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Authors: M. Henderson Ellis
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she instructed. I offered the coin slowly to the automaton. But before it got close, the money flew from my hand. It landed in the open palm of the doll, which activated a gear, and the coin was passed into the sack. The doll had stolen my coin! I laughed with glee.
“That is what I was worried about,” said my mother. The trick did not please her, nor did my reaction.
“What is it?” I asked.
“That, Petra K, is Jozsef K. That is your father.” I looked at her, stunned. The
doll
was my father? “He wasn’t a tea trader. That was a fib I told you. Oh, he liked tea. He could steal bushels of it out from under the best-guarded Indyn caravan. He could steal the wheels of a cart while it was still moving. That is what your father was. That is why you never spent a day in the Jozseftown school, because he was so notorious that even the teachers knew of him. Amongst thieves he was legendary. The Thievery Guild had this made in his honor once he disappeared. I wanted to keep all that from you, in the hopes that you would be different.”
“He disappeared?”
“See what I mean? You only hear what you want to hear.” She sighed, took a sip of her tea, then set it down on the bedside table.
“But you just said he disappeared, so how do you know he is dead?” I asked.
My mother grabbed me. I did not know if it was out of love or anger—then I realized, by the intensity with which she was holding me, that it was both. Though it was suffocating in its firmness, I savored her touch. I could feel hot tears from her cheeks burst against my neck. Then she whispered in my ear, “I know he is dead, because I have seen his spirit.”
On the topic she would say no more.
F OR THE FIRST DAY OF TRAINING , Isobel met me on Newt Island, which sat in the Pava River in between the large and small sides of the city. By decree of an ancient treaty, Newt Island was a place free of Imperial authority, and was safe from the Boot Guard, at least for now.
“Where are the others?” I asked.
“We don’t need them. We will be training Luma in the Half Not way. It is subtle, and demands great gentleness and concentration. Deklyn and the boys would just get in the way.”
Isobel’s
fazek
—her Half Not costume—had been redone in a bright, striking design, like that of an ornate Persian carpet. It was legend that rare Half Not girls were born with wings, which were a source of great embarrassment for the parents. These girls were forced to wear the woven fazeks that hobbled the wings beneath the yarn, making them deformed and unusable, for a Half Not girl who could fly away would never be found again—such was their wanderlust.
“Are those really wings under that yarn?” I asked impetuously.
“Don’t concern yourself with things that aren’t your business,” said Isobel, giving me another sharp look. “Let’s begin,” she said.
“Begin how?” I asked. This question only proved my ignorance of Half Not ways. They rarely responded to such direct questions. Isobel only stared at me blankly, leaving me stung byhow unfair it was to forbid me from asking questions. It was as if she was training me, not Luma.
“The trick to real dragonka husbandry is not to make the dragonka conform to your behavior but to find a way to make their own nature flourish. You have to find the individual characteristics within the dragonka and bring them out into the open for the entire world to see: this is the artistry. This is a Half Not talent.” Isobel demonstrated what she meant by whispering Luma’s name on the breeze. Soon enough the beast perked its head up, then trotted over to us.
“Now sit,” she instructed me. “Look into each other’s eyes.” I did, gazing deep into the coal black pits of my dragonka’s eyes. How strange to acknowledge his own particular existence and soul.
“This is called spirit breaching,” Isobel told me. “It isn’t enough to just feed and pet the dragonka; there needs to be an exchange that can
“That is what I was worried about,” said my mother. The trick did not please her, nor did my reaction.
“What is it?” I asked.
“That, Petra K, is Jozsef K. That is your father.” I looked at her, stunned. The
doll
was my father? “He wasn’t a tea trader. That was a fib I told you. Oh, he liked tea. He could steal bushels of it out from under the best-guarded Indyn caravan. He could steal the wheels of a cart while it was still moving. That is what your father was. That is why you never spent a day in the Jozseftown school, because he was so notorious that even the teachers knew of him. Amongst thieves he was legendary. The Thievery Guild had this made in his honor once he disappeared. I wanted to keep all that from you, in the hopes that you would be different.”
“He disappeared?”
“See what I mean? You only hear what you want to hear.” She sighed, took a sip of her tea, then set it down on the bedside table.
“But you just said he disappeared, so how do you know he is dead?” I asked.
My mother grabbed me. I did not know if it was out of love or anger—then I realized, by the intensity with which she was holding me, that it was both. Though it was suffocating in its firmness, I savored her touch. I could feel hot tears from her cheeks burst against my neck. Then she whispered in my ear, “I know he is dead, because I have seen his spirit.”
On the topic she would say no more.
F OR THE FIRST DAY OF TRAINING , Isobel met me on Newt Island, which sat in the Pava River in between the large and small sides of the city. By decree of an ancient treaty, Newt Island was a place free of Imperial authority, and was safe from the Boot Guard, at least for now.
“Where are the others?” I asked.
“We don’t need them. We will be training Luma in the Half Not way. It is subtle, and demands great gentleness and concentration. Deklyn and the boys would just get in the way.”
Isobel’s
fazek
—her Half Not costume—had been redone in a bright, striking design, like that of an ornate Persian carpet. It was legend that rare Half Not girls were born with wings, which were a source of great embarrassment for the parents. These girls were forced to wear the woven fazeks that hobbled the wings beneath the yarn, making them deformed and unusable, for a Half Not girl who could fly away would never be found again—such was their wanderlust.
“Are those really wings under that yarn?” I asked impetuously.
“Don’t concern yourself with things that aren’t your business,” said Isobel, giving me another sharp look. “Let’s begin,” she said.
“Begin how?” I asked. This question only proved my ignorance of Half Not ways. They rarely responded to such direct questions. Isobel only stared at me blankly, leaving me stung byhow unfair it was to forbid me from asking questions. It was as if she was training me, not Luma.
“The trick to real dragonka husbandry is not to make the dragonka conform to your behavior but to find a way to make their own nature flourish. You have to find the individual characteristics within the dragonka and bring them out into the open for the entire world to see: this is the artistry. This is a Half Not talent.” Isobel demonstrated what she meant by whispering Luma’s name on the breeze. Soon enough the beast perked its head up, then trotted over to us.
“Now sit,” she instructed me. “Look into each other’s eyes.” I did, gazing deep into the coal black pits of my dragonka’s eyes. How strange to acknowledge his own particular existence and soul.
“This is called spirit breaching,” Isobel told me. “It isn’t enough to just feed and pet the dragonka; there needs to be an exchange that can
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