Chapter 7 – Birthday Eve

His mother’s words still echoed in Jacob’s head, three days after they had fallen. Grow up, Shaelith. Soon.

Tomorrow was his eighteenth birthday, or rather, Shaelith’s eighteenth birthday. The date was basically meaningless to the Shaeravyn, but eighteen years in this body, as Shaelith, was a strange milestone for him.

It took some effort to push those thoughts aside to concentrate on more practical concerns. The birthday banquet tomorrow was largely a purely political event. Too his great relief only friendly and allied houses were invited, however. After the debacle at the presentation, he could do without further public humiliation.

I’d better check the preparations before the servants mess something up and mother finds a reason to take her anger out on me.

In the small dining room, the servants were already buzzing around with activity like a busy beehive. Some arranged the seating while others were testing the moss wine fountains, which were a surprisingly complicated system under the hood and they had to keep it well-maintained, because a malfunctioning moss wine fountain could easily drench an entire party.

I’m definitely not going to get involved in that. If the damn thing blows up, I don’t want to have had anything to do with it.

“Shaelith!” A small voice called out to him.

Glyssere stood in the doorway with teary eyes. The six-year-old clutched her forearm, where the smeared remains of an illumination glyph were visible.

“I’ve been practicing all day,” she whispered in a trembling voice. “But it’s just not working. And tomorrow is your birthday and I wanted to show you that I can do it… as a… as a present.”

Oh damn, those little faces look just too cute when they’re sad.

“Come here,” he said gently, kneeling down beside her, “show me what you’re doing.”

He took her little hand in his and guided her through the brush movements. Servants hurried past them, laden with expensive perfumes and spider-silk bed linen, transporting them towards the residential wing.

Are these for me? Looks like Belyssere’s really pushing them this time, so I’ll have a nice birthday.

“Do you see that? You’re making the spiral too tight here. Imagine the light wants to come to you and you just have to show it the way.”

CRACK!

A servant had dropped one of the expensive crystal goblets. The shards exploded across the mushroom floor and remained in front of him and Glyssere.

“The matriarch will kill me!” the servant gasped with panicked face. “If anything goes wrong tonight…”

“Calm down,” Jacob said automatically. “The banquet isn’t until tomorrow. We’ll have a replacement by then.”

The servant flinched when she saw him knelt down there, but nodded frantically and hurried away.

They’re all so nervous today, my mother must really be in a terrible mood.

“Once again, don’t let yourself get distracted, just ignore everything around you.” he encouraged her. “And remember you have to invite the magic. Don’t force it.”

Glyssere’s forehead creased in concentration. The glyph on her arm pulsed only faintly at first, then stronger and stronger, until a steady, warm light appeared above her hand.

“I did it!” She threw herself into Jacob’s arms, clutching him tightly. “Thank you, Shaelith!”

Then she ran off, her hand still glowing, presumably to show anyone who couldn’t run away fast enough.

The servants were cleaning up the broken glass as they continued their preparations and Jacob decided to retire to his study. He was feeling strangely gloomy today and it was just too crowded and hectic in the common areas of the palace.

His tome-filled study was full of interesting, secret and sometimes even dangerous knowledge and quite probably his favorite place in the palace.

He dropped into his favorite armchair and reached for the thick book on the dialects of the human tribes from the Sunveil desert he was currently reading. He was already in the last chapter, a comparison of verb conjugations in the three main dialects. After years of studying the language, it was almost meditative to trace the individual connections and developments behind the dialect differences.

Imperfect in East Sunveil uses the root plus -azh, while West Sunveil…

Jacob closed the book with a satisfied sigh. The Sunveil dialects were really the last important language he found himself at all unsure of. He had already mastered every other major language spoken in the known world.

Shaeravyn anyway, but also Dwarvish, Sylvyn, Goblin, Umilari and Tulvian. And he was getting better and better at the Sunveil dialects as well. And he knew English, of course, but that wasn’t very useful around here. He hadn’t spoken it for almost 18 years now and, admittedly, he hardly even thought in English anymore.

A familiar flicker. Jacob automatically rolled his eyes upwards.

[NEW TRAIT ACQUIRED]

[Polyglot]

Well, well, well. The UI seems to think I’ve mastered the Sunveil dialects well enough. I’ll take it. Makes the list a bit more respectable.

[Exceptional Beauty]
[Daughter of the Matriarch]
[Shaeravyn Sorceress]
[Polyglot]

The door opened quietly. Belyssere slid in and there was a bit of tension in her round face.

“There you are, my darling.” She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I just wanted to know what time you wanted to go to bed tonight?”

Jacob raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you care when I go to sleep?”

“I just want to make sure you’re well rested for tomorrow.” She pinched her earlobe. “The banquet will be exhausting.”

“I wanted to stay up until midnight,” Jacob said slowly. “To greet my birthday. But not much longer.”

“Alone?”

“Actually, I wanted to ask Vyriz if he’d keep me company, maybe we can drink a little moss wine and chat a bit.” Jacob leaned forward. “Do you happen to know where he is, by the way?”

Belyssere smiled broadly. “Vyriz? No, I’m sorry. Haven’t seen him all day. Must have been busy. You know how diligent he’s been lately.”

Vyriz and diligent in one sentence? Sure.

“Well, I should continue to oversee the preparations.” She was already moving towards the door. “Good night, Shaelith.”

And she was gone again before he could wish her a good night back. Jacob just shook his head. What was up with everyone today?

Jacob’s first stop was the fencing hall. Vyriz often spent his evenings there to hone his fencing skills. Most of the time he did that alone, because he hated it when others commented on his mistakes. But the hall was dark and deserted.

Maybe in the library?

But there was no sign of him there either. Just a bored librarian who nearly choked on her snack when the matriarch’s daughter popped in unannounced at this late hour.

On the way to the vaults he passed the children’s wing. The door to one of the rooms was ajar and soft purple light seeped out into the corridor.

Jacob hesitated. It was the same room where he’d almost been murdered by an assassin as a baby if he hadn’t been screaming at the top of his lungs with the power of his adult mind. The same room where he had spent his early years. Since then, of course, it had been the home of other children.

Just a quick glance.

He quietly pushed the door open. Two babies lay in their cradles of living mycelium, both fast asleep. One of them, a girl, had curled up into a little ball. The other, a boy, was sucking peacefully on his thumb.

Oh my goodness, they are so cute.

The boy was making smacking noises around his thumb, obviously dreaming of food. Jacob watched the small suckling movements with fascination.

How would that feel? The thought came unexpectedly. A hungry baby at my breast?

His hand involuntarily moved to his chest. One day he would probably experience exactly that. Giving birth and breastfeeding and all the things that came with this body and his position as the matriarch’s daughter.

Strangely enough, he realized with surprise, the thought was no longer quite as terrifying as it shouldbe. Not really.There were worse things. The Mawshroom could have devoured him, or one of the, like, forty Assassins could have gotten him.

Or I really could have drowned back then…

A soft whimper from the girl startled him out of his thoughts. She moved restlessly, but calmed down again without waking up. He gently stroked her pointed ears.

Enough sentimentality. Let’s find Vyriz.

~

“So that’s where my dearest friend is hiding,” Jacob said, leaning against the doorframe after he finally found Vyriz in the back archive room, buried under piles of delivery receipts. “I was beginning to think you’d been kidnapped.”

Vyriz looked up. His hair was all disheveled and there was lots of ink on his fingers. “Shaelith! I’m sorry, I-” He made a helpless gesture over the piles of paper. “Your mother made me handle this bureaucratic nightmare.”

“Chronosteel shipments?” Jacob stepped closer and glanced at the documents. “Since when is she taking a personal interest in that sort of thing?”

“Since this afternoon, apparently.” Vyriz rubbed his eyes. “She insisted I do it tonight. No delay possible.”

For heaven’s sake, what on earth has he done to her?

“I wanted to ask you if you’d join me in a midnight toast,” Jacob said. “Drinking some moss wine, have a chat, greet my birthday, you know.”

Vyriz’s face contorted painfully. “Damn, I would love to. But…” He pointed at the papers. “If I don’t finish this by tomorrow morning, your mother will skin me alive. And not in a pleasant way.”

I think only people who know Mother really well think that there are pleasant and less pleasant ways to skin someone. Shockingly, however, they are right.

“I see.” Jacob tried to hide his disappointment.

Vyriz reached for his hand and squeezed it. “I’m really sorry. We’ll make up for it tomorrow at the banquet, I promise. I’ll bring the good moss wine Belyssere hides for special occasions.”

“You know where she’s hiding it?”

“Of course.” Vyriz grinned faintly. “Behind the preserved shadowcaps in the spice cellar. She thinks no one would look there.”

Despite the disappointment, Jacob had to smile. “Hope the wine’s as good as you say then.”

“Oh, it absolutely is, trust me.” Vyriz squeezed his hand again. “Really, I’m sorry. Today of all days…”

“It’s okay.” Jacob withdrew his hand. “I guess I’ll retire then. If I’m going to party alone, at least I can wear some comfortable clothes.”

“You could wear the nightgown made of caterpillar gauze.” Vyriz’s eyes lit up. “That one looks damn good on you.”

“Flatterer.” Jacob turned to leave. “Have fun with your delivery bills.”

“Oh yes, I’m going to die from all the fun I’m having here,” muttered Vyriz and went back to his papers.

All right, a quiet evening alone it is. Eh, could be worse.

Back in his chambers, Jacob waved his hand impatiently. “I’ll be fine, thank you.”

The three servants who had been waiting for him exchanged uncertain glances. One of them, a new one, whose name he still couldn’t remember, opened her mouth to protest.

“Really,” he added with a smile that hopefully took the edge off his voice. “You can go. I’d prefer to have my peace and quiet tonight.”

They bowed and scurried out, not without giving him a furtive look of concern. As if I can’t even manage being alone in my own room.

It was only when the door slammed shut that he noticed the small changes. Spider-silk bedding shimmered in the mushroom light and the pleasantly comforting scent of rare perfumes hung in the air, like that insanely expensive blend of fermented Shadowcap extract and Denra moss that his mother only brought out on special occasions.

Belyssere is really overdoing it this time. But I’m certainly not complaining.

He dropped onto the soft mycelium stool in front of his obsidian dressing table and undid his many braids one by one. The movements were as automatic as breathing.

A soft hum escaped his lips as he brushed his long hair. An old Shaeravyn lullaby that Belyssere had always sung to him when he was little.

He continued to divide the hair into seven even strands. The seven-strand plait was one of the most difficult braids, but also the safest for the night, because no loose strands could get tangled, preventing knots in the morning.

Ugh, I don’t feel like washing it today and tomorrow the servants will wash it for the banquet anyway. Why should I wash it twice in a row? It takes forever to dry.

He looked at his reflection. Large lavender eyes in a flawless violet face, framed by the neatly braided hair.

Seventeen-year-old Jacob would have laughed his ass off. ‘Hey Jake, in eighteen years you’ll be worrying if your hair will make it through the night without needing to be washed.’ Yeah, sure.

He opened his closet, looking for something comfortable and his eyes fell on the Caterpillar gauze nightgown. Vyriz was right, it did look really good on him. The fabric was so thin it was practically see-through, but it was also incredibly light and comfortable, and there was no one around tonight who cared about what he wore.

Not that anyone here would be shocked because I’m dressed revealingly, hell they wouldn’t even care that much if I walk around naked.

He slipped out of his formal dress and the cool grotto air coming in through the open window brushed against his bare skin, making him shiver, so he quickly pulled on his nightgown.

A huge crystal decanter of moss wine stood on the side table. He took a glass and then, without further ado, the whole carafe and left his chambers.

His steps carried him to this very balcony without any conscious decision. It was the balcony with the best view over the whole of Myzelemaerlazin, yes, but that wasn’t why he was here, at least, it wasn’t the only reason.  

Jacob placed the carafe on the wide stone parapet, leaned against the railing and watched the city below him in all it’s splendor.

This balcony.

The realization hit him suddenly. This was exactly where the tiny toddler whose body he had woken up in had almost died, all those years ago. One foot further and little Shaelith would have fallen through the parapet before Jacob’s adult mind could have intervened.

Eighteen years. He took a deep sip of moss wine. It was earthy, slightly sour, with just the right hint of spice.

Then the dimly glowing bioluminescent mushrooms at the grotto ceiling pulsated in the rhythm indicating Midnight. He noticed it more in his subconscious than that he saw the subtle change in the light that served as a time marker for the Shaeravyn.

Happy Birthday, Shaelith.

And then realization really hit him, because the math was both simple and inescapable. He had been Shaelith longer than he had been Jacob now.

The tears came without warning.

Oh.

He pressed a hand against his mouth, but it didn’t help. The tears streamed down his purple cheeks and they were hot and real and long overdue. For the first time really, he allowed himself to cry for Jacob Williams.

For the boy who jumped into a cold lake on a gray April day to save someone. For the average teenager with his average dreams. For the college he would never attend and for the girlfriend he might have had one day. For the kids, his kids who would never exist, not the cute purple elf babies she would one day give birth to. He cried for his mom, who had lost her son, who was somehow still alive and could remember her and she probably didn’t even know it.

I died. Jacob Williams truly died. He drowned trying to save Ben Blomquist.

A sob escaped his throat and he leaned heavily against the railing, finally letting the grief in. All these years he had pushed it away, concentrating on survival, on learning, on navigating this strange world. But now…

I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry.

The moss wine tasted salty from his tears. He wiped his face and looked at his slender purple hands in the mushroom light. Those hands had never held a basketball and had never typed on a computer keyboard. Had never-

But, whispered a quiet voice in his head, they have worked magic and they have saved lives and they have learned and comforted, even fought.

He thought of Glyssere tonight, how her small hands under his own had finally mastered the illumination glyph and of Vyriz, who had squeezed this hand and of his mother. He thought of Laenre, not the woman on Earth he had called Mom, but Laenre who had raised him with all her complicated, calculating, but honest love.

This is also a life. And it’s my life.

Because there was not only sadness in those sobs, but also gratitude. Gratitude for being alive against all odds, against all logic. He had been given a second chance, really, even if it came with purple skin and elf ears.

And the city he looked over was Myzelemaerlazin. And Myzelemaerlazin was not the alien mushroom metropolis he had arrived in, no. Myzelemaerlatin was home. He had walked on these winding bridges as a child and knew all the names of all the spices on the markets and he and Vyriz had played hide and seek in those mushroom gardens so many times.

I am Shaelith, he thought, no, she thought. I am Shaelith. And those words felt right.

I was Jacob and part of me will always be Jacob, in a way. But I am Shaelith Vyrnara, daughter of the matriarch of House Vyrnara and a sorceress of the Shaeravyn.

She leaned back, letting the cool draft dry her tear-stained cheeks and the city below her was completely indifferent to her little epiphany. Only for her, it changed everything.

Eighteen years is a long time of doing as if, of holding on to a life that is no longer mine.

She took another sip of moss wine, tasting it consciously, enjoying it with deliberation. It was no strange drink from some purple elves, it was familiar and beloved, like so many things here.

It’s enough. I’m sick and tired of having just half a life.

She straightened up and wiped away the last of her tears and took on an elegant posture like the true Shaeravyn noblewoman that she was.

This life is a gift. It’s a strange, complicated and sometimes scary and dangerous life, but it is mine and I will live it and seize it and I will cherish it to the fullest.

She reached for the carafe and poured the last sip of moss wine over the parapet and let it fall down into the city.

“Farewell, Jake. And thank you,” she whispered into the night in English, the first time the language had ever crossed her lips. The words felt strange in her mouth and sounded unfamiliar to her ears.

As she turned to leave, it was unreservedly Shaelith Vyrnara who left the balcony and made her way back to her chambers.

The corridors of the palace lay silent and dark by now and were lit only by the soft glow of the wall mushrooms.

She felt so light then and there. She had shed a heavy burden she hadn’t even known she was carrying.

And having drunk almost a whole carafe of moss wine probably doesn’t hurt either.

As Shaelith approached her chambers though, she stopped abruptly, because a golden glow seeped from beneath her doorstep.

That is unusual.

Muffled voices came from her room. Was that laughter? There was definitely movement in there. Her eyes instinctively wandered to some offensive glyphs on her forearm, just in case. They still were impeccable.

She slowly opened the door as quietly as possible. The scent hit her even before the door was fully open.

Is that Umilari wing dust?

Then she pushed the door the rest of the way open with a jerk.

Oh fuck.

So THIS is what Mother meant by ‘my patience has run out.’