by Sharon Lee
Priscilla placed her hand against the screen and felt the slight electric prickle against her palm as the machine recorded the print. Beep! Contract sealed.
Her hand curled into a loose fist as she took it away from the screen; she stared at it. Then, grinning, she turned to put on her shirt.
* * *
Lina's door was opening as Priscilla rounded the corner; she lengthened her stride.
"Good morning."
"Priscilla! Well met, my friend. I thought myself exiled to eating this meal alone, so slugabed have I been!"
It had done her good, Priscilla thought. Lina was glowing; eyes sparkling, mouth softly curving, she radiated satisfied pleasure. "You're beautiful," she said suddenly, reaching out to take a small golden hand.
Lina laughed. "As much as it naturally must grieve me to differ with a friend, I feel it necessary to inform you that among the Clans one is judged to be but moderately attractive."
"Blind people," Priscilla muttered, and Lina laughed again.
"But I have heard you are to begin as second mate in only an hour!" she said gaily. "Ge'shada, denubia. Kayzin is very careful, but she is not a warm person. It is her way. Do not regard it."
"No, I won't," Priscilla agreed, looking at her friend in awe.
"It is a shame that you will not have time to come regularly to the pet library now," Lina was rattling on. "You have done so much good there. I never thought to see the younger sylfok tamed at all. Others have remarked the difference there as well. Why, Shan said only this morning—"
Priscilla gasped against the flare of pain, and flung away from jealousy toward serenity—
To find her way barred and a small hand tight around her wrist as Lina cried out, "Do not!"
She froze, within and without. "All right."
"Good." Lina smiled. "Shan and I are old friends, Priscilla. Who else might he come to, when he was injured and in need? And you—denubia, you must not shield yourself so abruptly, without the courtesy of a warning! It hurts. Surely you know . . . surely your instructors never taught you to treat a fellow Healer so?"
"Fellow—" She struggled with it and surrendered to the first absurdity. "Do you mean you're open all the time?"
Lina blinked. "Should I huddle behind the Wall forever, afraid to use what is mine? Do you deliberately choose blindness, rather than use your eyes? I am a Healer! How else should I be but open?"
Priscilla was bombarded with puzzlement-affection-exasperation-lingering pleasure. She fought for footing against the onslaught and heard her friend sigh.
"There is no need to befuddle yourself. Can you close partially? It is not this moment necessary for you to scan every nuance."
She found the technique and fumbled it into place like a novice. The pounding broadcast faded into the background. She took a breath, her mind already busy with the second absurdity. "Shan is a . . . Healer? A man?"
Lina's mouth curved in a creampot smile. "It is very true that Shan is a man," she murmured, while Priscilla felt the green knife twist in her again. "It is also true that he is a trained and skilled Healer. Do I love you less, denubia, because I also love others?"
"No . . . ." She took another breath, pursuing the absurdity. "It—on Sintia, men, even those initiated to the Circle, are not Soulweavers. It's taught that they don't have the ability."
"Perhaps on Sintia they do not," Lina commented dryly. "Shan is Liaden, after all, and Sintia's teaching has not yet reached us. Those of us who may bear it are taught to pay attention, to use the information provided by each of our senses. Shan is not one of those who may do nothing but learn to erect the Wall and keep their sanity by never looking beyond; nor am I. And it hurts, denubia, to be in rapport with someone, only to be—without cause and without warning—shut out. You must not do so again. An emergency is another matter: you act to save yourself. Should you find that you must shield yourself from another Healer, it is proper to say, 'Forgive me, I require privacy,' before going behind the Wall."
Priscilla hung her head. "I didn't mean to hurt him. I meant to shield him. I thought I was generating a—false echo, because I was tired."
Reassurance, warmth, and affection flowed in. Priscilla felt her chest muscles loosen and looked up to find Lina smiling.
"He knows that the hurt was not deliberate. The best balance is simply not to do it again." She held out a hand. "Come, we will have to gulp our food!"
Trealla Fantrol, Liad
Year Named Trolsh
Third Relumma
Banim Seconday
Taam Olanek took another appreciative sip of excellent brandy. Nova yos'Galan had been called from the party some minutes ago. "Business," she had murmured to Eldema Glodae, with whom she had been speaking. Olanek allowed himself the indulgence of wondering what sort of business might keep the First Speaker of Liad's first Clan—why, after all, dress the thing up in party clothes?—so long from the entertainment of which she was host.
True, there was Lady Anthora, barely out of university and comporting herself with the ease of one ten years her senior. She was at present listening with pretty gravity to Lady yo'Hatha. He toyed with the idea of rescuing the child from the old woman's clutches, but even as he did, Anthora managed the thing with a grace that filled him with admiration. Not the beauty her sister was—too full of breast and hip for the general taste—but no lack of brains or flair.
No lack of that sort in any of them, Olanek admitted to himself. Even the gargoyle eldest had wit sharp enough to cut.
Their fault—collectively and individually—lay in their youth. Gods willing, they would outgrow, or outmaneuver, that particular failing without mishap, and Korval would continue bright and unwavering upon its pinnacle.
While Plemia continued its slow descent into oblivion.
Olanek sipped irritably. It seemed somehow unjust.
"Eldema Olanek?" a soft, seductive voice said at his elbow. He turned and made his bow, no deeper than was strictly necessary, but without resentment. That she should address him as First Speaker rather than Lord Olanek or Delm Plemia was worthy of note.
He smiled. "Eldema yos'Galan. How may I serve you?"
"By your patience, sir," Nova murmured, pale lips curving in what passed for her smile. "I deeply regret the need. Is it possible that you might allow a moment of business to intrude upon your pleasure?"
Odder and odder. He inclined his head. "I am entirely at your disposal." Clearly Nova wished to treat with him as a colleague. Now, why should Korval wish to discuss business with Plemia when they moved in such different spheres? And why at such a time, in the midst of this vast and enjoyable entertainment? Why not a call to his office tomorrow morning? Surely the matter was not so urgent as that?
Still, he walked with her from the room, declining to have his glass refreshed. They went side by side and silent down the wide hallway to another, where the woman turned right.
This portion of the house was older, Olanek saw. Its doors were of wood, with large, ornate knobs set into their centers. Nova yos'Galan stopped at the second, turned the knob, and stepped aside, bowing him in before her.
The gesture was graceful—one could not accuse Korval of flattery. What could they possibly gain? Olanek inclined his head and passed through.
He stopped just inside to consider the room. It was a study or office, warm with wood and patterned crimson carpeting. Korval's device, the venerable Tree and Dragon, hung above the flickering hearth. He took a step toward the fire, heard a rustle, and turned instead to face his host.
She gestured an apology—a flicker of slender hands—and moved to the desk. Olanek followed.
"If you would have the kindness to read this message. I should say that it has been pin-beamed and arrived only recently."
GREETING FROM CAPTAIN SHAN YOS'GALAN TO ELDEMA NOVA YOS'GALAN, the bright amber letters read. It was a formal beginning for a message from brother to sister, surely—but this was business. Olanek sipped his remaining brandy and read further.
Finished, he stood silently. When he did speak, it was in icy outrage and in the highest possible dialect. "Plemia is not diverted by the jest, Eldema. We demand—"
"No," she interrupted composedly, "you do not. It is conceivable that my brother could frame and execute such a jest. It is not conceivable that he would bring formal charge in this manner, as captain of the Dutiful Passage, begging guidance from his First Speaker." She drew breath, and the sapphire rope glittered about her throat. "My brother is not a fool, Eldema. He understands actions and the consequences of actions. As was shown, I think, when he was himself First Speaker.
"You should know that Mr. dea'Gauss was on the bridge of the Passage at the time of the attack. I leave it to you to judge whether he, at least, would be party to such a thing, were not every reported particular correct."
"I would speak with Mr. dea'Gauss."
"Of course," she replied calmly. "I have sent word, recalling him for that purpose."
"It might be wise for you to recall your brother's ship as well," he suggested ominously.
She raised her brows. "I see no cause. The route is nearly done. Captain yos'Galan has received the tuition of his First Speaker, as requested. For this present, of course." She looked at him out of meaningful violet eyes. "It does not need to be said that Plemia will act with honor and good judgment, listening with all ears, seeing with all eyes. Korval depends upon it."
To be thus schooled by a mere child, when he had been First Speaker—aye, and Delm!—longer than she had had breath! He gained control of himself, essayed a small sip of his dwindling refreshment, then inclined his head.
"Plemia wishes only to make judgment for itself, as is proper, before negotiating further with Korval." He paused. "I would ask, if Korval's First Speaker has not yet in her wisdom done this thing, that Captain yos'Galan be . . . entreated . . . to stay his hand until the precise circumstances have been made clear to all concerned."
Nova yos'Galan inclined her fair head. "Such was the essence of the First Speaker's instruction to Captain yos'Galan. I am certain that Plemia will instruct Captain yo'Vaade in like manner."
"Of course," he said through gritted teeth.
The woman bowed and smiled. "Business is then completed, Eldema. My thanks for the gift of your patience. Do enjoy the rest of the party."
Somehow, Olanek doubted he would.
Shipyear 65
Tripday 155
Second Shift
6.00 Hours
Kayzin ne'Zame was a thorough teacher—and a determined one. Priscilla's head felt crammed to the splitting point already. And there was so much more to learn!
She was in a hurry, lest she be late for her piloting lesson with the captain.
The captain! She dodged into the lift and punched the direction for the core and inner bridge. Rattled for the last six hours by a storm of information, she had nearly forgotten about the captain.
He was a Healer—a Soulweaver—though no man she had ever heard of was master of that skill. He was constantly open, always reading, aware. . .
Aware of her emotions. From the very beginning, he had scanned her and touched her feelings—and knew her as intimately as a . . . Sister-in-Power.
No! It was not done. It was improper, blasphemous! The power to read souls came from the Goddess, through Her chosen agents. Moonhawk, who was dead, had been such an agent, and Priscilla Mendoza her willing vessel. To use the power consciously, without divine direction. . .
The door slid open, and Priscilla escaped into the corridor; she dived into the first service hall she saw and froze, heart pounding.
Mother, help me, she cried silently. Help me . . . I'm lost . . . .
The Tree, the Gyre, the Room Serenity, the Place of watching—each had she used within the past day. She, who was nothing and no one, save that once a saint had lived within her.
Heedless of time, she closed her eyes and quested in the Inner Places, where the Old One's soul had sung in time gone past.
Moonhawk?
Silence surrounded the echo of the thought. There was no one there but Priscilla.
Priscilla knew no magic.
Magic had worked. She held to that thought and opened her eyes. Three times—four!—magic had worked. And the promise she had given Lina had held no taint of unsurety. She would not close the captain out. She would hold the Hood ready to muffle any strong outburst and spare him as much pain as she could.
The hour bell sounded, and she gasped.
Tarlin Skepelter, on her way to Service Hall 28 to replace a faulty sensor, was treated to the interesting sight of the new second mate running at top speed away from her, toward the inner bridge.
* * *
"No! Completely useless!"
She knew it before he said so and barely caught the blaze of self-fury in time to muffle it. Beside her, the captain snapped forward and swept his big hand across the board. He was out of his chair in a blur and towering over her.
"Are you angry, Priscilla?"
She winced at the volume and kept a firm hold on the Hood. "Yes."
"Then be angry! You're a better pilot than that! Gordy's better than that! Of all the inexcusable, sloppy, ground-grubber piloting I have ever seen—"
"And I suppose you could do better—keeping the board in half your mind and watching for echoes, too!"
"Did I tell you to watch for echoes? I told you to mind that board, Pilot! If you can't keep your whole mind right there and nowhere else, we'll suspend all lessons, now! I'll not have this ship endangered because the pilot at the board was thinking about something besides the business at hand!" He was a glittering buzz of anger. Priscilla fielded it unconsciously, even as the hold on her own rage slipped.
"I didn't ask to be on the board with a full-open empath! What am I supposed to do? Forget about the spill? What about—"
"Yes! That's precisely what you're supposed to do! Damn it—" He slammed into the copilot's chair and flung his hands out. "Priscilla, am I made of glass? Will I break, do you think, at the touch of a little well-earned self-rage?"
She was silent, seething without attempting to contain it.
The captain sighed, his pattern now containing less anger than frustration overlaying interest-admiration-warmth-friendship. "I'm not wide open, Priscilla. I don't need to be. You're coming through quite clearly without it. Also, I am not a cretin. I can adjust the level of reception, if things are so intense I find my mind wandering. Further, I am a pilot! I've worked with dozens of people since I began training. One of the finest pilots I ever knew was terrified every moment of duty. Another I worked with fairly often was as nearly asleep as she could be, no matter what the emergency—and her reactions were perfect. Ask her why she had done a certain thing, though, and she'd panic . . . ." He shifted, offering a smile. "I'm not fragile, friend. My word on it."
It was a temptation to extend herself, to grasp his warmth and cuddle it about her. She shook her head. "I—Lina said that—Healers are open, except for emergency. On—I was taught to remain closed unless Soul-weaving was required, and to return to Serenity once the duty was done."
His response was outraged puzzlement. "Then how do you make love?"
"It's not for that!"
The captain moved his shoulders. "Forgive me, Priscilla. It seems our training has been very different. For this training, however, please be assured that I can take care of myself—except against slamming doors! You are here for lessons in piloting. The next time we meet, I expect your mind to be only on piloting! If you choose to remain outside of Serenity, then don't try to damp every little twitch of irritation or jubilation. If you wish to be closed, then please make sure you are behind your Wall before you arrive."
He stood. "Today's lesson is done. I'll see you tomorrow, Priscilla."
Trealla Fantrol, Liad
Year Named Trolsh
Third Relumma
Cheletha Sixthday
Taam Olanek was finding the way to truth uneasy. Even the t
estimony of so irreproachable a witness as Mr. dea'Gauss was insufficient to rescue him from his quandary.
In charity, Nova sat silent, though they had covered the salient points again and again. She found patience for the task by recalling the countless times Shan had befuddled her. When the charm of these palled, she could begin to list the occasions on which he had sent their father into fury with his ways.
All the world knew of the unpredictability of Thodelm yos'Galan. Recrimination was useless, of course. To remind Shan of his position as Head of Line yos'Galan was to invite a blizzard of outrageous behavior, all calculated, one would swear, to bring her to the blush.