Dangerous Talents

by Frankie Robertson

  Sorn broke the awkward silence. “We’re just sorry that you’re…Talentless.”

  “You’re new to Alfheim. Your Talent could still Emerge,” Fender suggested.

  Dahleven knew that was unlikely, but he didn’t gainsay Fender. Talent Emerged during puberty, not in well-grown adults. “It’s rare among us that a child fails to develop Talent,” Dahleven added gently. It generally meant pitying glances and ostracism.

  Understanding broke over Lady Celia’s features. She removed her hand from Sorn’s grasp. “You mean it’s like a deformity to be without Talent, don’t you? From your point of view, I’m not quite whole.”

  All conversation had ceased. Falsom froze, still standing. No one spoke.

  “Well, I’ve never had a talent, and until I got here I never knew anyone who did, so I don’t miss it. In fact, people who claim to have unusual abilities like that are considered a little flaky where I come from, so it’s not a problem for me. And, no offense, but while your Talents are handy, they hardly seem essential.”

  Dahleven said nothing. No one else did either; there was nothing to say. Many people coped with their shortcomings by viewing them as unimportant. No good would come of persuading the Lady otherwise.

  “You said some among your people have unusual abilities?” Sorn asked.

  “So some of your people do have Talent?” Fendrikanin joined in.

  “A few people claim they can move small objects without touching them, or see things that are far away with their minds, but they can’t always get it to work when they want it to. Most people are pretty skeptical about that sort of thing.”

  “It sounds like Talent is rare among your people,” Dahleven said.

  “Maybe. But if it doesn’t work consistently, what good is it?”

  “Our Talents are consistent.” Dahleven spoke softly but firmly. He wanted Lady Celia to be clear on this point. He didn’t want her thinking of them with the same distrust she obviously had for the Talented among her own people. Maybe they deserved that doubt. He and his men did not.

  Lady Celia was thoughtful for a moment. “Do you all have only one?”

  Dahleven nodded. “One is enough.”

  “What are they? If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “Pathfinding,” Dahleven said.

  From Sorn: “I’m a Cat Foot.”

  She nodded, understanding his unusually silent movement now.

  “Water Finding,” Fendrikanin said softly.

  “Heimdal’s Sight.” Falsom finally sat down.

  Lady Celia looked confused. “What’s that?”

  “Like Heimdal, I can see things at great distance.”

  “Oh. And Ghav’s Talent has something to do with healing, doesn’t it?” Lady Celia looked around for the healer. “Pain. You stop pain, don’t you? That’s why you were upset when you thought I was hurting. You were afraid your Talent wasn’t working.”

  Talentless or not, Dahleven admired her quick understanding.

  “You’ve so recently arrived,” Ghav said. “It’s possible my Talent might have had no effect on you, but the lack of your response still would have distressed me.”

  Lady Celia nodded. “Yes, of course.”

  They fell silent again. Ghav was right to silence me out there, Dahleven thought. He’d been thinking ill of her for looking like a lady and dressing like a—what? A sex thrall? The lady Celia, however, kept the pace like a soldier, without complaint, and faced the truth without flinching from it. She might be Talentless, but his criticism was out of place, even if her lack of clothing was a hazard to her well-being and a distraction to his concentration.

  Sorn again broke the tension. “Now that you know about our Talents, tell us about yourself.”

  Not for the first time, Dahleven thanked the weavings of the Fates for Sorn’s presence, as his friend redirected the conversation with instinctive empathy.

  A wicked twinkle glinted in Lady Celia’s eye. “I’ve been an emergency response operator for three years and a supervisor for two. I like pizza, hiking at dawn, and my favorite color is green.”

  There was a perfect pause, then Fendrikanin hooted his laughter.

  Sorn touched his forehead in mock salute. Then he asked, “What’s ‘pizza?’“

  Lady Celia’s eyes widened and she put a hand on Sorn’s. “You’ve never had pizza? No, I guess you wouldn’t.” She smiled. “It’s wonderful! You put meat and onions and cheese and mushrooms and spicy tomato sauce on thin bread and bake it. I’ll make you some, sometime.”

  Dahleven wished she’d offered to cook for him, then crushed the thought. “Tell us of your home and family. Your life there must be very different.”

  Lady Celia looked at him as though she were surprised he could be civil. Well, he supposed he’d earned that.

  “It is different. I live in a valley full of people—about a million of them. We have cars and planes and television. Of course we also have car accidents, gunshot wounds, and heart attacks.” Her mouth twisted into a sour moue on the last few words.

  Dahleven didn’t recognize all of her words, but he understood what she left unsaid. She missed her home, but she hadn’t been happy.

  “And your family?” Sorn prompted.

  “There isn’t much to tell.” Lady Celia’s eyes dimmed a little as she looked off to the side. “My mother died two years ago after a long illness. My cousins live on the other side of the country, so I hardly know them. The family pretty much shunned my mother after she met my dad. She didn’t have much use for them either. I share a house with my best friend, Elaine.” Lady Celia’s eyes came alive again. “Poor Elaine! She’ll be out of her mind with worry.”

  “And your father?” Fendrikanin asked.

  “My father was never part of the picture. He took off before I was born. Mom raised me on her own.”

  “He deserted a woman bearing his child?” Kep burst out.

  Dahleven felt the same, but he kept his flare of outrage and disgust under control, wishing young Kep had more restraint.

  The lady shrugged. “It happens. I never suffered for it. Mom saw to that.”

  “Your mother sounds like a remarkable woman. I wish I could have had the honor of knowing her.” Sorn said.

  Lady Celia smiled at him.

  Score another one for Sorn.

  *

  Lord Dahleven set an easier pace for the afternoon’s leg, and Cele found herself wondering about the world she’d fallen into and worrying about the one she’d left behind.

  She didn’t like being regarded as defective.

  Apparently, everyone here had something called a Talent. What it was—psychic ability or whatever—she didn’t know, but not having one marked her a cripple. Talent-challenged. Well, she was fine without one. They’d just have to get over it.

  Elaine would have called Search and Rescue nearly two days ago. Cele hated to think of them climbing the hills, searching for her to no good purpose. How long would they look before they called off the search? How many days would she be featured on the evening news, with the anchor solemnly intoning, “…and still no sign of the missing woman”?

  In a month, I’ll be a face on a milk carton.

  Would she still be here in a month? A year? Would she ever get home? And if she did, how would she explain where she’d been? What explanation could she offer that didn’t sound crazy? No one believed Dorothy, either.

  Maybe it would be like in the fairy tales. She’d get home and find that no time had passed at all. Or maybe she’d be a real, live Rumplestiltskin, and twenty years would have flown by in a night.

  Dahleven looked back at Sorn and gestured for him to come forward. Sorn jogged past her to join him. The gray-eyed leader had surprised her. He’d been brusque to the point of rudeness this morning, and he’d made her feel like she was walking around half clothed. But then in the cave he’d been civil, nice even.

  Sorn was another matter entirely. His kindness kept this wacked-out weirdness from getting
to her. She wished she could introduce him to Elaine. Her roomie would love him. A flare of embarrassment made Cele roll her eyes. She sounded like a sister, trying to fix up her brother with her best friend. From the sound of things, Sorn didn’t need another sister.

  Cele looked ahead to where he walked with Dahleven. Sorn had a runner’s build: lean and wiry. His dark brown hair just touched his shoulders. He’d be perfect for Elaine. Dahleven’s muscular frame was more to her own taste. His broad shoulders tapered down in a classic “V” to a narrow waist. Dahleven might be confusing and annoying, but he did have a really nice ass.

  *

  “Do you believe her tale?” Dahleven asked without preamble, when Sorn joined him. “Is she truly ignorant of Talent and all the rest?”

  Though Sorn was younger by two years, Dahleven had always trusted his opinion. Even when they were boys, Sorn saw through the mess that obscured most complex questions. And, his romantic life notwithstanding, Sorn understood women. Something Dahleven, as most men, didn’t even try to lay claim to.

  “Yes, I believe her. And so do you. That’s what scares you. Lady Celia’s presence is an omen of change.”

  “Indeed.” Dahleven gave Sorn a tight, lopsided smile. “How did she get here? Who brought her?”

  Sorn shook his head, his own worry showing in the tightness around his eyes. “Whether it was the gods or a Great Talent, the Lady is here unwilling. She deserves some consideration for that, no matter which way that wind blows.”

  Dahleven looked over at Sorn. His friend raised his eyebrows in gentle challenge, as if to say, You know I’m right.

  Dahleven inclined his head, silently acknowledging the criticism. Then he grinned. “That’s why I put you in charge of her, Sorn. I don’t have time to coddle a lady right now, but I know she’ll be safe in your care.”

  Sorn rolled his eyes and shook his head. “It’s easy duty. She’s pleasant and funny and proud and honest. You’d know that for yourself if you did more than growl at her.”

  “I’ve noticed.” He wasn’t blind and deaf. He’d noticed, all right. He’d noticed that Lady Celia’s green eyes flashed like razor-edged emeralds at him, but softened like a meadow on a spring day when she looked at Sorn. He’d noticed she had a distracting shapeliness and an honest character to be admired. He’d noticed it would be too easy to spend time thinking about touching her instead of getting his men home safely.

  Dahleven jerked his head. “You’d best get back to her.”

  *

  Cele trudged onward as the sun dropped lower in the sky. At least her feet didn’t hurt much anymore, since Ghav had slathered her blisters with his ointment. The terrain opened up a bit and then the footing became soft, as Dahleven led them through a dry wash. Steep banks rose to either side, though a tumble of large boulders had broken from the right, narrowing their path for a short way. Sorn turned and waited for her. Fendrikanin passed him. She was nearly even with Sorn when his head jerked up and his attention focused on the hills to Cele’s left.

  Then all hell broke loose.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  An arrow whizzed by Cele’s left cheek just as Falsom’s shout, “Tewas!” cut off abruptly.

  The next instant Sorn pushed her between two boulders and a thorn bush. “Stay there!”

  The rock scraped Cele’s shoulder and knees. Screams and shouts of battle surrounded her, piercing like the thorns clawing at her back. An arrow skittered off the rock above her head and rebounded into the tangled branches of the thornbush.

  She had only a narrow view of the fight—mostly of Sorn’s back as he lunged and danced away from his opponent’s attack. Dahleven’s voice rose above the chaos. “Back against the banks! Into the rocks!”

  Ululating cries rose from several places on the wash’s banks above them. Hair rose on Cele’s arms and the back of her neck and her hands felt clammy. No battle cry in the movies compared to hearing one first hand.

  Cele craned her neck, trying to see what was happening. The thornbush at her back stuck sharply into her shoulder and scraped her cheek. She flinched back, ducking her head again. Over the pounding of her heart, she heard metal ring in a quick slide across stone, and a sharp Crack! of splitting wood. Grunts of painful effort joined thudding footfalls, adding to the din as the second group of Dahleven’s men joined the fray.

  The gut-wrenching cries of pain made her skin feel too tight. She’d heard terrible things over the phone lines as an emergency response operator. She’d listened to people in pain and danger, even people dying, but nothing compared to this. Men screamed and fought only two feet from where she stood, wedged between two rocks.

  With a shout of effort, Sorn pushed his opponent back to the left and out of her field of view. Then, from the right, a brown-skinned warrior with a bladed club rushed at him. Sorn couldn’t see his danger.

  “No!” Cele’ reacted without thought, surging from between the rocks. The warrior was side-on to her, his club raised and ready to come down on Sorn’s head, when her snap-kick connected with his knee.

  The enemy warrior shrieked and collapsed on the sand. Sorn turned at her shout, but he didn’t thank her for saving his life. His eyes widened and he pushed her back toward the rocks as he faced another foe coming close behind the first. The new opponent didn’t have time to check his momentum in the soft sand. He seemed to fold almost gracefully over Sorn’s blade. Sorn shifted his weight, trying to turn back to the bloody enemy he’d left behind him. But the deep sand betrayed Sorn, shifting beneath his feet. The warrior’s bladed club caught him full in the belly.

  “No!” Cele swept up Sorn’s fallen sword with both hands and lunged at Sorn’s attacker. The blade was horrendously heavy, but her horror and anger gave her strength. He looked surprised when the steel sliced the side of his neck, but he dodged backward, knocking the sword out of her hands with his club.

  She was going to die.

  Then Fender was there and his blade was between the warrior’s ribs.

  The fight ended abruptly. One moment the clangor of battle surrounded her, a moment later all she heard was the pounding of her heart in her ears. She fell to her knees beside Sorn.

  An instant of silence was broken by Dahleven’s voice. “Halsten, find out what happened to Falsom. Knut, up on the banks. Keep your eyes sharp. Fender, see to Lady Celia.”

  Despite the warning, Cele jumped when a hand touched her arm and pulled her to her feet. Fendrikanin grasped her tightly by the shoulders, turned her this way and that, looking her over.

  “She’s unharmed,” he said over his shoulder.

  Cele pulled away from his grasp, intent on getting to Sorn’s crumpled form, and Fender let her go. She took a step, then her vision narrowed. Black dots danced in her eyes. The young warrior caught her as she started to topple. He pulled her aside to sit on an outcropping.

  Too much adrenaline, a fuzzy part of her mind observed. She put her head between her knees and closed her eyes. That made it worse, giving her the sensation that the rock was turning beneath her. Cele opened her eyes again and stared at the sand between her feet, the sounds of death echoing in her mind.

  Her head cleared enough to let her sit up, but her stomach churned. Cele clamped her jaw tightly, taking shallow breaths, refusing to throw up. She hated feeling weak.

  Cele’s awareness of her surroundings returned slowly at first as she noticed the small, immediate things. The rock she sat on was warm. There was a fine grit in the hollow where her hand rested. The edge of the rock was sharp.

  Abruptly, the rest of the world snapped into focus with awful clarity. Lindimer was binding Kepliner’s arm. Knut stood above the wash, tense and alert. Five men with dusky skin and black hair lay dead, face down in the sand.

  The dead men were dressed in leather leggings and sleeveless shirts, details she hadn’t noticed during the frenzy of danger. Their limbs sprawled at odd angles. Blood soaked the sand beneath the nearer one. The one Sorn had saved her from. Cele looked away.
/>   “Better now?” Fender asked, his voice sounding oddly thick.

  She nodded, unable to speak. Only a few steps away, Dahleven knelt by Sorn while Ghav examined his wound.

  Sorn! Cele stood and found her legs surprisingly steady. Moving to Dahleven’s side, she asked, “Can I help?”

  “Good, you’ve got your wits back.” Dahleven rose. His voice was rough and he had a bloody scrape on his neck and a pinched look in his eyes. “Yes, you can help.” He cleared his throat. “Ask Ghav what to do. We must move, and quickly, and it will be hard on Sorn. Ghav may have his hands full with all of us tonight; the Renegades sometimes foul their claws.”

  “And so saying, you should be cleaning that hide of yours,” Ghav said. “Come here, Lady Celia, and I’ll teach you the ways of tending a belly wound.”

  Dahleven took a step back, making room for Cele. He looked at Sorn a moment longer with a tight expression, then straightened and walked away.

  Sorn’s clothing was ripped and drenched with blood, more blood than she’d ever seen before. This was her fault. If she hadn’t shouted, Sorn wouldn’t have been distracted. He wouldn’t have been vulnerable. He wouldn’t have seen that third warrior, either. One of them would have killed him. Or her. But guilt and doubt still choked her.

  “Lady Celia?” Ghav’s voice jerked her attention back to the bloody scene before her.

  Self-recrimination wouldn’t help Sorn. Cele forced her thoughts into professional mode, wrapping herself in calm detachment. Her medical knowledge consisted of first aid training and what she’d learned from flipping through the medical flowcharts while on the phone with panicked callers. Nevertheless, she knew that the smell rising from Sorn’s wound meant his bowel had been perforated, and that was bad news. Very bad news. He needs surgery and antibiotics. She wanted a cell phone and a Medevac helicopter.

  “Lady Celia.” Sorn’s voice was tight with pain.

  “I’m here.” She knelt and took his hand, her professional detachment cracking. His touch released too many feelings.