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She Who Must Not Be Named reports that only 1/10 the usual number of letters have arrived this month. So if you want your name (well, first name and last initial) to be immortalized in print, now’s a good time to try for it. You listening, Pheebs?

We’re curious.

October 2005 (volume 9, number 8 )

In keeping with age-old Muse tradition, the editors have filled this issue with creepy stuff.

COVER: How to Read a Tombstone

FIRST PAGE: Wonder Drug

KOKOPELLI & COMPANY: Trick and/or treat.

ARTICLES AND COLUMNS:
Sweet Elixir of Death, by Paul Collins
The Case of the Four-Armed Corpse, by Stephanie Pain
Sent to the Tower, by Paul Baker
How to Read a Tombstone, by Douglas Keister

Q & A, by Robert Coontz and Rosanne Spector: How do birds chirp?
Math Page, by Ivars Peterson: Sudoku Mania

LAST PAGE: Designed by the Desert? [Egyptian pyramids and Sphinx]

Another thread by popular request.

You’re already talking about them on the September Free-for-All. Now, thanks to Elassë~Adæl, they have a thread all their own.

We know you’re busy with school now, but the Fan Page/MuseBlog still needs to test and post Web addresses given on the following pages of the September 2005 issue:

p. 44 (lots)
p. 45 (lots)
p. 46 (lots)
p. 47 (lots, some in the “Muse Contest” box)

Send them in, please, whenever you have a spare minute or two online. One at a time is fine. Thanks!

Nothing too exciting this time–just routine updates to

• The “Muse Around the World” list
• The back issues list
• The list of Muse authors
• The Q&A archives
• The favorite quotations list

How-to #33:
How to be an obnoxious teenager

1. Get some pants that are way too big for you.
2. Have them hanging down. Don’t worry, people won’t see your skivvies, because you’re going to have a baggy T-shirt untucked.
3. Wear dark glasses so you won’t bump into things. This probably makes no sense, but you don’t move. You just hang around.
4. Be sarcastic about everything.
5. Say “like” at least, like, 5 times in a like sentence.
6. Have a surly attitude and talk back to your elders. Heck, talk back to everyone!
7. Refuse to do anything that wasn’t your idea in the first place, even if you really want to.

How-to #57:
How to make a hopeless mess

1. Get a whole lot of junk, including model glue, sawdust, string, newspaper, pine cones, raisins, orange peels, gravel, vines, rubber cement, shaving cream, old socks, lint, paper clips, paint, wire, little bits of plastic, grease, cans, and an aardwolf. Ok, not an aardwolf.
2. Find an area that no one will care about it if you mess it up. This may take awhile.
3. Start by pouring the rubber cement on the floor.
4. Put down a layer of newspaper.
5. Pour lots of model glue on the floor. Add paint.
6. Randomly throw your other supplies onto the mess.
7. Come back an hour later and top the pile off with 10 gallons of egg white and sand.
8. Now attempt to sell it as a work of art. Good luck.

How-to #56:
How to improve morale at your business

1. Put espresso in the cappuccino machine. People are happier when they’re buzzed.
2. Every month, have a party for no reason.
3. Give people the assignment at least 2 weeks before the deadline, so they have more time to finish it.
4. Give random and silly awards to people for no reason. Or better yet, reasons they don’t want displayed. “Most Inconspicuous Nose-Picker for 2009!”
5. Skip around the office rather than walk.
6. Provide your staff with water pistols or Nerf guns.
7. If all of the above methods fail, try the direct solution. Fire all of the unhappy people.

How-to #53:
How to lose ten pounds of ugly fat

1.Cut off your head.

Avast, ye scurvy scalawags! National Talk Like a Pirate Day be coming up on Monday, September 19. So look lively, ye bilge rats, and practice yer lingo here. We’ll want full reports later. Arrr.

Is anyone here familiar with Cicada magazine or its online forum, The Slam? Muse‘s publisher puts them out for people who like to read and write fiction.

Also, any past or present Cricket readers on the blog? Just curious.

Sorry more didn’t arrive. Here is the rest (oh, and by the way, I know Tom is a really weak charecter, but he comes up later in the plot of Steel’s life so I had to put him in. Then he didn’t do enough, just sorta hung around being annoying, so I made him save Steel and Zyviva. Belive me, there was no other way. I don’t like him either.):

“This sounds like a bad movie,” muttered Steel under her breath, but Ual heard her, and smiled widely. “We dragons have a habit of talking in ways that often seem odd to humans. Just sit down.”

Sighing, Steel sat cross-legged on the floor. Ual paused for a moment, making sure Steel had no further objections, and then began to speak:

“As you probably know as a Galathin, we dragons are the only non-human people to establish a nation for ourselves, and we are, in fact, the oldest and wisest people on the Map. Unlike humans, almost every dragon is noble and good hearted, although I am sorry to say that this was not always true. There are some records, in the past, of a certain species (now thankfully extinct) of shape-shifting dragons, who would often change their forms to that of an intelligent creature, marry, have a child, and then abandon their mate and young offspring. The resulting half-breeds had almost no distinguishing draconic characteristics, but they and their descendants always had some small quirk or talent that, to an educated eye, would make known their ancestry.”

“How could they just abandon their children and mates like that? That’s awful!” exclaimed Steel.

“To be sure! But as I have said, the practice, and, indeed, the ability to shape-shift have long since died out. Exclamations do not fix anything.

“Anyway, now we shall veer from the story slightly. As is evident by my present appearance, a dragon sheds light in darkness. This light is visible only to other dragons and a select few, such as wood-elves, who are used as servants and workers for us.”

“And me. I can see the light, too—but I’m not an elf. Hey, wait a minute—is seeing in darkness a draconic ability?” Steel found herself suspecting where this story was leading.

“No. Just listen. And stop interrupting!

“A dragon’s night-sight is not an ability inherited genetically, but comes instead from a mineral we consume, called Ehual, which generates a glow that can be seen only by its host. If eaten in great amounts, it self-regenerates and makes the glow permanent—and strong enough to show through even solid stone, or, as is the case, dragon scales. This mineral does not work for everyone. But even one who has not eaten the mineral can detect it in all times, if they have the inborn ability.”

“Ah. I begin to understand.”

“No more talking, human!

“We have reason to believe that, somewhere in your ancestry, there is a dragon. And we think that your ability to detect Ehual indicates that you will be able to eat it, thereby gaining a permanent light source. But even though Ehual is a useful tool, it is also a deadly poison. Only if the ability to eat it is passed down—and it is not in all cases, does the consumer survive. We are not sure the ability was passed to you. Usually a half-breed must have unusual powers of concentration to survive Ehual, even if the ability to is in them, so eating it is a risky business.”

Ual stopped. She looked at Steel expectantly.

“So you’re telling me that I’m part dragon, and so can see in the dark? With all the ado Master Hai made, with the letter and all, you’d have thought it would be a bigger thing than that.”

“You don’t seem very surprised. What if I told you that Master Hai told me to give you your Ordeal today in precisely seventeen minutes?”

“What!?”

Ual growled out what was obviously meant to be a chuckle. “Your master thinks highly of you. He believes that you are ready now. I must say, from what I’ve seen of you I don’t share his confidence, but I have your name ready if, by some quirk of nature, you succeed.”

“But—Madame Ambassador—I’m only fourteen! I’m not supposed to take my Ordeal for another year at least!”

“Your young friend told Greengold how you sacrificed yourself to save her. He believes—although I am by no means certain—that now is the time for you to either go through with the Ordeal and pass, thereby becoming a Shiran, attempt the Ordeal and die, thereby proving yourself a brave fool, or walk away, thereby becoming marking yourself a coward. I have received instructions from your master as to what the ordeal will be. So please choose before we both die of old age.”

“I was sort of hoping Master Hai would be here to see my Ordeal,” said Steel. “But as he can’t…”

“Present and accounted for, Shi’ara,” said a familiar voice. Master Hai stepped out from a hidden recess behind a curtain, accompanied by Master Hannah, Zyviva, and Tom. “Hello, student.”

“Master Hai!” gasped Steel in surprise. She hadn’t heard anything behind the curtain. “How did you get here? And what are they…”

“Your two friends have informed me they wish to see your Ordeal,” her venerable old master said solemnly. “And Hannah Redwing is, of, course, your teacher.”

Zyviva stepped forward. “You didn’t think we’d really miss this, do you, Steel? Just remember, we’ll be watching you—and cheering you on!”

Steel attempted to gather together her thoughts and make some sense of them. In the space of five minutes, she had been told so many bizarre things that she didn’t know which to act upon. With difficulty, she managed to put her brain cells in some semblance of order.

“Madame Ambassador? How am I supposed to take my Ordeal here? You don’t have a special chamber for it, do you?”

“We have something that was formerly used, in the Monarchy days, as a dungeon.”

“I’m taking my ordeal in a dungeon?” Said Steel, aghast. That hadn’t been done for 200 years.

“You heard me, human. Are you ready to go to it now, or would you like more time to meditate? All of your adversaries are real. Personally, I don’t give much for your chances even if you meditate for a year, but it’s customary to give you some time anyway.”

She ignored the dragon’s gruffness. “I can meditate on the way there.”

Suddenly Steel realized what she was saying. She was taking her Ordeal. She was only fourteen, and she was facing the test in which at least one in twenty older, more experienced students died every year. It was so dangerous that the Council of Elders tried to make it illegal a few years back.

“Shi’ara?” said Master Hai gently, as if he had read her mind, “You don’t have to do this, you know. You can try again next year, if you would like.”

Part of Steel, the cowardly, self-preserving part she usually kept well hidden in the back of her mind, suddenly surfaced. Maybe she should come back next year. She was no Master Hai, to do the Ordeal early. Better to stay alive than to die just for a test…

No. She had to go through with the Ordeal, and now. She had been unconsciously waiting for this chance since Master Hai had taken her off the streets of Hanu eleven years before, and she wanted to be a Shiran with every ounce of her soul. She knew she had to do it.

“Ambassador Ual, will you please show me to the Ordeal chamber?” she asked, banishing the cowardly part of her again. “I’m going to do it—and I’m not going to die.”

The dragon looked surprised. “You have more guts than I thought you had, little human,” she rumbled. “Well, if you’ve made your choice, follow me. Your friends will watch you from various hidden cameras. They have also been provided with lamps.”

Steel followed Ual’s massive form out of the room and down the not-so-dark passage, not looking back.

Finally, Ual stopped. Her giant claw grasped a chain protruding from the stone floor, and with her enormous strength, attempted to lift it, along with a four-foot square flagstone, out of the passage. With a sharp grating noise, it came free, revealing a stone staircase winding down into pitch blackness. Steel took a deep breath, and began her meditation. In…hold…out…hold…in…hold… then, slowly, she began her descent into the inky black pit.

The stone room was as dark as stairwell. Steel tensed herself warily, straining her ears for any movement. As the stone ground back into place behind her, the darkness became absolute.

At first, it was merely a dark chamber. Slowly, however, as Steel’s sense of dread grew stronger, the very darkness seemed to solidify. It grew thicker and thicker, until it grew so strong she could no longer move. The heaviness pressed in on her, crushing her to a pulp, flooding her mouth as she opened it to gasp out a breath, enveloping her body in a crushing grip. She was drowning in it, and she could feel it moving throughout her body, a vile, impure disease, seeking her heart.

No. She could not let it take her. Weakly, she began to struggle against the evil stuff, twisting and writhing both body and spirit to free herself, but in vain. Despite her struggles, the darkness crept closer and closer to where it could—and would—kill her.

In her panic, Steel realized she had stopped meditating. She could not breathe -because her lungs were full of the evil, but she made herself concentrate, forced herself to push her fear aside. And as she did, the darkness faltered—and began to recede. Steel pushed back her fear, banishing it from her body and mind, and the physical form of fear slowly seeped out of her, leaving no trace.

Steel gasped out a ragged breath. Even as she fought to regulate her breathing and heartbeat, she felt stronger—renewed, restored. Even a Shiran was never completely free of fear, but a true Shiran would face death rather than submit to it. She had fought against her greatest enemy, fear itself, and had triumphed.

For perhaps thirty minutes nothing happened. Steel used the time in meditation, preparing herself for what was ahead. If the first challenge had almost killed her, she hated to think what the next might be. She pushed the thought out of her mind, and sank voluntarily into semi consciousness, letting her mind fold in on itself.

Suddenly, Steel saw a flicker of light. A butterfly, voluminous wings silently beating, hovered in the air above her head. She watched it, transfixed. What beautiful colors, she thought. With every flap of the gauzy wings, music issued from nowhere, beautiful and haunting and pure. She was going to stay there forever, in utter peace with the world. She gave herself up completely to that beauty.

She didn’t know how long she stood there, looking and listening to the music and the butterfly. She was at home, helping her mother cook some fragrant dish for the family. Her father, his eyes full of laughter, was there too, and her sisters and brother, playing and singing. She wanted to stay there forever, her mother’s warm body close, with her family gathered around her. There was nothing else in the whole world except that and the music and the butterfly.

Dimly, faces floated through her mind, faces she had seen somewhere. A young girl, small and pretty, with long blonde hair and large brown eyes who was tougher than she looked. An old man, a perpetual twinkle in his eye and a heart of gold. A dark haired boy seemed to always be grinning, even when it was grossly out of place. A dragon, shining with a bright green light—a light that came to Steel. It was a strong, fierce, powerful, beautiful light, which was even more beautiful than the song and the butterfly. She reached out to it, embracing it, and it touched her, changing as it did from green to shining copper.

The butterfly beat its wings harder, angrily. Slowly but surely, the copper light filled the girl beneath it, and the butterfly wanted the girl, wanted her soul to belong to it again. The music grew louder, but still the copper light flooded the girl’s body until she began to glow bright as fire. Then copper light reached out to the butterfly and touched it.

An awful scream rent the air, and the butterfly writhed in that terrible radiance. Slowly, it burned in than light until it was gone, and its ashes blew away, taking the music with it. The light burned brighter for a moment, and then vanished.

The spell broke. Steel fell to the ground, hitting the hard stone floor with a thud. She remembered now—she remembered Zyviva and Master Hai and Tom, and remembered what she had truly seen: the butterfly was a demon-thing, the music the screaming of agonized souls. Her body became drenched with cold sweat as she remembered the awful creature, weaving its illusions of joy while it destroyed you. She shuddered. Evidently her spirit and her Ki were too strong for it. She remembered the shining copper light and smiled. It was a manifestation of her Ki, no doubt. But it hadn’t come from her—and it had disappeared without a trace after it had killed the demon. So what was it?

Steel slowly pushed herself up from the floor and stood, weak and trembling. Something hot trickled down her cheek, dripped on to her palm and shone scarlet. Steel felt her face and found it was covered in blood from its impact with the floor. No matter—it would heal in a few minutes.

There was almost no time between when she banished the demon and the next task. All at once the darkness vanished, and Steel covered her ears, preparing to meet another demon-butterfly, but there was none. Cautiously, she looked around.

The room was filled with dancing, many-hued light. It wasn’t like the butterfly light, but more like the glow she had seen emanating out of Ual and the other dragons. In the room drifted every color of the rainbow, moving in a complicated rhythm she could not understand. As she looked closer, she realized that each light was behaving differently. Some burned like fire, some flowed like water, and some, like Ual’s green radiance, shone ethereally like moonlight. Some twisted and turned like ribbon, some gave off a pearly sheen. No two were the same in color or behavior.

At the very center of the chamber was a stone pedestal. The light moved around it as if to obscure it from her unworthy sight, but her eyes were drawn irrevocably to it as a moth to flame. Slowly, she began to walk toward it, through the light, her footsteps echoing softly on the stone floor.

Three stone steps led up to the dais. Steel nudged her foot to the first step, testing to see if it would give way or disappear when faced with her weight. When it held, she lifted herself up to the top, where she could see what was on the pedestal. She didn’t know why, but she knew that this was going to be the hardest task of all.

On the crude pillar was a simple stone bowl. It was not detachable, as it was carved from the rock of the dais itself. But Steel hardly noticed it, as her eyes were too busy examining what was in the bowl.

The basin was filled with an enormous crystal, bigger than Steel’s head. It had no color, just light, yet seemed to contain every hue that danced in the room—and one more that did not.

Steel peered into the crystal, straining her eyes to perceive that one absent color. It was difficult, but Steel had not trained her mind for eleven years to be thwarted mentally by some stone. Slowly she brought the color nearer and nearer to the surface, until the entire crystal was a bright, blazing copper.

She gasped softly. This was the light that had saved her from the demon, and this crystal was where it dwelled. It was Ehual, the dragon-stone, and her task was to find out, once and for all, if she was dragon-born. It was a gamble. Even if she was, it was very possible that the Ehual would kill her anyway.

Steel watched the copper light—her light, if she survived—dance beneath the surface of the stone. How had Ual said the dragons captured radiance from the stone? She didn’t see how she could eat it. Perhaps Ual’s shining silver teeth could crush the crystal, but her weak human ones never could. And even if she did find a way, should she take the chance? Did she really have a choice? Did she want to possess that light?

The answer was yes. She did want that light to be hers, wanted it more than anything. She wanted to be a Shiran, like Master Hai and Master Hannah, wanted to help people, and she wanted the light itself. If she wanted to, she could call for help, call for Master Hai to take her out of the dungeon, but she knew in her heart that she never could. She would take the light—or take death.

Steel lowered her hand into the basin. As soon as her fingers touched the crystal, the stone seemed to melt into the bowl, liquid copper fire, burning her palm. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she reached deeper into the bowl, brought up a handful of the stuff, and tipped it down her throat.

It was agony. The fire seared her throat, flowed through every part of her body, burning her. Ignoring the pain, Steel dipped her hand in again, and again swallowed the liquid. The pain doubled. She paused and took a breath, pushing back her fear. After a moment she felt ready to continue.

She dipped both hands in this time, ruthlessly pouring it down her throat, fighting against the pain with all her might. With every gulp the fire intensified, slowly seeping through her.

She lowered her face to the liquid and drank. She did not know how the agony could possibly grow, but she knew one thing: she was not dragon-born. She was going to die, but she would die fighting. Lifting her head from the bowl to take a breath, a gasp of pain escaped her lips as the cold air hit her already burned features. She felt the momentary impulse to stop drinking, but resolutely lowered herself to the poison once more.

Dimly, she noticed that half of the liquid in the bowl was gone. Steel redoubled her efforts, striving to retain consciousness even while her body was burning, just until she could finish drinking. She could barely think because of the pain arcing through her, but there was room for one thought: she must take it all. A third of the liquid was left… now a quarter… a sixth… an eighth…

And then, Steel’s nose scraped the bottom of the bowl. Hurriedly, she gulped down the last of the Ehual, scraping the last drops from the rough basin with her blackened fingertips and sucking them dry again. It was over. Slowly, the pain began to leave her. Maybe—just maybe—she would survive.

Steel lifted her face from the bowl. The dancing lights were still there, as bright and beautiful as ever. Other than the fading stabs, she felt exactly the same as before. Somehow, she had been expecting some dramatic change in awareness, perhaps even a physical transformation. She didn’t even know exactly what she thought was going to happen, but it certainly wasn’t this. She felt normal, even if she was a little dizzy.

Feeling the sudden urge to laugh, Steel stumbled as she climbed down from the podium. It didn’t really matter what she was laughing about, because, after all, life was funny. Everything would be fine. Just as long as she stayed happy, everything would be fine. She took a few skips around the floor, and it felt so good she did it again. She would dance forever, and nothing would ever go wrong…Even if the pain was returning, that was all right, really. Even if the pain was returning a lot.

Suddenly, she screamed. The agony was back, ten times—no, a hundred, a thousand times as strong as before. The burning sensation before was nothing to this torture. She was being cooked in an open fire, her flesh providing the fuel. The flames were consuming her, destroying her.

And then it was over. Steel slumped to the ground, the blankness she had felt burned away. She did feel different this time—fuller, more complete. The fire was still in her, but it was part of her now. Out of the corner of her eye, Steel saw a butterfly fluttering weakly away. She laughed again, but not blankly. The demon-thing would never take her again. It had learned its lesson.

All of a sudden, Steel felt a sudden coolness at her feet. Glancing down, she saw the last of the dancing colors seeming to melt, flowing into a many hued puddle on the floor. She stared into it, surprised at this unexplained happening, trying to detect some hidden significance, but saw only her reflection, wavering where uneven floor had caused differences in the overall depth.

And then she saw something strange. There she was, her normally smooth dark skin burned and torn, her clothing in tatters and rags on her body. Her hair, which had been tightly braided away from her face, had not been burned, but it was not that which was unusual. It was her eyes. They were no longer the deep coal black they were, but were instead the same glowing copper as the Ehual. The dragon-stone had not only changed her essence. It had also changed her form.

Suddenly, Steel heard a grinding noise. Was there yet another task? She tore her eyes away from her copper-eyed reflection and turned, ready to face another adversary, but instead saw a square of green light as the trapdoor lifted, revealing the huge head of Ual. The scaled, emerald hued face showed no expression. The Ordeal was over. Steel had passed.

She reluctantly stepped out of the welcome coolness of the puddle of color and slowly made her way to the staircase, climbing it just as carefully because of her injuries. As she got to the top, she smiled at the ambassador, wincing a little because it hurt her face. “Hello, Madame Ambassador. I did well, yes?”

Ual’s expression twisted into one of surprise at the greeting, but changed into knowing pride as she beheld Steel’s eyes.

“Well, young one,” she rumbled softly, “You did it. Hai will be so proud.” Then, as if remembering to be gruff, she said, “well, I must say you surprised me by even getting past the first task. But I guess I can’t call you a human now, eh?”

Steel was taken aback. “What?”

“Always the one for brilliant questions, aren’t you? You’re a dragon now, not in form but in spirit. If you want proof just look at yourself!”

The girl looked down. In the dark corridor, she was glowing just as brightly as Ual, but with her own bright copper sheen.

Suddenly, a wave of exhaustion hit her. She swayed and started to fall forward, but Ual snagged her with her tail, her grip surprisingly gentle. “Goodness, I forgot what bad shape you’re in! We need to get you into bed!” She lifted Steel off the floor and set off down the hall in a businesslike manner.

As she was carried down the corridor, she reflected on what she had done. She had survived drinking Ehual, and defeated Fear and a demon—twice. She had proved herself to such a length that even one most contemptuous of her ability would be forced to agree that she was undoubtedly a Shiran in every way, face, and form. She was a warrior, a Master! She had trained eleven years for this, and had finally done it.

Steel fought to remain awake. She was so tired. If she could just rest for a moment… but there was one thing left for her to do.

“Ambassador Ual,” she said.

The dragon stopped walking and bent her head closer to the exhausted girl to catch her words.

“Ambassador Ual,” she repeated, louder this time, “you said you knew my name…” Her eyelids fluttered in exhaustion.

The dragon smiled, looking down into the tired copper orbs. “I do, little one. Sleep, my friend, my Dragonseye,” she growled gently, and the young Shiran obeyed.

Steel rose on the day of her initiation with a clear, uncluttered mind. According to the rules of the ceremony, She dressed in the simple white garments left to her, fastening the fine cloth with an equally plain white belt. Her unbound trouser legs swished about her ankles as she walked in the direction of the auditorium, her mind reviewing the events that had passed since she had taken the Ordeal that had left her marked for life. She raised her hand unconsciously to her eyes—her friends had been very surprised at that change in her! In fact, Tom had refused to speak to her at all for days afterwards, she still didn’t know why. She made a mental note to ask her sister when she got a chance.

She had arrived at her destination without noticing while she had been thinking. She started automatically to meditate, but stopped herself. Somehow, it didn’t seem to be the right thing to do. Pushing open the big wooden door, the girl pointed her eyes strait ahead toward the dais where Master Hai awaited her, refusing to look at the people gathered in the seats. Even so, she could not help noticing Ual’s glowing green scales among her multicolored retinue, or Zyviva’s familiar golden tresses. Tom had his sister, Beth, perched on his shoulder, and neither of them looked very happy about the arrangement. She smiled to herself as she imagined their argument about that.

Steel reached the stage and mounted the steps. Wordlessly, she walked over to her Master for the last eleven years and knelt before him, her calves pressing against the hard wood of the dais. The old man looked down at his student, recalling the day she had come to him off the streets for training, showing so much potential. Now she had proved herself to be more than he had ever dreamed. She had been a daughter to him, but now it was time to let her go.

Zyviva looked at the form of her friend and companion-in-arms, smiling to herself, recalling the good times they’d had together.

Tom looked at her and wondered how he could convince her that he was not an idiot.

Steel thought of all of them. Her gaze traveled over her teacher and mentor, and her friends. She also remembered, many things. But no time for such thoughts—Master Hai was beginning to speak. She put those matters away for later.

“Many people pass through our gates. Some succeed in their training, going on to great heights. Some do not. But each and every person learns something different, becomes something they were not. This girl before me entered this school as a homeless child, struggling to survive. She has listened and learned. She has become older. She has become wiser. She has passed every test and overcome every obstacle, and she comes before you now prepared to take up the burden of our Order. This choice is in your hands. What say you?”

This was a ritual formality. The assembled teachers had no power to prevent her from becoming a Shiran, unless they had proof of her not being worthy. Sure enough, immediately after Master Hai had spoken these words, a great chorus of “Ayes!” rose from the crowd.

“So be it,” continued Master Hai. He turned to a small table behind him and picked up what was lying on it, holding it up for all to see. It was an amulet, a bright copper disk the size of Steel’s circled thumb and forefinger. It the center was the likeness of a dragon, wings half spread, of inlaid stainless steel. Clutched in the dragon’s talons was a copper staff, the symbol of the Shiran order. Master Hai gently tied the disk around Steel’s neck, and raised her from her kneeling position. “Protect always those in need. Shun no man, nor no woman, nor no child, regardless of form or feature. Be always true to your friend, and to the goodness that sustains us all.” He turned her to face the crowd. “I give you Shi’ara Dragonseye!”

A great roar rose from the crowd at his words. Steel turned to face the cheering people, her head high and her face properly expressionless. Suddenly friends and teachers, giving advice and congratulations, were hugging her on all sides. When she had finally fought her way out of the crowd, she found herself facing Tom and Zyviva.

There was a silence, and then the harpy boy spoke,

“So,” he said quietly. “You’re a Shiran. I suppose this is goodbye?”

Steel rolled her eyes to the top of her head. “Oh, honestly. Stop being all theatrical. Of course you’re coming with me.”

Zyviva raised her eyebrows. “Where would you be going, then?”

Steel sighed in exasperation, and then, unable to hold it back any longer, grinned widely. Putting her hands on the shoulders of her friends, she steered them toward the exit. “Where did you think?” she said. “We’re going to have adventures.”

Guys: I couldn’t get my story to e-mail, so I just posted it here. It will take up 28 pages of the blog, though, sorry. Plus it is unedited, you guys are the first to read it. COnstructive criticism allowed, but unconstructive critisism is not, please. Read it well!

Dragonseye

There is hardly a more unpleasant way to wake up than falling out of bed. Even if one’s bed is a hammock, and not very comfortable in the first place, as Steel’s was, it is almost always more agreeable than falling onto a stone floor, which is what Steel did. The girl got slowly to her feet, rubbing her bruised hip slowly. The rest of the students who she shared a room with were still asleep, as it was some time before dawn. Momentarily considering going back to bed, she sighed and let the idea of further rest drop. Once awake, Steel could never get back to sleep. She began to get dressed, jerking on her loose tunic and breeches. She wound a linen sash around her waist, brushed and braided her slightly waved, jet-black hair, and, barefoot, slipped out of the room. No reason why the other girls shouldn’t have their rest just because she was deprived of hers.

Steel’s stomach rumbled hungrily. She decided to make a quick detour to the kitchen before heading to the practice rooms, and turned left at the next hall instead of right. At the end of the short passage was the kitchen, a large, steamy place, busy even before dawn. She trotted towards a table where large loaves of bread were cooling, dodging several heavyset kitchen workers as she did. Reaching the table where the loaves were, Steel was just about to snatch one when a large hand whacked her on the fingers with a spoon. With a sharp exclamation of pain, she hastily drew back her arm, looking up to survey a very tall, very thin woman with an apron.

“Ouch, Miss Warren, what was that for?”

Miss Warren gazed down her long nose at the miscreant. “That was for taking without permission, Shi’ara Motkimi. It is always necessary to ask before you snatch. Does this mean that I should give you no breakfast, I wonder?”

Steel groaned. Miss Warren, for some reason, disliked her immensely. She was always going out of her way to make trouble for her. Luckily for Steel’s stomach, some other workers came to her rescue.

“Oh, have a heart, Miss Warren,” piped a short old cook. “Give her something to eat, now.”

Miss Warren gave Steel a look that said she would much rather kill her than feed her, but she handed her the loaf.

“Thanks, Miss Warren!” She called over her shoulder. “And thank you,” she whispered to the grizzled cook. He dropped her a wink.

Steel arrived at her practice room just before dawn by the school clock, although it was never noted for accuracy. She shoved the last of the still-warm bread into her mouth, swallowed, and began to stretch. Holding her arms above her head, she bent first to one side, then to the other, finally arched her back so that her palms pressed the floor behind her. She held it for fifteen seconds, than flipped over and upright. Her final exercise was a handstand; she had just gotten into it when—

“Hello, Shi’ara.”

Steel fell with a thud onto her back in surprise. She hurriedly regained her feet and bowed slightly toward the white haired old man who had been standing, unnoticed, behind her. “Oh, good lord—I mean, good morning, Master Hai. I didn’t know you were here…”

“That is evident.”

She blushed. “You just surprised me, is all, Master Hai.” And that’s the second time I’ve fallen this morning, she thought. I hope this isn’t a trend. She rubbed her sore hip again.

“A Shiran must always be wary, Shi’ara,” said Master Hai sternly. “You must learn mental control. Let us practice.” He gestured toward a large reed mat in the center of the floor. They both seated themselves, opposite each other. Steel reverse-crossed her legs and sat up straight. Then she began her routine. Master Hai lowered his voice to a gentle drone, repeating a well-known drill.

“Breath is a luxury too precious to waste, Shi’ara. Every Shiran must learn to control their breath, not to use any more of it than necessary, and to make the most of each bit of oxygen. Breathe in, hold it, breathe out, hold it, breathe in, well done, Shi’ara. Each breath should last twenty-eight seconds precisely, or seven seconds per section. Breathe out for seven seconds, hold it for seven seconds, and breathe in for seven seconds. You must regulate your lungs, and breathe from your diaphragm. If you breathe from your lungs directly, you will lose over fourteen percent of your oxygen intake per breath. Clear your mind; allow no random thoughts to enter. Breathe in… no; hold it for seven seconds, not six, Shi’ara. Good. That was very good. You may stop now. Go get your staff, and mine, please.”

Steel stood up, possessed with the calm she was always in after practice. Still, no thoughts unrelated to her lessons entered her mind. She chose a staff for herself from the rack, and handed Master Hai his own personal weapon. She began the breathing exercises again, slower this time, and stepped to one side of the mat, arranging her hands on the rough wood.

Master Hai nodded to her, signaling the beginning of a practice. He swung the thick end of his staff directly at Steel’s head. Without thinking she brought hers up to block it, than twisted it down and around in the “half moon” technique. The old man moved in to strike again, and she blocked. It was only a practice session, or Steel knew she wouldn’t have stood a chance against her venerable-appearing old teacher. In a practice session, every move was planned beforehand, so as to expose the student to certain techniques and enable them to react correctly and automatically to assorted fighting styles. She and Master Hai were no more fighting than fixing plumbing.

Finally, Master Hai called for a stop. He handed his staff to Steel, who returned it to its place and placed hers on the rack. He sat down on the mat, his breathing hardly even hurried. Steel was panting lightly.

“That was quite good, Shi’ara. Next time, however, please take care to hold your hands farther apart, and keep them that way. If it helps you, you may cut grooves on a certain staff to mark your place.

“By the by, you haven’t found a name for yourself yet, is that correct?”

“Yes, Master Hai. Master Uua told me to consider ‘Quickhealer’, because of my high regeneration speed, but it just didn’t seem to fit, if you know what I mean.”

“Well, hopefully you will think of one soon. A Shiran must always have a True Name, or they are not truly a Shiran. Soon you will be ready to take your Ordeal, and then you will be a fully trained Master. You should take care to find a name quickly, because you have been showing enough potential that many of your teachers think I should put you through your tasks early. I personally wish to wait until you have shown true Shiran characteristics in real life situations, but at any rate you should prepare yourself.

“At any rate, your classmates should be here any moment, so I suggest you put names out of your mind. This lesson is knife fighting.”

“Huh? I didn’t know that was on our curriculum. It’s pretty basic stuff, isn’t it?”

“There is an exchange student from Sarain here to teach you. Here is some advice, Shi’ara: some people would think staff and barehanded fighting simple, even though you know it is not. Don’t hurry to judge what you don’t know.”

Steel didn’t get to answer that, because the bell rang and her class walked in. The students milled around the room chatting and finding small mats to sit on. Steel quickly joined them. Master Hai stood up and awaited silence, which fell almost immediately, as everybody liked Master Hai, although few were as lucky as Steel, who had him as a personal Master.

“Good morning, students,” he greeted them.

“Hey, Master Hai!” yelled a boy. There were giggles as the rest of the class greeted him more politely. He smiled tolerantly.

“As I see, some of you are not fully awake yet. A few brains are addled, I think?”

There were more chuckles from the students. Steel grinned to herself—Master Hai was one of the only teachers with a sense of humor. The man continued. “Well, you should get your brains in order, children, because we have a special guest here for a while. The Governmental School of Sarain has sent us an exchange student, who is switching places with our very own Dorian Smithson. She will be giving us a lesson today. May I ask Zyviva Miller to please come forward?”

From the back of the classroom there was a slight disturbance as a blonde, pale-skinned girl who had been sitting on the mat next to Steel got up and moved to the front of the classroom. Some of the boys nodded appreciatively, as she was quite pretty. Steel thought she was an odd teacher for knife fighting. If her sleeveless shirt had not revealed hard, tough looking muscles under that porcelain skin, the girl would have looked as if she had never seen a day’s work in her life. Well, it was never good to judge by appearances—she was willing to give her a chance, at least.

Zyviva had reached the front of the room by now and turned to address the class. “Hey,” she said confidently. There were some murmurs in answer. Shiran students were generally not very outspoken, but the blonde girl didn’t seem bothered. She continued, “As some of you know, since this is my first day, the teachers decided to humor me and let me give you a knife lesson. Many people believe knife throwing is useless and, at best, extremely simple.” She paused. Some people murmured assent again. “Well, I am here to prove you wrong. Look over here, please.”

Zyviva pointed to a small cardboard square, usually reserved for games of darts in the student lounge, and which had been tacked to the wall. It had a bull’s-eye painted on it. Since darts are very small the center circle was no bigger than an olive.

The girl stepped back to the opposite wall, at least eight meters from the bull’s-eye. From an unseen sheath behind her neck she drew a long, tapering dagger. Skipping forward a few steps on her toes she gave the dagger a twist around and threw it skillfully by its blade toward the cardboard square. With a dull thud it buried itself in the precise center of the bull’s-eye.

There was quiet for a moment. Then someone started to clap loudly. Within moments, everyone in the entire room, including Master Hai, had burst into applause. Zyviva strode to the bull’s-eye, retrieved the knife, and put it back into its sheath. Then she turned to the class and bowed gracefully.

“I see you are all in agreement with me that a knife can be quite useful?”

“Aye!” cried the boy who had given Master Hai the rude greeting earlier. The rest of the students nodded.

“Would you like to learn how to do that?”

Steel stood up, and did something out of character. “Count me in, Zyviva.” She liked the girl’s self-confidence and unshakable cheerfulness. Ever since Zyviva had started talking Steel had felt the growing impulse to abandon her normally accurate reputation as ‘strong and silent’. Maybe this girl would be worth talking to.

Several other students volunteered for knife lessons as well. The rest of the lesson was spent on the basics of knife throwing, and it seemed like only a few minutes before the bell rang. Even so, at the annoying buzz there was the usual rush towards the door. Only Zyviva remained, taking down the punctured bull’s-eye with a strangely pensive look on her face.

Steel hesitated at the door. It was break, and she didn’t want to waste it, but… Oh, come on, Steel, she thought angrily. Don’t be selfish. She shut the door softly and strode openly in the direction of the blonde.

“Hey, Zyviva.”

Zyviva turned around, all traces of her somber mood quickly fading. “Oh hi! You’re the volunteer, right? I thought everybody here was going to be the same reserved type, so it was a relief to hear some actual words.”

Steel grinned. “Actually, I’m the reserved of the reserved, usually. You just seem to bring out the worst in me. I’m Shi’ara Motkimi, but you can call me Steel. All the kids do. Listen, I know most new guys can feel a bit uneasy here. I’ll take you around a bit until you get a feel for the land. You can teach me about knife fighting. How does that sound to you?”

Zyviva smiled, showing even white teeth. “Sounds great. You know, I was feeling a bit worried about this place, so I’m really glad you’re taking me around for a bit. Listen, what do we have next?”

“Break.” Steel thought for a moment. “But we won’t get one. I’m taking you to the training room. I know you’re new here, but there are some things you need to know.” They began to walk out of the room, and Steel steered towards the big wood chamber next door.

Zyviva looked surprised. “Like what?”

They entered the practice chamber, which was deserted except for them. Steel seated herself cross-legged on the rough floor, motioning Zyviva to sit down beside her.

“I suppose you’re top in your class in Sarain, huh?”

“Pretty much.” She said it without a trace of either modesty or conceit. Steel reassessed her opinion of the blonde girl rapidly.

“Well, in this school, we appreciate strengths and weaknesses. If a girl is a great knife fighter, we let her be a great knife fighter without any grudge. But if that same girl is, say, a lousy math student or martial artist, we let her be lousy without any teasing.”

“I’m a great martial artist.”

Steel smiled to herself. “Maybe in Sarain you are. But keep in mind that the Shiran practically invented all skillful barehanded combat. Don’t feel bad if you lose—a lot.”

“Trust me, I won’t. Because I’m not going to lose.” Zyviva spoke with confidence. Steel knew she was going to have to rid her of that illusion before the got to martial arts class. She was willing to believe Zyviva was good, maybe even terrific, at her own form of barehand, but all the Shiran students knew Kung Fu, Ris-Li, Judo, Kwiendo, Wudan, and the special Shiran form, Shi’a’o, at least. Steel herself had mastered three other forms and was working on another.

“Can I ask you a question before you attempt to beat me at Judo?”

“I won’t be teaching you Judo, but ask away.”

Zyviva blushed. “I don’t mean to be rude, but why is your skin so dark?”

Steel glanced down at her brown palms. “I think it’s because I come from a hot place.”

“Where’s that?”

“Central Ma’ar.”

Zyviva gasped in horror. “How did you—I mean…”

“Never mind.” Steel’s face became hard. “I’ll tell you all about it later. But in the meantime, I will show you that there is something you need to learn from us Shiran.”

Zyviva chuckled. “Martial arts? I told you, I’m good enough to beat almost anyone, Shiran or not.”

Steel chose to ignore that. She stood up, and beckoned to the other girl.

“At ready.”

Zyviva crouched, swaying on the balls of her feet. Steel shifted into her Shi’a’o stance and began her breathing exercises. In… hold… out… hold… in… hold… out…

Zyviva made the first move. Quicker than the eye could follow, she darted forward, her hand aiming straight for Steel’s wrist to grab it, twist, and pull her down. There was no possible way she could miss, at this distance. She reached out, closed her fist… and grasped air. Steel was suddenly two feet behind her, having actually flipped backward over her the girl’s head to land, catlike, on her feet. Zyviva tried again. She sent a flurry of blows in her direction, which Steel easily deflected, using her arms to twist her opponent around and grasped her arms. Zyviva, having suspected this move, dropped and rolled, breaking Steel’s grip on her and darting between the dark girl’s legs. Steel followed her up, following her in her roll to come up facing her a few paces away.

Blows flickered back and forth between the two combatants, each girl struggling to get the other off balance. Steel was watching Zyviva’s every move, trying to detect any weakness, any flaw, in the girl’s defense. Finally, she found what she was looking for. Fainting a punch at Zyviva’s ribs, Steel jumped instead. Both of her bare feet connected with the other girl’s shoulder. With a gasp of surprise, Zyviva fell heavily to the floor.

Steel’s triumph was over in less than a moment. She landed lightly beside her opponent, who had fallen, panting, on the mat. She realized immediately that in her desire to “educate” the new girl, she might have really hurt her. Zyviva wasn’t even wearing armor, for goodness’ sake! I mean, she had been dumb in her life before, but this was just stupid.

“Oh my gosh, Zyviva, I’m so sorry! I forgot you aren’t a Shiran, I didn’t mean to hurt you, I was a complete idiot…”

“Oh, shut up, Steel,” snapped Zyviva. “I’m okay. And boy, you were amazing! Listen, you beat me in thirty seconds flat!”

Steel was still feeling guilty. “Look, Zyviva, I just used a few tricks on you. I could teach you what I did, if you really wanted…”

“You could?”

“Sure I could! I…” she stopped. Zyviva was looking a little too emotionless for comfort. She immediately began to reconsider. “Listen, Zyviva, I will teach you what I can. But just keep this in mind, okay? You are not a Shiran. I can’t teach you to be a Shiran, and you can probably never be a Shiran for a multitude of reasons, the least of which is that you are too old to begin the training. But what I can teach you to do is to not embarrass yourself more than necessary. Got it?”

Zyviva sighed. “I thought only I could be so careful not to say anything I shouldn’t, Steel. Fine, I’ll try my best to not get above myself again, if you teach me how to do what you did. But I kind of like you, Steel. In the Governmental School, when people agree to become acquaintances, they make sure the other guy knows what they’re getting into. I think you should know that I’m a fugitive.”

Steel was stunned. How could someone be a fugitive and a student at the same time? As if in answer to her unspoken question, Zyviva said, “My name is not actually Miller, and Zyviva is only a nickname. My real name is Uziva Anebat, and I’m enrolled in the Governmental School under my false name. The government is after Uziva, not Zyviva.”

Steel was stunned out of speech for a moment, but quickly recovered herself. “Two questions,” said Steel firmly. “First, why is the government after you, and second, why in the Map are you telling me this? Aren’t you afraid I’ll give you away?”

Zyviva smiled. “The government is after me because I ran away from my legal guardian after my parents were murdered by a competitor. And I’m telling you because friends don’t betray each other, right?”

Steel’s mind was awhirl. This was incredible—Zyviva was offering her friendship! How could she be friends with a fugitive? But then, Steel was a fugitive herself, wasn’t she? But Zyviva wasn’t a Shiran. But they could be friends! But what about Steel’s problem?

“Listen, Zyviva,” she said finally. “I would love to be your friend. But there are a few things you should know first. One, the Emperor of Ma’ar wants to kill me, okay? My sister and I just escaped when the Hussars slaughtered our tribe. The Emperor thinks all nomads are somehow defying his sense of order, so my family were all killed, and you would not believe how angry he was when Alia and I got away. So if I go back to Ma’ar, I die. Second, I will tell you the reason why I have very few friends: I have a mental block.”

Zyviva looked stunned “Huh?”

Steel was talking very fast. “I can’t cry. Listen, Master Hai had all the best doctors and psychologists from everywhere in the Map, but I haven’t been able to cry since the Hussars killed Ma and Da and Hira and Jir and little Stalli. I guess I used it all up then.” She laughed weakly. She had never wanted to remember that day again, and, indeed, had not recalled that particular painful memory for years. “Very few people want to be friends with me for those two reasons.”

There was a pause. Zyviva opened her mouth, and then shut it again. She seemed to be struggling with something. Finally she regained control of herself.

“You idiot!” she said loudly.

“What?” Steel was stunned. Her story had never roused a reaction like Zyviva’s.

“You think I won’t like you just because you can’t cry, and because you’ve made a dangerous enemy? I mean, get real! What kind of a jerk do you think I am, anyway? Steel, I want to be your friend. Now are you going to pull yourself together and act like a normal person again, or am I gonna have to punch you one?”

Steel laughed, and helped her new friend to her feet. “Are you okay, or do I need to take you to the infirmary?”

Zyviva moved her arm experimentally. “No thanks, I’m fine. But, uh, how long is break?”

“We have fifteen minutes left out of twenty-five.”

The other girl grinned. “Good. Now you can keep your promise, and teach me how not to get beaten up in class.”

Steel laughed. “Well for one thing, you start with your feet too close together…”

“Wake up! Up and at ‘em, girl!”

Steel did a quick mental analysis of the situation. It had been two weeks since Zyviva had come, and every morning she had woken Steel up at least an hour before dawn. She was at least reasonably sure that this was unnecessary, and decided to sleep in, just this once.

She groaned. “Go ‘way, Zyviva. I’m trying to sleep.”

Zyviva reached down, grasped Steel’s shoulders, and dumped her off her hammock. Steel fell with an audible thud to the floor. She sat up groggily. “Gosh, Zyviva, I seem to fall on to hard floors a lot. Was that really necessary?”

Zyviva, who was still in pajamas although obviously alert, tossed Steel trousers and a shirt. “Get these on, Steel. We’ll have to get out early if we want to get a good bus.” She began to put on street clothes—black leather in abundance.

Steel stared blankly at the clothes. “Huh? These aren’t uniform…”

“Oh, honestly,” sighed Zyviva. “Don’t you ever listen to announcements? No, don’t say anything, I know the answer perfectly well. It’s field day, pal! We get to visit the city, remember?”

Steel suddenly felt more awake. She vaguely remembered Master Hai telling the class about this the other day. Groggily, she began to dress.

By the time she was ready, Zyviva had made a trip to the kitchen and obtained two potatoes and some cheese. After they had eaten, the two girls made their way to the dining hall to wait for Master Hannah, who taught history class and would serve as chaperone in theory, but in reality would merely see them on to the bus and wave them off. Surprisingly, the hall was full of students, mostly boys, who, like Zyviva, had decided to rise early. After a short wait for the girls, Master Hannah, a pretty, plump woman who looked like a pudding, decided to send Zyviva and Steel on the boys’ bus. They climbed on, grumbling about having to travel with a gaggle of adolescent males, most of who spent the bus time yelling loudly, annoying the bus driver, staring openly at Zyviva, and driving both girls insane.

“Honestly,” Zyviva muttered after yet another boy had given her hair a yank, “These kids should be sent to the monkey house! I can’t believe I thought they were reserved when I came here.”

“Only in public. By the way, I seem to recall you waking me up early so we could get a good bus,” Steel reminded her. “Hold on, this might work—If one more of you idiots comes within four feet of either Zyviva or myself, I will personally knock you into next Wednesday!” she yelled.

Zyviva’s antagonists immediately returned to their seats and looked diligently angelic.

“Thanks,” said Zyviva. “One’s reputation proceeds her, I see?”

Steel blushed. “Actually, I think they’ve just learned I’m serious when I say something like that.”

When the bus finally ground to a halt, the girls were the first off.

“Thank goodness that’s over,” murmured Zyviva fervently. “Anyway, where to? We have all of Port City open to us! Have you ever been here?”

“Nope,” said Steel. “When the druids dropped me off they did it in Hanu, and anyway I was only four. Pity we can’t leave the city; we could visit my sister.”

“We-e-el,” said Zyviva, “I think the first thing we should do is get a map. There’s a vendor over there, see it?”

Armed with a map and a sightseeing book, along with enough money to get them around for a day, the girls set off in the opposite direction as the boys. Steel noticed that, although Zyviva was clearly quite cheerful at the prospect of losing her fan club, they did not look too happy about it.

“So, what’s the first place in the book? And, more importantly, how do we get there?” asked Steel. “We can grab a taxi, but most of the main streets are horse-and-buggy and pedestrian only. The horses are for authenticity, I guess, but they aren’t exactly safe, are they? I mean, being stepped on by an angry roan is just as bad as getting run over by a cab.”

“H’mm,” said Zyviva, thumbing through the guidebook. “We could go to the aquarium, they have a new penguin show.”

“Sounds okay. What else?”

“The Draconic Enclave is having a tour, look!” said Zyviva excitedly. “It says here that sometimes Ambassador Ual conducts the tour herself. That would be so cool!”

“Naw,” said Steel. “You don’t have to go to an enclave to see dragons in Gillieth. Usually you see more exotic non-human people just walking down the street.”

Zyviva looked astonished. “Wow! In Sarain you have to get a special permit to go outside if you’re not human, I think the officials assume you would scare people. Anyway, there is a very nice-looking art museum not far from here. Do you want to go there first?

“Sounds fine to me,” said Steel. “After that we can visit the aquarium, and we can decide where to go from there. Anyway, how do we want to get there? There’s a very nice stable down the street, so we can ride or get a buggy, or we could walk. Personally,

I favor walking. I don’t like horses very much.”

Zyviva agreed with Steel in that respect, so they set off in the direction of the museum. The walk was long, but there was a lot to see. The streets were paved with smooth, flat, colorful stones, and populated by pedestrians, horses, and even the occasional organic bus or taxi. The roads were lined with shops and stores of every kind imaginable, from ice cream parlors to bookshops to smithies. Sections of the road had been partially roped off, and people ate in outdoor cafés. Fountains jetted into the sky beside vast displays of flowers.

These things alone were enough to make the girls stare in amazement, but the scenery was nothing compared to the people. Men and women and children from every civilized country, and some from uncivilized ones, frequented the shops and rested on the benches. There was a tour group full of centaurs eating in a restaurant, and a young harpy was sitting on the edge of a fountain, defying all stereotypes by wearing a clean, neat, blue vest over her human parts, talking with a human boy.

Zyviva’s eyes were wide, as if drinking in the entire brilliant scene. “Hey, Steel,”

She whispered, as if talking in a louder voice would cause the street to vanish, “Let’s skip the museum, okay? I just want to stay here and look around.”

Steel, who was feeling just as bemused as her companion, said, “Sure thing, Zyviva. Uh, d’you just want to wander about, or did you have a particular location in mind?”

“H’mm,” said the blonde girl, her eyes still darting everywhere at once, “Let’s visit an armory right off…”

Steel sighed resignedly. “Trust you to want to go to an armory, Zyviva. If you were a Shiran your name would be Zyviva-The-Single-Minded. We are only going there if you promise not to spend more than twenty minutes in the stupid place.”

“Ah, you just don’t see the use of edged weapons, Steel-Who-Is-Acting-Like-A-Shiran-Again. They are very useful if a person doesn’t know how to knock someone out just by touching them, or in other words to everyone who is not you. Listen, if you let me browse in there for a bit I will get you a juicefruit, deal?”

Steel loved the plump, sweet fruit, and Zyviva knew it. Even as she glared at her friend, she had mentally given in. “Fine, fine! You know, it isn’t nice to do that to someone.”

“Do what, Steel?” asked Zyviva innocently as she steered her friend toward the closest armory.

“By the way, you scoundrel, I act like a Shiran because I am a Shiran, kapish?”

Zyviva did not answer, as the armory she had found had an outdoor display. Her eyes gleaming, she examined the wares with gusto.

Steel sighed in exasperation and wandered over to the nearest fountain, seating herself on the end opposite from the harpy and human, who were still chatting happily. It was a beautiful day, and she was secretly not as opposed to Zyviva’s obsession with anything sharp and pointy as she made out to be. She was willing to wait until her friend was finished, and plus she was going to be getting a juicefruit for her trouble. She leaned back against the low railing that served as a backrest or a perch for tired avians, letting the sun play over her face. Occasional stray droplets of water landed on the back of her head and neck, providing a pleasant coolness. Slowly, Steel found herself dozing off.

She was wakened by her Ki sense a short time later. Opening her eyes a tiny slit, she saw the harpy boy standing beside her, his companion nowhere in sight. He reached out and tapped her shoulder. “Excuse me,” he said in a loud voice, “is there anyone…”

He didn’t have time to finish. Her hand darted out, grabbed his wrist, and held it an arms length away from her body.

“It is not polite to touch a girl you don’t know, especially if she is sleeping!” Steel hissed.

The boy made no sign that he had heard her. He calmly detached her hand from his wrist and continued his speech as if nothing had happened. “As I was saying, is there anyone sitting here?” He indicated the seat beside her.

“No, and I intend to keep it that way,” said Steel furiously. “Didn’t your mother teach you to leave sleeping people alone? Go away, or I’ll make you wish you did!”

Once again, her statement went unnoticed. The boy plopped himself down beside her on the fountain as if he had received an invitation instead of a violent threat. Steel was so stunned that she was, for once, unable to do or say anything.

“So,” said the boy, who had evidently taken her silence as defeat, “what’s your name? I’m almost sure you have one.”

“My name is none of your affair, boy. What reason should I have to trust you?”

“None,” said the boy calmly. “But I’m a very charming fellow, you see, so I can probably get your name out of you anyway.”

“Believe me, boy, if I tell you my name, it will be because I choose to, not because you tricked me into it.” despite herself, Steel felt the urge to laugh. The boy reminded her of Zyviva with all his self-assurance, although Zyviva had never said anything about herself that was not absolutely true and proven, while Steel was finding this boy nothing but a braggart, and certainly not charming.

“To put you at your ease,” continued the boy, “my name is Tom, I live here, and my sister and I are on vacation. I’m half harpy, you see, so…”

“Half harpy?” demanded Steel, interested against her will, but still annoyed. “How can you be half a harpy?”

“Oh, my ma is a harpy, but my da is a human. Only gals can be harpies, so my sis is a full blood harpy, and I’m a half blood human, with a few feathers here and there. Now, you can tell me your name, and then you can tell me what a pretty girl like you is doing on the street alone without anyone to protect her?”

Steel felt her anger rise inside her again. “Would you like me to show you just how well I can protect myself from insolent braggarts like you?”

“I’m sure you could do anything if you put your mind to it, but you should leave fighting to the men. You might get hurt.”

Steel got to her feet, livid. “Are you going to apologize for that, boy?”

Tom leaned back, unconcerned. “Temper, temper. You know you like me, don’t pretend otherwise, girl. Come back here and sit down, I won’t hurt you.”

Steel struggled with the impulse to punch him one, but decided it was a bad idea on a public street. Instead she turned on her heel and walked away, toward where Zyviva had just finished her shopping. She spared the boy Tom no glance, instead dragging the startled Zyviva off, not even stopping for her beloved juicefruit.

Tom sat on the edge of the fountain, watching her go. “Funny,” he said to the harpy who had just fluttered down from a tree to perch next to him, “Usually that works.”

“What works?” rasped the harpy, who, of course, was his older sister.

“Usually girls think that I’m charming when I say things like that, even if I don’t mean them.”

“You didn’t mean what?”

“Well, she isn’t exactly the prettiest thing on earth, but I thought girls like compliments. She just seemed to take offense. Strange, really, even with all the trouble I went to to make her like me, it just made her madder. I don’t understand it.”

The harpy laughed, and Tom looked up in annoyance. “What’s so funny?”

“You!” said the harpy. “Every girl you ever met has fallen at your feet, and you never spared them another glance. And the one spirited girl who made it absolutely clear that she wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole is the one whose attentions you actually want.”

“It isn’t funny, Beth.”

“Oh, yes it is,” said his sister, but not unkindly. “You should try a different approach, maybe if you don’t flatter her so much, and give her credit for things she actually does, she’ll like you. But don’t be sure of it. She’s a person, not an object.”

Tom looked dubious. “I’ll try it, I guess. But I was right about one thing, though—it isn’t safe for her to be wandering around the city on her own.”

“Her friend was with her, the small, blonde one, remember?”

“Oh, come on, they’re girls, Beth! Two girls alone in Port City—who known what could happen?”

Beth bristled. “Last time I checked, I was a girl, too, and I can lick you when I want to.”

“It’s different, sis, you’re a harpy. I’m going after her.”

“Who?”

“The girl, of course, who did you think?” He got up and started off in the direction the two friends had taken.

“Are you sure you don’t want to focus your attentions on something less likely to hurt you?” called the harpy, “like maybe a dragon? You’re acting like an infatuated jerk, Tom, and if she sees you she’ll hit you. By the look of her she can hit hard.”

Tom, who was already half a block away, ignored her.

Steel was still furious even after they were two streets away from where she had left Tom. She stomped through the bright, crowded streets, dragging a bewildered Zyviva behind her. Finally, her friend stopped short, grabbed her shoulders, and spun her around to face her. “Steel, what’s wrong? I promised you a juicefruit, remember? And don’t you want to see what I got?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Zyviva sat down on a shaded bench, gesturing for Steel to join her. After a moment, she obliged.

“Listen, Steel, you’re my best pal. You can tell me what’s wrong, I won’t laugh.”

Steel told her. She had begun to calm down, but telling it to Zyviva made her mad again. Curiously, it was a detached kind of anger, as if she was repeating something she had heard secondhand, and she even found it funny in retrospect. By the end of the story, both girls were roaring with laughter.

“Oh…my…lord….” said Zyviva, holding her sides. “He actually told you to leave the fighting for the men? You have patience of steel, Steel. I’d have slugged him a long time before he said that. Anyway, d’you want to see what I got? They had some truly spectacular blades, you should have come and looked at ‘em. See, they had this silver dagger, but it was too expensive, so instead…”

Steel listened to Zyviva ramble on about her purchases, thinking. I’ll never see that boy again, so he didn’t do me any damage. I guess it took him to show me that, outside the school, I’m not going to be respected as Steel, a Shiran trainee. I’ll just be a normal girl to most people.

With this sobering thought, she let the whole incident slip out of her mind, and went back to admiring Zyviva’s various knives, poniards, and daggers.

It took Zyviva the better part of a quarter-hour to show off all her purchases. Instead of continuing to roam the various shops along the avenue, the girls decided to take a boat ride along the coast. There was a considerable wait to board, but the day was pleasant, and they met many interesting people. There was a Wallian immigrant, who was bombarded on all sides by demands to ‘explain the sun-dome’, but the Wallian assured everyone that she was not an engineer and could not even begin to explain the necessary machinery. There was a naiad giving swimming lessons to several children in the bay below, and a cinnamon bird, unintelligent but prized as pets by their generation of their valuable namesake (their feathers were made of the spice), perching on dock railing. Interested, Steel had begun to feed it small pieces of cake from her fingers when Zyviva nudged her softly in the back.

“Don’t look around,” her friend murmured, “but I think someone is betraying an unhealthy interest in us, Steel.” Beside her, Steel could feel her loosening her daggers in their hidden sheaths.

“Hmm?” Still feeding the cinnamon bird, who was now perched on her fist, she stretched, yawning, and turned her head just enough to see what Zyviva was indicating. Indeed, two large, burly men were staring at the two girls. A third was casting them sidelong glances as he talked to the captain of the boat, his eye lingering on the cinnamon bird, still on Steel’s hand.

“Steel,” whispered Zyviva, “get rid of the bird. They think it belongs to us, they must think we’re worth robbing…”

Obediently, Steel cast the bird away from her, but it just flew back to her hand and began attacking her waist pouch for more cake. She tried shooing it off again, but each time it returned to obtain the treat. Finally, Steel tried throwing the remaining cake into the harbor, but the bird caught it, swallowed it, and returned, apparently deciding Steel was a useful person to have around.

“Zyviva, I can’t,” said Steel, “It keeps coming back!”

“Steel!” hissed her friend urgently, “Shut up! Can you swim?”

The three men were making their way purposefully across the dock toward the girls.

“A bit, yeah. We can just fight, you know…”

“And get taken in by the police? I’m a wanted fugitive in Sarain, Steel! I can’t take the risk of being identified. Now jump!”

Steel jumped. The cinnamon bird flew up, squawking, just before her body hit the cold water of the bay. As she surfaced, Zyviva dove from the dock, her slim form smoothly cutting the water in two. As she came up, Steel could hear the angry shouts of the men at seeing their prey escape.

“Hurry up,” spluttered Zyviva, spitting water from her mouth. “They’ll stop to catch the bird, now swim!”

They both swam, through the frigid water for what seemed like hours, but in reality was only about ten minutes at the most. Steel’s teeth were beginning to chatter by the time the two girls staggered up the Sea Gate stairway, along the wharf, and collapsed on a bench, waiting for the hot June sun to dry them off a bit. Finally Steel, who was unnaturally quick at recuperation, rose and pulled a still-damp Zyviva to her feet.

“Boy,” gasped Zyviva, “I bet all of our classmates put together aren’t having this much trouble keeping their schedule.” They both began to laugh weakly.

Steel was sure they had shaken off their pursuers by then, but Zyviva shook her head. “They almost certainly haven’t given us up,” she said. “Your problem is that you don’t think like a thief. Once a target detects you, you never, ever let it go. You need to always take what you want, or people don’t take you seriously.”

Steel raised her eyebrows. “And what would you know about this, I wonder?”

“Oh, I’m a professional pickpocket, among other things,” Zyviva answered pleasantly, “and I used to occasionally associate with the more unpleasant side of society. But anyway, we need to go. We should really get back to our tourism before the day’s out. Maybe we’ll be able to avoid those thugs until it’s time to go home. Oh, and by the way, I got you a present, Steel.”

Steel grimaced. “Trust you to pick the weirdest time possible to deliver a gift, Zivvie.”

Zyviva looked puzzled. “Since when do you call me ‘Zivvie’?”

Steel flushed. “I dunno. It just came to mind somehow. Thanks for the gift, though, did you get it at the armory?”

Zyviva rooted inside her black-dyed belt pouch, fortunately waterproof, and pulled out a pair of gloves, brown according to the Shiran taste. Steel slipped them on, to discover that they were made of very thin leather, strong, but supple. Sewn in to the lining were a series of thin metal plates that were jointed to allow free movement. She slipped them on, mentally forgiving Zyviva for her obsession with daggers evermore.

“Hey, wow!” she exclaimed. “Awesome, These are great for use against blades!”

Zyviva looked down, smiling. “You’re welcome. I figured even you couldn’t dodge every sword blow struck, and these will help your punches, too. Anyway, can we go now? We’re still in plain sight of the dock…”

“Um, right you are. I really don’t feel like picking a fight with strange muggers.”

Side by side, they started off into the city.

Port City, across the bay from the tourist and living districts, was not the most wonderful place in the world. It was by no means as bad as some of the Raen cities, but every country has its industrial zone, which is nearly always cramped, dark, and crowded. Almost no one actually lived in “the beehive”, but plenty of lower-to-middle class people (by terms of wealth) worked there. It had its robbers, its smugglers, even a minor gang or two. All in all, it was not the most enjoyable—or safe—place for two young girls to be wandering through alone, even if they had Steel’s and Zyviva’s rather specialized abilities. And it was certainly not the most attractive place to tour.

“Ew!” exclaimed Zyviva, lifting her foot from the sticky goo she had just stepped in. “Why doesn’t anyone clean out this swill pit?”

Steel did not answer. She was so displeased with her surroundings she had started to meditate, sinking into her own mind.

“I mean, isn’t there a cleaning crew in charge of this dump?” Zyviva continued, lagging a step behind Steel to wipe off her foot. “I should think this place would be improved with a blowtorch. It would make it prettier t…” Suddenly, her voice became much higher. “Hey! You oaf brained cheaters, let go of me! Steel! I need you, now!”

Steel snapped out of her meditation and spun around. “Zyviva? Where are you? I can’t see anything… mmf!” Her voice was cut off sharply as she was seized roughly from behind. Lashing out with her plated fists, she heard a satisfying thud. The bearded ruffian grasping her was knocked backwards into an aluminum dumpster.

She turned again. Zyviva was locked in combat with two of the thugs they had spotted on the ship. Steel was surprised she hadn’t brought them down by now, and that she wasn’t using her knives, but a closer look revealed that her friend’s hands were cemented together with the same sticky goo she had stepped in on the street, although now it was obvious it had been planted there. She was holding her own with her unhampered legs, but she was at a severe disadvantage.

“Steel!” she shouted, deflecting a blow with her joined arms, “What are you waiting for? Get over here and help!”

“Coming!” Steel jumped on top of the dumpster her assailant was still lying against, stunned; backed up, and took a running jump. She landed just where she had aimed: directly on the head of the larger of the ruffians. He fell with a thud, and Zyviva gave the other a vicious kick that sent him flying.

“Well, that certainly took you long enough,” grumbled Zyviva as Steel attempted to remove some of the goop, which had hardened into a tough shell. “I could have gotten ten people before you got around to helping me.”

“Sorry. But I did get there eventually.”

Suddenly, they heard a noise. Spinning around, they saw the thug Steel had stunned, who had obviously recovered substantially. He was frantically blowing into a small whistle. Before the girls could reach him, he had squeezed through a narrow window to safety. Waving mockingly at them, he gave the whistle an extra-loud blast. Steel could hear a scuffling noise that grew louder and louder as they stood there.

“Uh, Steel?” said Zyviva, “I have an idea.”

“What?”

“Run!”

They took off down an alleyway. They would have escaped, but Zyviva’s hands, still covered with their heavy shell, did not balance her correctly and slowed them down. Before they knew it, they were surrounded by large, burly men. They both shifted into a fighting stance.

The thugs made the first move. Ten of them all jumped on Zyviva at once, trying to avoid her booted feet, which were moving in a blur, kicking any man foolish enough to get in her way. The remaining twelve backed Steel up against the wall, separately throwing punches and clumsy kicks at the girl. She winced as one of the blows hit her on the arm. A man moved forward, wielding a rusty sword, which he swung straight at her head. Instinctively, she deflected the blow with her gloved fist. With a clang, the blow bounced off harmlessly from the metal plating. Steel mentally thanked Zyviva again and again for the gauntlets.

Both girls were excellent fighters, but they were outnumbered more than ten to one and Zyviva was severely handicapped. Slowly, they began to lose ground. Zyviva had battled her way to Steel’s side and they were now fighting back to back, Steel offensively and Zyviva, using her now rock-hard fists as a battering ram, defensively. They were both getting tired, but their enemies were fighting in shifts and seemed inexhaustible. Steel noticed that both her and Zyviva’s fighting were beginning to deteriorate. Both were covered with bruises, Zyviva had a long cut above her eye, and they were failing to deflect easy blows.

Steel had been trained for a time like this. One of her Shiran-taught skills was wall climbing—it was possible for her to get away unscathed—but she couldn’t bring Zyviva with her. One way or another, one of them would die.

“Zyviva!” she called, determinedly keeping her voice and face even and steady, “Promise me one thing.”

“What?” Zyviva yelled back, beating off a knife fighter.

“Don’t come back for me!”

With her remaining strength, Steel lifted her younger and much lighter companion, and shoved her through a high window.

“Steel!” yelled Zyviva, “This is no time for heroics!”

“Tell my sister I love her, please. And tell Master Hai I died like a Shiran.”

Her controlled voice was suddenly cut off as she vanished under a pile of huge bodies.

“Steel!” Zyviva screamed frantically.

Steel was suffocating. Although she was very strong, exercise had made her slim and light, and there was about ten times her weight piled on top of her meager ninety-seven pounds. She knew she was going to die; if she was not crushed or asphyxiated someone would undoubtedly slit her throat. Beginning to feel the faintest glimmer of fear, she angrily cast it away from her and began to meditate. She would kill herself, as the Shiran tradition required. Slowly, she began to release her soul from her body, letting her awareness leave the confines of her dark, muscled form. She was not afraid to die.

Above her, Zyviva mourned the loss of her friend, who she was certain was already gone. “Shi’ara, you were my best friend. Why did you have to do that? You could have escaped!” she murmured in a broken voice.

“I was waiting for that,” said a voice beside her. A dark form dropped from the window to the street, and Zyviva saw a flash of steel, that of a blade much longer than her daggers. “Don’t worry, girl, I’ll get your friend.”

Steel had almost departed her body when a great load left her. She was so surprised she broke meditation, and with a jolt she was inside herself again. She felt a momentary flicker of annoyance; had Zyviva gone against her wishes and returned to fight? She was feeling a little addled; she didn’t seem to be thinking clearly. She had to get up and save Zyviva. Master Hai would never forgive her if she didn’t. Heaving the last of the weight from her, she had just begun to open her eyes when there was a great explosion of sound and light, and she knew no more.

Steel woke up to a great blinding white brilliance. Weakly, she attempted to rise, but strong hands held her down.

“Easy, Shi’ara,” said Master Hannah’s voice soothingly, “It’s okay. My, you and Zyviva have certainly been having a rough day, haven’t you?”

Steel groaned. “Where am I? What happened to Zyviva? Is she okay?”

“I’m here, pal.”

Steel sat up, and this time Master Hannah let her, knowing of the girl’s quick regeneration. She was in the bus, and the blinding light was merely sunlight filtering through the glass. She was accompanied by Master Hannah, Zyviva, and—Master Hai.

“Master!” Steel gasped weakly. She got up and bowed, wobbling only a little.

“It’s okay, Shi’ara,” her teacher assured her, “I just got here when I heard you were hurt. That’s some nasty bruise you have there, my dear. It looks like there’s an egg stuck to your head.”

Steel laughed, and then winced. She put a hand to her forehead; though she could feel the bruise shrinking already, it was still quite large and very painful.

“You have remarkable healing powers,” continued Master Hai. “Zyviva reports you were unconscious for a very short time before you arrived here. You have only been with us for a few minutes. In the meantime, I think you owe a thank-you to the one who saved you.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Steel. “Thanks a bunch, Zyviva, that’s twice you’ve saved my skin today, and thanks again for the gloves.”

“Wasn’t me, pal. I thought you were a goner—it was him.”

Steel slowly turned her head in the direction Zyviva was indicating. In the corner of the bus, was someone she had not seen before. It was the harpy boy.

“You!” said Steel, the word half a gasp, half a snarl. Unnoticed by Steel, the others filed out of the bus, shutting the door.

“Me.” Tom had a grin on his face that infuriated Steel for some reason. “So, Shi’ara, I was right two times, huh? I did get your name, and you did get into trouble. But boy, was I wrong about your fighting! I’ve never seen anyone that good!”

“I thank you for the complement,” said Steel icily. The bruise was almost gone by now, but her anger against Tom was still smoldering. As before, he ignored her.

“I mean, I would have helped you earlier, but I couldn’t bring myself to interrupt an artist at work. Could you teach me to do that?”

“Once again, I thank you,” she said, as coldly as before. “Now I would like to rest. Please leave me alone.”

Tom’s smile faded. “Listen, Shi’ara, I know that I was really impolite to you before. I’m sorry, I didn’t understand that you weren’t like other girls, and I shouldn’t have treated you like that.”

Steel laughed disbelievingly. “Oh, give me a break, boy. You’re doing the same now!”

“My name is Tom!” He shouted. Steel was so surprised by his outburst she was unable to say anything in retort.

“My name is Tom,” he repeated, “Not ‘boy’ or ‘kid’, and I admit that before I was paying you false compliments, but then I’d never met a girl worth praising before! The reason I’m praising you now is that I really think you’re a good fighter, now because I’m trying to flatter you.

“Yeah, right,” muttered Steel.

“Oh, shut up, Shi’ara! I saved your life, okay? I was always told the Shiran were honorable and always give credit where it’s due, but boy, you sure proved me wrong!” He got up from his seat and started toward the door.

At his words, Steel’s stomach started to churn with shame. He was right—the boy Tom was right and she was terribly, horribly wrong. She had disgraced herself, her family’s memory, the Shiran as a whole, and, worst of all, Master Hai, who had been a father to her since her parents had died. She automatically started to meditate, sinking into herself, but somewhere she heard a voice in her head.

Oh, honestly, girl. Get a grip! Just say sorry, for goodness’ sake!

It was a struggle. No matter how unfair Steel had been to Tom, she had done so as a retaliatory action, and admitting she was wrong about something had never been easy for her. Even so, she decided to set things right.

“Tom…” Quietly. Uncertainly. “Tom, I apologize. I was wrong and I treated you unfairly. Forgive me?”

There was a long pause. Then Tom turned around, his grin returned, although no longer as irritatingly pleased with itself as previously. “Of course I’ll forgive you, Shi’ara, I thought you’d never ask.”

Steel grinned back, all enmity toward Tom fading. She did have some things to ask him, though.

“Uh, Tom? Can you answer a couple of questions?”

“Ask away.” Tom was leaning against the bus wall, legs up on the seat and his hands folded behind his head, gazing at the ceiling above where Steel was sitting across from him.

“Fist of all, how did you know where we were? I didn’t see you after I walked away from you at the fountain.”

“Oh, that’s easy,” he said in a lazy drawl, “I was following you all over the city. I must admit, though,” he added, “I wasn’t very encouraged by how you described me to your pretty friend.”

“You were following me?” Steel was so astonished she wasn’t even angry. “But… my Ki sense… I felt nothing!”

“Ki sense? What’s that?”

“Oh, just enhancements of sight, memory, hearing, things like that. All Shiran have it. For me it also affects my regeneration speed. I heal very quickly, if you’ve noticed.”

“I noticed,” said Tom, eyeing her rapidly disappearing bruise. “Anyway, you forget I’m part bird. We birdies are very quiet.”

He rolled his eyes, flapped his arms, and made cheeping noises. Steel closed her eyes and groaned. “Kid, you look like an idiot. I thought you were going to stop that.”

Tom flushed and dropped his arms. “Sorry. Habit, I guess.” He put down his feet, as if they were a reminder not to behave in a stupid manner.

He continued. “Anyway, I had to resist jumping on those guys who were following you more than once.” He lifted an eyebrow. “You should have known not to feed that cinnamon bird. So what’s your other question?”

“How did I get my bruise?” she pointed to the now miniscule bump on her forehead.

Tom chuckled. “You’ll kill me if I tell you.”

“Try me.”

“Okay…” he paused. “But if you hit me I’m setting my sister on you. You walked into a wall.”

“What?”

“Yeah. You were calling out for your friend and wandering about, and before I could stop you you’d walked straight into the wall.” He paused again. “It looked very painful,” he added as an afterthought.

“It was,” Steel assured him. “Listen, I’m feeling a bit bad about being unfair to you, and since I am an honorable person…”

Tom laughed.

“…I am going to give you something you asked me for.”

He looked confused. “I never asked you for anything, as I recall, except maybe a punch in the eye,” he said.

“You wanted my name, remember?”

“I know your name. You’re Shi’ara Motkimi…Oh, yeah. Your Shiran name.”

She shook her head. “I don’t have one, yet. But I do have a name that everybody but the masters call me. I suppose you want to hear it?”

He grinned. “I told you I’d get it out of you somehow, remember? Tell me.”

She gave him a look, but said, “It’s ‘Steel’. Master Hai suggested it, and it just sort of grew on me.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Steel, huh? Why am I not surprised?”

She ignored him. “Now that you know, can we get out of this bus? I want to keep up with our schedule.”

“Does ‘our’ include myself?” asked Tom slyly.

Steel groaned. “Not this again. I’ll ask Zyviva, we’ll take a vote, deal?”

“Sounds fine to me. Shall we go?” He stood up and stretched luxuriously in the isle, but Steel squeezed past him, opened the bus door, and jumped down the steps.

Zyviva was waiting outside on a bench, toying with one of her daggers. When she saw Steel she thrust it into her belt and stood up.

“Hi, Shi’ara,” she said, “The masters left a short while ago. I take it you didn’t beat him up?” She pointed at Tom, who had descended the steps and shut the bus doors behind him.

“Nope, but I came awfully close. By the way, you can stop calling me ‘Shi’ara’, as I already told him I’m called Steel.”

“Was he surprised?”

“He said he wasn’t.”

“Can everyone stop talking to me as if I’m not there?” demanded Tom in annoyance.

“You’re the one who wanted to come with us around the city,” retorted Steel. “So where are we going anyway, Zyviva?”

“Nowhere,” said the blonde girl, pulling out the dagger again and balancing it, point down, on her forefinger. “The bus driver kindly dumped us where I wanted to go in the first place—the Draconic Embassy. And we aren’t going on a tour—Master Hannah booked a place for us in a question-answer session with the Ambassador!”

“Sounds lovely,” said Steel. “Are you coming with us, Tom?”

“Sure. I can imagine that you two still need a guard, so I’ll join you.”

“Careful,” she warned, “I can still slug you if I want to.”

“Oh, come on and stop squabbling, you two. Tom, if you embarrass us in the embassy, I will slug you. Let’s go.” She set off across the grass.

The embassy was a gigantic one-story building with high, peaked ceilings surrounding a large inner courtyard. As they drew near the doors, Steel could see what looked like a guard collecting tickets from a small crowd of people. Zyviva marched right up to the man, pulled a piece of paper out of her waist pouch, pointed at Steel and Tom, and gave him the paper. He glanced at it and waved them through the tall, ornately carved double doors.

“Hey, cool!” said Tom as they entered an enormous marble hall full of people, “I want one of those tickets!”

“It was just a piece of paper Master Hai and Master Hannah signed that said we were to be let in. Master Hai gave me a note for you, too, but you’re not supposed to open it, just give it to someone named ‘Ual’… She handed the envelope to Steel.

“That’s the Draconic ambassador,” said Tom excitedly. “Wow, Steel, Master Hai must be really important if he expects them to let you in on his request.”

“He is really important,” said Steel hotly.

“Master Hai is her personal master,” whispered Zyviva to Tom, warningly, “So you had better be careful what you say about him in her presence. When she gets offended, she gets really offended.”

“I know, believe me,” he muttered, following Steel, who was walking purposefully toward a large obsidian desk where a female wood-elf was talking on the telephone.

“Excuse me, Ma’am, but I’m supposed to give you this letter,” said Steel to the elf, when she had finished her call. She passed the thick, velvety envelope across the counter. The elf examined it, and then pressed a bell on the corner of her desk. Another elf, much shorter than the first and male, appeared. “Find Ambassador Ual and tell her she has visitors, please,” said the lady elf in a crisp, thin voice. The other saluted smartly and promptly vanished into one of the numerous wide passages branching out from the room. The lady elf jumped gracefully over the desk, dodged a large decorative plant in her way, and, gesturing for Steel to follow her, started down the same passage. Tom and Zyviva were quick to follow.

The hallway, although on just as large a scale as the rest of the building, was dark, musty, and unpleasant. Steel could barely see her hand in front of her face, but she could somehow see the elf, who was holding up a lantern that seemed to provide a slight glow, and, if she turned around, her two friends stumbling along behind her.

Finally, the elf stopped at a door. Steel halted suddenly so as not to run into her, and was nearly knocked off her feet as the two bodies of her friends collided with her.

“Oof!” she gasped, “You did that on purpose, you big lunks!”

“No we didn’t!” contradicted Zyviva, “Even if you can see in this mess, Steel, Tom and I are as blind as bats in clear daylight. Ouch!” she yelped, as she scraped her hand on the rough wall.

The elf, seemingly oblivious to the humans’ troubles, rapped thrice on the enormous door. “Visitors for the Ambassador!” she said shrilly.

Slowly, the gargantuan portal swung open. The room inside was even darker than the passageway, but even more brightly lit to Steel’s eyes. Behind her, she heard a dull thud as her friends simultaneously collided with opposite doorposts, but she had no time to consider helping them, because in the room were dragons!

They were not dragons as Steel remembered seeing them in bright daylight, with their dull, earth colored scales and many colored eyes. Instead they shone brilliantly, seeming to glow from within, each with a slightly different colored nimbus. One of the glowing creatures, which was glimmering like green moonlight, stepped forward, the two others respectfully making way for it. It was now so near to Steel that she could clearly see each glowing scale on its forty-five foot body. She felt the momentary urge to step back, but firmly held her place. She was determined not to lose face before these magnificent creatures. The dragon opened its mouth to speak.

“Good morning, Shi’ara,” it said, in a pleasant, if rough voice. “I trust you are well today? I am ambassador Ual—please make yourself comfortable.”

Steel was a bit startled by Ual’s calm greeting, but made sure not to show confusion. From behind her she heard another thud. Tom and Zyviva were evidently still not having luck finding the door.

“Excuse me, Madam Ambassador,” said Steel in as calm a voice as she could muster, “Could you please take my friends to someplace brighter? They don’t seem to be able to see here.”

Ambassador Ual gave her an odd look, but nodded to her two companions. Wordlessly, they went out into the hallway and shut the door. Ual said, “Won’t you make yourself comfortable? I have received a letter from Hai Greengold regarding you, am I correct?”

“I don’t know, Madam Ambassador. My master certainly sent you a letter, but I was not aware it addressed me in any way.”

The ambassador smiled, sword-like silver teeth much in evidence. Steel swallowed. “Well, human, I did indeed receive a letter about you from my dear friend Hai. It contained some peculiar information, and expressed a wish that I should investigate, and—if his suspicions proved correct—provide you with your name.”

Steel forgot her nervousness. “You can do that, Madam Ambassador? What would it be? What did the letter say? Why…”

“Patience, child!” rumbled the dragon. “All in good time. Now, I shall tell you a story.”

“A story? Why?”

“Hush! Now, make yourself comfortable. All will be clear to you in its own good time.”

“This sounds like a bad movie,” muttered Steel under her breath, but Ual heard her, and smiled widely. “We dr

[Sorry, that’s all that arrived! To be continued.]

Well, not technically a kid, but a very kidlike adult: Rosanne Spector will be administering MuseBlog next week while Robert takes a short break from the 24-7 online life.

As all Musers know, Rosanne writes half (the fun half) of Muse‘s incomparably quirky Q&A column. When she’s not doing that, she edits the award-winning magazine Stanford Medicine. She and Robert also recently co-starred in this endearingly klutzy cellphone video clip. She’ll be around the blog this week getting the hang of things and generally making herself useful. Say hello when you see her; she’s very friendly.

Name: Rosanne Spector, Q&A Columnist
Most often seen: Walking down her street in suburban California saying hi to the dogs in front yards.
Like: Plums, fireworks, books, dogs.
Dislike: Steak and kidney pie, vacuum cleaner sound, TV, hairy spiders.
In my spare time: I try to calm down.

What if the Muses wandered into the pages of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince?

WARNING: Longer-than-usual post. May eventually contain spoilers. Not approved by Larry Gonick or J. K. Rowling. Etc., etc. Read more »

Just curious about how long it takes to deliver the magazine. Double-pink-bunny bonus points if you estimate how far you live from New England (here defined as the Vermont – New Hampshire border), as the Crraw flies.

There’s a good one at How Stuff Works. Might be fun to find out just how much of that code works in MuseBlog comments. Post your experiments here, please, so we can all see. (Don’t forget to explain what you’re trying to do so that we’ll know what was supposed to happen in case it fizzles.)

Just a little way over there at upper right. See it?

Now we need dates. All the recent summer birthdays are on the list, but they won’t be back around for a while. Is anything else noteworthy coming up?

Tell us when it arrives/arrived. Maybe we can detect a pattern.

From my morning Web surfing:

(1) I haven’t read it yet, but the University of Florida has started publishing still another arts magazine called Muse, in addition to all the ones listed on the Fan Page.

(2) Meanwhile, you can read articles from the real thing online at Looksmart High School–a good way to share the magazine without giving away your own treasured copies. No cartoons there, though.

–R. C.

Share your “wow!” and “aawww!” moments with the rest of us.

Too big to ignore. Too sad to talk about? We’ll see.

During its first month on the Web, MuseBlog racked up 573 messages–more than twice the total harvest of 261 on the good old Gaboomba message board. Happy birthday to us!

This all-purpose non-threaded thread for September might continue the themes in Welcome, Musers! (see far, far below). Or it might not–it’s up to you. As always, suggestions for new topic headings are welcome.

If you’re here for the first time, please click the Info & Rules tab at the top of the blog to learn how to behave. Otherwise, just plunge on in. After all, … it’s mostly harmless.