The writing is still very perfunctory and not enthralling, just the plot going through its paces.  In a subsequent draft, it should be much improved, but in the spirit of publicly posting the first draft, here you go.  If you want to read this novel from the beginning, see this article, read it, and hit the next button until you see more entries, stopping with II:V, then starting again at this one.  Meanwhile…

–

Blasfemia and her opponent circled each other, each holding one of her knives.  She said, “You first, man.”

A guy using translation at ringside translated it for Blagh, and he made his move – a simple feint and backhand slash combo.  Blasfemia fell for the feint, but was fast enough to make up for that rookie mistake, stabbing Blagh in the arm.

He dropped the knife and stumbled away cursing.  There was no cut there, of course.  They were wearing sparring gear and had trained beforehand how to control the knives for nonlethal combat – the psychoreactive metal flattening into mush at the point of impact, but otherwise maintaining enough form to practice parrying.  There was still more pain than Blagh had expected.

“Gademy, yof tarent!,” he hissed, but nobody bothered to translate that.

“Damn,” she said, flipping over the knife in her hand. “I let myself go soft here.  Maybe more, like, soggy.”  She smiled miserably and took up a stance again.

Blagh finished nursing his arm and got tough as well.  He gestured for her to come at him.  “Sdabby yut.”

Blasfemia was compelled to stab at him before he finished his sentence, but that would be cheap, not very instructive.  She’d never trained another fighter before, but took it seriously.  After all, what they were expecting of Josefina was flatly impossible.  If Blasfemia at least taught these bozos some moves, they might be less mad about that.

She slashed at him high and low, teasing him into parrying.  His attempts were clumsy.  They kept his hand from getting scratched, but focused his attention on that extremity.  She didn’t even try to do damage with her cheeky sweep, brushing her shin against his calf just to surprise him into weakening his guard, and then stabbed him in the chest so hard it forced his arm down.  He dropped the knife again.

“You know how to avoid a feint when you’re boxing, right?  Unfocus, see my whole body.  Yeah, you don’t wanna get stabbed, so the hand is higher stakes, but you can’t treat it like it is, or you get caught up over here.”  She waggled her hands at arm’s length.

Ringside guy translated her spiel again, and they stanced up while waiting for him to finish.  All around the village toughs watched and tried to learn.  In fact, she probably wasn’t much better than the best of them, in technique or training, and those canny few were learning that she didn’t actually have much to teach them.

–
Upstairs in the great lounge of the bugaster’s house, the couches and cushions had been spread to the corners, leaving room for Josefina and her students.  By her insistence they sat as comfortably as they could manage directly on the hard cool tiles of the floor.  There were over a dozen people from the village, mostly women, as well as Darter and Umbrifer.  Josefina sat on a cushion with Ombonculita in her lap, and seemed distracted, looking through them rather than fully upon any of their eyes or faces.  They strained to hear her, though all were close at hand, and the room was powerfully quiet.  She did not have a strong voice.

“Other worlds are not so weak in these powers as Borland.  In the Stars of Weal, practitioners of divine science are so common that their presence thins the boundary to the spirit world.  But it isn’t all monsters all the time, because those scientists are also police and doctors and engineers, who keep strict control over their works.  Hopefully, having a manifest spirit and an intuitive here will help open your senses to the spirit.”

The eyes on Darter’s face were closed in faux concentration, but the swollen and vile pink eye hidden behind his brown hair stared through the strands in a different kind of focus.  He looked at her, poring over her features, sometimes with sharp movements, sometimes tracing the lines, as if he could feel her through that unseen connection.  The sack-colored lace of its disguise frustrated the view.  He had to control his psychic energy to keep the big eye from telekinetically blasting the hair aside, and revealing his lurid interest.

Umbrifer had become much more comfortable with Josefina over time, sympathetic to her awkward position in Alish, and trying to help her in whatever small ways it could.  It was waiting around in the same awkward suspense as the sisters, and the idle distraction of the day was joining the villagers in trying to learn magic.  Divine science was the structured application of sorcery used by humans in relevant careers, while Darter and Josefina used magic by their intuitive nature – much like the way the Leveret and similar spirits could shift between the spirit and material worlds at will.  Would she be able to teach other humans this intuition?  How about a spirit?  Umbrifer didn’t know, but it had the patience to find out, trying to follow her tutelage closely.

“We’ve been talking about the ideals, and this is what you must learn to observe.  I’m intuitive so I did not learn the sense of things in the way I’m trying to teach, but my abuela’s way of teaching was more formal.  It’s my understanding that for regular people, to attain divine knowledge, the best path is by focusing on the causes of things.  When you see an artificial thing, try to see the reason it was built, the way it was built.  When you see a natural thing, think of the natural forces that shaped it, that caused it to be.”

Umbrifer knew what she was talking about, because its natural senses did reveal that information to it, in a naturalistic way.  It didn’t necessarily discern the entire history and future of everything it beheld, but it had an immediate sense of the broad strokes.  The causal and conceptual relationships of the organisms and inanimate objects around it were almost as easily understood as their colors.

Darter also apprehended these truths in the same way as Josefina – through natural senses – but he could not parse her words through the jumble of his own ardent juvenile thoughts.  Let me hold you forever.  Let me, please.

“Think of some tool you use every day.  A kitchen knife or a sewing needle or a farming machine, your oven or your washing machine.  Pick one and try to remember everything you can about the way it looks and feels and smells.  Take some time to make this sense of it as complete as you can.  Now…”

She kept on, trying to convince them as much as she was trying to convince herself that she could break through the limitations of their lives, could lead them into something like her own powers – or at least those of novices.  Josefina was not letting herself believe, and the students did not know, that without intuitive talent, or a great sacrifice, or a brutal crucible, it could take decades to learn how to move a single button.

Bugaster Mallor came into the room and said, “Everyone remain here until I return, please.  If you need food or drink, take it from the bar, or the guest suite.”  He smiled but his eyes were stern, and then he was gone for the stairs.

Josefina shook her head and said, “He has broken your concentration.  We should clear that up before we try again.  Does anyone know what that was about?  Can you translate for me?”

In stilted Corazono, Darter said, “There are Traders in town.  Bad people.”  It was a guess on his part, but a good one.  The only other possibility was another hellhound, or some kind of riot.

“Thank you, Darter.  Umbrifer, could you get more specific?  I don’t really get it.”

He smiled weakly with his little kitty teeth.  “The people that monopolize trade in this world are essentially bandits.  They extort what they want from villages like Alish, and unless they want worse things to happen, they just accept it.  If they don’t see a woman, they won’t ask for that as part of their protection ransom.”

“Fucking cops everywhere,” she muttered.  “Fucking cops.”

–
Bugaster Mallor asked Blasfemia to stay behind, but gathered the other toughs to go face the Traders.  Out in the streets, the snow glistened with a thin layer of late day melt, but was in no danger of disappearing.  Everyone had dropped their business and retreated into their homes, or come to stand in front of them, in that long practiced mixture of courage and deference.  Even the giant boxy robots stopped what they were doing and made themselves look small, to avoid appearing as a threat.

The Traders rolled in a great caravan of heavy wheeled vehicles, with smaller bikes and flying machines hanging from racks on the largest.  Every vehicle had railings and poles that the thugs could cling to, making their presence felt.  Their clothing were all weather-ready by necessity, but showed much more flair than those of the villagers, blending more materials of worlds beyond Borland, and elements of armor.  Everyone had laser rifles, grenades, plasma rifles, swords, knives, and was bristling with malice and pleasure.  Unlike cops from the Stars of Weal, there were some women in their number, though not many.

The lead vehicle ground to a halt and the rest followed suit.  It was a plain white thing lightly encrusted with ice and scored with wind erosion, boxy as a rudimentary fort on wheels.  No doubt the interior was more luxurious than the accommodations in the rest of the caravan.

Mallor stood with open arms and palms forward, demonstrating that he was unarmed and ready to do business.  A high side door opened on the wheeled fort, and the Trader leader jumped down from it, shiny black boots cutting into the snow where he tread.  The two men came together, trailed by their most trusted guards.

Traders only used Lenko among themselves, and this leader spoke easily in Borlante.  “Molloy, was it?”

“Mallor.  I remember you as well, Kottor?”  Mallor was looking memorable in black leather and silk with an overcoat of grey plush algae wool festooned with white ceramic scales, hoary brown hair and beard more neatly trimmed than anyone else in the village.

“You do remember me.”  Kottor wasn’t dressed any different from his people, except insofar as the patchwork was individual in the particulars of its elements.  He was the same age – even looked similar to Mallor – except with windburned cheeks and the scars of infighting among Traders.  He distinguished himself with a short white ceramic visor pulled low over his eyes, propped a sliver of a degree to allow for aggressive eye contact.  His own hair was a monstrous shag puffing out between the bands.

They shook hands.  Kottor made his demands before their gloves parted ways.  “These are very dangerous times now, Mallor, and the costs of protection have become accordingly high.”

“Not to say no, but what is this danger?”

“Don’t be coy, Bugaster.  It’s beneath your station, right?”

“You noticed our guns from afar.  We have seen a monster.  But still, that is all we know of it.  For the protection that we will purchase, would you please let me know what you know?”

“The Stars of Weal send hellhounds from the Ice.  It has happened before, at the edge of living memory.  Do your people have stories?”

“We are very remote.  Why do they do it?”

“To remind us of the terms of our relationship.  To keep us from daring the Ice.  You may have put it down, but they can return from the dead, these spirit creatures.”

“Then your generosity well pleases us.”

“As I’m certain your generosity will please us!  We will take our fill of food, drink, and fuel, and double the bricks we took last season.”

Mallor’s mouth was tight.  “A difficulty but we will make it work, to honor your hard work.”

Kottor made a surprisingly contrite expression.  “This isn’t idle greed.  The hellhound attacks are worse on larger settlements.  On our settlements.”

Good.  “I’m so sorry.  The hellhounds are quite hard to kill.”

“And I cannot wait to hear how you killed yours!”

“HES!,” a man on a tall pole cried in Lenko.  “Illa sideranav chikav au transavilam!”

“Or did your visitors do the killing for you?,” Kottor asked.

“I wouldn’t presume to speak for them.”

“They dodged our spaceports, Mallor.”

“If they had the bravery to cross long space, my first inclination is to offer them the same deference I offer to Traders.  If you have business with them, that’s yours.”

Kottor stepped close to Mallor and laid a strong hand on his shoulder.  “I would see them.”

Mallor put a hand on Kottor’s wrist.  “I’ll let them know.  Meanwhile, please avail yourself of the tavern.”

The Trader lowered his hand, but both knew this visit was off to a bad start.

–
The tavern was boisterous with strangers, and strangers alone.  Even the most alcoholic villagers cleared out, leaving only the servers and a few toughs to try whatever intervention they could, should they be attacked.  Traders waited for hot food to be served, numbing their tongues first with alcohol.

Mallor came with Carr, Kabel, Umbrifer, and Blasfemia.  The crowd pulled back enough that they could all get a look, and quieted down.  Clearly, none of them had seen anything quite like Umbrifer before.  Mallor took the lead and Kottor had the table cleared to accommodate the guests of honor.  The village toughs joined the Traders in the sidelines.  Mallor handed Kottor a computer.

“A small gift.  It can translate most simple things, less of the complex.”

Kottor grinned broadly at Blasfemia as he accepted the device.  Her face slackened as she picked up her own.  He said, “By God, you’re a vision.  And what is this creature?”

“Umbrifer,” it spoke for itself.  “A spirit on an unadvisable layover.  You are the famous Traders?”

“I’ll speak to you when I feel, creature.  Madam?”

“The corsario is Umbrifer, I’m me, and you’re telling me what this is all about, dude.”

Would the Trader thugs bristle at her attitude more if they could understand the words?  Their leader could only read them off the screen in his hand.  He said, “You are in violation of Borland 1’s laws.  All visiting starships are to moor at an official spaceport.  Living hand to mouth?”

She leaned back and loosely held her own computer near her face. “Yeah.  We’re broke, but you should know we’re fucking psycho.  Don’t test me with this shit, boss man.  Please.”

Umbrifer’s eye bugged at her words and its posture shrank, from unnaturally thin to comically so.

Kottor laughed.  “Alright.  Then answer a few questions and we’ll call that your moorage, for now.  Deal?”

She grinned beneath very dark eyes.  “You have us at your mercy, boss.  Fire away.”

Mallor’s eyes flicked from screen to Kottor to Blafemia and back, his body stiff as a board.

“What is your name?”

She wouldn’t have lied if the question wasn’t so pointed, but, “Ursula.  And you?”

“Kottor.  Where did you get this creature?”

“I hijacked its ship, but it likes me, so I let it stick around.  You come from the astrocielo, right Umbrifer?”

“I come from the astrocielo.”

Kottor continued.  “You have something of the look of a Tanis 4 girl, but are too tall and strong.  And I don’t recognize your tongue, so by elimination…”

“Stars of Weal.”

“An enemy of your homeworld.  There are other creatures from your home on Borland 1 now.  You saw one.  The hellhound you killed?”

Blasfemia nodded.  “Yeah, it was me.  I get that you saw the ship and Mallor had to say we were here, but did he have to tell you everything we’ve done since we arrived?”  She cast a fierce glance at him before meeting Kottor’s eyes again.  Mallor shrugged.

“We knew it couldn’t be a mere villager.  He didn’t have to say a thing.  We’ve fought a few.  They’re infesting Borland 1.  How did you kill yours?”

“I told you I’m psycho.  Crushed it to death in my pussy, bitch.”

He laughed and slapped the table.  The onlookers couldn’t help but nervously join in.  “Good enough.  What class of ship is your transport?  Who made it?”

Umbrifer had to answer.  “She’s a living thing from the astrocielo.  I tamed her.  Please don’t bother her.  If you try to take parts she’ll just bleed and die.”

Kottor nodded.  “That’s normal in the Stars of Weal, isn’t it?  Out here all starships are machines.”

Umbrifer was pleased to be spoken to rather than about, but still terrified.  It nodded.

Blasfemia said, “Cool shit, boss.  Tell us about the weather next.”

“Understood, Psycho Ursula.  While we’re all under the bugaster’s hospitality, don’t be a stranger.”  He made a dismissive wave.

She stared at it for a moment, tempted by the bait, but remembered Josefina and bit her tongue.  She didn’t know if her sister’s new powers were any good against humans, and didn’t want to find out when outgunned five to one.  She turned from the Trader.  “Mallor, take us away.  Please.”

The bugaster stood, still carefully controlling every move to avoid any perception of weakness in front of the thugs, and escorted the aliens from the building.  Kabel and Carr watched their backs until they were gone.
–

The apprentice witches in the Mallor house had chosen to avail themselves of the food and drink, and were lounging in small groups chatting nervously about the Trader caravan.  Josefina spoonfed Ombonculita sweetened algae mousse, when Darter approached.  In his usual slim black clothes, a gentle and unassuming species of ghoul.  Pale grey daylight painted everyone with wet silver tiaras.

He said in rough Corazono, “You are kind to care for Ombonculita.  I love to watch; forgive me.”

She wrinkled her nose in confusion, and didn’t meet his gaze.  “Why wouldn’t I care for Ombonculita?”

He read off his computer, though he mostly understood the sentence.  “People say she will never be a person.  Not like a baby.”  She wasn’t looking at her own computer so he said it in Corazono, as best he could.

“If she is healthy and happy, it’s enough.  I don’t understand the problem everyone has with it.  She was made from my grandmother but is her own being.  If there was a person in Alish who was born unable to care for themself, always needing this kind of help, would your people let them die?”

“I am sorry.  They would not.  Maybe we see her like an autoslavo.  I am sorry.”

“Darter, I am sorry.  Please leave us alone.”

He nodded grimly and slunk away.  She wouldn’t say that to Umbrifer.  They should have so much in common.  Could he tell her?  Could she tell?  They were the only powerful intuitives in the village, and might be the only two on the continent.  Darter had never met another while he was alive.  Now he’d met one while dead, and that was going as well as if he was a rotten skeleton.

Josefina finished feeding the little goblin her slop, and wiped her chin with a wet rag.  Ombonculita resisted feebly, pawing at her arm with tiny human hands.  She smiled and gently squished her cheeks, kissing her on the forehead.  The homunculus made her strange wet half-laugh and defended herself playfully.

Josefina looked around at her students.  If one could miraculously awaken to even a modest supernatural talent, it would go a long way toward justifying the cost of the Leveret’s fuel.  But she just couldn’t imagine it.  She despaired, and hugged Ombonculita’s side with a single hand.

Mallor returned, with Blasfemia and Umbrifer.  He called everyone to attention, and Patria came to his side.  “Yes, the Traders are back.  It’s Kottor’s gang again, this time demanding double payment.  Not that it’s worth their price, but they have brought news.  That monster was from the Stars of Weal, and was a hellhound.  Many more are attacking Trader cities, so we should be prepared for another to come to us.

“That means Blasfemia’s lessons are cancelled while our fighters keep an eye on the Traders and the plains, but as the women and children are going to be spending more time indoors, there’s no reason Josefina’s lessons can’t continue.

“Lastly, they saw the Leveret, and we had to let them talk to her crew.  They’ve seen Umbrifer and Blasfemia but we made no mention of Josefina.  Blasfemia told them her name is Ursla, so that’s what we’ll call her.  Let’s keep their secrets safe, please, especially Josefina.  She’s a more gentle soul than her sister.”

Blasfemia had been following his speech on her phone and at the mention of the gentle soul, she smiled earnestly and clapped Mallor on the arm.  “Thanks, Mallor.”  She said it in Borlante, then the little group broke up, heading their own ways.  Blasfemia checked in with Josefina, while Umbrifer went to Darter.

“I’ve seen them now, Darter.  Your people.”  The weird spirit was cheerful at the change of pace in the sleepy village, whatever its trepidations about the danger, its body language was like that of an excited child.

Darter rolled his visible eyes and turned away.  “Not right now, Umbrifer.  I can’t.”

“Can’t what?  …Never mind, sorry.”  It backed away with palms in the air, then quickly turned, to let the boy sulk.  It didn’t understand his feelings, but this was an old lesson for it.  When a human says go away, go away.

Josefina still didn’t fully comprehend the nature of the situation with the Traders.  It just didn’t want to stick to her mind.  Something was bothering her, growing inside like a noise.  Blasfemia could see it on her face, her own smile fading as she came to her.

“Hermana, are you afraid of those punks out there?  You shouldn’t be.”

Ombonculita was clinging to her bosom and turned to make a furious expression at Blasfemia.  Blasfemia took an unconscious step back.  She’d never seen that face on the goblin before.

“Hey, is the ‘Culita alright?  She looks pissed.”

Josefina’s eyes had been distant, but came in from the mist to engage her sister one time.  “I’m not afraid.  We’re not afraid.”  Then she left.

Blasfemia covered her mouth and furrowed her brow deeply.

–