delight in Stinkwort's comments about Tansy, and I gave her an embarrassing imitation of the little flit's speech pattern.
"Your accent needs work," she said with a chuckle. Tapping the edge of her glass, she lost herself in thought a moment. " 'Ska.' An interesting word."
"I've never heard it. Joe translated it as 'bad,'" I said.
Briallen tipped her head from side to side. "That's simple at best. Its meaning has broadened in more rustic areas to mean something that's annoying or unsettling, but its true sense is more a physical description. One of the many oddities about flits is that they breed like bunnies, but you rarely see them in groups. They can be indifferent to their selection of mates and, coupled with their clan pride, tend to enter unions too close in the bloodline. The result is invariably a stillbirth and is called ska, meaning 'that-which-is-not-to-be' in the sense that the world has rejected the birth. There's a connotation of 'unbelonging' to the word, meaning the child not only doesn't belong to the clan but doesn't belong anywhere."
I looked back at the flames. The Tuesday Killer made everyone who encountered him uncomfortable. Assuming even Belgor's stone customer was the same guy, he had a troubling essence that upset people because they couldn't place it. Maybe they couldn't place it because it had no place. Maybe prostitutes were perfect victims because they accepted people out of the ordinary. And maybe such a person had found a ritual to make himself feel less out of place.
"I'm wondering if the killer is a ska birth that lived," I said.
"That would be a bit of a contradiction, etymologically," Briallen said. "Given that he lived, maybe he was meant to live. 'Ska' inherently means he shouldn't have lived, never mind grown up to kill three people."
"Then maybe 'ska' is only the closest word to describe him. Maybe he's unique."
"And for that we can be thankful," Briallen said, raising her glass.
"I've been thinking about the point of the murders," I said. I detailed my idea about the heart essence. Briallen became very quiet. Too quiet. "So, tell me, is this a teaching level I've stumbled across?"
She stared into her glass before answering, then looked at me directly. "To a point, yes. Such knowledge exists for the adept. It's forbidden to use."
I took a deep breath to calm my excitement. "Stinkwort said essentially the same thing. Could you teach me?"
She swirled the port in her glass for a long moment, the ruby color catching small flashes of light. Carefully, she placed it on the small table beside her chair. Standing slowly, she walked to the window and gazed out into her garden. "No."
A cold wave of disbelief swept over me. I hadn't expected her to be so direct. She turned to look at me, her eyes a cool measure of deliberation. "To be blunt, Connor, you're not worthy of the knowledge. You stepped off the druidic path years ago, striking out on your own to further your own personal needs. That's just not how it works."
I could feel heat flushing my cheeks again. "Are you saying you don't trust me?"
She shook her head. "It's not about my personal feelings. These are matters greater than anything so minor as a personal relationship. These are dangerous things, knowledge that should have died as soon as it was thought."
"Ska," I said with a slightly derisive tinge.
Briallen nodded. "In effect, yes. If I can, I will tell you what you need to know to stop this maniac. If I can't, I will step in myself to stop him. Either way, I won't teach you. I can't. Not now. Not in your current condition."
I rubbed my hands over my face. I tried to sigh against the great weight sitting on my chest. "This has to be the most uncomfortable night I've spent with you," I said.
"It's been no easier for me. The big issues rarely are," she said.
"I should go," I said.
Briallen walked from the window and left the room. I followed her down to the front hall, where she stood with the door open.
"You'll
"Your accent needs work," she said with a chuckle. Tapping the edge of her glass, she lost herself in thought a moment. " 'Ska.' An interesting word."
"I've never heard it. Joe translated it as 'bad,'" I said.
Briallen tipped her head from side to side. "That's simple at best. Its meaning has broadened in more rustic areas to mean something that's annoying or unsettling, but its true sense is more a physical description. One of the many oddities about flits is that they breed like bunnies, but you rarely see them in groups. They can be indifferent to their selection of mates and, coupled with their clan pride, tend to enter unions too close in the bloodline. The result is invariably a stillbirth and is called ska, meaning 'that-which-is-not-to-be' in the sense that the world has rejected the birth. There's a connotation of 'unbelonging' to the word, meaning the child not only doesn't belong to the clan but doesn't belong anywhere."
I looked back at the flames. The Tuesday Killer made everyone who encountered him uncomfortable. Assuming even Belgor's stone customer was the same guy, he had a troubling essence that upset people because they couldn't place it. Maybe they couldn't place it because it had no place. Maybe prostitutes were perfect victims because they accepted people out of the ordinary. And maybe such a person had found a ritual to make himself feel less out of place.
"I'm wondering if the killer is a ska birth that lived," I said.
"That would be a bit of a contradiction, etymologically," Briallen said. "Given that he lived, maybe he was meant to live. 'Ska' inherently means he shouldn't have lived, never mind grown up to kill three people."
"Then maybe 'ska' is only the closest word to describe him. Maybe he's unique."
"And for that we can be thankful," Briallen said, raising her glass.
"I've been thinking about the point of the murders," I said. I detailed my idea about the heart essence. Briallen became very quiet. Too quiet. "So, tell me, is this a teaching level I've stumbled across?"
She stared into her glass before answering, then looked at me directly. "To a point, yes. Such knowledge exists for the adept. It's forbidden to use."
I took a deep breath to calm my excitement. "Stinkwort said essentially the same thing. Could you teach me?"
She swirled the port in her glass for a long moment, the ruby color catching small flashes of light. Carefully, she placed it on the small table beside her chair. Standing slowly, she walked to the window and gazed out into her garden. "No."
A cold wave of disbelief swept over me. I hadn't expected her to be so direct. She turned to look at me, her eyes a cool measure of deliberation. "To be blunt, Connor, you're not worthy of the knowledge. You stepped off the druidic path years ago, striking out on your own to further your own personal needs. That's just not how it works."
I could feel heat flushing my cheeks again. "Are you saying you don't trust me?"
She shook her head. "It's not about my personal feelings. These are matters greater than anything so minor as a personal relationship. These are dangerous things, knowledge that should have died as soon as it was thought."
"Ska," I said with a slightly derisive tinge.
Briallen nodded. "In effect, yes. If I can, I will tell you what you need to know to stop this maniac. If I can't, I will step in myself to stop him. Either way, I won't teach you. I can't. Not now. Not in your current condition."
I rubbed my hands over my face. I tried to sigh against the great weight sitting on my chest. "This has to be the most uncomfortable night I've spent with you," I said.
"It's been no easier for me. The big issues rarely are," she said.
"I should go," I said.
Briallen walked from the window and left the room. I followed her down to the front hall, where she stood with the door open.
"You'll
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