Halfblood Journey

by Rheaume, Laura

  After Scythe dropped him off, he had endured an hour and a half interrogation that began when he walked through the door and ended when he shut the bathroom door on them. Then Heron had taken extra long in the thoroughly invigorating and highly appreciated shower. Although he was yearning to take the nap that was calling to him like a siren, he had to take care of one very important piece of business first. So he took a deep breath and two aspirin and returned to the second family room. He was relieved to find that his mother, a few of his han-nas and four cousins had left their review of his tragic misadventure to entertain themselves with their plans for another member of his okin.

  One of the older cousins was reading to the smaller children on some pillows by the window; the story was a family favorite that he had heard in just that way many times and he smiled at the dramatic gestures his cousin added to enliven it.

  On the other side of the large room, his mother held court with the other women, no doubt making the family decisions that she would later convince her husband were his inventions. Two of his sisters were playing a strategy game at one of the small tables. He noticed his kiryoku sleeping in a hammock just outside the garden doors.

  He stood politely at the door for a moment until his mother noticed him and called, “Our son! Come and see what we have planned for your cousin’s apprenticeship.”

  “He won’t like it,” his han-na guessed, snickering. “It is a step or two on the wrong side of the line.”

  “Hush, let him hear and give us his advice,” his mother commanded, cutting through the air sharply with her hand. Then she waved impatiently for Heron to move faster to her side. “We have found a fine position under the cellist Winseg.”

  “He did not complete the classical training, nor did he have a reputable master,” Heron noted. “I am sure you could find someone of a higher caliber…”

  “I told you!”

  “...but I like his music. Without a doubt, she’ll learn a great deal about improvisation, since that is one of his specialties; it is a notable weakness of many of the great masters. I think she will do well under him.” He shrugged, “It suits her personality better than the strict regimen of someone like Jul, don’t you think?”

  “You’ve been researching?” one of her elder cousins asked, her face mirroring the surprise of rest of the women.

  “Well, it is difficult to fail to notice that Nimia continues to age with each year…”

  “The mouth on that boy!” his cousin laughed.

  “...but her impatience with rigidity hasn’t waned at all since she was three, so I would say that Winseg is a good choice.”

  “And you didn’t want him to take an apprenticeship outside of the city,” his kiryoku called from under his hat.

  “The birds are squawking, someone close the doors,” ordered his mother. She turned a thoughtful eye on Heron, “It is a good answer, son. Well done.”

  “Truly, you have grown, Heron,” his aunt said proudly, “but don’t spout nonsense. You don’t remember what Nimia was like at three! You were a babe yourself.”

  He grinned in the face of their amusement, “She didn’t like to sit still, she wanted to mix her food together, instead of eating each type separately like we all did, and she kept rearranging other children’s toys in the storage bins.”

  After a stunned second, they cheered and applauded, and his aunt said, deferring to him with a lowering of her head, “I don’t know how you remember that, but well done. Not a bad memory for a five year old.”

  Actually, there was an old family portrait in the hall in which Nimia was a noticeable exception among the traditional, tightly self-contained poses, she had been mixing up her food like that for years, and he only remembered about the toys because he was fanatical about having them in their place. However, that didn’t make his responses any less valid. He did know Nimia well and wanted her to develop her love for music in a way that was conducive to her creative, curious personality.

  “It seems that your wild apprenticeship, which I still maintain was a disaster, served you well in some ways,” commented his cousin. “You are stronger, Heron.”

  “Thank you,” he bowed. “Mother, I have some guests coming. I thought they should stay in the atrium rooms. Would that be acceptable to you?” Not long ago, he would have asked her permission to invite people into their home. It wouldn’t have occurred to him to just tell her, but, for some reason, now it seemed natural to him.

  The change was not lost on his mother, who raised her eyebrows at her sister before answering, “That would be fine, as long as it is not too long. We have your uncle and his family coming in two weeks.” She leveled a stare at him, “What guests, our son?”

  “Acquaintances of mine from my recent return trip. There are some Humans from the border patrol and...a member of the Scere L’Hedeler.”

  “What under the canopy of heaven?”

  Twenty minutes later, he had done what he could: secured rooms and made agreements...more like legal contracts, but with penalties more terrifying than any the authorities could contrive...with his family to keep his word to Scythe.

  It had been that promise which had helped the negotiations with his mother a great deal. He told her flatly, “I told him that I would do this for him, and I intend to.” After that, she had been mostly amenable and even defended him to his aunt. Most importantly, since she had approved it, she would be the one to explain it to his father.

  Since he had expected them to arrive the same night, he had grown increasingly more concerned when they didn’t arrive or send word. Although he had concluded that their plans must have changed and they didn’t require his assistance, he couldn’t shake the feeling that they must have met with some trouble, especially after the rebel attack on the city; a failure to appear without notifying him did not match with his assessment of either Scythe or Ian. Now, if it had been Mercy alone, he wouldn’t have been surprised in the least, but he expected more civilized behavior from the others.

  So he had turned to his work to corral his wild thoughts and keep himself from recognizing the small sting of disappointment that the cancelled visit surprised him with.

  “Nearly all rebels have been accounted for; the majority are deceased and the rest are in custody...we’ve just heard word that the King will make a statement today after he meets with his advisors and a representative of each of the Families…”

  His mother had forbidden discussion of the rebels in the family room for obvious reasons, so he had the television in his office on but turned down low so that he could follow the events of the previous night. As far as he could tell, the general Kin reaction was nearly identical to what he had seen in his home. People were less outraged than shocked that such a thing was even possible; many suspected Kin manipulation of the rebels, since the accepted belief was that Humans lacked the skills and mental aptitude to orchestrate something that effective; Human capacity for violence was, however, never in doubt. It was common knowledge that they were little more than animals.

  His perspective skewed by his recent experiences, Heron frowned at comments and assumptions that he wouldn’t have blinked at just months before. He caught himself loosening muscles in his back and neck that he hadn’t realized were being held so tightly.

  It was hard to know if it was a developing, unexpected sympathy for Humans or the imminent arrival of his kiryoku that had him on edge. His uncle’s planned visit had been moved forward since he was one of the Family representatives that would be meeting with the King, assuming he could make it to Quo Ire in time. A strong leader who had shepherded the family for as long as Heron remembered, he was the most respected of his okin and someone that Heron was expected to emulate. He had staunchly opposed Heron’s unorthodox apprenticeship in the borderlands, however, and Heron knew that an unpleasant meeting waited for him as soon as the man arrived.

  He looked up from the quarterly financial report of one of the lesser holdings he had been given responsibility for when he turne
d thirteen and nodded to the servant who was hovering by the door.

  “Heron, there are...guests here to see you,” the man said.

  “Thank you, Usher.” He left his work spread across his desk and made his way to the entrance, keeping an eye out for all of those he knew would be watching.

  In the foyer, he greeted Scythe, Mercy and Ian.

  He was surprised at how badly they all looked, especially Scythe, who had several bruises and cuts, and Mercy, who was walking as if she had a broken rib. “What happened? Here, let me help you. I can bring you a chair, Mercy…”

  “I’m fine, thanks Heron,” she said.

  He frowned disapprovingly at her because it was obvious from the way she held herself that she was suffering. He couldn’t believe it; she was barely in the door and she had already started annoying him.

  “Have you been checked by a physician?”

  “Not yet. Do you think you could find one?” Ian asked, smiling.

  “I can do it, or I could contact my cousin,” he offered.

  “Why don’t you take a look first, Heron, thanks,” Scythe said.

  He had expected the entire team, so he asked about the others as he led them to the wing of the house that contained the majority of the guest rooms, “Is this your entire party?”

  “Yes, I released Orin and he returned to regular duty with the Scere, and Jin is transferring back to the border patrol. He heads out tomorrow. Temper, of course, lives here in the City. She is on another assignment already.”

  “And the others?”

  Their faces told him that it was bad even before Scythe spoke, “Summer was captured and badly treated last night by the terrorists; she was unconscious when we found her. Right now, she is in the hospital recovering. Steven was mistaken for a terrorist and killed by the authorities.”

  Heron felt the weight that they carried settle over him, “I am terribly sorry. The loss is shared by all who traveled together. Is there anything I can do for the families?”

  “I don’t know,” Scythe answered. “If there is, I will inform you.”

  “Thank you.”

  They walked silently after that until they reached the atrium, a large, round, glass domed conservatory that opened to the garden on one side. An intricately designed, high archway across from the entrance led to the guest rooms. It was by far his favorite room, with an impressive variety of unusual plants growing throughout and dotted with small sets of tables and chairs that made little private retreats. In a house that was always full of people, it was sometimes beneficial to have a little hideaway, and Heron had always found his in the atrium.

  “Here are your rooms,” he told them from the hall, enjoying the way they stood, staring up at the etched glass ceiling far above them and around at the beautiful, fragrant flowers that surrounded them. He directed them into a very short corridor with two rooms on each side and one at the end. He indicated the room to his right. “I hope this is satisfactory. Scythe, this is your room, and Ian and Mercy are in the large room at the end.”

  “This is perfect, thank you,” Mercy said, giving him another one of her direct stares and smiling at him again; her warm words fell a little short of their usual enthusiasm.

  “Come, let’s look at you,” he said, looking down the hall and gesturing at their rooms. He wanted to see what was under the heavy jacket she hunched inside of.

  They walked through the sitting room and into one of the two bedrooms. Mercy sat down gingerly on the bench at the end of the large bed and, with the help of Scythe and her father, pulled off the jacket. Heron forgot himself and gaped openly at the torn shirt, the vest and the two tiny, silver colored beads that were embedded in it.

  He didn’t even have words for it.

  She would have been killed by either one of the bullets.

  His stare traveled to Scythe first, and then Ian, carrying the accusation that he couldn’t manage to suppress, despite his years of training.

  The halfblood stood stiffly and accepted it, and Heron could tell that Scythe carried the blame close. Ian continued to help his daughter with the vest, probably keeping busy so he wouldn’t have to deal with it. Heron had read and later noticed that Humans needed to do that sometimes.

  He felt the doctor in him returning, shook his head and got down to business. “Let’s get her a shirt,” Heron suggested. “Something that buttons in the front.”

  Scythe found one in her bag and they turned their backs while Ian helped get the vest all the way off and get her shirt on. Behind him, little gasps and other tiny sounds told him that he was going to need to order a pain reliever that was stronger than what he had in the house. When they turned around, Heron politely ignored her tears and concentrated on examining her injuries. The ribs were heavily bruised and one might have had a small fracture, but other than that, there seemed to be no injury to the internal organs. He left and returned with tape and bound the chest, which gave her some relief, as well as some mild pain killers that would have to do for the time being. She accepted them gratefully.

  “Would it be okay...If I take a bath or something?” Mercy asked. “Maybe just a sponge bath?”

  “Sure, honey,” Ian said quickly when Heron nodded. “You’ll have to be careful though. Maybe I should help you?”

  “I could have my little sister come help, if you like,” Heron offered.

  “No, that’s okay. I think I’ll be fine.”

  Scythe rolled his eyes and shook his head; she somehow managed to ignored him and rebuff him with the same expression.

  They looked like they needed some privacy and maybe four days of rest, so he said, “Perhaps everyone would like some time to get settled? Let me show you how to contact me on the com display.”

  After that, Heron left them to find that one of his usual spots in the atrium was already occupied by his little sister Cersset.

  “Hello, han-na,” he said, taking a seat across from her. “Spying?”

  “No. The Kin have no use for spying.” It was a common expression that indicated that, aside from the fact that people of character had nothing to hide, they would never stoop to such a self-degrading activity. It was something everyone said when it applied, but ignored when it didn’t. He thought that the nine year old was getting close to having to learn some harsh truths. But, he thought to himself, leaning back in the wicker chair and stretching out his feet, not today.

  “Hm, so you were…?”

  “Waiting for you. You always come here. I do too, but I like that one.” She pointed to another group of chairs that was completely overshadowed by some large palms. Sitting there made him feel like he was inside a cave or a primitive house. He smiled. He really liked to sit there, too.

  “Waiting for me. Well, here I am,” he prompted.

  “Heron,” she began, drawing out the word and raising the pitch of her voice so that he knew she was going to ask nicely at first, but was prepared for whatever.

  “Yes?” he responded good-naturedly, realizing that he was really patient.

  “Can I play with your Humans?”

  -----------

  Temper looked at the man sitting across from her, an old acquaintance from a part of her life that she preferred to avoid precisely because of people like him. The middle aged Kin was arrogant in the extreme, cunning as a fox, and not in the least worried about getting home on time.

  “Your son has been implicated in the Human terrorist attacks, and there is sufficient evidence to build a case. Your other son…”

  “My other son, Watcher?”

  “Yes, your halfblood son.”

  “I believe that you have insulted me and my departed wife, as well as revealed your incompetence in one blow. I commend your efficiency, but will insist on an apology.”

  Sigh.

  “Do you deny that you have a son named Cord, born in Yawning Valley some twenty years ago?”

  Kelreig answered, “I am not recognizing any such person.”

  They both knew it was n
ot a clear denial, so she didn’t bother to argue.

  “There are records naming you as his father.”

  “By whom? A Human woman? Hardly worth even arguing about.”

  “Paternity is easily disproved.”

  As expected, he was genuinely appalled that she would suggest it, “I am not subjecting myself to such a degrading procedure.”

  “I dare say that you will not be doing it voluntarily, no.”

  She laid a letter in front of him. “You sent this letter to the administrator of Huran days before he petitioned to have a military unit stationed at his facility. In your letter, you recommended that he take that very action. You are now suspect of collusion with the Human rebels, as the sabotage at Huran is now thought to have occurred before the military was deployed.”

  “Ridiculous,” he said without concern.

  “You have no response?”

  “I didn’t leave. That in itself is kinder than you deserve.”

  “That links you twice to the Human rebels.”

  “A Kin of my standing would hardly assist Humans in freeing themselves from whatever Kin tyranny they delude themselves they are under.”

  “Strange that you would say that, as you have petitioned five times in the House of The Will to reduce the restrictions on Humans, to no effect.”

  “I have been serving for over twenty years, Watcher. In that amount of time, I have petitioned many things.”

  “Nevertheless, you are hereby notified of an investigation of you and your family, specifically your elder son, who is already in custody, and your alleged son.” She handed him a paper and started collecting her things.

  She was about done fooling with him. She had already known what his responses would be for all the things she had already brought to the table. Anyone with half an education would have known to do the same: deny, avoid answering, divert and wait for your counselor. Now, for what she had come for.