Easy, chit, Morgan sent, forestalling my protest. This isn’t a med-facility. Evacuation’s likely standard procedure and could save their lives.
Two Om’ray: frail Eand and Destin’s Chosen, Elnu. Three M’hiray: Kita di Teerac, Lakai sud Parth, and Vidya di Serona. Each a Chosen; worse, none were a pair. Ten lives at risk.
They were not leaving here like this—not alone. I managed to ask calmly, “Where will they go?”
“Landerslee. There’s an excellent trauma center.” Aracel’s face softened. “Heart-kin mustn’t be separated at such a time. Please have them identify themselves to me or any of us, Sira. We’ll ensure they’re kept together.”
As though to the Hoveny ‘heart-kin’ meant Chosen—
And as though no one else here is able to sense the link between our pairs, from Aryl. What sort of people are they?
Private, I replied, wondering what else would prove different.
“May I treat this?” Aracel indicated the side of my face. I reached up, surprised by soreness and the feel of something sticky. My fingertips came away red.
I supposed I’d run a bit close to that flurry of Oud feet, though it had been that, or be plowed under its neighbor.
“I’ll take care of her.” Morgan answered before I could, the tiniest edge to his voice.
Neither of us was in a state to make important decisions. “Water first,” I countered, forcing cheer into my voice. “And if that’s food, Aracel?”
The edican smiled. “It’s nourishment,” she qualified. “I’m sure Alisi Di—Site Seesor—will arrange for something better for you all, and accommodations, before this arn’s end.”
Plans and time. Some of us lacked either. My gaze fell on the cocoons. “May I touch them? For—” The Hoveny might not have “luck,” though Morgan had told me most species had some expression for chance improving their fortune. “—my own comfort.”
Aracel inclined her head slightly.
So before I left the five, I did what little I could, sending strength through that meager contact. Most of all, letting those sleeping minds know they’d not been abandoned.
And wouldn’t be.
“Not bad.” Morgan put another of the green crisps into his mouth and crunched, an intent look on his face. He would, I’d learned, eat anything, anywhere. Though these he’d scanned first, blatantly employing his offworld tech in front of the Hoveny.
Who were still fascinated by my hair. I grabbed for a straying lock; it evaded me to investigate Morgan’s upper shirt pocket. Again. The stuff had stamina, I’d give it that.
Blue eyes glanced my way. Care to tell me what’s bothering you, Witchling?
“Other than those three?”
Our Council had reformed: Teris, Degal, and Nik. Absent was Odon, who’d elected to stay with Japel and guard their son. Noil nursed an arm the edicans had wrapped and secured with a sling; not coincidentally, Jacqui and Alet were circling, as far from each other as possible, but with equally avid interest. I’d no idea if his wounded state increased the unChosen’s allure, or the Choosers reacted to the lack of alternatives in range, but whatever had quenched their desire for Choice had been left with Sona in space.
Confounding expectation, our most potent Chooser—and once outspoken member of Council—sat on a pink couch with Eand’s Chosen, Moyla. Tle di Parth, the image of restraint and courtesy?
I didn’t plan to ask. We’d a table, two chairs, and a moment’s peace. “They’ve requested a meeting with Alisi.” I dutifully nibbled a crisp. The things tasted pretty much as I imagined the bottom of a boot might taste—fried, of course.
“Let them.” Morgan finished his drink. “Come here.” He opened his med-kit, retrieved before he’d stowed his pack, and coat, under our table.
I turned the aching side of my face to him and found myself gazing at the doors through which we’d come. They remained open, affording an excellent view of the ancient building. “Who do you think lived there?”
“Someone who matters a great deal to our new friends.” My Chosen applied a cool spray to my cheek and jaw, shooing my hair aside with his free hand.
“Are they?” I asked very quietly. “Friends?”
“So far. The rest depends on us.” A tidy patch of medskin came next, from a scant and irreplaceable supply. “By that, I mean you. Hold still, chit.”
I’d flinched. Who wouldn’t? You think I can control the Clan—stop them doing here what they did in the Trade Pact.
I know you will. Punctuated by a daring kiss behind my ear. “There.” Finished with his ministrations, Morgan pulled back, tucking away his kit. “Shouldn’t scar.” He pretended to frown at me. “You need a bath.”
Who didn’t? I stuck out my tongue.
Rewarded by a grin. “Charming.” He leaned forward, face serious again. “Now, what’s going on?”
I put my hand on the table between us. His covered it at once, warm, rough, and alive.
Through that contact, I shared the voice of the dead.
I’d shaken him to the core; I could see it and certainly felt it. Fair enough. Reliving that impossible voice had shaken me, too.
“Rael,” Morgan said finally, his whisper hoarse and low. Much as I wanted to deny it, he knew my sister’s mindvoice, too.
My sister, Rael di Sarc. Beautiful, powerful, proud. More than a sister. She’d been my heart-kin and truest friend in the years of my solitude, and afterward. Her final act had been to send me a desperate warning, for she and her Chosen had been betrayed by a Human she’d trusted.
A warning sent even as she’d dissolved, a ghost, to save those of us left from the same fate.
“It was Rael.” Cold settled around my heart.
Your sister, as Enris has called to me. Aryl sounded every bit her age. What is this, that uses love against us, and why? Where have we come that such things are even possible?
“All good questions.” Blue eyes glinted. “I’ve one. Say the others we’ve lost ’ported themselves into Andi’s “boxes,” or somehow followed ghosts into the M’hir. Then what?”
The only fact was their absence. “I can’t sense them,” I told him, “even as ghosts.”
They’re dead. You heard the Watchers, Great-granddaughter.
I’d hear them now, if I dared listen. I gave a weary nod, accepting the truth. “Aryl’s right. Answering these voices is fatal.” My fingertips dug into my thighs. Aware of those around us, I chose to send instead of whisper. We’re being hunted again. This time it isn’t by strangers. Though it was still, I thought bitterly, because of what we were. Anyone who can ’port is in danger.
Morgan’s face was expressionless. “We’ll warn them.”
Of what? I shifted restlessly, my hair doing the same.
Just then, Jacqui passed our table, her face pale and intent. She’d my sympathy. It wasn’t pleasant, or easy, fighting an instinct you knew could cause harm, yet promised so much.
It was almost tangible, that snick of familiarity. “It’s as if we’re unChosen, hearing a Chooser’s Call.” Almost as irresistible.
Traps need bait, Aryl supplied grimly.
How do we know this isn’t our own doing? I countered, feeling Aryl’s shock. We’ve suffered—enough to make our minds unstable. What if this is our unconscious longing for those we’ve lost, one strong enough to manifest—
Or our common guilt, clamoring for death and justice, but that bleak thought I reserved for myself.
“It would explain why the voices are specific, but nothing else.” My Human looked thoughtful, then shook his head. “I don’t believe this is anything self-inflicted. Ruis assures me our people are recovering, and I’ve checked a few myself. Being away from the ship helped them all, despite—despite what happened. They’ve hope, Sira.” His eyes softened. “We do.”
“Then what’s stealing it?” I fou
nd the warmth of his hand, wrapped my numb fingers through his. What’s after us now?
His fingers squeezed, hard. “After how far we’ve come, chit, whatever this is, we’ll stop it.”
My reply wedged itself in my throat as a yellow-haired child ran through the room, laughing and carefree. Andi’d known I’d heard a voice. She’d known and urged me to follow, to be with family. How?
There’s no harm in her, Aryl sent gruffly.
“There could be answers.” Morgan.
Understood. Another, gentler squeeze, then my hand was alone and cold. I kept my eyes on Andi, aware my Chosen watched her, too.
He’d do what I’d asked of him. Would learn what Andi could tell us and if we were wrong and that sweet innocent face was a lie?
Morgan would act as I, being a coward, could not imagine. All I could do was hope he’d be able to forgive me.
Andi stopped, ducking behind the nearest adult before peering around. At what? I turned with the rest to face the entrance.
A Hoveny child stood in the doorway, no taller than Andi, perhaps as young. She wore a green dress with yellow frills along the bottom and at the neck, and her long white hair was tied atop her head with a dark green bow. An old but serviceable tool belt was wrapped twice around her small waist, and from it hung an array of digging tools sized to her hands. Her feet were in rugged boots, caked with dust, and a dusty fabric bag bulged at her hip, suspended from a band crossing from shoulder to hip.
Seeming oblivious to the presence—and attention—of so many strangers, the child walked in, heading straight for the nearest food bin. The Hoveny beside it smiled down at her; the rest didn’t appear to notice. She’d the run of the place, that told me.
Interesting.
The child wasn’t the only arrival. Pauvan Di appeared next, entering with two other Hoveny. The three went directly to where Teris and Degal held their court and, after a brief exchange, the Councilors rose to their feet and followed the Hoveny out. Nik remained seated.
Like a grim shadow, Destin stayed by Teris’ shoulder but once at the door, the Sona First Scout glanced back to where her Chosen lay, encased. Her head turned, her eyes on mine. Ah. She’d felt what I’d done.
We’ll watch Elnu, I sent, tight and private. Keep those two safe.
I felt her surprise before she dampened it. Had Destin expected me to ask her to spy on our self-appointed leaders?
No need. I’d gladly leave administration and our settlement details to those who’d enjoyed both and weren’t worrying about the dead.
Unless Degal was tempted to make his points with Power rather than words, but I doubted it. Very few Clan were as fond of their own voice as Degal di Sawnda’at. He’d talk my father into retreat.
Meanwhile, the child, a bag of crisps in her hand, wandered the large room. Maybe she was curious about this rearrangement of a familiar place, for the people in it didn’t appear to matter as much as the chairs and couches they used. She ignored the Hoveny and when she came to any of us, regardless if that person smiled and greeted her, or not, she paused to stare a disquieting moment as though noticing them for the first time.
Done, she would dip her head and move on without a word.
Mute?
Hunting, suggested Aryl.
My Human chuckled. “Someone’s noticed.”
Andi followed the Hoveny at a small distance, miming her every movement. Dre joined the game. Their playmate dead within hours, the husk barely cool—their lack of grief seemed incomprehensible, even for children, and I shivered.
Morgan reached across the table, capturing my hand, sending love and encouragement through our link. There’s an explanation and we’ll find it, together. That’s what we do.
My hair flowed down to wrap his wrist. Yes, it is. I sent my own trust and love back to him.
All at once, I realized we weren’t alone.
Interlude
SUCH A SERIOUS FACE, the Hoveny child, and Morgan resisted his first impulse to smile. “I’m Jason,” he told her.
The irises of her eyes were multihued, like several of the Om’ray, with light purple predominant. They stared at him, the pupils dilated as though to drink him in. Before he could feel uncomfortable, she shifted her earnest regard to Sira.
Who stared back, a hint of pink developing along her cheekbones. “I’m Sira. What’s your name?”
The child’s white eyebrows dipped together. She reached down to bring up her bag, wriggling out of the shoulder strap so she could put the shapeless and decidedly filthy thing on the table.
The bag moved.
A black claw, no larger than the tip of Morgan’s little finger, poked from under the flap and waved.
“What is it?” Sira breathed.
Another claw appeared beside the first, then a cluster of three. They fiddled at the fastening of the bag, clicking with what seemed impatience. The child watched, so they did, fascinated.
Andi and Dre came to stand nearby, peering with interest. Their parents followed. Barac and Ruti. Until they were surrounded by curious Clan.
Morgan spared a glance up. No Hoveny adults.
Finally, claws succeeded. The flap gave way.
And out rolled a ball.
A hard segmented ball, the size of his joined fists, its pale surface painted with, yes, those were flowers, the sort a young child would draw—recognizable, if unlike any he’d seen. A kindred spirit, the Human decided, letting himself smile.
Losing his smile as the ball quivered, then unrolled, for he’d seen this shape before. Tension flowed from those around him, who had as well.
The tiny Oud spun about, its hundreds of little clawed feet tinkling like rain on the table, then stopped, one end aimed at the Hoveny child. Her lips puckered, then she sighed and spoke. “Nes name is Tap Tap.”
The claws drummed a complex pattern.
“It’s not nes full name,” she corrected. “You know I can’t say all that.” This to the creature.
Morgan heard a stifled laugh.
“Hello, Tap Tap.” Sira leaned forward. A red-gold lock of hair slipped along her arm to lie on the table, curling itself at the tip. She gave it a frustrated look but didn’t object.
The tiny Oud reversed, then turned to “face” Sira. It moved toward her, then back, then forward, stopping a little closer before scuttling back. In this indecisive manner, it came within touching distance of the tip of hair.
And stopped.
A pet? Sira sent.
It spun in place, feet moving too quickly to make out, then stopped.
“I doubt it,” Morgan said, carefully aloud.
The lock of hair slowly uncurled, a few strands brushing over the creature. “Oh,” Sira exclaimed, pulling back.
The “oh” hadn’t been alarmed or offended. Morgan stilled the motion of his wrist before the knife came free.
The tiny Oud lifted its front end, pulling up until almost erect. Exposed, its undersides were the typical Oud paired line of black specialized appendages, complete with the talking cluster near what they’d consider its “head,” whatever that concept meant to the creature, only these appendages were miniaturized and delicately beautiful, like the inside of an antique clockwork he’d seen for sale on Plexis.
Appendages that began to move, producing clear, if faint, words. “Tap Tap, best is.”
The Hoveny child rolled her eyes. “I told you.”
“Milly Su, best is.”
A smile, at last, on that too-serious face. “Thank you.” Milly turned to Dre and Andi. “See? Ne’s my best friend.” Loftily. “I don’t need any more.”
“Milly, manners.”
She inclined her head. “Sorry.” A mumble.
Creating smiles. The innocent exchange had relaxed the adults on all sides, and Morgan didn’t for an instant believe it an accident. W
hatever they were dealing with, the Oud was definitely no pet.
Sira realized it, too. She leaned toward it again, offering her hand this time, palm up. “My name is Sira. I mean no harm.”
It dropped to all feet and rushed with a cheerful clatter to climb on to her palm, coming erect again. “I am Tap Tap.”
His Chosen bravely raised her hand, bringing the creature to eye level. “Where are we?”
Tiny appendages fussed, flowing up and down, then, one word.
“Home.”
Challenge, assessment, or welcome? Sira’s gray eyes lifted to his—no question, she’d know the options—then lowered. “We’re glad to hear that. It’s been a long and difficult journey.”
“You are Sira Di.” The Oud twisted, aiming the underside of its upper body at Morgan. “Jason Di. Heart-kin.”
He felt the tension return. The creature had some Power, that was clear; Oud of any size who did were dangerous.
But Sira smiled as the Oud twisted back to her. “We are Chosen and Joined for life. You sense it, Tap Tap.”
“I hear haisin. His, yours, theirs, nes, hers, all. Good. Better. Yours, best is. Home, yes yes.” A pause, as if it considered what to say, then, “Founder, you, Sira Di.”
The child gasped and covered her mouth with both hands, her rainbow eyes round as she stared at Sira.
And Morgan wasn’t the least surprised to see a group of Hoveny adults heading their way.
Chapter 21
A SETUP. I eyed the Oud, which had, as far as I could tell, no eyes at all, and wondered if it was worth asking if the creature had summoned the Hoveny, or if our hosts had added surveillance to this room as part of our welcome.
Didn’t matter. They’d neatly discovered what we’d thought we had to keep secret: that we’d greater Power—haisin, as the little being called it. So much for my worry about the vulnerability of weaker minds. You think I’d have learned from the Drapsk. Technology—or the right help—was more than a match for our avowed Talent.
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