Later, after a carefully rationed meal from Rael’s supplies, I sat looking out over the mist-hung treetops, admiring the myriad stars of Acranam’s night sky. The occasional grunt and rustle from the forest below echoed into a deep peace. This momentary freedom, this solitude, slipped around my thoughts like a cooling ointment. I stretched back against the rock, relaxed enough to want to think. Was I any wiser concerning the Sira-that-had-been? Or her business here?
I itemized what I knew, marking each recollection with a poke into the moss by my feet. Rael called me a Chooser—as had Yihtor. The term meant nothing to me, I thought, then frowned; it had been important enough to them. Yihtor had been furious when he thought I wasn’t one, then placated when his probing reassured him I remained at least partially as he expected.
I paused to drink slowly from my canteen. Okay. So what was a Chooser? Someone who selected or chose something. What? Oh, yes. I felt my cheeks warm as I remembered what Rael said: a life-partner. That was clear enough. Yet Rael referred to this business of Choice as if it had nothing to do with me, but rather was decided by some ruling Council and, more puzzling, by this power in my mind.
I watched a shooting star trail across the night sky as the answers slid into place with a neatness that signified the truth, or at least a good part of it. What I thought of as an evil force, that darkness which menaced Morgan yet saved me from Yihtor—I couldn’t control it, not to any extent.
So I’d been right, in a way, to wonder if a mental disorder had led to my imprisonment among the Clan. Something inside, something a part of me, was capable of acting on its own. Those actions, not mine, were the source of the Clan’s concern.
Nice to have a clear goal, I decided, satisfied by my reasoning if not its result. I’d have to learn to control this force within me before I went back to my friends. Friends? Kin? I stabbed a finger into the moss, reaching the grit and rock beneath. How could I claim any connection to people I didn’t know?
A dark cloud drifted by and a face formed where the light of the rising moons brightened it to soft gray. I almost whispered his name, then stopped, overcome by a sudden agony of self-consciousness. A ridiculous reaction, considering how alone I was.
I hated being alone. Hated being away from him, the correction coming from some uncontrolled place in my mind. I ignored the words and almost the thought. I was used to fighting myself by now. And to winning.
So much for the romantic jungle hermitage—given that I was equal to the task of surviving away from civilization anyway. At least my ability on that score needn’t be tested for a while, I mused, one hand resting on the plump pack I’d stocked, was it only yesterday?
My shoulders were beginning to ache; the rock wall I was leaning against had grown cold. Reluctantly, I decided to withdraw inside to the warmth of Huido’s heating box for the night. I took one last look at the now cloudless sky, feeling just as empty and cold. I bit my lip until it hurt. I would not be controlled by some mindless force of instinct. I quivered with the effort to remain rational, calm, in command of myself. My hair stirred.
Stirred? I reached my hand cautiously upward only to snatch it back as a lock lifted softly to meet my fingers. Suddenly I was blinded by clouds of hair growing longer, lusher, vitalized by some life of its own.
I tried to contain the stuff into some kind of order, then ceased, helpless as hair wove itself about my fingers. Moments later, I found myself cautiously moving aside long strands which flowed with unfamiliar weight over and past my shoulders. By moons’ light, it was beautiful, glowing, with glints of deep gold.
Eventually, the stuff hung quiescent down to my waist, no longer crackling with life, at last behaving more like hair. But such hair! I stroked the heaviness of it with an almost guilty delight, distrustful of its origin.
When I finally settled beside Huido’s box for a hopefully uneventful sleep, I took some of my new hair in one hand and rubbed it slowly against my cheek, breathing its brand-new scent. My blocked memory seemed closer somehow. I almost caught hold of something vital, then hissed with frustration as the thought swirled out of reach and was gone again. Patience, I told myself sternly. The present was becoming more complicated than my past. Tomorrow would be soon enough to begin exploring the source of my problems.
Awake, I’d been careful not to let my thoughts stray toward dangerous territory. Asleep, and dreaming, though my mental barriers remained in place, the rest of my mind began to drift. I dreamed a face, imagined it smiling in welcome, and greeted it like a fool. Jason.
Only a dream, yet the face lost expression—hiding behind that mask of protective stillness Morgan could assume so easily. The eyes searched, but didn’t see me. Rael? Is that you? His lips were moving, but I couldn’t hear sound, only feel the words. Rael?
It’s Sira, I corrected him, strangely loath to be so mistaken, even in a dream. What was wrong with him? Are you all right?
Rael, come quickly—I was shocked when my sister’s face came into view alongside Morgan’s. She was looking at him with a question in her dark eyes, one hand lazily sweeping heavy black hair back over her shoulder. I stared at the picture formed by the two of them, tormented beyond reason yet unable to look away—to wake up—to refuse the vision or the pain it brought. Somehow I fought the blackness rising inside me. Somehow I kept still. Until at last, exhausted, I was able to open my eyes and erase the final dreadful image of Rael’s slender fingers on Morgan’s brow.
The sun was already up, sending fingers of dust-filled light into the back corners of Huido’s cave. I took a carelessly generous drink, then compounded my folly by pouring more of the canteen’s contents over my hot face.
It had been more than a dream, I told myself grimly. Less than real, perhaps, but with sufficient truth in it to make me think. My sister was everything I wasn’t— beautiful, mature, whole. Why shouldn’t Morgan be with her? Maybe even want her?
I shook my head to clear it, but couldn’t. The rational part of my brain was aghast at the depth of my jealousy. Who was I to presume I knew Morgan’s mind? And what about my sister? Surely Rael should be able to choose for herself.
Why had I used that word? The canteen dropped to the floor where the last of its contents poured out unheeded, darkening the sand of the cave floor. Choose. Chooser. The darkness buried deep within me had indeed made its Choice. I felt short of air as the inevitable reared up to confront me. Of course I was jealous of Rael. Or rather my power’s dark aspect knew jealousy. I remembered the compulsions I felt on the Fox, how I had been drawn to Morgan before I’d ever developed any true feelings for him. Jason Morgan, though he was mercifully unaware of it, had been chosen by that obscenity within me.
I spotted the now-empty canteen and picked it up absently—far more concerned with the implications of this latest revelation. What was I now, if this meant I’d made a choice? A Chooser—or some other Clan thing I didn’t know? Yihtor sensed something different about me, something he didn’t understand. What did it all mean to Morgan, who was, after all, Human and not Clan? Could I go to him safely or not?
My instant desire to go to Morgan was almost overpowering; the thought made my heart pound wildly and the blackness in me rise again.
No.
I gripped the strap of the canteen tightly, made myself think about another need. I was thirsty. I built up the thought of thirst until I could almost imagine my lips were dry. It was a relief to have my mind and body agree on something.
I could see the small stream from the cave, threading its glistening path along the base of the rocks and vanishing quickly under the forest canopy. The sun was bright, forcing me to narrow my eyes to slits, but it wasn’t high enough to produce the punishing heat so apparent in Yihtor’s stronghold.
It took all my attention to slide down the talus slope under some sort of control. With each step, my foot sank into pebbles and I slipped more than walked. Huido could never have made it without falling.
As I scrabbled at loose stone to slow my
headlong rush downward, something struck me from behind. The shock of the blow sent me flying all the way to the narrow streambed, scraping elbows and knees. I had time for a too-close glimpse of formidable claws and a drooling, fanged mouth before concentrating with frantic speed. I pushed . . .
. . . and sprawled on the cool earthen floor of the cave. I didn’t dare look outside. Such was the power of suggestion, my mouth was already feeling thick and dry. Once my nerves settled, I would have to try to reach the stream again. But next time I would step through the M’hir, Morgan’s blaster ready in my hand.
INTERLUDE
“Rael, come quickly!” Morgan’s voice was low-pitched, but with an underlying urgency that drew the Clanswoman to his side immediately.
“What’s wrong?”
“There’s something—someone—here. No,” a disgusted shake of his head, “whatever it was is gone now.”
Rael glanced around the small galley. They were alone, Barac taking his turn resting in Morgan’s cabin while Huido and Terk manned the controls. The ship was in low orbit around Acranam, sweeping from pole to pole. Rael returned her gaze to the Human, one brow raised curiously. “What did you feel?” Her fingers hovered over his forehead.
“My name—an unclear image. I thought at first it was you trying to contact me.”
Rael looked faintly insulted. “Why would I do that, Human?”
“Forgive me, Clanswoman.” Morgan chose to be amused, but on another level he was impatient. “Who else or what else could it have been?”
“You’d know Yihtor’s touch?”
“I’ll never forget it. It wasn’t him. And my shields are tight. How would he have found me?”
Rael chewed on a thought for a moment, her expression showing distaste. “Could it have been Sira?” she asked with obvious reluctance.
“It was very strange, faint. No, I don’t think so. I’d know Sira.”
“Do you really think you know my sister?” Rael’s smile was condescending.
“Do you?”
Rael bristled. “Of course. I’m her sister, and heart-kin as well.”
“And what does that matter? Sira barely remembers your face.” Morgan shrugged slightly. “I don’t mean any insult, Gentle Fem. The reality is that you and I know different Siras.” He pointed to the servo-kitchen. “Care for a drink? The selection’s fair, as I’m sure Barac’s discovered.”
The Clanswoman accepted graciously, but her dark eyes continued to smolder as she took a seat opposite Morgan. “One thing I want you to remember, Captain. Sira is Clan— not Human. All your dealings with her must be based on that fact.”
Morgan raised his mug in acknowledgment, but said firmly: “An accident of birth, Rael, one my Sira isn’t very pleased about.”
“And neither are you?”
Morgan examined his drink. Then he looked directly at her, his expression full of some emotion Rael couldn’t interpret. “What do you want me to say?”
“Nothing,” she answered, too quickly. “I shouldn’t have asked. No matter what else you are or have done, Captain Morgan, you’ve risked a great deal to help my sister. I want no reason to wish you harm.”
There was a quiet buzz from the com panel. Morgan rose, then turned to glance back down at Rael. “The scanners have found something worth looking at—if you’ll notify your cousin? I’ll be in the control room.”
With a troubled frown, Rael watched him go.
Chapter 27
I FOUGHT my hands, frustrated by the way they trembled and cramped instead of obeying me. This time I won, forcing them to tilt the canteen to my lips. I took a small sip, then made my fingers replace the cap and tighten it. I let the canteen fall on my chest and held it there, comforted by its weight.
My mind drifted more now, no matter how hard I tried to hold a thought. Most often, I forgot where I was, imagined myself on another world, dreamed of storm-driven sand. Afterward, I would wake to find my fingers bloodlessly tight on the canteen.
Shafts of weak sunlight peered into the cave: the afternoon of another day. Two days, I remembered, my thoughts tired and slow. Two? Or had it been more since I’d last looked outside, been able to stand and walk. The canteen was lighter and I was weaker. The fever was gone, for now.
Somehow, I’d held my mental shielding in place as tightly as I gripped my canteen. He was waiting, I knew, lurking outside the edges of my delirium, the worst nightmare of all. I used my dread of Yihtor for strength, having drained every other source long ago. Once or twice, I’d weakened and tried to go to Morgan, to call for help. But the fever had robbed me of that ability as well.
The tiny drink cleared my mind, a gift I didn’t appreciate. The trouble with thinking clearly was the icy certainty that I was going to die soon, here and alone. A tear I couldn’t afford chilled my cheek.
A sliver of sunlight flickered across the palm of my hand, quickly disappearing. I tried to quiet my breathing, groping for the blaster at my side. Whatever shadowed the cave entrance made no sound. When the ray of light returned an instant later, I let go of the heavy weapon with a small sigh. My eyelids drooped. I was so tired.
It started like a dream, but was more, I knew, even in my sleep. I was in a darkly paneled room, lit by floating portlights, their globes confined at varying heights by rope tethers. Artifacts were displayed on wooden pedestals placed near each light. The floor wasn’t even, rising in steplike layers, irregular in shape.
I wasn’t alone. A tall man part of me knew as my father was walking around the collection, examining each piece in turn, the only other life in this place of dead things. The jewelry here was no longer to be worn against warm skin but only looked at; the toys and treasured games no longer to be played with but merely dusted as necessary and observed.
There was another level of remembrance. I somehow knew that the objects’ order and arrangement in this place mattered. Some objects were given more prominent display than others, regardless of their apparent value.
There were family names with each object. I realized abruptly that I was looking at a genealogy, exhibited as belongings and organized to display each individual’s power in the M’hir. This was the Hall of Ancestors, my father’s most private sanctuary.
The intensity of light on each object varied. None were unlit, but some were illuminated more intensely, to capture the attention of a visitor. The brightest light shone on a small, ragged piece of fabric, embedded in a crystal that reflected a brilliant pattern over the entire room, claiming its supremacy over all.
Again a node of knowledge quietly coalesced. This scrap, so carefully preserved, was all that remained of the personal effects of my great-grandmother, First Chosen of the House of S’udlaat, the leader of the M’hiray during the Stratification. The words were hollow, someone else’s history, no longer mine. Yet I knew the brilliant illumination was the more accurate remembrance of her, the scrap of cloth only its anchor. Sira Morgan, that part of me, felt warmed by the thought of being able to name an ancestor, could imagine the gentle touch of a grandmother’s hand. Another part of me knew simply a fierce and possessive pride in her power.
This was a place I had come to often, though I hadn’t particularly cared about old things. But why?
I think I slipped from memory into delirium again, deeper than before, losing any answers that might have escaped the blockage in my mind. In my delirium, I heard voices, an incomprehensible chatter. Motion followed: at first jarring so that I muttered in protest, later smooth and almost lulling. There was a coolness, a spreading relief from the fever’s burn.
I woke to find my latest fever-ridden dreams had been the truth. The cave was gone. I was curled between smooth sheets in a room which looked depressingly familiar. Two highly placed windows filtered sunlight, softly illuminating a bedroom better furnished than Morgan’s prison, but I’d little doubt its function was the same. Yihtor had found me after all.
“How do you feel?” asked a female voice.
I turned my head
on the pillows, frowning as I tried without success to identify the woman standing beside my bed. Spiderwebs of age lurked in the corners of her eyes and mouth. Her hair was piled above her head in a complex structure, as if trying to add some height. She was still short. I disliked her instantly. “Where am I?” I asked.
A small, wise smile appeared, giving her face a faintly crafty look. “Caraat Town, Fem di Sarc. Capital of Acranam. The Lord Yihtor has graciously extended his hospitality to you.”
I sat up, pleased to discover no lingering dizziness, feeling better every second. “Tell Yihtor I’ve no intention of accepting anything of his, offered graciously or otherwise.”
The old woman chuckled. “What do your intentions matter, child of Jarad? My son and I have waited far too long for you.” She scowled. There was something disturbing about the look in her eyes as they swept over me. “I hope we’ve not waited in vain. For whom have you Commenced, girl? It had best be for my son.”
“Commenced?” The word meant something, something vastly important. Ignoring her, I flung myself from the bed, rather surprised at my strength, and hurried to the mirror on one wall. Yihtor’s mother came and stood at my shoulder, an unwelcome witness to my first look at the change which had taken place.
My body was gone.
At least, the thin, angular one I used to wash and dress was gone. In its place was a figure that rounded the plain white shift I wore into unfamiliar curves. My face—I moved my fingers incredulously over soft skin which was no longer sallow or scarred but which glowed with life. I touched my lips, tracing their fullness. Only my outrageous hair was unimpressed by the changeling I faced, tumbling in heavy red-gold to frame a face transformed from gaunt to radiant health. “I was sick—” I began, more to myself than to the leering figure at my side.
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