian among the crowd.

“If you are certain,” she said. “This is the merchant’s area, suitable for those of a less fortunate station. Those of noble birth should not need to subject themselves to these conditions.”

Airily, he waved her concern away with one hand. “As I said before, you are most gracious and I deeply appreciate your concern, however, I have found that discovering a civilization from the outside in gives me a much more thorough appreciation for what I have. After all, only by seeing those who struggle can we really understand their plight and woes.”

He was proud of his answer although the slight sycophancy to the official’s social biases did sour his tongue a bit.

“Well then, my brave seeker of truth, I trust that you will be able to feed your “gluttony”, as I believe you called it, her in my fair city.” She pulled a token of some kind from a case in the carriage and held it out to him. “Should you ever find yourself in need of more suitable hospitality, please find me in Thirteen and I shall make you welcome.”

Not knowing what or where “Thirteen” was, he bowed over her hand and accepted the small metal plate. “You are too kind and have my undying gratitude. I shall most definitely take advantage of your most generous offer. Please enjoy the rest of your trip home.”

He stepped back as she gave him a final wave and motioned to the driver to continue on. The procession made its way down the street before turning a corner. As it did, he could see the young runner plodding dejectedly behind the last wagon with slumped shoulders. Having been in her situation more than a few times during his own youth, he hoped that she would not be punished too harshly.

Once she and following guards were out of sight, he looked around and started to take his bearings. From what he could tell, he was still on the outskirts of the area and stated to make his way inward. As he strolled, the number of stalls and shops began to increase. There were many wares that he was unfamiliar with, but he curbed his curiosity for the moment. He needed to get a feel for the city walkways and the day was passing quickly.

The sun had been past its zenith when Ashur came to what he surmised was one of the main hubs of the merchant’s area. A large square was constantly filled and emptied by five wide streets. The center of the square hosted a cluster of food stalls, some of which had tables and chairs for their customers.

Moving out of the stream of foot traffic, Ashur fell back into one of his older habits and found a quiet, secluded spot between two of the shop buildings. He wasn’t hungry or thirsty yet, so he tucked in somewhere he could watch the people unobserved. It was a trick he had learned from one his mentors on his first trip to another country. The middle-aged corporal had pulled him aside and showed him how to learn the little idiosyncrasies of a culture.

“Watch what they do, boy,” the older man had said. “Don’t listen to what they say, but how they say it. Learn the little telltales.” They had stood or sat for almost five hours in a few places in the main marketplace of the village and Ashur had been astonished to understand how much more he could pick up when he wasn’t trying to blend in. Several nights later, when he went out on the town with some of his squad-mates, one of the civilian visitors had confused him for a local and asked for directions to a nearby tourist spot.