19 Niala

We loaded up, locked down, and began to take off as we did every year. We were on the west coast and had a journey to meet at key points with other flocks, gathering them as we moved east and south to Florida.

Our people were the Wildlings, our flock the Wanderers. I felt pride about this as I thought about our first stop being with the Sentinels. Of course, we were a day behind, but that didn’t stop Kiromir from putting his foot on the gas. I always found it so funny watching him hunched over the steering wheel like an old man. I remember years previous when I had been far more interested in the outside world; I’d stay in the front seat with eyes full of wonder and marvel at all the strange skies.

I didn’t have an ounce of understanding why I couldn’t just spread my wings and fly in them. I don’t think I’d met any humans before I had been captured. To this day, they terrified me a little when I didn’t have complete control of my environment. Having to hide my power, my wings, everything about myself made me feel vulnerable. Why did I, a powerful creature of wings and magic, have to shrink down and hide just to enjoy the body I had been born with?

Gaff had been about my age when I first came to join the flock. He didn’t understand a word of what I spoke, but he was so curious, and we became fast friends. He talked more than any person in the entire flock, and I followed him, listening, and eventually learning. I remember his red hair and strange hazel eyes. I’d never seen any green in eyes before the Wanderers or red hair.

I remembered our first drive in the motor home. It—was—terrifying. The road before us thrummed with life and the engine roared like a dragon, I proclaimed. He had to show me the engine bay to prove that they didn’t keep a monster inside of it. Gaffriel had to have Kiromir translate, and they laughed at my amazement. Wherever I came from, there were most assuredly no vehicles. I couldn’t even remember electricity outside of fires. Kiromir had me draw everything that I knew about my life before I forgot things. I couldn’t write yet, and our Anil and my language were a work in progress.

I had already picked up some English by first migration, and my Anil smoothed out, though we now know what I spoke hadn’t been true Anil. I wanted to default to Anil for everything, but Kiromir never said more than he had to outside of the house. He encouraged me to speak English and immersed me in the world. But when I became more comfortable, we kept with Anil between us. If Kiromir immersed me, Gaffriel had drowned me in it. There I stood, blank-eyed and watching him with rapt attention. His bright red hair had been so much more bewildering to me than the nonsensical words that spouted from his lips. Occasionally he’d throw in a few words of Anil and bridge me into the conversation. I caught on quick.

Once I tried to remember what words looked like before I could read. But I had no memories of staring out at blocky sigils with no meaning, and it wasn’t surprising. Language could be a fickle thing, coming in trails of understanding… or not. Gaff’s face, bright and excited, filled my memory, and unlike my memory of words, I could remember what English sounded like. It sounded like an empty song. The words came in flat, limp syllables. Anil had hints of the twitter of birdsong in it, unlike my own, which they were obsessed with, and called it a song every time I spoke.

Lowak, Kiromir’s Father, had still been with us at that time. It would be his last migration.

He rarely spoke to Kiromir’s mother, but she lived with the Sentinels, and Lowak had only visited her out of necessity at migrations. There had been bad blood between them, and nobody wanted to talk about what it had been over. It sometimes happened to bound couples after a long while; They grew bored of one another, I guess. Kiromir wouldn’t talk about it, and I wasn’t old enough to understand before Lowak passed away. Rolyn didn’t come back to the wanderers after Lowak died. She stayed there, where her family had been from. She didn’t care for me much, so we’d never gotten close. She wanted Kiromir to give her ‘real’ grandchildren. As a child, I thought I had been real enough, but I took it at face value with time. She was a woman I’d barely met that didn’t care for me. It stung worse as a child when I desperately yearned for a family.

I thought I had a big family before I joined the wanderers. Bits and pieces came to mind of women bustling and fussing about. There were lots of other children, but I don’t remember playing with them. I distinctly remember that—wanting but unable to for some reason.

I slumped in my seat, closed my eyes, and bid the ancient memories away as the flickering light of the high sun flitting through the tops of trees hypnotized me. The passing scenery in shades of brown and green blurred by, shaken by the unsteady rumble of our ancient motorhome.

“Wanna keep sleeping, or do you want to stretch your legs at the next stop?” Kiromir asked me. My head turned before my eyes did, disoriented from the moving scenery. This was, by far, my least favorite part of our travel, the motion I couldn’t control.

“I’ll stretch my legs.”

He slowly became quieter and more restless, fingers drumming as the miles passed us by. A pothole in the road jostled us as he opened his mouth, and it seemed to rob something from him. Tension rose between us. There wasn’t enough room in the motorhome for the unspoken words and us.

“Is everything alright?” I finally asked. I think it had been one of the first times in a while I didn’t immediately assume he’d caught me doing something wrong. I had done nothing to feel guilty about… recently. Maybe he’d noticed a cigarette missing from his secret pack or a beer missing from his fridge. I tried to think of all my recent shenanigans.

His eyes drifted from the road to his hand every so often like I’d seen Gaff do—like I’d done.

“Yep, fine. Just fine… I just… wanted to talk to you about… about fires and- and binding.”

The way he said it, with admonishment rather than urgency, alerted me. I knew when he felt fearful or angry that his aura kicked in, so he must have felt guilty. He had acted similarly when he gave me ‘the talk’ years ago. Back then, he stammered for two and a half minutes of his nonsensical rambling and throat-clearing before he finally said the word ‘sex’ and then quickly escorted my bewildered self to Letti. I preferred Kiromir’s talk. Letti’s had been… graphic.

Apparently, we were different than humans in that regard. Not so different that you’d notice at a glimpse, but Letti showed me an anatomical drawing and had penciled in the additional details.

“You’re not trying to give me ‘the talk’ again, are you?”

He choked.

“Because I know all about sex and how the fires work, I think. Letti talked to me about the whole men and women—”

“OR TWO MEN!” He interrupted me in a sharp blurt. The motorhome shuddered, and I tumbled in my seat a little. The seatbelt did that annoying locking thing that started strangling me when I sat up in a series of threatening clicks.

“Or two men…or women….” I corrected it in a slow drawl. I looked suspiciously at him.

“I mean, it’s not just men and women. Sometimes two men… Sometimes men like… Fires call out to someone….”

His knuckles went white, and his posture coiled, hunched over the wheel. He shifted nervously and avoided looking at me.

“Okay…” I said slowly.

“There’s nothing wrong with it. If you like the same gender. I mean, it’s okay, I mean….”

“Yeah… I mean, it’s our goal to try and find an opposite gender lifemate first, but if it doesn’t happen, it doesn’t—" I thought it had been quite clear I liked boys… well… boy. ‘Like’ was a strong word. I did not find looking at said boy offensive, most of the time. But then, I realized; he wasn’t talking about me.

Kiromir went dead silent.

“You’re jehanni….” I said it in a splutter of realization.

He stiffened visibly in his seat, let loose an explosive breath, and balked as if he were going to correct me then wilted.

“Thanus helped me figure it out,” He said in quiet defeat. He focused on the road, avoiding my stare. He genuinely waited for me to be upset.

“Huh…” It’s all I could say. I wasn’t sure how that one blind-sighted me, but it seemed a little obvious in retrospect.

Jehanni, particularly males, were named as such because of Swans. Swans, in the animal kingdom, form homosexual relationships and adopt nests of eggs and swanlings. So the urge to have a family is strong with our kind, even stronger for Jehanni, usually.

“I’m sorry.” His aura tingled at my senses.

“For what?” I asked. My face drew into a grimace. But it hadn’t been at his admission, but rather his reaction to it all. He didn’t raise me to care one way or the other. So the subject never came up, and we never thought much about it.

“For being… You know.” He couldn’t bring himself to say it. I don’t think he’d come to terms with it yet. His drawn posture and averted glance made it clear. He thought I’d judge him, after all he’d raised me to believe?

“Being what? Overprotective? I’ll take that apology. Whatever you do with your fire is your business.” I waved my hand at him dismissively. I seriously couldn’t give two handshakes about Kiromir’s fires. I just felt ecstatic that he might find someone to cuddle with at night.

“So, you’re not mad?”

“No. Why would I be? Maybe I’m mad you didn’t tell me. I’d probably be madder if you decided to, like, grow a mustache or something.” I crossed my arms and gave him a look. He caught it from the side and bristled.

“I just found out. You’re the only person that knows.”

“Aside from Thanus.”

“Yeah.” He flicked the turn signal at a wavering metal sign on the road, and we sailed our way smoothly over an exit ramp.

We pulled in as a fleet, a group of us gathering as we made our way into the parking lot of a rest stop. Limbs stretched as one after another slipped free of confined living spaces.

Kiromir stretched himself out and made his way into the station. He always got us those colorful frozen slush drink things every time we visited this shop. He always piled three or four flavors into each of our cups, so we got a little bit of everything.

He came jogging back with the cups in hand. I stretched up against the side of the camper, watching dirty stares flick my way from the humans. They just saw an army of nomads and an older man with a young, tattooed girl that looked nothing like him. The tattoos, believe it or not, made it better. Before the tattoos, the police had been called a few times. Fortunately, Kiromir had the right paperwork to prove I belonged to him like some sort of breeding papers.

‘Why yes, officer, my small Asian is registered and up to date on her shots, thank you.’

A middle-aged woman with calf-length pants and hair in an unnatural shape and shade of blonde started giving us a dirty look. She held her phone in hand, poised and ready to take a picture. Then, I acted quick.

“Thanks, dad!” I said, loud enough to let the nearby woman hear. Kiromir smiled—oblivious—as usual—and looked up with a bright smile. I took my slush from him with anticipation and gladly took a long swill. The artificial fruit flavors washed over my tongue in a decidedly artificial ‘grape’ ish mixture.

Tradition was good.

“We’re good, right?” He asked before lifting his drink to his lips for a mouthful.

“Yep. By the way, we’re not going to be fighting over boys, are we?” I asked.

He choked on his drink and spit a muddied rainbow of slush over the side of the motorhome.

Point Niala.