A pause, then: My thanks, but I prefer not.
Was that exhaustion?
As to why—I felt my face grow hot. Aryl—
I promise you, I wasn’t there, Sira. You had your privacy. A pause for which I was grateful, busy trying not to share my relief at that while keeping it from Morgan. The lives of Chosen could be complicated.
Then, the feel of her mindvoice oddly languid, I dreamed.
As if this was a problem. Aryl slept; I’d assumed she dreamed. A mistake, obviously. Are you all right?
Involuntarily, my fingers found the bracelet, traced a ripple like water along the metal, then stopped. I will be.
A less than reassuring answer. Rest, I sent. If I need you, I’ll wake you.
Try not to need me.
My sense of her vanished, worrying me even more. I put my hand over my abdomen, pressed gently. We’d talk about this later, I promised myself, Aryl willing.
Meanwhile, Sona’s Councilors were almost ready. I watched them take their seats. We’d brought with us a few robes of office, heavy with embroidery and tradition; by mutual consent, they’d been cleaned and packed away. Dressed to work, these Clan, arranging themselves along the first long bench.
I stayed on my feet at one end, facing what had been the entrance to the Star Chamber before Sona sealed the corridor beyond. Morgan stood before the blue panel as though guarding the nonexistent door. He’d tucked his pack out of sight after retrieving one item.
He wore it: his coat, the knee-length garment half armor and half armory, although those functions were well concealed. Today, I decided, the coat served a different purpose. Like the beard and vest, Morgan’s coat reminded those here what he was and where he’d come from—that he’d knowledge the Clan did not.
I felt some anticipation of my own.
Two figures appeared: Destin di Anel, who gave her greeting before going to stand behind Teris di Uruus—answering who’d invited the Sona First Scout—and Barac.
Who’d no reason to be here as far as I knew, but such meetings were open to all, another difference from the past. After the courtesies, my cousin took a post beside Morgan, eyes ahead.
Human fingers flickered in a covert message, convenient in this place where sendings were, quite rightly, forbidden. Trouble.
Something the tension in every line of Barac’s slender frame shouted to anyone who knew him. Or was it more? Morgan could taste change, a Talent shared by my cousin and the now-sleeping Aryl. I made the tiny motion that meant, depending on context, End the party? or Run for it?
Stay.
He’d had no warning, then; a relief. Morgan made another sign. This asked a question. Defer?
Leave his plan in favor of hearing from Barac. Under the ruse of pushing back my hair, I bent a thumb. No. Whatever brought my cousin would be important; it wasn’t urgent. He’d have broadcast news of a crisis at once.
No, I thought, permitting myself a touch of self-pity, he’d have told me first.
After a pause without further arrivals, Hap rose to her feet and moved into the open space. “The meeting is convened,” she announced in her hoarse whisper. Healers had restored her crushed throat; her full voice had been left on Cersi. “First on our agenda is the motion from Teris di Uruus, regarding the appropriate naming of children.” She returned to her seat.
Well aware this wasn’t about children at all, I kept my tongue between my teeth. Teris and a couple of other Om’ray Adepts wanted the to-them meaningless “sud” removed from M’hiray names. It had been left behind in their history following the discovery that the “di” in the name of Adepts was the key to opening a Cloisters’ outer door. Aryl, partly responsible for that discovery, had elected not to remind Sona’s Council “sud” once simply denoted an Om’ray Chosen who’d assumed the last name of his or her partner.
I’d no objection to the change. The M’hiray’d used “sud” to designate those family lines of lesser Power. Useful in a list of dead ancestors—pointless among the living, for Clan instinctively measured theirs against others.
Mine being the greatest. It meant, among other things, that my dear cousin—and the rest—brought me bad news first, as if I’d know any better what to do.
It’d be easier excusing myself from breathing than such reports. I eyed Barac. My deepest wish was for no more occasion to lead. Ever. Not even to forestall what was bound to be a long and heated debate about nothing.
Vy. Ray. So. Gro. Ne. Tua. Ye. Pa. Am. Nor. Xro. Fa. Hoveny numbers. Add the “-na” and you had the Om’ray Clans, past and present, neatly identified for the experiment on Cersi. For all we knew, our names were just as contrived. If there was an answer, it lay ahead, wherever this ship, So-na, took us.
In the meantime, Council was welcome to debate the “sud.” Barac and Morgan best get comfortable.
Teris, about to rise, hesitated as Odon stood next, taking a step and then turning to face the rest. “Nomenclature can wait,” he declared. “We were summoned. By whom? Why?”
My turn. I beckoned my Chosen, who strode forward to stand near Odon. “By me, Council,” he said calmly. “I’ve a matter I believe warrants your attention. My thanks.” He made a small, courteous bow.
Shields up, but my kind had never learned to control their faces. Most, including Odon as he granted Morgan the floor, showed honest concern; reasonable, considering Morgan’s expertise with the ship and its workings.
Teris looked to have swallowed something sour and Degal shifted as though uncomfortable. Neither objected. Wise, I thought, staring at each in turn.
Ruis rose and went to put herself beside Morgan. She bowed. “By me as well.”
Part of the plan. Change the equation, my Human would say, and I could see the result. Attention sharpened and not just the Councilors’. Barac leaned slightly forward, lips tight.
“Proceed, Healers,” Hap instructed.
To make it clear I’d no part in this, I took the nearest seat, joining Tle di Parth. My hair slid to the opposite shoulder. Hers, though still lifeless, was caught up in a familiar metal net. She’d taken it from my mother’s husk. I could hardly object; Tle had been more family to Mirim than any by blood.
On any other Chooser, the net would have been presumption, maybe pitied. In Tle, almost my equal, it was a warning. I will need this, the net proclaimed, more than any of you.
She leaned over, pitching her voice to my ears only. “You know what this is about.”
The unChosen believed many things about Choice, including that those Joined had no secrets, that we somehow blended together, the more powerful mind ruling both.
Not for me to educate Tle di Parth, even if I’d been inclined. I gave a noncommittal shrug.
Point being, I didn’t know. Morgan had seen to that. Though I found myself leaning toward an idea.
“We ask the Council’s guidance and support.” Confident yet respectful. Morgan paused to look at Ruis, who gestured him to continue. Establishing that they were of one mind. Clever, my Human. “My fellow Healer-of-minds and I have encountered a potentially serious problem.”
Ghos stood to speak. “We’re aware of the M’hiray Chosen and that they are doing well. And how you helped the Tuana child, Eloe. Our thanks.”
Kunthea rose as well. “Thanks aren’t enough. I was there. Morgan saved Eloe and eased the hearts of those closest to her.” Voice husky, pale eyes moist, the elder gestured beholdenness. “We’re few. So few.”
Few indeed. We’d rescued twenty from Tuana and seventeen from Rayna. From Amna, Ghos’ Clan, a pitiful nine, but the Healer echoed the gesture as he resumed his seat with the rest. “We owe you a great debt, Jason Morgan.”
Degal’s eyebrows drew together until they tangled. “Saved the child from what?” he snapped, not bothering to rise. “What was wrong with her?”
“An ill of the mind.” Odon leape
d up again. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? It’s spreading. I’ve heard. Did it start with those M’—?”
“Before you incite panic, Councilor,” Ruis interrupted in a tone to make even my back stiffen, “let my colleague finish.”
Odon’s eyes narrowed, but he sketched a mute apology, sinking down.
“Nothing’s spread,” Morgan stated, to more than my relief. “Our three patients weren’t in contact. They’ve been healed.” He nodded to Ruis in acknowledgment. “But we have concerns. Their afflictions were similar enough we suspect they had the same cause. Not a contagion—” before the room could erupt at that terrifying possibility, “—but it could become as serious. With your help, we will be able to confirm, or put aside, our suspicion.”
He’d confirmed mine. I kept my smile to myself. A test. It had to be. Of me as well as the rest. I admired his gall. To examine our ruling Council meant they’d see the results firsthand. If Morgan was right, and they showed the same inner stress, Council would want to act and, why then, he could present whatever he intended to do to “fix” the problem.
Too easy, I realized, the flicker of triumph gone. If I knew anything about Morgan, this was only the setup, the first offer on the table. The trick was yet to be played.
Hap rose, giving a small bow. “Our help is yours, of course. Whatever we can do. Which is?”
“Our thanks. Ruis?”
“We’ve identified what to look for in a mind.” The Rayna Healer-of-minds walked over to Hap and lifted her hands. “Allow us to scan you.”
She’d a decent amount of gall, too, I thought.
An instant’s silence, then bedlam, everyone on their feet, more than one shouting.
My Human clasped his hands behind his back, his legs slightly apart. Ready to do this for hours, that told me.
Tle’s laugh silenced the rest. “Ridiculous. No offense, Healers, but you would waste your effort and our time. I don’t know about my fellows here, but I assure you I’ve no urge to rip my own skin or cower in a corner.”
“Then you should have no objection,” Nik di Prendolat stated. “I do not. We make a reasonable sample of our population diversity, other than age.” With a slide of her eyes to Morgan.
Who dipped his head, conceding the point.
The Chooser hesitated, then looked to me.
Of course she did. Before I could offer to go first, Ruis spoke up. “Sira’s been scanned already, Tle.” She smiled. “To confirm our method.”
Play along, or object? Play, instinct told me. Morgan was too subtle for this to be my moment. I stood and moved a little distance, smiling at Ruis. “Painless,” I said, confirming the lie.
If it was a lie. Could my Chosen have scanned me without my knowledge? Or Ruis, while I watched them work with the di Kessa’ats? I found myself oddly flustered and checked my shields to be sure none of it came through.
Shields or not, Morgan could read me like a vid. His fingers moved. Steady.
And knew my mind—who better? Relieved, I gave the tiniest of nods.
“Council, are we to permit this?” Hap rasped. “Your hands with mine if so.” Hers lifted and Ruis bowed her head in appreciation.
Nik raised her hand, followed by Odon, Ghos, and Kunthea. Tle’s rose, albeit slowly, and Degal’s, ever one to wait for the rest.
“Wait.” Teris frowned, the ends of her white hair coiled with tension. “How deep a scan?”
A person with a secret, or what she viewed as one. Trade Pact thinking, I chided myself. Who here wouldn’t protect their private thoughts?
Again, it was Ruis who answered, Morgan who watched, his blue eyes intent. “Slight. We will look for effort where there should be none, the sign a mind unknowingly struggles with itself. This warns us the cause is present. We learned from the di Kessa’ats this effort leaves its mark upon the link between Chosen—a strain. By scanning one, we gauge the health of both.” She shared a quiet, reassuring confidence. “Remember, only if that struggle is lost does the mind become afflicted. We’ve healed with success. Retain full shields if you wish; we will touch nothing of your active mind or memory.”
“‘We,’” echoed Degal, hand lowering as though pulled by a weight.
Hair, a thick twist of it, slithered over my shoulder and curled, the tip flicking back and forth. Fully in accord, I pretended not to see.
No.
I pretended not to see that, either. How dare the fool reject my—
“I’d hate to work on this old stick myself.” Ghos smacked Degal on the knee, much to that worthy’s shock. “Ruis, you take him, along with Hap, Teris, and our Chooser. Over by them,” he ordered Degal, the formidable Clansman scrambling to obey before he’d the chance to realize he’d just been “dealt with” as if a child. Teris smoothed the moment by inviting him to stand by her side. Something about that pairing made me uneasy, but I shook it off. I wanted the Om’ray to accept us, didn’t I? Ghos finished, “The rest of us acceptable to you, Jason?”
Morgan bowed. “At your service.”
Destin stepped around the bench to join Teris, her face unreadable. No outward reaction from Odon, but I couldn’t imagine he’d be pleased. Politics, history—I neither knew nor cared which had the First Scout align with one member of her former Council over the other.
But when Barac moved to sit beside Ghos, a deliberately charming smile on his handsome face, I didn’t care who felt my approval.
“Let us begin,” Ruis said, resting her palm over Destin’s forehead, for the scout had put herself where she would be first. Destin’s eyes closed.
Wisps of the Healer’s hair drifted forward to be met—greeted?—by the First Scout’s. The delicate, fleeting almost-touch was like nothing I’d seen or heard of before.
Certainly my hair did its painful best to avoid contact with any other Chosen Clanswoman’s. I tucked away the sight to share with Aryl when she awoke.
Ruis straightened, looked at Morgan, then wordlessly moved to stand in front of Teris.
While my Chosen took his place in front of Odon.
Much as I’d have liked to see if Teris’ hair responded in the same way to Ruis’, I wasn’t about to look away from Morgan. To my intense embarrassment, the instant my Human’s palm covered Odon’s high forehead, I was blinded by hair boiling around my head.
Outwardly, Morgan ignored me and my misbehaving hair, but I felt a touch of amusement. Done, he took away his hand, exchanging another look with Ruis. If they signaled one another, it was beyond me to know how—or what they communicated. Some Healers-of-mind trick, I thought, slightly insulted. It was like being in a roomful of Drapsk, with their feathery antennae and drafts for coms.
Drapsk did teach patience, among many other lessons, especially when it came to caring for one’s tribe. They might take that to an extreme—a ship’s company able to clear a bar filled with other species simply by walking in the door—but I missed the little things.
Would we encounter other aliens? Find those who were like us or mysteriously not, those with complex life cycles or merely messy? The dangerous who nonetheless shared common interests—
My people hoped for the simplicity of a world of Clan and nothing more.
They’d get at least one alien.
This was what I’d drawn Jason Morgan into, I thought as I watched him move from Clan to Clan. To be utterly alone.
Will closed any distance along our link; my Chosen, as usual, deciding when and which rules applied. Not so, Witchling. You owed me a new world, remember? I intend to collect. Almost fierce, that, as if nothing mattered more than I believe him.
And I did. We’ll explore it together, I promised.
While in the realm of what breathed air and flew within a starship, my Human stood away from Barac, saying, “And we’re done.”
Interlude
THE WATCHER WAITED, almost w
ithin reach of the Great Ones, where AllThereIs sank and rose along their elliptical dance, having form at times . . .
Or none.
The endless beauty of the dance could distract a Watcher from her duty, had not protecting that beauty been her duty.
And worth any sacrifice.
She hadn’t moved. What had caught her attention had come closer, moving Between, if not yet close enough. The substance of it, if substance there was, remained unclear. Faint, that sense of tearing. A wound?
She couldn’t be certain, not yet. Others, small flickers of intention and hunger, gathered around it, coming closer as well, adding their taste to what she felt. Feeders. Opportunists who’d scatter as soon as they sensed her interest.
Beautiful, in their own way. AllThereIs encompassed them as well, whether they understood such things or not. These had been less before the breach. More, she remembered, many more afterward.
Having feasted.
They were less again. Others, more. Such weavings enriched song and story, even as the dance moved with the Great Ones and AllThereIs changed with the journey.
While she would wait, here.
And Watch.
Chapter 7
WHILE RUIS AND MORGAN conversed, heads together and away from the rest, I pointedly watched a large white something-or-other plop its way among the colorful streaks of stars across the ceiling, making it clear I would not be part of any discussion before we heard their results.
A point lost on Tle di Parth. I saw her approach out of the corner of my eye, saw when she moved Barac—who’d had the same idea—from her path with an absent flick of her right hand.
Silencing my impulse to call my cousin over first.
Instinct and, in Tle’s case, tedious practice kept a Chooser’s right hand away from possible contact. Choice was offered with the right hand; a Joining could only be attempted with the physical connection between the right hands of Chooser and Candidate.
She might not have noticed doing it, but even if I hadn’t once been a Chooser, I’d been taught to pay close attention to such involuntary acts—most memorably the time Morgan had me watch for purple excretions from some Nrusans who’d appeared uninterested, said excretions a sign of desperate longing for our goods—
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