Mindtouch (The Dreamhealers 1)

by M. C. A. Hogarth

  Was he still sleeping? No, he thought not. Vasiht’h was in his room. And come to that, his dreams had been strange: a true nightmare this time, of serving as gardener in a place where the lush soil bore flowers that were already rotting as they pushed their way through the ground, and him powerless to change that, or to save them. And then a breeze had blown through that dream, and carried the sound of metal chimes and wooden clicking. Night had fallen and brought with it peace, along with a renewal of his sense of wonder and curiosity, the same traits that had brought him forth from his world in the first place.

  He could only surmise his roommate had divined his predicament and applied to him the same treatment they’d given the girls.

  Did that bother him, he wondered? He stretched his fingers, felt no memories that did not belong to him, excepting the dream-hazed impression of an alien night, and that one, like Vasiht’h’s presence, was unobtrusive and easily held apart from his own mind. Had the Glaseah touched him? Would he remember, given how understated Vasiht’h’s mental aura seemed to be?

  More importantly, what would he have done had he heard his roommate in extremis? And if his answer was ‘do something to help,’ then he could hardly fault Vasiht’h for the impulse. Particularly when he had succeeded, and so gently.

  This, he thought, was the Alliance, summarized in one bedroom: its mysteries, its temptations, its promise of loss. Jahir sighed, breath rippling the mounded sheet next to his face, and thought that he was not ready to give it up yet. He did not look forward to a repetition of the nightmare, though he thought it would not be the first until ultimately he came to a decision: to make his peace with what staying meant, or to turn his back on it.

  But in the mean, he had a savior to care for. He debated waking his roommate, but was not sure he could navigate the conversation that might ensue if he did. Instead, he rose and sat on the edge of the bed until he was sure his limbs were of an accord with him, and then he ghosted past Vasiht’h. He returned with pillows and the blanket from the Glaseah’s room and made him comfortable—carefully, but even so he brushed once or twice against the sleeping alien’s body. And again, he felt only the faintest of responses, as he had when they’d first met on the parking lot. What a wonder, he thought. To touch without punishment. He could grow accustomed to it, if he wasn’t careful.

  After settling the blanket over Vasiht’h’s back, Jahir returned to his own bed, and was only too glad to lie down. Whether his subconscious had decided it had delivered itself of its message, or whether the Glaseah’s presence deterred any more painful dreams, Jahir slept uneventfully, and was glad of it.

  On waking, Vasiht’h found a pillow under one of his forelegs, which was helpful, as were the ones bolstering his back. But he’d fallen asleep against the wall of Jahir’s room and that had kinked his spine badly. He grimaced and struggled upright, found a blanket draped over his lower body as well. He was not surprised to find the bed vacated, given the hours his roommate kept. But the sign that Jahir had also taken care of him…

  He pulled the blanket to his face and sighed into it, grateful that he had not given unpardonable offense. Then he squared his shoulders and went to look for his roommate, and face… whatever it was that had happened overnight.

  Finding Jahir sitting in the great room chair by the fire, sipping a cup of tea, didn’t surprise him. But having the Eldritch set the cup down and rise the moment he appeared did: almost as if he was someone important who needed formal greeting. He approached, hesitant, and stopped when Jahir went to one knee. His expression must have been eloquent, because his roommate smiled and said, “To put our heads on the level.”

  “Oh,” Vasiht’h said, weakly. “Right.”

  With his hands resting easily on his knee, Jahir said, quiet. “Thank you.”

  How could two words sound like a hundred? Maybe that’s how poets worked. Maybe they could all imply an entire night of unplanned intimacies with a handful of words. Bearing witness to someone’s nightmare and soothing it—that was intimacy, wasn’t it? It felt like it. Vasiht’h flipped his ears back and said, “I didn’t mean to push in on you like that, but you were… you made a noise. It was… you sounded like you were in trouble.”

  “I was, in my own way, and you helped,” Jahir said. He leaned back and fetched a second cup off the table and offered it. “The mint tisane you like. I hope I didn’t make it too strong.”

  Vasiht’h stared at the saucer, where he could see the edge of Jahir’s thumb—no glove there. He flattened his ears entirely and looked up at his roommate.

  “Go on,” Jahir said.

  “I’m a lot clumsier than you are,” Vasiht’h said. “What if I…”

  “Go on,” Jahir said, more gently.

  Biting his lip, Vasiht’h took the saucer, keeping his hand on the opposite side. He managed not to touch the Eldritch, but his hand was shaking badly enough that some of the tea sloshed over the side. Chagrined, he said, “Sorry.”

  “For that?” Jahir said. And then quieter, “For any of it? You should not be. I am telling you truly. Vasiht’h? Look at me?”

  Because he hadn’t been, he’d been looking very fixedly at the tea (which, if he judged the color correctly, was neither too strong nor too weak, but very close to exactly how he liked it). But he looked up, as asked, and found Jahir waiting there, patient. Eternal. He thought of Sehvi’s observation about him choosing to befriend someone who’d never leave and felt renewed chagrin… at that, and at the fact that he was trying to find some word to compare his roommate’s eyes to, and rather than something poetic, like a gemstone or… or a flower, or something else, he kept thinking of orange blossom honey. A clear, bright yellow, like… well, yes. Like honey.

  “What is it that you fear?” Jahir asked.

  “I barged into your room and inflicted myself on your dreaming mind without asking permission,” Vasiht’h said. “And then I fell asleep in your room with you, also without asking permission. Probably right in your path out, too, so you could trip on me…” He tried not to fidget. “I did a lot of imposing. I don’t want that to make things… less comfortable between us.”

  “Does this seem less comfortable to you?” Jahir asked, brows lifting. He sounded amused, but in a nice way.

  “You’re kneeling in front of me!” Vasiht’h exclaimed.

  Jahir did laugh then. “No, no. Kneeling is both knees. I have cause to know. Will it please you better if I sat again?”

  “Yes?” Vasiht’h said weakly.

  “Then I shall do so,” Jahir said. “But I meant what I said. I am grateful for your succor.”

  Vasiht’h had never heard that word outside of old books, and almost didn’t recognize it. He fidgeted with his tea while his roommate sat back down, then finally sipped and said, “This is perfect.”

  “Good,” Jahir said. “I had hoped. Breakfast, though, I did not touch, as I wasn’t sure when you’d wake and…” He trailed off and sighed before finishing with a quirk of a smile, “I had forgotten until just this moment that food can be held in stasis here indefinitely.”

  Vasiht’h blew out a breath, and all his awkwardness flew away with it. “Oh good. You’ve left me something to do.”

  “You do have a better hand with it,” Jahir said. “Though I hope I am at least a passable cook by now.”

  “You are, you are,” Vasiht’h said. “But it’s nice to know you’re not perfect at everything!”

  “Hardly,” the Eldritch said, shaking his head with that little motion that barely swayed his hair around his throat. “Hardly, alet. So, are we well?”

  “Yes,” Vasiht’h said. “If you’re sure.”

  “Not only am I sure, but I will tell you that, do you feel the necessity again in the future, you are more than welcome to do something about my nightmares,” Jahir said. “And perhaps, if you’re comfortable, you might grant me the same permission?”

  “Anytime,” Vasiht’h said, feeling better. “And now, I will make breakfast. Or we’ll be
late for lecture.”

  CHAPTER 15

  The letter from home arrived electronically, which did not surprise Jahir given what it cost to send packages across the Alliance, and even more what it would take for something to come from the otherwise unknown location of his homeworld. It was strange to see his mother’s handwriting floating above his desk, though, for all the world as if she’d written the missive on paper and then had it transferred. The juxtaposition of the technological with the archaic felt like too obvious a symbol of his dilemma.

  To My Beloved Son, Greetings:

  I am pleased to hear that you are settling well, and that you find your studies engaging. As you noted, there is a great deal to be learned from our allies, and by all means you must stay until you have had your fill. There is no pressing need to draw you back, and if there is, I shall be sure to tell you.

  Your thoughts on your stipend are generous and appropriate. I would follow your wishes if the money were my own, but it is not: rather what you have is a gift from the Queen, who would not have you lack for the funds to embark on any experience you might wish to have while outworld. You may attempt to return it to her, but I do not recommend it! Or if you find no use for it, keep it, and bring it home with you when you are ready to return.

  Matters here are very much the same as when you left. You will be glad to hear that Bright the Moon has delivered herself of a healthy foal, and he looks just like his dam. I know you had a special fondness for her and would want to know.

  With Much Love,

  Your Mother,

  J

  Jahir narrowed his eyes as he sat back in his chair. The Queen was nominally the head of his House: Seni was part of the Galare, and well thought of by the Queen but not, as far as he knew, one of her intimates… if Liolesa could be said to have any, other than her true-cousin, the head of House Jisiensire. That he should be receiving money directly from her made him a touch nervous, implying as it did that she was interested in his progress off-world.

  He sighed and closed the letter, opened his books. God and Lady knew what that would come to, if it came to anything. At some point, when his mother passed him the mantle, he would swear allegiance to Liolesa as one of the family heads within her House, but he had not expected to be of any note to her until then. Certainly he did not want power, or to invite trouble, as inevitably one might when closely linked to the throne and the woman who ruled from it despite those who would prefer otherwise. It would please a great many people to see Liolesa deposed, and to see her pro-Alliance notions gone with her.

  Blessings, he thought, and curses. And hopefully neither come to roost any time soon. He bent to his studies.

  “I’m ready for midwinter break,” Brett said that evening.

  “Two months,” Leina said. “We can last two months, right?”

  The five of them contemplated this over hot cider, pasties stuffed with meat and diced vegetables, and a cake. Vasiht’h wanted to call the latter a case of ambition, but he feared it was more an admission that the things he had to work through were now requiring several hours of effort rather than the half hour a batch of cookies would have warranted. “I’ll believe it when we get there,” he said. He refilled his cup. “Luci out tonight?”

  “Yeah,” Brett said. “She’s usually gone for some Harat-Shariin thing once a week, and said this week it happened to fall today.”

  “Some Harat-Shariin thing,” Jahir murmured.

  “Probably involves drunken orgies,” Leina said.

  Merashiinal huffed. “Too cold out for drunken orgies. For me, anyway. I miss a good strong sun on my backs.”

  “Speaking of which,” Brett said, “Are you going home for the break?”

  “Eh,” the Ciracaana said, stretching one of his hind legs. Vasiht’h envied him the height, but only until Mera bumped the wall with his paw. Very few cozy spaces were large enough for one of his species. “Too far to go for such a short visit. Instead I am going to the summer side of the world. Spend some time roaming the Spindle Tree National Park. With the wild animals and such.” He bared his teeth and added, “Rar, I am most dangerous.”

  Brett laughed. “You probably are. What about you, Leina?”

  “Oh, my parents will skin me if I don’t show up for the holidays,” Leina said, nibbling at the edge of her pasty. “We have a big to-do for Rispa’s Day, and we have friends over for the Order of the Universe too.”

  “There are two holidays at the end of the term?” Jahir asked.

  “There are a thousand holidays at the end of the term,” Brett said.

  Vasiht’h poked the Seersa with a spoon and said, “All the Pelted have their own winter celebrations, plus there’s the Order of the Universe, which is the Alliance-wide holiday.”

  “Yes, but… I imagine these are… not all celebrated at once? Or on this world?” Jahir asked, and then stopped, touching his brow with his fingers. “I think I have given myself a headache attempting to contemplate the logistics of a multi-world holiday system.”

  “You and everybody else,” Brett said with a guffaw. “No, no. On Seersana, winter’s weird because the end of winter is also the end of the calendar year. On some worlds it’s not. So here you get Rispa’s Day, which is the end of winter, and then New Year’s Day right after. And then because of the students here, a lot of them will celebrate their particular end-of-winter holidays during Seersana’s end-of-winter, rather than trying to figure out what time of year it is at home and celebrating it here off-season.”

  “I believe I understood that, God and Lady help me,” Jahir said. “And then… the Order of the Universe?”

  “Is the Alliance celebration of the end of the year and of all its member species,” Vasiht’h said. “It’s a list of all the major holidays of the Pelted. Every world finds their day and then schedules the other days in front of and behind it in the order given. So here, Rispa’s Day is the fulcrum, and then the rest of the holidays are strung out before and behind it. On worlds with homogeneous populations, the other holidays are basically just excuses to send letters or packages to friends. In places like this, where there are lots of other Pelted, the Order can feel like two weeks of solid parties.”

  “You should see the ones on Selnor,” Leina added, licking her fingers. “No one parties like the capital world. Plus, all the ships and starbases run on their schedule, so you can imagine the entire Fleet celebrating at the same time….”

  Jahir looked at Vasiht’h. “I beseech you to draw up some sort of schedule so I remember to wish the proper people the proper greeting on the proper day.”

  Vasiht’h laughed. “I’ll remind you. Really the only ones you have to observe are your own! And if you want, buy presents for everyone and give them to them when you see them.”

  “Most holidays involve presents,” Leina agreed.

  “Or cake,” Mera said, cutting himself a slice.

  “Or cake,” his roommate agreed, amused. “Or breads. Or cookies. Or pastries. Or feasts! Are we going to have another this year, Vasiht’h?”

  “Feast?” Vasiht’h said, and made a face. “I don’t know. I think this semester has chewed me up pretty well. But I could probably manage a bread.”

  “Like one of your mother’s,” Jahir said, surprising him.

  “Yes,” Vasiht’h said. And laughed. “You remembered that story?”

  “It was a good story,” Jahir said.

  “What story?” Brett asked. “Tell!”

  “It was nothing,” Vasiht’h said, smiling. “My mother’s attempts at feast bread, that’s all. Hopefully mine will be less lumpy.” He poked Brett. “Smaller slice, or it’ll fall apart over the edge of the serving knife.”

  “Ouch! What’s with the poking tonight?” Brett asked.

  “I just like poking you,” Vasiht’h said, and tried the cake himself. It was vanilla, with a more-almond cream between the layers, and a meringue frosting… he thought he’d done rather well. From the looks on everyone else’s faces, they th
ought so too. So well that they wheedled about the feast, and he actually said ‘yes,’ though Goddess knew where he’d find the energy.

  As usual, he and Jahir were the last to leave the meeting house; he boxed the remains of the cake and Jahir cleaned.

  “That was properly convivial,” Jahir said. “I cannot imagine what more celebration we would need for a holiday. Will you advise me, if there are customs I should know?”

  “Really the gift-giving is the only one that needs mentioning,” Vasiht’h said. “Mostly little things though, unless you’re on intimate terms with someone.” He took the box and said, “Ready?”

  “Let us,” Jahir said. “I find myself wanting a cup of coffee after your excellent dessert.”

  Vasiht’h licked his lips then said, “You know, that sounds perfect. I wonder what a coffee-flavored frosting would be like with the more-almond?”

  “Ah!” Jahir said, laughing. “You wish to reduce me to a sweet-laced torpor.”

  “Is that what you’re doing when you’re stretched out in front of the fire?” Vasiht’h asked, grinning. “Looking all languid?”

  “It is hardly my fault if your cooking is so sublime it requires contemplation,” Jahir said.

  This was, Vasiht’h thought, Eldritch teasing. It made the fur on his shoulders stand on end in pleasure, to know that he’d earned it. He padded into the kitchen from the back door… and froze.

  “You said I could come and talk any time,” Luci said from where she was curled up on their floor with her back against the wall. She wiped her eyes with the side of her hand and said, “Well, here I am.”

  “Luci!” Vasiht’h said, and crouched next to her.