Fend sat back. Making way for the man, who was definitely taking notice now.
Offering his hand, he cheerfully asked, “Who are you, then?”
NINE
Clay Pit
Tenma had never considered himself impetuous, but there was no other word to describe his sudden urge to walk in the woods. He’d only meant to look around. Familiarize himself with the surroundings. Not strike off on his own.
But there was most assuredly something off in this direction. He’d learned to trust that certainty, even when it led him into strange situations.
Like this one.
He was in the woods below the village, that much he knew. So he couldn’t be very lost. The creek hadn’t been a surprise. In his mind, mountains and springs went together. At least, that’s the way it worked back home. But when he’d reached a wide bend in its course, he found what looked like an exposed clay bed.
The grayish matter was just the sort of thing Goh-sensei liked to work with, and Tenma had thought to bring him a sample. However, in getting a closer look and trying to collect some, Tenma had somehow found himself stuck. And sinking.
Struggling only caused him to sink faster in the miry clay. He was up past his calves, helpless to free himself. Tenma rubbed at his nose, knocking his glasses askew, feeling like a child instead of a grown man.
He would be missed. If he didn’t show up for the noon meal, Goh-sensei would notice and come looking. Unless he grew preoccupied with his work.
An hour might see Tenma sunk. Better to yell for help. There were plenty of Amaranthine in Wardenclave, and their senses were keen. They’d hear his voice, and they’d be strong enough to rescue him from his own foolishness.
A bird called then, sharp and close, and fluttered to the ground near the edge of the clay. Cocking its head to one side, it studied Tenma with a beady eye.
Despite his desperate situation, Tenma was taken by the beauty of the thing. Ever since graduating from New Saga High School, he’d traveled constantly. Usually with Goh-sensei. Until recently, also with Inti. And one of the things Tenma marveled over was the existence of so many birds. What was normal and boring to one region was strange and new to a traveler like him.
This bird had brilliant blue feathers, barred with black and white, and a distinctive crest atop its head. Striking and, Tenma hoped, overly large for its species.
“Hello,” he called softly. “Good morning.”
Tenma made a basic hand sign, identifying himself as a reaver. Which wasn’t entirely true, but he was part of the In-between now. And he’d always gotten on well with Kith.
“By some chance, are you a friend?”
The bird spread its wings and beat them once, adding a call.
Tenma was convinced. “I’m glad you found me. I seem to have become stuck. Could you send for help?” He waved toward the village. “I’ve only been here a few days. Well, not here. Not stuck for a few days.” He was babbling, but he couldn’t stop. “I only meant I’ve been here at Wardenclave for a few days. So I’m not sure who to ask for. But if this is your home, you’ll know, won’t you? Does Wardenclave have some kind of patrol or security team?”
“Both.”
The voice came from above and behind, and Tenma twisted, trying to see who had arrived.
Someone had settled comfortably upon a nearby tree branch. Had he been watching Tenma struggle?
Lifting two fingers, he repeated himself, this time in Japanese.
Tenma bobbed his head and murmured thanks. He could get by in English, but in stressful situations, his many language lessons escaped him.
The Amaranthine slipped from his perch, landing lightly on bare feet and strolling around so Tenma didn’t need to strain to see him. He wore loose pants of coarse cloth secured by a double row of buttons that marched up his midriff. The throwback style gave him a rustic appearance, like someone who didn’t mingle enough with society to know when trends changed.
Not that Tenma was wearing the height of reaver fashion, which was a mercy. His good clothes wouldn’t have survived this mudpack. It was no loss to further mangle the sturdy denim pants that he wore for work. They were already stained by clay from many seasons at the potter’s wheel.
His rescuer’s long coat looked like the sort of thing to keep off the weather, as did the hat with its drooping brim. He pushed it back on his head, revealing a remarkable thatch of gray hair and bright eyes. This Amaranthine was very much in need of a haircut. And quite possibly a bath.
“What have we here?”
The male’s voice had a teasing lilt. A relief, since it meant Tenma probably wasn’t in trouble. With formal phrasing, he said, “Thank you for your concern. I am sorry to trouble you; however, I seem to have become stuck.”
“You certainly are. Quite trapped. In what, I wonder?”
The leading tone took Tenma aback. But he was used to the Amaranthine tendency to go all cryptic, especially when trying to explain him. So he stated the obvious. Again. “Clay.”
“You have an interest in clay?”
He came close enough for Tenma to realize that his fair skin wasn’t smudged with dirt or ash. He had freckles. Gray freckles. But he still gave an overall impression of someone who cared little for his appearance. Gauntlets covered the backs of his hands and forearms, but they left his palms bare and his claws on full display.
Tenma went with the simplest—if not the most accurate—explanation. “My mentor is a potter.”
“That explains much.” The Amaranthine stepped nearer, unmolested by the clay. “One man’s lure is another man’s mud puddle.”
Offering his palms more in plea than in courtesy, Tenma asked, “Would you mind giving me a hand?”
“Pardon me!” He closed the distance between them, grasped him under both arms, and pulled.
Tenma had expected the sucking hold to steal his shoes along with his dignity, but instead of extracting him from the clay, the pit simply vanished. As if it had never been there. Held aloft by his rescuer, he could see the slight depression he’d been standing in. A stone etched with sigils lay at its center.
“A trap?” he asked.
“You walked right into it,” said the Amaranthine. “Distracted, were you?”
He looked up into a pair of steely eyes. Now that they were touching, power tingled across Tenma’s skin, and colors bloomed. None of this alarmed him in the least. He might be an oddity, but the novelty had worn away under the onslaught of training.
“Am I out of bounds?” Tenma asked. “I do apologize.”
He hung limp in the Amaranthine’s grasp, his feet dangling several centimeters from the ground. Proof of this person’s capabilities. Though Tenma was pretty sure he’d be taller in stature, the Amaranthine was much stronger … and capable of flight.
Not a dragon, then.
The Amaranthine set him down, and Tenma sank further, ending on his knees.
“Did you injure yourself?” Pushing him to sit, the stranger ran his hands over joints and bones.
“I’m okay. Just a little disoriented.” He waved aside any concern. “Was that your illusion?”
“The sigil is mine. The scene it painted was all yours.” The Amaranthine tugged thoughtfully at the brim of his hat. “You’re Goh’s cosset.”