Patricia opened her eyes and slapped the covers. This couldn’t keep happening. Someone was poking around in her brain at will, and she wouldn’t allow that!
Or she was going crazy. Again.
It came back with a flash: the boom of the crash, the shriek as the bulkhead collapsed, the pain of the shrapnel tearing through her eye, and then the universe pouring inside, driving her out of her skull until she had to become something else just to keep breathing, her real self shut away like a rat in a cage.
“No!” She put her head in her hands, feeling the tears trying to come but denying them. The world was becoming a tunnel again, a long black hall with no way out, her surroundings something she could see but never touch.
Jonah’s arms went around her, his warmth pressing tight to her body. “It’s all right, Mistress. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
She hugged him fiercely and slowed her breathing. She didn’t have to be that lost again. She wouldn’t. She had to get a fucking grip!
Jonah’s hand moved to the small of her back, caressing, and a wave of lust hit her so hard she gasped. Yes, she needed a distraction. She pushed him down to the bed, needed him now. His eyes widened, and she heard herself growl.
“That’s right, baby,” Dillon’s voice said in her mind. “Come and get it.”
Jonah’s lips didn’t move. That was an old trick of Naos’s, but Patricia’s terror was lost in another haze of lust: primal, animal, with a masculine energy she’d never felt before. She couldn’t resist it any more than she could resist breathing.
She had him and came almost instantly. When she rolled off, the lust faded, but the fear remained. “Who are you?” she said in her mind.
No one answered, and she didn’t know which scared her more: that she was alone in her head to fight this opponent or that she wasn’t alone and had no one to fight but herself.
Jonah wasn’t moving, but he still breathed. He was probably waiting to see what she would do. She sat up and looked at him timidly, ashamed she’d simply used him even though that was what he was for. She hadn’t even bothered to see if he enjoyed it.
He gave her a hesitant smile. Bright red welts ran across his chest where she’d clawed him. She healed them with a thought. “I’m sorry, Jonah.”
He cupped her cheek. “You never need to apologize to me, Mistress.”
In her mind, Patricia thought she heard a derisive snort. She climbed out of bed. “Let’s clean up and get some clothes on. I want some food, something to drink.” A further distraction. “Then we’ll take a tour of the mine.”
They walked to the cookhouse together. “I wonder if we’ll see anyone from Gale,” Jonah said. “Unless they’ve heard that you’ve come and are afraid to face you.”
She chuckled and breathed deep. Right, they had to think about the future. “No, if Gale finds out we’re here, they’ll probably send Simon Lazlo. He’s the only one who knew me before.”
“Before when, Mistress?”
“It doesn’t matter, Jonah. I’m not afraid of him or anyone else.” She gave his arm a hug. “Not with you to protect me.”
He smiled, clearly pleased with the compliment. Another lust-flash arced through her, and she gasped, fighting it. What the hell was wrong with her today? She took a few deep breaths and waved away Jonah’s concern. She didn’t want him to touch her again if he was going to be irresistible. Maybe this was just what two hundred and fifty years of celibacy did to a body.
“I suppose we should get ready for when Gale does come calling,” she said, walking again. “Some defenses.” She could take on quite a few opponents with her power, but Simon Lazlo had led the charge that defeated Naos. He could pull enough power to win, and she couldn’t fight him and worry about mundane threats at the same time. She looked to the edge of the town, to a shadow of a wall only big enough to keep out pests, maybe a few predators. She’d have to do better than that.
First things first. After refreshments at the cookhouse, Patricia and Jonah walked to the mine. She summoned the foreman with a telepathic call, and he met her in front of the black pit leading into the mountain.
The foreman offered her a smile and a hard hat made from a hoshpi shell. Patricia tapped Dillon’s memories and tracked the word to an animal in Gale, an insect with a leathery hide. She donned the hat. Though she could protect herself with her power, she’d been too distracted lately and wanted a backup. Jonah took one, too, as the foreman prattled on. She’d already snagged his name the morning before.
“How long have you worked here, Wendel?” she asked.
“Going on four years, Mistress,” he said, “though not just at this camp. We’ve moved now and again, chasing ore.”
The two yafanai wandered out of the dark, lanterns in hand, and walked with her into the darkness. The rock was held aloft with the aid of timber, solid around her, and she could feel the comforting weight of the mountain. Dark spaces were good for hiding, especially if whoever was pursuing you was too big to fit inside.
The end of this mine shaft stood rough and ragged. Kelly, the younger of the macros, laid a hand on a bulging hunk of rock. This deep, the air had a wet, metallic tang. “This is where Rich and I have been working, blasting chunks out of the walls.”
Patricia nodded. Calamity didn’t want to yield its ore easily. Iron, bronze, even gold was hard to come by. The Galeans had to resort to random searches in order to find scraps. Patricia passed a hand over the wall, sending her senses into it. “This could use the touch of a micro and macro: one to find the ore, one to get it out.”
The yafanai glanced at each other. “Who has that much fine control, Mistress?”
She smiled. There wasn’t a yafanai alive who could do it. She could get them started, but she didn’t want to stay down here in the dark all day, not when she had defenses to build. She thought of the breachies she’d sensed before and sent her power looking for them again.
Three were clustered together, but Patricia reached for the strongest, a spokesperson. Raquel had claimed a little clan in the foothills, people who’d once been plains dwellers but were now hill people; hillbillies, Patricia supposed, and the thought made her laugh. From their minds, she saw that they called themselves the Kiri, and Raquel stood out among them like a beacon.
Panic flared in her at the first touch of Patricia’s mind. “Who is that?” Raquel thought, her shields coming up hard.
“It’s Patricia Dué.”
Raquel’s mind raced, and Patricia wondered if she knew how easily her thoughts leaked, even through her shields. “Naos?”
“That’s not what I said, is it?” Patricia pushed down her irritation. “I’m at Gale’s mine. Come and meet me.” She put power behind the words, not much, just a little carrot dangling before the donkey. Raquel was curious. She’d always been a bit of a gossip, and no doubt she was bored living on Calamity among the plebs.
“I’d…I’d love to!” Raquel thought back.
“Bring any others from the Atlas that you have nearby.”
Raquel signaled assent, and Patricia cut contact. The others were watching her expectantly. “I’ve called in some help, but I’ll get you started. Lend me your power.”
They nodded, and she used the little trick she’d learned from Simon Lazlo, merging powers for greater effect. Teamwork, so foreign aboard the Atlas.
She sent her senses through the rock, using the expertise of Kelly and Rich to find the right signals. She called the ore forth, filling the air with a harsh, grinding sound as she shifted other rock aside. Instead of blasting outward, ripping the rock from the wall, she coaxed it, and the wall swirled like a whirlpool. The watchers gasped as the ore wandered to the forefront of the churning rock and thumped to the ground in large chunks.
“Get someone to carry this,” Jonah said. The foreman hurried away, yelling. The regular miners were working in a different shaft. Patricia continued pulling ore from the stone.
Her head began to throb at the delicate work, and even w
ith her healing powers, the feeling wouldn’t leave her. After half an hour, she stopped. “See? Like that.”
Kelly and Rich were wide-eyed. They broke into applause. Patricia laughed as she waved it away. “I’ll be outside if you need me.”
The miners looked upon her with reverence, whispering her name as she walked out. She healed their fatigue, but her power flowed sluggishly. She was out of practice. She’d have to work on that.
Out in the fresh air, she put her hands to her hips, leaning backward until her back popped. She felt Jonah stop behind her.
“The friends I called can help us build defenses, too,” she said. “Where do you think we should start?”
“The wall,” he said. “And a ditch. The paladins’ armor might still have a charge.”
She nodded. “Good thinking.” Then she frowned. How did he know about— She turned slowly. “You didn’t say that, did you?”
“I said the wall, Mistress.”
She stepped to him and cupped his face. “And the armor?”
His confusion read as genuine, and she put a hand to his lips before he could speak again. Every time she let her guard down… She needed to do some mental exercises; that was all. Then she could keep out this telepathic interloper, whoever it was. And once she could keep them out, she’d take the fight to them.
Chapter Six
Cordelia blazed with pain as she floated among the stars. Was she back with Naos again, being drawn into that titanic force and smothered? Or was she dead? At the edges of her vision, she thought she glimpsed her parents and Uncle Paul. Maybe they were welcoming her to the afterlife. But she sensed the silver cord still stubbornly connected to her body. And her family would never want her to give up. They’d tell her to fight.
Captain Carmichael appeared before her like an annoying ghost and told her to get the hell up. Cordelia groaned, torn between the desire to hug Carmichael and to tell her to fuck off, but she couldn’t move to do either.
The stars swayed, an infinite dance. They’d never felt so close, so easy to touch, to be part of. Joining with Naos wasn’t the only way to become one with the universe.
A scent drifted past her nose, greenery and life, the swamp after a storm. Water sprinkled over her, warm and soothing. Was it raining? The Storm Lord’s revenge? If she had died, maybe her loved ones wouldn’t be the only ones waiting for her. She could kick the asses of her enemies for all eternity while Captain Carmichael howled with laughter.
Cordelia smelled green again, something in the rain. She breathed deeply, and the water rolled into her, tasting like serenity, cold and sharp. She couldn’t rest yet. There was always so much shit to do. She turned, and the stars retreated, falling away. Or was she falling instead? A chorus of voices called out, and she turned to the bright green jewel of Calamity. Pool shone from its surface as if a star herself. The drushka called out in one voice. “Sa,” they said, the drushkan word for rain. As Cordelia came closer, drawn to the brightness, another light mingled with theirs, burning orange as flame.
“Cordelia?” it asked.
Simon Lazlo’s voice. She tried to reply but couldn’t. A cooling feeling washed over her, and she hadn’t realized how warm she’d been. The rain lessened, too, and the ground faded, hazy. Was she going up again? Cordelia shivered. She didn’t want to return to the stars, tried to fight for the ground again, for the drushka. She wasn’t ready to die!
“You won’t. You’re all right. Just breathe.”
Light flickered around the edges of her vision, and her eyes opened slowly. Simon leaned over her, smiling. He put a hand on her forehead. “See? Good as new.”
Overstatement of the millennium. She blinked, trying to remember what had happened. A brown leather wall rose above Simon’s head. A tent? She tried to say, “Nettle,” but her voice came out as a croak. Simon’s power tingled through her, and she swallowed. “Nettle?”
“Alive and here. Horace and Reach are with her.”
She wanted to tell him to go help them, but all it took was a little push, and she could feel him helping them. They were all in the same tent.
“Sa,” Pool’s voice said in her mind. Worry and relief flowed through the connection. “Stay in your body.”
“Agreed,” Simon said. “Stay put for now.”
She wheezed a laugh, and he helped her sit in a nest of blankets. She was down to her shirt and underpants. She supposed they’d had to take the rest in order to see the arrow wound, which was gone, not even a scar to mark it.
Simon handed her a leather cup with water. She sipped it slowly. His power still played over her, and she could feel him sitting there, their connection to the drushka connecting them as well. “I’m good now? Fully healed?”
He nodded. “But nothing will make up for genuine rest.”
She snorted. “Who has time for that?”
With a chuckle, he gave her knee a pat. “Truer words were never spoken.”
She looked past him, to the other side of the tent. Horace and Reach were helping Nettle sit, and Nettle gave a tired smile that Cordelia returned. She mouthed the words, “I love you,” and Nettle wrinkled her nose.
“What foolishness brought you to this state?” Reach asked.
“Why do you assume it was our foolishness?” Cordelia said.
Reach spread her hands as if to say the situation spoke for itself. Cordelia tried to be offended, but she was too tired. As the healing finished, she told them what had happened. Reach made a disgusted noise, and Simon and Horace shook their heads. Cordelia supposed they’d seen Fajir’s actions coming, but she’d let herself hope. Maybe that was the foolishness Reach was talking about.
By the time she was done talking, Cordelia felt strong enough to stand. Nettle met her halfway across the tent, and they hugged for a long moment, witnesses and lack of trousers be damned. Simon told her that Wuran found them on the plains, that Nettle had managed a weak contact with Pool, and she’d come running.
“Liam will be satisfied,” Reach said. “He predicted a bad end for Fajir.”
“We don’t know that she’s dead,” Cordelia said.
“We can hope,” Horace said.
Everyone gave him a surprised look, the man who normally liked everybody. He wilted a little under their stares and gave a shrug. Out of all of them, next to Mamet, Fajir had treated him the worst.
“So,” Cordelia said after she’d dressed and thanked Wuran. They’d left him and the plains behind as they boarded Pool’s tree and headed back toward Gale. “Tell us the bad news.”
Simon tried to feign surprise, but Cordelia saw right through him. Horace took a sudden interest in looking anywhere but at her, and Reach tilted her head.
Cordelia rolled her eyes. “Not one of you has mentioned what happened in Gale since you got there, which tells me there’s bad news you didn’t want the two sick people to hear before they’d been healed.”
“Ahya,” Nettle said. “I noticed this also.”
Cordelia nodded. “So, what happened?”
Reach nudged Horace. “I said this would happen.”
He sighed. “I’d buy you a drink if I knew where to get one.”
“Enough stalling,” Cordelia said.
Her stomach shrank as Simon told her about the mass poisoning by the old drushka. Two hundred people were still missing, and now Gale had a food and water shortage along with all its other problems.
Fucking fantastic. She almost wanted to claim she had to ride after Fajir for some much needed revenge rather than deal with this mess. So much for all her plans to drink the Pickled Prog dry. She only hoped it was still standing.
Two hundred missing people, though. Something had to be done. Maybe there was a way to get out of the rebuilding and replanting and politics. If those people had been taken by the drushka, someone needed to go after them. In her head, she started planning.
When they reached Gale, Pool set them down by the Paladin Keep. A crowd gathered quickly, Most of the paladins seemed reliev
ed to see Cordelia, but other members of the populace seemed more grateful that Simon was back. After what he’d done for them, she wasn’t surprised.
Liam pushed his way through and hugged Cordelia tightly. “I told you going with Fajir was a bad idea,” he mumbled in her ear.
She laughed even as she wanted to slug him. “Yeah, yeah. Well, she’s not our problem anymore. Not with people to find.”
Liam’s lips pressed into a thin line as if he would argue that point, but he let it go. “Come on. I’ll give you the tour.”
He led her through the city, telling her of its problems. She breathed deeply as she walked through the streets. Everything had changed just a little in the nine months since she’d been gone. The Storm Lord had changed it with boggins and progs. Several buildings she remembered were gone, and the warehouse district seemed completely new, but that was where the fire had started during the boggin attack. She was happy to see that the town had been rebuilding. And she grinned like a fool when she saw that the Pickled Prog was still standing and that its owner Edwina was still alive, though the bar wasn’t open for business yet.
Everyone in Gale seemed busy cleaning up the mess the drushka left. Cordelia frowned as she watched them, feeling responsible for all this destruction. She’d fallen for the drushka she’d met in the swamp, Pool and Nettle and Shiv; she couldn’t help but feel as if she’d led the old drushka here because they were chasing the drushka she loved.
On the other hand, a conflict like this seemed inevitable. Cordelia had taken a few things with her when she’d left Gale, including a journal written by her ancestor, Jania, whom the drushka called Roshkikan. She’d been somewhat responsible for the drushkan schism, along with a first contact snafu where a band of drushka died in a skirmish with early paladins. The details of the schism itself were fuzzy, but Pool had told Cordelia that some drushka had wanted to trade with the humans, even after their initial conflict. Other drushkan queens had wanted to annihilate all humans. Still others had wanted to absorb the humans and make them into drushka, at least figuratively. Maybe they’d figured that if they spread the humans out and paired them with drushka, they wouldn’t be able to have children.
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