A Thousand Words For Stranger (10th Anniversary Edition)

by Julie E. Czerneda

  “Nonsense,” Fem Caraat said. “Though it’s as well for you the aircar pilot spotted your escape pod. Choosers aren’t expected to huddle alone in caves during Commencement, Sira di Sarc. It was a foolish thing to do. What if you’d been attacked by some animal?”

  I didn’t bother to answer; her concern was for her own plans, not for me. Instead, I surveyed my image more critically, looking at another stranger, though with features hauntingly like those I remembered. The gray eyes were still my own and held the confused puzzling in their depths I was certainly used to feeling. This change was something I should have expected, one part of my mind said matter-of-factly. But there was something very odd about the timing.

  “How do you feel?”

  Her self-centered solicitude was becoming annoying. I turned away from the mirror. “How should I feel?” I snapped. “First I almost die of fever, and now I’m a prisoner here.”

  A chuckle. “Well, you should feel marvelous, if memory serves me.”

  I stared at the old Clanswoman, unwilling to acknowledge she was right. Strength surged from my head to my toes; I felt alive in every part of my body. I had probably never felt as well in my entire life.

  But what truly mattered was inside. I concentrated, reaching for the M’hir.

  It was like pushing against a wall, a wall of some thick sticky substance that gave a bit then held firm. My shields worked, but my questing thought was effectively imprisoned within my head. I was ordinary again, I realized, and didn’t like it at all.

  I looked at Fem Caraat.

  She smiled cruelly. Her finger pointed to the bedside table. The small bottle with its accompanying syringe told the story all too well. “Roraqk’s drug,” I said. I’d have strangled her cheerfully if I thought it would do any good.

  “Actually, we supplied the pirate. The forests here provide us with many of our needs. So elegant, don’t you think? And much easier on all of us, my dear. You really wouldn’t want us to use other methods. Now tell me.” Her hand gripped my shoulder. “For whom have you Commenced?”

  I shook free. “You’ve no right to question me, old woman,” I answered coldly, while my thoughts were busy calculating chances, my eyes searching the doorless room for any possible aid. Of course, life would have been simpler had I known what she was talking about, but Yihtor’s mother was the last person to whom I’d admit any ignorance.

  Then, we were no longer alone. Yihtor stood beside his mother, his face tight and beaded with sweat. Fem Caraat whirled on him, hissing: “This is no place for you!”

  “Who tampered with her?” he demanded in a hoarse voice.

  My back stiffened. “Who hasn’t, Clansman?” I snapped.

  Fem Caraat waved her thin hand at me furiously. “Be quiet, girl.” Then to her son, “Go!”

  “How can she refuse me?” he said almost plaintively, looking down at the Clanswoman. “The Power-of-Choice burns in her—I can feel it. It calls me.”

  My own power was smothered by their drug, but I could feel a surging pressure I knew was Yihtor’s. His mother moved to stand directly between us, why, I wasn’t sure. Not that I wanted to refuse her surprising protection.

  “Be patient. The Joining will take place tonight before our guests—as planned.” She stressed the last word.

  This seemed to calm Yihtor. His green eyes lost some of their fire. “I can wait,” he said. “But no longer than tonight.” He disappeared.

  Immediately, the room seemed larger. Fem Caraat scowled at me and shook her head. “You are driving my poor son mad.” Then she grinned, the expression deepening the lines around her eyes. “As a Chooser should.”

  “I don’t know what you think you’re planning—”

  “Of course you do. And you should be honored that your magnificent power will be linked to that of the House of Caraat, as it always should have been.” She stepped toward me and I backed up involuntarily. “Did you think we wouldn’t find out what they planned for you? Did you think Yihtor wouldn’t have a watch on the Cloisters, waiting, spying, knowing eventually you’d come within his reach? Did you think we’d let them dump you on Auord, to be used for their plans, when you belong to my son?”

  Her breath was hot on my face as she moved nearer, crowding me. “Power,” she said in a grating whisper, talking more to herself than to me. “Power is everything, daughter of Jarad. Names, lives, the future—all that mattersis to gather power and use it. We left the Clan because the Council refused to grant my son the power he desired and deserved. Now he will have it.

  “Once we were a passionate people. Pairs sought each other because it was their destiny, not the dictates of a Council. They lived or died by their own natures. Tonight Caraat Town will see the return of passion as we celebrate the Joining of Caraat and Sarc. You will fulfill your destiny. You will Choose and Join with my son.”

  “You can’t impose Choice,” I said, sure of that much.

  “No, we can’t,” her agreement surprised me. “But my son hasn’t wasted his time, Chooser, waiting for you to come. He has prepared himself. He hunted out secrets, stripped the knowledge he needed from the best minds in the Pact. If you do not or cannot Choose him in the natural way of our kind,” she gave a little shrug, “that will be your end. But not ours.”

  “What are you saying?”

  Her next words rang against my ears like blows. “If necessary, Chooser, we will simply strip your mind to an empty and harmless husk. A waste, but don’t worry, your body and its potential will be well cared for.

  “After tonight, there will be a fruitful Joining between the House of Sarc and that of Caraat—whether you have a mind to notice it or not.”

  She chuckled again. “There are clothes in the cupboard in your size, Fem di Sarc. We’ve had a great deal of time, you know, to prepare for you.”

  Fem Caraat picked up her skirt and vanished, leaving an unpleasant feel to the air.

  INTERLUDE

  “There it is again. You’ll have to look close—it’s quick, all right.” Terk’s voice held none of its usual antagonism as he and Morgan crouched over the tiny screen. The copilot’s couch had given up trying to mold itself to accommodate Terk’s unusually broad shoulders. “There! Did you catch it?”

  Morgan looked at the Enforcer with respect. “How you found it, Russ, I’ll never know. Perhaps you’ve got some of the Talent yourself.”

  “It was just a case of scanning for flux using the C-978 meter, rather than steady—” Terk’s pleased explanation was cut off by the arrival of Barac and Rael.

  “Have you found Yihtor?” Barac’s hair was tousled from sleep. His resemblance to Sira was noticeable. “Well, did your gadgets work or not?” Barac demanded somewhat impatiently.

  Terk grew businesslike. “We’ve detected a large power source, Hom sud Sarc. Easily sixty quarats. Enough to supply a good-sized city.”

  “And well-disguised. I’d say we have him,” Morgan added.

  “Or he has us,” Huido mumbled darkly. “What’s to keep the Fox off Acranam’s screens?”

  Morgan’s smile was dangerous. “And what would Yihtor see? One small ship, most likely another smuggler or pirate seeking to sell or buy. If we know a code, we land, if we don’t, he blows us up on approach.”

  “Or destroys any unprotected telepathic mind he touches,” Barac’s face was equally grim. “As he did to Kurr before his ship penetrated the system.” The last was bitter and low.

  “Kurr was killed here?” Morgan repeated slowly, eyes darkening.

  Rael and Barac traded glances.

  “So you aren’t here looking for Sira,” Morgan accused coldly. “You’ve set her up as bait to lead you and the Trade Pact to this Clan renegade. You’ve been using her—”

  “No!” Barac denied fiercely. “I don’t know how Sira came into this—but it wasn’t anything I planned, believe me. I was coming to Acranam before I knew Sira was here; I was following Kurr’s last journey.” He paused and drew a steadying breath. “I didn’
t know Yihtor lived. Neither of us did until Rael learned of it from Sira, and felt him for herself. That crasnig has power enough to swat Kurr like an insect, and good reason to want to keep from the Council’s notice.”

  “However, our concern at this moment, Cousin, is Sira,” Rael interjected very quietly, her voice deliberate and calm. She raised her hand behind Barac’s head. Her fingers spread slowly. “What matters is ensuring her safety and well-being. She is your kin as well.”

  Morgan saw Barac close his eyes and wince, almost as if he fought to reject the soothing calm emanating from the Clanswoman. After a moment, he shuddered and relaxed, the emotion draining from his features, leaving them set and numb. “The renegade will concentrate his defenses at his own base,” he said. “His foremost defense will be himself.”

  Morgan’s thoughtful gaze touched each face. They waited, no one sure when or how Morgan had assumed leadership, but all aware of it. “Well, our weaponry is somewhat limited,” he said at last. “I suggest we pool our abilities, Barac. We’ll take Huido along, and leave Terk to mind the ship—”

  “I can’t go if Sira’s there!” Barac said, looking startled.

  “Barac!” hissed Rael. The Clansman subsided. There was a pregnant silence during which Morgan waited patiently, one brow slightly raised. “Our arrival will have the virtue of surprise,” Rael continued smoothly. “I think you overestimate Yihtor, Barac. Yihtor is, after all, one to our—three.” Her lovely features were hard. “And our combined power must be directed by me once we are ready to attack. If that’s acceptable to you, Captain?”

  Morgan bowed a silent acknowledgment, but his eyes were fixed on Barac. “It’s fine with me.” He stressed the last word.

  “Barac will come with us,” Rael countered quickly. Her look at her cousin was almost pleading. “He worries about old business. He makes too much of the matter.” The last was plainly a warning.

  Morgan’s face had assumed its inscrutable cast. His voice held a silken menace. “This old business wouldn’t have anything to do with a rather nasty job of blockage, would it, Barac?”

  The Clansman’s surprise was obvious. “Blockage? What are you accusing me of now, Human?”

  “Barac had nothing to do with Sira’s condition, Captain,” Rael said, suddenly wary. “He has neither the skill nor the power.”

  “Then what is he afraid of?”

  “What he fears is impossible.”

  “It’s not impossible,” Barac countered almost wildly. “You told me yourself that Sira—”

  “There’s nothing to tell.” Rael’s eyes flashed a warning. “Our time is being wasted with this.”

  “That’s for me to decide,” Morgan snapped. “Especially if I’m risking my neck with the pair of you. Barac?”

  Rael made an unladylike noise and vanished into air. Barac sighed and turned his dark eyes to Morgan’s relentless blue ones. “Leave us!” This to Huido and Terk. Neither moved until Morgan gave a terse nod. Once they left, Barac sat in the copilot’s couch and regarded Morgan with an unusual intentness.

  “So, Barac?” Morgan prompted.

  “As you’ve noticed, Morgan,” Barac said ruefully, “my cousin and I have a difference of opinion concerning Sira. It has to do with very private matters.”

  “Secrets become liabilities, Barac.”

  “I suppose.” The Clansman lifted his slim shoulders and let them drop. “When Sira arrived on Auord, she was in a state we refer to as stasis. Certain of us voluntarily submit to the process in order to travel in safety.”

  “Voluntarily?” Morgan’s eyes never left Barac’s. “Sira’s memories are almost totally suppressed—including most of her power. For God’s sake, she believed herself Human! And you’re telling me she submitted to this of her own free will?”

  “Yes.” Barac stopped, chewed his lip for a moment. “Perhaps,” he temporized. “It should have been her decision, but I can’t say for sure.” He gathered himself visibly. “Stasis isn’t meant to harm. Sira would never have been left alone. Choosers must be protected. That’s why I was with her on Auord.”

  “Choosers?” Morgan pounced on the unexpected word.

  Barac sighed and went on with a defeated shake of his head. “Our ways aren’t like yours, Morgan. The constraints of our lives differ probably as much as yours do from your shelled friend’s. For one thing, we of the M’hiray, the Clan, choose our life-partners in order to increase the power.”

  “Telepathy?” Morgan asked incredulously when Barac hesitated. “The Clan’s been selecting for power?”

  Barac frowned. “It is not something we decided, Morgan. You have touched the M’hir. Part of our unconscious selves is always there, mingling on some level with all other living Clan, as the air on your ship moves in and out of all our bodies. The M’hir is inseparable from the Clan; it gives us abilities and strengths your species needs machines to accomplish. But the M’hir has also been a curse to some.”

  “Sira.”

  Barac’s nod was heavy. “When our females are ready to mature, they are driven to search the M’hir for a mate—we call them Choosers.” A moment’s longing filled Barac’s voice. “Choosers assess the power of any unChosen male who comes near. But Joining, the life-pairing through the M’hir, is only possible with a mate of equal or superior strength. Lesser males—lose.” Another brief hesitation as Barac searched for the right words. “In my great-great-grandfather’s time, losing meant, at worst, loneliness. In the last few generations, as our Choosers have grown more powerful, losing has meant death.”

  “And you accept this.”

  “We’ve adjusted,” Barac said quickly. “We’re not barbarians, Morgan. The Council carefully selects candidates for the more powerful—the more deadly—Choosers. UnChosen males, myself included, are protected. I’ve no intention of dying at the mind of a stronger Chooser.” He scowled. “What other option did we have? Accept that to be weak and male was to die?”

  When Barac paused again, Morgan said with disbelief: “By finding equal or stronger partners for the Choosers, your Council just pushes the whole process further and faster. Is power all that matters to the Clan?”

  “It is status, wealth, and survival,” Barac’s voice was resigned. “Would you give yours up?”

  “The thought’s had appeal,” Morgan ran his fingers through his hair. “And more. But it’s part of what I am.”

  “Then imagine what it would be like to live among those who value it, practice it. Imagine growing up with the minds of friends in yours. Imagine a culture where every contact is based upon instant and mutual knowledge of power.”

  “And Sira? What was her place in that culture?”

  Barac’s dark eyes sparkled. “Many believe the peak of our evolution arrived with her. Sira is the jewel of our race, Morgan: the most powerful Chooser ever born. Powerful, desirable, and quite fatal. Fatal, because there hasn’t been a male born to match her. She’s an irresistible trap, both bait and poison to any unChosen male. Now do you understand why I don’t dare come near her?”

  Morgan tried to reconcile this image of Sira with the woman he knew and failed totally. “She was with you on Auord.”

  “Stasis temporarily dampens a Chooser’s mind. It’s only used if the Chooser must travel during the time of Choice.” Barac sighed. “I was shocked and flattered to learn Sira was coming to Auord and I was to be her escort. She’s quite famous among us, you realize, more like one of your entertainment vids than a person. So many years hidden, isolated—my mother would tell me about her.” Something in Morgan’s face prompted Barac to add quickly: “It wasn’t against her will.”

  Morgan seemed to be on the verge of an outburst, then closed his mouth and finally spoke in a slow, measured tone. “If the blockage, this stasis, of Sira’s mind protects you, I don’t understand why you’re afraid to meet her now. And why did Rael want to keep all this from me?”

  Barac shook his head. “Rael’s uncomfortable with you, Morgan. You’re Human, and,
well, it’s just not customary to talk about Choice and Joining.”

  “You’re doing it.”

  “I’m a First Scout. It’s my job to communicate with aliens.” He watched Morgan closely, almost smiling as the Human accepted the label without taking offense. “I can accept our similarities. Clan like Rael can’t. She needs to believe we’re different. But I think you’re the key to what’s happened to Sira.”

  “Me?” Had Morgan been less startled, he might have prevented the rising note to his voice. “Because I removed a bit of the blockage?”

  “Did you?” Barac shuddered. “Better you than me. No. You see, stasis is flexible, changeable. By its nature, stasis is an imposition—an artificial chain around the Chooser’s true nature. It can’t hold if the Chooser is kept near an unChosen male of suitable strength. Her power will strive to respond— and will, if the male can be touched. What I fear—and Rael won’t accept—is that Sira’s blocked power is responding to yours.”

  Barac waited for Morgan’s comment, then continued when none appeared forthcoming. “If I’m right, Sira’s stasis could already be seriously weakened or lost entirely. And if she’s now functioning as a Chooser, we may both need to fear her.”

  “What about Yihtor?” Barac could read nothing from Morgan’s expression. The Human had himself tightly back under control. “Why does he want Sira?”

  “Yihtor was tested by Council as a candidate for Sira, but was refused during final testing. The unChosen feel the need for Choice, too,” Barac’s voice went softer for a moment, caught by his own feelings. “You’ve seen insects fly to a flame? The power of a Chooser within the M’hir is like that to us. And the stronger the Chooser, the brighter the flame.” Barac blushed and continued. “Yihtor persisted. He tried to see Sira in person, despite the refusal, a breach of custom and law which disgraced his entire family.”

  Barac sighed heavily. “If Yihtor confronts Sira, and she’s now free of the stasis, we won’t have long to worry about him, anyway.”

  Morgan went over to the controls and checked them absently. His mind was elsewhere. “You’re assuming Yihtor will begin to play by the rules. Why?”