Nat wandered away from camp shortly thereafter. Lyn had persuaded Ellie to let them share the coach, and Novek was doing some rather loud and irritating metalwork. He found a comfortable spot halfway to some nearby trees, and sat atop a soft, mossy log to practice forming Moira's pattern. It wasn't an arc like Lyn used, he wasn't really sure what to call it. Little flame was accurate, but weird. He'd figure out something later, or maybe someone else would have an idea.

  He ignited it, and it formed in his hand immediately. It was much dimmer outside his Talent, but still quite visible in the starlight.

  “Hello, Moira?”

  Hey there, Nat. Ready to chat, then?

  “I'm not in my Talent, obviously. I hope you don't mind, it's… strange, talking in there. Nobody else is nearby, though.”

  I can tell you're distant from Lyn, but I appreciate the confirmation. To the point, then.

  What I'm proposing, is a partnership, of sorts. But it's got some significant terms and conditions to it.

  “Sure. I'm listening — go ahead.”

  Okay, to start, I'm going to ramble a little. Please bear with me, and try not to ask anything yet or this will take three times as long.

  The first thing you must know, in order to understand the rest, is that I — like other Agents — am bound to help fulfill any request a Human makes of me, if it will not cause significant harm.

  It is important you realize that I am literally bound to help. The word choice might seem spurious, but I assure you it is not. Words have meanings and ‘bound’ is accurate, as would be compelled, or even forced.

  You must not allow other Humans to request things of me. Unmanifest the voice arc if you can, or interrupt them if you must. This applies to any Human. As ludicrous as it may seem, neither Brin nor Ber'Duun qualify.

  Is this clear so far?

  “Yes. You need, no — require — that I do not let you be commanded.”

  Which leads me to the next point. Agency. I am neither Djinn, nor cat's paw to be commanded or wielded. You are no vassal or slave to be compelled or forced. If we do this, we are partners first and foremost; equals in agency if not capability.

  You must not command me, or make requests without giving me an out. Simple politeness works sufficiently in most cases: could you, would you mind, even please — all allow me the possibility of refusal. The easiest way to avoid this is to never form a habit of phrasing requests in the style of a command — always ask.

  I, in turn, will not discomfort or endanger you, without consideration, and whenever possible, consent. There is no guarantee surprises won't happen — only that if they do, be sure that we'll both be surprised.

  But your burden must be higher in this regard — this is no friendly request for courtesy or demand for respect. You may, in time, become the vehicle — though never the instrument — of my will.

  Because I am, in hands malicious or incautious, a terrible force. And I will never allow someone, without my consent, to pull that particular trigger twice. Not even with the best of intentions.

  Partnership means helping one another, without diminishing the agency of the other. I gain the ability to affect the world, directly. You gain the ability to influence the world, significantly. Like frequency and amplitude.

  In short, I cannot risk an incautious partner. This may sound somewhat harsh, but it's critical to establish healthy boundaries and true understanding in any relationship.

  “She's right, you know.” A voice from the darkness. Ceress.

  Nat simply turned and looked at the darker shadows.

  Ah, of course. Without the claws lit, she's invisible to me. This is an excellent demonstration of how you can shore up my weaknesses, Nat.

  Ceress smirked, “Huh, the kid didn't even startle — you might have a winner here, at least in that regard, Moira. So. How much of this does Lyn know?”

  As little as possible. Their choice — something they can't speak about, but only hint at. They have their secrets, too.

  “But you can speak of it to me without concern?”

  You haven't been turned into a listening device by your progenitors. They could have, but they didn't. Why the special attention to the silverpaw?

  “Oh ho. That is not my story to tell, and for those same reasons, Lyn can't tell it. Nor would they. Can AMA not overhear us when you manifest this way?”

  No, all it can hear is noise; like the hissing of your claws with aetheric energy. I am shifting the pattern constantly, never more than a few microseconds with the same key.

  “Mmm. Is that fast enough, I wonder?”

  Well, it's as fast as I can manage. If it's not fast enough, we're all doomed, anyway.

  “How nice of you to choose my fate for me.”

  I meant that you can't outthink something that fast. I'm a thousand times faster than you. If it's a thousand times faster than me, what hope is there?

  “Hmm. Best to ask the silverpaw that, I think. Just not… here.”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Oh ho yourself, hints and secrets of your own.

  “Again, not mine to share. But I don't mean to interrupt. I might even have some thoughts on the matter, if you don't mind continuing.”

  Nat, a passenger in this conversation that he could never have envisioned even a day ago, simply went with, “I don't mind, but that's probably because I don't understand the stakes.”

  Alright. But I'll caution you the same as I did Nat. Just knowing this will put you at odds with some Human nations or other powers. And… maybe AMA itself.

  “Oh, I'm already at odds with that one, and it knows it. I'm not nearly so sure as Lyn that I'm part of some plan. I just think I'm too small to bother with — and that suits me just fine. If the progenitors, or their ‘betters’ come back, we're all of us dead anyway.”

  Ceress wasn't entirely sure how much of this Nat was really absorbing. She didn't know him well enough, and Moira was laying it on fairly thick. He seemed smart, but had apparently been hospitalized most of his life?

  Well, whatever. It wasn't her life Moira was risking. Ceress didn't quite understand the mechanism for it, but they'd known both Lyn, and Moira long enough to know that there was something that only a Human could do for her. Ceress just wasn't sure what it was, or what it would enable her to do. But she was dying to find out, so she shut her mouth and tried to be non-disruptive.

  That lasted about two minutes. Moira was smart, but it was like she was doing her best Lyn impression at the moment — all explanation, no example.

  Just because something needs to be done doesn't mean that either one gets to decide unilaterally the method.

  Still with me?

  “I think so. I'll have questions later, after I've had a chance to think.”

  That's what I like to hear.

  “Okay, what she means, kid, is that you're a team, not a hierarchy. Let's say you both agree that tree over there needs to be gone. Right? Now, as a commander, if I point at that tree and say, ‘Get rid of it’, about 30 seconds later one of my guys is going to put a big smoking hole in the ground. Me? I'd walk over and cut through it, but I didn't tell him that, or ask. I told him to make it gone — they made it go away. If I care about how it's done, it's my responsibility to say something before they start acting, otherwise I'm micromanaging.”

  Ceress continued with only a slight pause. “Speaking of which, that's not hypothetical. I would actually like that tree. Soot needs fuel for the trip back. You think you can walk and talk?”

  “What? You want me to… blow it up?”

  “No, not unless you think you could manage that. I didn't think your Talent could work that way. Can you?”

  “Uh, no. I don't think so, at least. I could… blow it over?”

  “Nah, too heavy. You can throw some stones around, no problem, but it's too massive for you to affect directly. How would you take care of it?”

  Ceress, I don't think — you know what? No. I'm curious. Nat, do you think you could take down the tree?

  “Hmm. Let me think a minute.” He paused for a few seconds. “Oh! Yeah, I think I could. Ceress, can you light one of your claws for me, please?”

  Ceress extended her index finger, and light the claw atop it, which glowed with its cool blue flame.

  Nat stared at it for a minute. “Okay. I think I've got it. You said you're a shipbreaker, so obviously aether, well, therons, can cut, right?”

  “Yep, they're just energy. No charge, but energetic nonetheless. They just won't arc to metal, like electricity would. They're more like a flame, that operates based on intent.”

  “What does that mean? How does intent factor into it?”

  “Put your finger on the blue flame on my claw. Don't press, though. They're sharp.”

  “Okay, but — you said that would burn, in my Talent, earlier.”

  “Yep. If I want it to. Put your finger in.”

  It should be fine, Nat. Ceress won't hurt you. Well, not without reason, or, I guess if you asked.

  Nat reached out with some reluctance, and placed his finger in the slow cold flame, resting atop the glowing claw. Nothing happened.

  Ceress retracted the claw, and closed her hand. “See, therons are affected by intent. If I don't want to cut you, you won't be cut.”

  “That, is so cool. Can I do that?”

  “I don't know. Can you?”

  “Ah. I get it. Then, yes. Yes I can cut the tree down. Moira, will this cause a problem with your… flame?”

  No, as long as you can hold the pattern, it should be fine. It's just a conduit, not me.

  “Okay, can we maybe light a torch or something though? It's a bit dark for this, and the flame is making my night vision worse, not my normal vision better.”

  “Oh, sure.” The skin between Ceress's scales on her hands, feet, tail, and neck all came alight — a mix of blue and orange light escaping from some inner tissue. It was brighter than a pitch torch, and thus more than bright enough to illuminate the area.

  Nat pointed at a relatively thin, short tree, with few leaves. It was either dead or hibernating. “This one?”

  “Yeah, that'll do till morning.”

  He increased the size of the flame in his palm, and held it to the tree, circling it slowly. “This is going to take a while, it seems. Sorry.”

  Good practice. Still coming through clearly for you?

  “Yep, sounds fine. A little muffled by the wood, but it's only weirdly pitched, not hard to hear.”

  Okay, then let me continue while you work. The last thing I want to mention tonight, is the responsibility that comes alongside helping or rendering aid.

  Once you have agreed — or chosen — to help, you take on a responsibility. Once a burden is picked up, it may not be so easily put down.

  For example, let's say you come across a wounded person, next to a small river. They have a bag packed with food, and obviously unlimited water. They are unable to move under their own power; broken feet — a tragic riverdance accident; very sad. Thus, they are at risk of attack by animals, or perhaps bandits. They ask for your help to make it back to town, half a day away under normal circumstances. You both decide it is best if you carry them out of the woods to a nearby town, but you cannot carry both them and their provisions, so you leave their pack and the river behind and start heading back to town.

  Once you've picked them up and moved more than a few minutes away from their point of origin, you are now partly responsible for their welfare. Leave them alone now, and they are in a worse position than when you arrived — this would be a harm, not a help. Perhaps you're tired from carrying them, or they are a terrible traveling companion — the why of it does not matter. You have taken on the responsibility of helping, and now you must shoulder that burden, literally in this case.

  Nat was about half-way around the tree at this point.

  That said, it is not necessary or even always the best course of action to stick to a plan when conditions have changed. If a Ber begins to harry you during your trek back to civilization hoping for an easy meal, the plan to carry the person ceases to be viable; defense now takes priority. Or perhaps your strength isn't sufficient to carry them — instead, a litter must be constructed. Neither task something you anticipated, but again, you are committed, or else have caused a greater harm.

  And finally, people are not things. If your companion decides that they would rather, in fact, prefer the Ber to your company? That is their decision, and your duty to carry the burden is ended, that very moment. Helping someone who does not want your help is no longer helping, but tyranny. A lesser tyranny to be sure, but one all the same.

  Ceress cut in, “All good points. This gets really confusing if you've been engineered to carry wounded to safety. If it's been ingrained into you as instinct, or even compulsion. At that point, are you choosing to carry them? What if it's all you've literally been designed to be good at? I'm stretching this metaphor past it's breaking point — which is a lesson unto itself; Don't try to apply metaphors to real world situations too strenuously.”

  “How's the tree coming?”

  “Almost done!”

  “Hey, here's a life lesson for you, while we're doling it out by the bucket-load: Never tell someone how fast, or slow, they are. They'll almost always try to meet your expectation — positive or negative. Both can be bad — let them measure up to their own expectations, not yours.”

  “So, are you saying I'm slow? Should I be faster?”

  Ceress remained silent. Just watching.

  “I bet I could go faster. I can do another. Do we have time?”

  Oh, that's just evil.