Chapter 17 Tula
TULA
Tony stood in the center of the sparring mat, pale and sweating despite the air conditioning. Shira hovered as close as she could without actually entering the ring with him.
"He looks like he's about to throw up," Esag murmured.
Tula squeezed his hand. "He's nervous. Wouldn't you be?"
"I was, but it was a long time ago, and I was thirteen at the time, not a grown man. Still, I didn't let anyone see how scared I was."
"My hero," she said teasingly and leaned on his arm. "Not everyone is as brave as you are."
Tula wanted this to work, not just for Tony's sake, but for their son. He deserved a father who would be there forever, and not just for a few decades. A human lifespan was a blink of an eye compared to their son's.
Esag probably wasn't looking forward to Tony's immortality, referring to him as their three-body problem, a physics joke that wasn't entirely a joke. Tony was the father of her child, Esag was her mate, and the geometry was complicated.
Nevertheless, Esag came with her to the ceremony and was holding her hand. He was offering his support even though he might prefer Tony to stay human and eventually age out of the picture.
As Kian stepped forward, the crowd quieted.
"We are gathered here to present this fine young man to his elders.
Tony is ready to attempt his transformation.
In the short time he has been with us, he has proven his worth, helping Kaia and William in their research, and I'm sure he will contribute much more over the years to come.
Vouching for him are William, Kaia, and Guardian Yamanu.
Who volunteers to take on the burden of initiating Tony into his immortality? "
"I do," Yamanu announced.
Kian turned to Tony. "Tony, do you accept Guardian Yamanu as your initiator? As your mentor and protector, to honor him with your friendship, your respect, and your loyalty from now on?"
"I do."
"Very well." Kian turned to the crowd again. "Does anyone object to Tony becoming Yamanu's protégé?"
Silence.
"As everyone present agrees that it is a good match, let us seal it with a toast." Kian took a small paper cup filled with ceremonial wine from a tray his butler offered him, and then he waited until the butler had distributed cups to everyone else. "To Tony and Yamanu."
Tony emptied his cup in one go and put it back on the tray. Yamanu did the same, rolled his shoulders, and grinned at Tony. "Ready to dance, little brother?"
"I'm a terrible dancer."
"Then it's a good thing this isn't Dancing with the Stars." Yamanu began circling him slowly. "Come on, Tony. Show me what you've got."
Tony shifted his weight from foot to foot and raised his fists in what was probably supposed to be a fighting stance but looked more like a man trying to swat away a fly.
"Is that all you've got?" Yamanu teased. "You need to come at me and try to hit me."
"I'm trying."
"No, you're not. You're posing."
He was, and Tula felt embarrassed for him. Tony wasn't a fighter, and no one expected him to be, but even she could do better in a ring when prompted. Where were his survival instincts?
Tony threw a punch that was more like a dance move, then another, both slow, telegraphed, and utterly ineffective.
"Come on, Tony." Yamanu tried to sound encouraging, but his voice was edged with frustration. "I can't produce venom if you don't trigger my aggression. You need to make me think of you as a threat."
"But I'm not a threat. You could break me in half with your little finger."
"Then fake it. Pretend you're someone who could hurt me. Get angry."
Tony tried again. Another swing, another miss. His heart clearly wasn't in it.
This wasn't working. Tony was too much in his own head, too aware of the absurdity of trying to threaten a Guardian who was nearly twice his size and had centuries of combat experience.
He needed something else. Something to shake him out of his self-consciousness.
"Tony!" Tula called out. "Use your grandmother's curses!"
Every head in the room turned toward her.
Tony blinked. "What? They are Italian."
"I'll translate for Yamanu."
She had taught herself Italian, among many other languages, over the endless years in the harem. It wasn't as if there was much else to do.
Yamanu's grin widened. "I know a little Italian. Enough to understand juicy cussing."
"I don't want to offend you. My grandmother was very creative."
"Excellent. Hit me with your best shot, or should I say your worst?"
Tony hesitated. Then something shifted in his expression. A spark of mischief, maybe, or desperation. He squared his shoulders and let loose a string of Italian that made several people in the crowd gasp.
Tula covered her mouth to hide her giggling. She'd heard Tony recite some of his grandmother's more inventive profanity, and this was a pretty tame selection. It was something about Yamanu's father, a goat, and an act that was illegal in most countries.
Yamanu laughed. Then he responded in Italian, his accent surprisingly good, with a remark directed at Tony's grandmother that was equally insulting.
Tony's face went red.
"What did you say about my nonna?"
"I said she was probably very nice." Yamanu's grin was pure provocation. "For a woman who raised such a wimpy grandson."
"Take that back."
"Make me."
Tony lunged.
This time, there was real anger behind the movement. Not much skill, but genuine fury. He swung wildly, and Yamanu caught his arm, twisted, and used Tony's momentum to spin him around and toss him aside like a rag doll.
"That's better," Yamanu said. "Now do it again and prove that I'm wrong and you are not a wimp."
Tony's attack was clumsy and easily deflected, but the aggression was building. Yamanu kept taunting him, mixing Italian insults with English ones, questioning his courage, his manhood, his grandmother's cooking.
The last one was apparently a step too far.
Tony let out something between a roar and a scream and threw himself at Yamanu with everything he had. For one brief moment, Tula saw what he might have been if he'd grown up in an environment that encouraged that side of him. Tony had fire, but it was buried deep.
Yamanu caught him mid-lunge, lifted him off his feet, and slammed him face-down onto the mat. The impact drove the air from Tony's lungs in an audible whoosh.
Before Tony could recover, Yamanu was on top of him, one knee planted between his shoulder blades, pinning him in place. Tony struggled, but it was like watching a mouse try to escape a cat's paw.
Then Yamanu struck.
His head darted down, fangs extending, and he bit into the junction of Tony's neck and shoulder. Tony went rigid, then limp, a strangled sound escaping his throat.
The room went silent.
Tula stopped breathing.
This was the critical moment. Too much venom could kill Tony. Too little would not be enough to induce his transition. Yamanu had to find the perfect balance, and he had to do it by instinct alone.
Seconds stretched into eternity. Tula counted heartbeats, hers and probably Esag's too. The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on.
Yamanu's jaw was still locked on Tony's neck.
Come on. Come on, come on, come on.
Esag tightened his hand around hers, and the small gesture gave her strength, reminding her that he was there for her, and in a way for Tony as well.
She appreciated that tremendously. Esag had every reason to be at least ambivalent about Tony's transition. A human Tony would not last long as a vertex of their complicated triangle. An immortal Tony would be around forever, a permanent presence in their lives.
But Esag was here, holding her hand, silently hoping for the best outcome for her because he knew it mattered to her. Because he was a good person in ways she was still discovering five thousand years after misjudging him.
Finally, Yamanu retracted his fangs.
He sat back on his heels, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and turned to the crowd with a thumb up.
The room erupted.
Tula sagged against Esag, relief flooding through her. Around them, people were cheering and clapping. Yamanu stood and took a theatrical bow, playing to the crowd like the showman he was.
Shira ducked under the rope and dropped to her knees beside Tony, who lay motionless on the mat. She gathered his head into her lap, brushing sweat-damp hair from his forehead, and murmuring something that Tula couldn't hear above the noise of the crowd.
As Shira cradled Tony's head, there was tenderness and care there. Whatever was developing between them, it was real.
Good. Tony needed someone to take care of him. He didn't know how to be alone, and Shira seemed good for him.
The minutes ticked by. Conversations resumed at a lower volume, with people milling around, refreshing their drinks, and picking at the food on the tables, all the while glancing toward the mat where Tony lay unconscious.
Then his eyes fluttered open.
"Wha..." He blinked up at Shira's face hovering over him. "Am I dead?"
"No, you idiot." Shira's voice was thick. "You're just trippy."
"I feel weird."
"It's the venom. It'll wear off."
"I don't want it to wear off." Tony tried to sit up, failed, and flopped back down. "Everything is very... floaty."
Yamanu crouched beside him. "How do you feel? Besides floaty?"
"Like I got hit by a truck and then the truck apologized by giving me really good drugs." Tony's words were slurred but coherent. "That was... wow. Is it always like that?"
"The first bite is always the most intense."
"Can I get more? I mean not now, but later. Maybe tomorrow?"
Yamanu laughed. "That depends on how well you learn to fight. I don't go around biting just anyone, you know."
Tony's face fell into an exaggerated pout. "But I'm your little brother."
"Yes, you are, which means I'm not going to bite you."
"Then I'm probably never getting another one."
"That's right." Yamanu's grin turned wicked. "When you transition, your job will be to give those fabulous venom trips to Shira every night or whenever she wants them."
The crowd erupted in hoots and cheers. Someone wolf-whistled, and some offered helpful suggestions that made even Tula blush.
Shira, on the other hand, didn't seem embarrassed at all. She just smiled and smoothed Tony's hair back from his forehead. "One step at a time. You need to transition first."
"I like the sound of that plan," Tony mumbled. "The every night part, I mean. Not the transition part. Well, also the transition part. I like all the parts."
After a few more minutes, Shira got Tony to his feet. He swayed like a sapling in the wind, but he stayed upright. Kaia and William helped steady him and get him over the rope.
"Let's get you to bed," Shira said.
"Bed sounds good."
People crowded around to wish him well, to pat his shoulder, to offer congratulations that were technically premature but felt earned anyway. Tony had done his part. Now his body had to do the rest.
"He'll transition," Esag said.
"You think so?"
"I have a good feeling about it."
She looked up at him. "You want him to transition?"
Esag shrugged. "I want you to be happy. And you want him to be around for your child. So yes, I want him to transition."
They stayed for another hour, mingling with friends, accepting congratulations as if they were the ones who had accomplished something.
Tamira and Elias stopped by to chat. The other harem ladies circulated through the crowd, more comfortable in social settings than Tula had ever seen them, and she let herself drift, soaking in the warmth of community.
This was what she had missed for five thousand years. Not just freedom, though that was part of it, but a sense of belonging.
Tula sent a silent prayer to the Fates. Please let Tony transition. Let him be there for our child.
The Fates didn't answer.
But then, they never did. They just wove their threads and let mortals and immortals alike stumble along, hoping they were heading in the right direction.