“Yes.” Olivia didn’t bother to explain that she never owned a cell phone. The ranch considered them something sinful that only men could use safely. There was a phone system in place similar to the university’s so that all incoming phone calls could be screened prior to connecting the caller with the right person.
“Most students are baffled by our ancient technology. Their phones are tiny flat things that they carry in their pocket and do everything from take pictures to send e-mail. We need to give the freshmen detailed instructions on how to use the university’s phone system. They grasp it quickly; they’re used to the fundamental idea of using a tool to speak with anyone. Elves do not have anything similar to telephones. They don’t see the need. If they want to communicate with someone, they write a letter. The days that it takes for a message carried by hand to travel back and forth, to them, are like minutes to us. If the need for communication is great enough, they go themselves or send someone from their household.”
Olivia had gotten enough allegories drummed into her that she recognized one dressed up in different clothes. The lesson of this particular one, however, eluded her. “Your point being?”
“You are young. Frighteningly young.”
Olivia expected the dean to ask her age again, but the woman glossed over that detail.
“I have found that the younger the student, the more they believe that they understand how the world works based on their very limited experience. They don’t realize how subtle reality truly is; there are layers to the world. What seems to be the truth is only the reflective surface, mirroring back their perceptions.”
Olivia fought to keep her voice level. “And I’ve found that the older the adult, the more sure that they know what is better for the child, even when what they believe kills the child.”
The dean’s eyes filled with sorrow. “Yes, I realize that is true too.” Nevertheless, she plowed on. “There is much we don’t know about the elves; we’ve only had contact with fairly young and adventurous individuals of the Wind Clan. Even the viceroy should be considered a teenager. Everything has changed. We can’t take for granted what the elves want is something we can easily understand.”
By “we” the dean obviously meant “you.”
Which might be true but it certainly applied to everyone else in Pittsburgh too.
“We,” Olivia stressed the pronoun, “will only be using this floor until we can find a house.”
They cleaned.
Which was to say that the Wyverns stood around guarding them from God-knows-what, the royal marines established where they were supposed to be and promptly disappeared, and Forest Moss picked up random items and studied them for an hour before setting them back where he found them. Olivia worked quickly and efficiently; cleaning was the one thing that the ranch taught her to do well.
She set her sights low; she limited her cleaning to just one section. She and Forest Moss would be camping in the space only until she found something in Oakland where they could safely live. The rooms had been the offices of Nathan Yocum, Dean of Children’s Literature, and his administrative assistant. The larger room had a charming but dusty window seat, a big leather sofa, two wingback chairs, a massive wooden desk, and large built-in bookcases as befitted the offices of a dean. Someone had taken the desk chair, which was fine as there were plenty of other places to sit.
The royal marines loved the elevator. They rode up and down and up and down in it all morning. Much to the university’s dismay, they used it to explore all the floors—abandoned and occupied. They would circle back to the twentieth floor bearing gifts from the startled university staff and found treasures from the abandoned offices. The elevator would ding, the doors would slide open and they would spill out, laughing and talking loudly like excited schoolchildren. They would track Olivia down in the warren of offices, show off their latest discovery, and ask her to explain it.
They laughed at her Elvish, saying that she sounded like someone from the Wind Clan. Apparently the creators of her online language classes had never spoken with elves from the other clans.
The marines were an equal mix of males and females. They were all over six feet tall, red haired and green eyed. From a globe they found, she learned that they were all from an area that matched up with Northern Italy. They’d arrived just days ago via the train. Prior to that, they had never seen a diesel engine, an automobile, an electric light, or even a human before. They brought her staplers, tape dispensers, staple removers, binder clips, and bubble wrap. The last, once she showed how the bubbles could be popped, triggered a running game of keep-away.
“They seem so young,” Olivia said as the game charged down the hall, popping and cracking.
“They’re about your age.” Forest Moss believed that Olivia was eighteen or older. “They are fresh out of training. The more-experienced troops were deployed to protect the Spell Stones. Neither Aum Renau nor Aum Hearn was heavily guarded prior to the oni’s first attack of the viceroy. There was little need. They are shielded against everything except traitors. Since the Spell Stones are our greatest weapons, they are also our greatest weakness.”
The Spell Stones were “our” while her baby was “yours.” It would not be so galling if she actually knew what the stupid things actually were.
It exhausted her to simply clear the larger room, dust the bookshelves, and explain every possible piece of office equipment known to humankind for the last fifty years. At least the marines had done more than explore the cathedral; they brought cots, more blankets, and baskets of hot food. The warriors all had ironwood forks and spoons in kit bags. During the day, however, they’d found plastic sporks for Olivia and Forest Moss to use. Inside the baskets were grilled fish fillets, more of the dark rye bread, and a roasted root that tasted vaguely like turnips that had been sweetened with honey.
“Are we paying for this?” She hadn’t seen any money exchange hands but that didn’t mean that someone wasn’t keeping track of what they were eating.
“Oh, yes, close accounting is kept. Wind Clan bleeds heavily for this war.”
She didn’t understand if that meant they would be charged or not. She glanced to Glaive.
The Wyvern explained in more detail. “The Wind Clan is responsible to house and feed the incoming domana from other clans. Wolf Who Rules Wind will cover any expense incurred within reason.”
This was good news since she only had the keva beans salvaged from her house. With two mouths to feed, the food would not last long. Considering that the marines had grown to twenty in number, she was thankful that they were feeding her instead of the other way around.
“For how long?” she asked.
“For the duration of the war.” Forest Moss pressed her hand to his cheek. “It’s all bookkeeping. Extremely petty of us to quibble over money when our world is at risk, but that is how we keep the peace among us. Otherwise we would be like pigs fighting over table scraps while the butcher looks on.”
“So the Wind Clan will feed us as long as the fighting continues?” Olivia said
Forest Moss smiled gently. “Do not worry; the war will not last long. The oni have been cut off from their world, so they have no retreat and no reinforcements. Every day more elves arrive in Pittsburgh to fight. We will quickly root out these oni. I was given land. We can build a holding and gather people to us. We will soon be a proper household.”