“I promise—by my love for you, Jason Morgan,” I said finally, bowing to his need, hiding my grief that this moment and those words were stripped of the joy they deserved. “Tell me.”
“There are two incisions on your body, Sira, sealed with medplas, just below your ribs,” Morgan said with brutal directness. “From what I know of your physiology, that’s where your—reproductive organs would be located.” He stopped. For a moment, all I could hear was the pounding of blood in my head. “They’re long cuts, Sira. Precise. They look deep as hell.” Morgan’s voice trailed away slowly, the pressure of his grip crushing my fingers; at the same instant I felt an inflow of his strength, an easing of pain.
“The Clan Council.” I’d renounced their power over me, their right to dictate my future, when I’d Chosen Morgan over my own kind. I hadn’t been fool enough to believe they’d accept my Choice. But this? “Am I sterile?” I asked after what seemed like a century or so, my mouth so dry the words hurt.
“I don’t know. I’ve tried to sense the damage. I can’t—” This last with a familiar frustration. Morgan always refused to accept the limits of his healing gift. He went on, “That was never their aim before. Why now?”
I looked at him, feeling my cheeks burn. “Because they feared I would complete the Joining. That we would—If it were possible for us to—” I stopped, completely unable to bring words to the thwarted desire still senselessly pounding through my body.
“Simpler to kill me, don’t you think?” Morgan countered without visible emotion. “I was lying there, completely at their mercy. No. I’m betting they took what they wanted. Wouldn’t it suit the Council’s goals to produce your offspring engineered to their requirements? Even better, to grow new Siras guaranteed to have your power?”
He was speaking nonsense. “It’s forbidden!” I protested, cautiously flexing my body to isolate the pain, to confirm for myself its location. “Even if someone dared—the Clan does not have that kind of knowledge or technology.”
His eyes bored into mine, their blue as hard and cold as aeons-old ice. “Knowledge is a commodity. A thing forbidden merely becomes—expensive.”
What if it were true? I stared at Morgan’s beaten and bruised face, trying to sort thoughts that raced in wild tangents. Then, slowly, piecemeal at first, I felt myself hardening, my thoughts coming together in a burning focus. It thrust aside all emotions save one: rage.
I looked into the face of my love and saw, Ossirus forgive me, only the weapon I had been unconsciously forging over the past year. A weapon ready for use.
“Recover what was stolen from me, Jason Morgan,” I said through lips that were numb. “Seek them wherever they hide. As you love me—”
Our minds locked in one awesome moment of empathy; we were one being, dark and purposeful. Allowed inside his shields, I flooded his mind with my rage, shocked for an instant by the overwhelming response of his own.
As if aiming a beam of dreadful energy at my enemies, I pushed . . .
. . . and wrenched my thoughts out of Morgan’s as he materialized in the control room of his ship, the Silver Fox. My eyes opened, blind to the sunlight streaming into the hut.
It was done.
As I lay there, hearing a chaos of voices and footsteps approaching, I realized my most familiar nightmare had just come true.
I was alone.
INTERLUDE
The crew? Untrustworthy.
Whether this conclusion was accurate or not, the lone figure sitting aloof from the frenzy on the bridge of the starship nodded his head at the thought, quite content to view all who were not his kind—and most who were—with distrust. It was usually justified, as Faitlen di Parth, Second Level Adept and Councillor of the Clan, knew.
The crew was also incompetent. What he had expected, considering the amount of local currency which had changed hands and other varied appendages, was an efficient, well-run ship. The task was simply to take care of the mundane detail of moving his group and their precious cargo quickly yet discreetly from this fringe-hole of a system. Faitlen rubbed his long, slender fingers against the fabric of his cloak, trying to rid them of their clammy moisture. It was unseemly to rely on aliens like this. He hadn’t thought it potentially disastrous.
“Port Jellies are yammering about something, Captain,” a voice shouted above the general din.
At this, a relative hush fell as the six Denebians turned as one to look at their passenger. “I thought you’d taken care of Pocular’s Port Authority,” growled the Captain, a large and florid-faced Human, his small, bloodshot eyes watering in one of the characteristic downs of ysa-smoke addiction. “We don’t need trouble—”
Trouble? Faitlen sneered to himself. If he didn’t need their revoltingly slow ship to keep his journey secret from those who Watched the M’hir, he’d show these pathetic Humans what trouble could be. Still, he didn’t require further inconvenience. “I remind you, Captain, you’ve been paid enough to compensate for any—difficulties.” He considered the problem for a moment. “Continue on your posted course,” he ordered. “I’ll speak to—”
Anything the Clansman might have said was swallowed in the shrieking of the proximity klaxon. The crew scrambled to their seats, triggering holding fields with disquieting speed. Faitlen followed suit, fumbling once with the control, then feeling the reassuring grip pulling him deeper into the bench. He assumed those below were as prepared.
“Most likely some rec-sat or debris in an unmarked orbit,” the navigator tossed over her shoulder. “These fringe worlds aren’t known for their record keeping. Nothing to touch this ship—” She paused. “Mind you, Enforcers don’t have to post a course.”
Faitlen thought it entirely predictable this was the moment when the alarm screamed again in torment and all the lights went dark.
Streams of profanity located the crew. Just as the Clansman readied himself to leave the ship, deserting all aboard without hesitation, the lights returned and fields relaxed. The Captain’s shouting into the com turned abruptly conciliatory. “Here’s the confirmation of our course, Constable.” A pause. “No. No problems with Port Authority.” Another pause. “Tourists.”
When the Captain leaned back, wiping the sweat from his forehead with one arm, Faitlen asked, “Well?”
The Denebian turned and glowered at his passenger. “Maybe you’re not paying us enough to play bump and run with an Enforcer patrol. They were lurking out here, dark to scans, probably waiting to snag a poacher. That was close, hear me? They could have easily taken it into their heads to search us. I don’t know what you’ve got below, and I’m not asking, right? But nothing about this deal says we take the fall if you’re running Trade Pact contraband.”
“Trust me, Captain,” he said calmly. “They would not have thought to board this ship.” Faitlen allowed his power to swell outward, sending a flare of pain against the Human’s mind, observing the resulting parade of shock, fear, and loathing on the being’s face with clinical interest. “And you have been paid enough.”
Chapter 8
“SHOULD she be doing that?” Rael’s question, pointedly addressed to Withren, was intended to provoke me. I ignored her, concentrating instead on the novel problem of walking without using the muscles of my abdomen. Finally. I leaned against the doorframe, back to my watchers, and was rewarded for my efforts with my first look at the outside world since last night.
There was no evidence of disaster in the peaceful scene greeting my eyes. Nothing remained of the happy preparations made for the village feast either. Villagers walked by, some carrying bundles, others with babies underfoot or riding on the Poculan version of a hip. Regardless of their age or business, voices were hushed, eyes glancing my way with a new furtiveness.
And why not? I asked myself grimly. It was my fault—the deaths, and more. My fingers dug into the thatch-wrapped wood as I strained again to reach Morgan. It hardly mattered if Rael witnessed this, too; she’d entered the hut behind Morgan, an intrusion neither of us had been in an
y condition to notice, and had seen what I would never have shared otherwise.
A bead of sweat stung my eye, and I began to shudder with the dual effort of fighting the pain lancing up from my abdomen and summoning the strength to concentrate in the M’hir. Morgan! I sent, driving forth his name with more desperation than power. Dimly, almost imagined, I sensed the golden glow he carried with him; between us was the impenetrable shielding I’d trained him to raise in battle.
Spent, I fought to hold myself upright, consoling myself that Morgan was safe, if not within my reach. Horhy nuzzled his/ her/its? prickly snout against my ear, accurately sensing my mood. My hair was the creature’s preferred roosting spot, a position which offended Rael’s Clan sensibilities. I could feel her hovering behind me, the M’hir between us full of concern warring with frustration. There was something else there, too, but I was not inclined to search deeper.
But I was inclined to get help before falling flat on my face in front of the entire village, I decided, glancing back at my sister. “Rael?” She hastened to my side, wrapping her arm carefully around my shoulders to half-carry me to the seat Withren indicated.
“Time to eat, Lady Witch,” the headwoman announced, her thin face more weary than grim. I touched her thoughts briefly, very lightly, encountering the core of firm loyalty to me, “her witch,” underlying her thoughts. Here was one who felt she had failed me, rather than the other way around. My thanks for the meal Withren placed on the table before me were perhaps more deeply meant than she realized.
Before I could take a bite, however, Horhy jumped down to land with its two front feet accurately pinning the piece of meat on my plate. Glazed, slightly protruding eyes glared up at me warily but with determination. Rael winced and even I felt a little queasy as those tiny, sharp claws dug in and held, its body beginning to puff in threat. Withren, showing less than respect for a creature her people were convinced harbored the spirits of past tribal elders, snatched up the plate and dumped it, and its now-yammering rider, outside. “I’ll bring you another, Lady,” she promised as she went out the door.
Laughing was torture; I blinked tears from my eyes as I tried to resist the impulse. Rael reached one hand toward me, then left it poised in midair. “Please, Sira,” she said again, her dark eyes anguished. “Let me do something.”
Her power throbbed against what remained of mine, promising comfort and strength. Fully trained and powerful, Rael had the Talent to speed healing, an ability tied to an intimacy of mental touch I dared not allow—not while I remained so weak and vulnerable. “I’ll be fine,” I said, wishing futilely my voice sounded more convincing even to myself. “It’s blood loss and shock.”
“That’s not all that’s wrong.” She hesitated, chewing on a full lower lip for an instant. “If you won’t leave here or let me help, at least let me call Barac—”
“Oh, he’d love to see me like this,” I said without thinking, then flushed. She hadn’t mentioned our cousin until now, but his absence and her presence told me most of what I needed to know. “Forgive me, Rael,” I said, relenting before she had to reply. “That was—inappropriate.”
“True,” Rael agreed, suddenly absorbed in selecting a piece of fruit from a bowl on the low table. “Barac warned me you’d—changed.”
“Come now,” I chided, feeling every one of the years I had lived before this sister had been born, despite her reaching adulthood and Choice before me. “Surely Barac used a different word.”
“Given the circumstances, I’m hardly worried about a sud’s injured pride.” Rael had asked me no questions about what had happened. She didn’t need to, having, I was sure, plucked whatever Morgan and I hadn’t revealed to her from Withren’s thoughts. The minds of the Poculans were uncommonly accessible. Fodder for their witches and now for the Clan.
Her dark eyes rose to meet mine, uncertainty warring with something harder to decipher. A graceful gesture; a voice of quiet reason: “I understand what you did to Barac better than I do your remaining here, Sira. I understand it better than I do your Human abandoning you to these primitive—”
“Morgan,” I protested firmly, if faintly, “would never abandon me. You know that, Rael. And these people, primitive or not, have shown me far more goodwill than any others of recent memory. Morgan trusts them, and so do I.”
“Then where is he?”
“Where I sent him.” For an instant, my eyes saw nothing but a whirling darkness, then I refocused on Rael’s face with an effort. I studied her features: the strong cheekbones and delicate line of jaw so like our mother’s and unlike mine; the look of an aristocrat, accustomed to power and control, despite the tendency of her lips to quiver and her eyes to darken, as now, when distressed. Her lustrous black hair, longer tamed than mine, still seethed restlessly over her shoulders. A passionate Clanswoman, sure of her place and our kind, and, I knew, someone who would agree completely with my loosing Morgan against my enemies—regardless of the risk to his life.
More than agree, I said to myself, guarding the thought behind my own shields. Rael would see my actions as proof I was finally recovering my senses and returning to what I was born—a member of the Clan, the M’hiray. For my sake, she had tolerated Morgan and reluctantly accepted that my feelings for him existed. Equally, for my sake, she’d be overjoyed to think I’d use him, treat him as Clan had treated Humans since our species first met. If he died in my service, freeing me from Human contamination, so much the better.
Oh, I knew how she’d react, how any of them would. I shifted carefully in my seat, trying unsuccessfully to find a more comfortable spot among the blankets and my own thoughts. I knew exactly what it meant to be Clan, which was why I had chosen exile.
“Morgan will be back,” I stated out loud, before Rael said something I wouldn’t be able to forgive, no matter how true it might be.
Brief alarm in her eyes and thoughts, rippling the M’hir. In my weakness, I must have let some of my own emotions trickle through. Then she confused me, saying: “Soon, I trust.”
Her shields were in place; keeping out my emotions or keeping in her own? “You surprise me, Sister.”
“How so?” A too-innocent look from green eyes unused to secrecy. “You won’t listen to reason. Maybe you’ll listen to your Human and seek proper medical care. It’s the least he can do after last night.”
“You know what happened here, Rael,” I leaned forward, clutching my middle, feeling my hair lashing my cheeks. “Morgan saved my life—”
“Really? After endangering it!” The M’hir was locked from us both, but her anger was plain. “You’re right—I know what happened here. Do you?”
“I’m in no mood for riddles, Rael,” I warned her.
“Who knew you were here?” she snapped. “Who was supposed to protect you? Oh, I know how Morgan engaged in a drunken brawl, leaving you defenseless—distracted! How convenient! What was your Human paid for his service?”
All that saved Rael’s life in that moment was my weakness. I had no mercy, no compassion left in me, only blinding fury, but the power I could slam against her shields was barely enough to widen her eyes with pain and fear.
It was enough to open the smallest of cracks, to let me reach her mind and surface thoughts. I hadn’t intended such an invasion—I wasn’t sure what I’d intended, beyond striking back—but suddenly I was there.
Almost instantly, Rael thrust me out. We stared at one another, both breathing in heavy gasps. I found it hard to focus until I blinked fiercely, feeling hot moisture trail down my cheeks. What I read then on her expressive face wasn’t righteous indignation or anger—it was guilt.
“You aren’t here to see me, to help me,” I heard myself say incredulously. “You were sent to find out what lies between Morgan and me—to experiment on us—to learn how I controlled the Power-of-Choice. You came . . .” my voice failed me, then I knotted my hands into fists and found it again. “How dare you accuse Morgan! You came to steal what I wouldn’t give the Clan!”
>
“No! Ossirus as my witness, Sira. No!”
“Yes, Rael. Yes and yes!” I stood, somehow, staggering back, desperate to put more distance between us. “You want Morgan here so that you can take us both to the Council. A nice, tidy package. Well, I’ll never let you have him, do you hear me, Rael? Never!”
“Sira, wait!” Rael pleaded, standing and coming toward me. “Please listen. Read my thoughts. I’ll open to you. You’re wrong!”
There are moments when need transcends strength, when one reaches inward and finds what is necessary can be done after all, no matter the cost.
As Rael dropped her shields, driving her thoughts toward mine for whatever reason, I concentrated. She was quite capable of following where I went: her particular Talent, M’hir tasting, let her identify and track Clan power through that other space. But there were ways around it. With a whispered apology to Morgan as I broke at least part of my vow to him, I pushed . . . .
. . . and was adrift in utter darkness. Lines of brilliant power shimmered and crossed, enticing and beautiful. Most I’d created, spun during journeys on this world. Others traced well-worn routes between Morgan and me, as I’d sought out his presence in the M’hir to test and train his power. I held myself free of any of them, holding all I was together in the nothingness, holding until I began to fray at the edges and still I waited. My mind wandered, losing all fear, almost lost.
At the edge of my own existence, I saw—or imagined—a distant brilliance, a path once so wide and great its passing burned an echo in the M’hir itself. I lingered in this timeless place to wonder at it: had I stumbled across what remained from the exodus of the M’hiray, a legacy of that passage forged by the merged power of my kind? Or was there some other power out there—something unimaginable, something greater . . . ?
I caught myself thinning, dissolving, lured toward it.
Morgan . . .
His name became the only anchor left.
Ties of Power (Trade Pact Universe) Page 8