Flying (Wine of the Gods Book 33)

by Pam Uphoff

  She walked over and tried to not get sick at sight of the severed hand lying there.

  "Can you cool it down a bit, Rael? There will be less cell death before I have the time to reattach it."

  The crouching man whimpered. "Now! Do it now! Please!"

  "Asshole. As soon as the horse is stabilized. Because frankly I care more about him than you, just now."

  The driver shot a beseeching look her direction.

  She pulled heat carefully, even as she shook her head at the man. "Half the gates open into the plaza. You damn well knew it wasn't safe."

  He whimpered.

  Behind her, Xen was talking. "Keep him flat, while the wine works on his internal injuries. I'll be right back to transport him."

  He walked around her, and scooped up the hand. Knelt beside the man and matched up hand and wrist. She could feel the magic, couldn't read it at all.

  "Rael, pocket flask inside left jacket pocket. Give him a jot."

  He sounded quiet, ordinary.

  She fished out the flask and held it for the man to take a sip. He blinked, relaxed. Painkiller on top of everything? As needed I guess.

  "And loosen the tourniquet. Don't move!" his voice had a definite snap now. "I haven't connected the bones."

  "I can't feel anything."

  "Blood circulation is good. Tendons next, then the bone. The nerve cells have been told to grow and split, they'll be ready for attachment in another ten minutes or so."

  "Oh." Whimpering.

  They'd drawn quite a crowd, some authoritative types were ordering people to get the cars off the plaza. She caught something about "confined to quarters."

  Then people with a gurney showed up and Xen stood away from the driver.

  And looked down at her. "Rael . . . I had no idea you could fly. AND I SUSPECT I'M GOING TO HAVE NIGHTMARES ABOUT YOU JUMPING OFF THE FRIGGING THIRTY STORY BUILDING FOR YEARS!"

  She reached out and patted his arm. "It's a Warrior of the One thing. Surely you can at least levitate?"

  He eyed her dyspeptically. His complexion was too dark to pale much, but he did look almost greenish and the muscles in his face were tight.

  "You've never mentioned flying." Through gritted teeth.

  She gave him her best giggle. "I'll go make sure the idiot gets to your hospital, while you take care of the horse."

  He was still standing there as she walked—bounced—away.

  ***

  People turned and stared at her as she strode past.

  "But I tell you, she flew!"

  She couldn't identify the accent. Over fifty worlds had embassies here now.

  "Oh sure. Down from the Earther's building? One of the top Oner Agents? Give me a break! They'd never let her up there."

  I suppose it's too much to hope, that there's no vid recordings. No actual evidence that could be dissected. Maybe they were all looking at the mess and barely registered me . . . arriving.

  And a group of Purps, sneaking glances her direction.

  "Look at the way she swooped! She definitely had wings."

  "Invisible wings? Bosh!"

  A third man crossed his arms stubbornly. "I didn't see a swoop. I think she just levitated past the horse to keep the rest of the drivers from making it worse. No way did she jump off an effing building."

  Everyone in the clump eyed her as she walked by, pretending she didn't notice them.

  Dr. Heath took charge of the gurney at the corner.

  Isakson was there as well.

  "Done already?"

  He smiled, showing big straight white teeth. "Yes. Let's go."

  Rael caught more comments as they headed for the car. Winced. "One only knows what my parents are going to say this time!"

  A deep chuckle. "Do they know you well enough to realize you did jump off the building?"

  "One! I hope not!"

  "And you do recall Major Eppa's orders, don't you? Something about not jumping off of buildings without my express permission?"

  "Ohhhhh . . . "

  "I hope you like mucking out stalls."

  Chapter Twelve

  11 Yusef 1404 yp

  Paris, One World

  Rael sighed, and double checked her fingernails. For chips in the polish, and . . . stuff under them. I think I'll shorten them a bit more and try natural colored polish for the rest of the month.

  Urfa chuckled as he tapped at the door. "I think Eppa was aiming that threat at the Black Horse Guards. Not my agents."

  Rael managed a weak giggle. "I'm not going to argue with Isakson, and it does set a good example of what happens when you disobey . . . common sense orders. And I'm getting much better at mucking out stalls."

  "Good. Mind you, that was a rather spectacular way to solve a minor but irksome diplomatic issue. Thank you." Urfa eyed her. "So, you've got the hundred meter death punch and the flying bit figured out. What's next? Remote viewing and seeing in the dark? Long distance telepathy?"

  Rael kicked back and gave that serious thought. "I'll have to ask Isakson how the remote viewing works. But what I think I need to do is talk to the One about . . . how I will refuse any more assassination assignments. I mean, I just won't. Umm, quite apart from not managing either of the prior assignments."

  Urfa grinned. "In retrospect, killing Agni . . . well . . . all right, that probably would have been a worse political mess than what we wound up with. Good idea. Go to Makkah, then come back and get debriefed."

  ***

  She'd never felt the One Mind so quiet.

  A hundred kilometers away, she finally felt the brilliant spikes of powerful minds working in concert.

  She was within ten kilometers of Makkah before the rushing-wind background of hundreds of minds touched her.

  No wonder they are so anxious to settle the philosophical split.

  How much control did they—it—have over that vote of no confidence? Are they experimenting, as they claimed, or just pretending to be in control?

  :: Bad Girl! :: Ytry, her old mentor, less absorbed into the hive mind than most priests.

  :: Very bad. I understand the desire to gather your strength, to touch the whole of the collective subconscious. Doing it with fear or hatred is the fast, easy . . . and ultimately disastrous way to do it. ::

  :: We will be strong again :: Another individual voice, but this one with a hazy impression of depth, of . . . millions of faint auras . . . billions.

  One of the Philosophers. Possibly the old one, who is being challenged.

  The train slowed and coasted into the station. Rael slung her bag over her shoulder and walked out. Down a baking hot street. Not to the Main Arena, but deep into the small city to a courtyard shaded by trees in huge pots. A fountain in the center sprayed a cooling mist.

  Three men stood there. Glaring at each other.

  The youngest man was dark of complexion, black haired, hawk-nosed. Forty or fifty years old perhaps, just entering that long period of Oner middle-age. He broke off to stare at her. Deep dark eyes. Very deep. Stubborn, determined, fierce. Deep.

  And then again, he might be the oldest . . .

  A wiry old man, graying hair a bit thin on top, snorted. "Of all the worlds to start a war with, that one is the worse. Those people are dangerous!"

  That would be Usse, expansionist and aggressive, but strongly inclined to isolate problems and go around them.

  "Do you know Comet Fall? You are more respectful of them than most of us."

  A kaleidoscope impression, powerful people, magic everywhere and everyone oblivious to it. A gorgeous blonde woman, terror . . .

  The old man shut his shields suddenly.

  A cackle from Ytry as he entered. "A blonde, Usse? I thought you were immune to women."

  A glower from the old man. :: Ought to dose the lot of you with that wine. ::

  The third man hunched a shoulder and stepped away from the other two Philosophers. "We don't need outsiders. We should stay away from them all."

  Rael cleared
her throat. "Perhaps we should stop picking fights and try for mutually beneficial trade. Or just stick to exploiting Empty Worlds."

  Four glares.

  Ytry shrugged. "We want to learn. Explore. By ourselves, not depending on those . . . Fallen."

  Hawk-nose growled. "We need to control any people we encounter."

  Rael shook her head. "Like Homesteaders? The best thing we've ever done is invite them to peacefully join the Empire. We need to open friendly relations with Comet Fall, not abrogate the diplomatic agreement we signed with the first shipment of building material for our embassy in Karista."

  "Second shipment." A rusty old voice as the old one shuffled into the courtyard and propped himself up with his cane to stare at her. "So you don't want war and don't want to kill?"

  Rael eyed him. He looks good. This is the first time I've seen him out of bed. And coherent. "I want to . . ." A deep breath for bravery. "From now on, I will decide if I need to kill, or take other action."

  Hawk-nose glared. "Princesses and Dancers follow orders."

  The old one grunted. "Isakson has come, and informed me that there will be Warriors again, and that they will protect the Empire."

  A snicker from Ytry. "And of course he insulted all of us, as a whole and individually."

  That got him a sharp glance from the old one. Rael swallowed. They are all nearly completely detached from the hive mind. I'm talking to them, not the hive mind.

  "Isakson is bad as Alexander. He doesn't see that we need the power." Hawk-nose crossed his arms.

  "Do you really need power?" Rael stiffened her resolve. Eyed him, then met the old one's gaze. "The New Prophets of the One True God fast-talked, flimflammed, and magicked their way into a position of power. For survival. For the survival of their children and grandchildren. But that's assured now, isn't it? Your genes permeate a twelve world empire. Even the people we call Multitude and Natives have some of the genes."

  She eyed the men. "So are you gathering power to rule or to lead? To inspire? Or are you gathering power just to be powerful? A self-feeding bureaucracy with no real purpose beyond an occasional display of your ability to make trouble for everyone?"

  Four growls. Ytry was biting his knuckle, a smile sneaking out around it.

  "Murdering people, starting wars, and kidnapping children is a poor way to inspire worship. But then you know all this. Think about it."

  Hawk-nose glared. "You will obey us."

  And the old one waved him down. "No. Feel her. I remember that feel now. I should never have forgotten. She is neither Princess nor Dancer."

  Rael squirmed, feeling naked, skin crawling. A lot more than five people were paying attention. Feeling her. She kept her shields down and her determined independence strong.

  The old one nodded. "A Warrior. Go then, and defend the Empire."

  ***

  " . . . then I got the hell out of there before I said something even less diplomatic." Rael ran her hands through her hair. Stretched her shoulders. I should be exhausted, not comfortable, calm . . . centered? I'd nearly forgotten how it feels.

  How good it feels.

  Urfa was smiling, but his gaze was inward, thinking. "Lecturing the Philosopher of the One and both Alternate Philosophers. Well, it'll be interesting to see what comes of it. In the meantime, maybe we need to think about how the new Warriors should organize."

  All gazes turned toward Isakson.

  "There is no war to fight. We do not need an organization. I think it will be more useful to have Warriors spotted around, in different organizations, so that someone is on hand when something happens that needs a warrior's abilities."

  Isakson drummed his fingers and eyed Rael. "Many of which I lack. You need to continue a relationship with Wolfson. Learn as much of their magic as possible.

  "Ra'd and Ebsa in the External Directorate, Izzo and Xiat in Internal, four Black Horse Guards, Rael as one of your agents, Urfa. Qayg close to the President. And I will train the lot of you.

  "I think that's a good distribution for now. We will have to consider how to test candidates from other organizations for special training. And any other areas where having a Warrior on duty could come in handy."

  He looked over at Rael. "We'll test a lot of people, and many, like your sort-of siblings, will not have the right combinations of Speed and personality attributes to be Warriors. Or lack training. Izzo? You will come regularly for magical practice. Most of what you can do is applicable to a Warrior's needs. We will improve on that."

  Urfa nodded. "That sounds good. Everyone; think it over. Send me your thoughts about the One. Send Isakson your suggestions about the New Warriors. Rael? I'll come up with some jobs that'll take you back to Embassy World regularly."

  Rael winced. "Right. As soon as he's over being mad at me. And I'll try to also get chummy with Q and see if there are differences in the way the witches do their magic."

  Orde had been listening silently, letting Urfa run the meeting. But when he shifted, everyone looked his direction. "The only question I have, about new Warriors, is who is in command?"

  Glances swapped around, settling finally on Isakson. And he looked at Rael. "What is your opinion on that?"

  "If we're not going to have an action cadre, just identification and training, we don't need leadership per se. Unless we go to war, and then we'd be better off in the military, under a very good general. But most of the time . . . we just need to do our jobs, and when something happens, when we notice something . . . deal with it."

  Like I did in Montevideo.

  ***

  Then the effects of the day's tension and confrontation hit. She climbed into bed early . . . and woke hours later, happy . . .

  A heavy arm around her, and warm body behind . . . on the other side of the blanket.

  "If you're not Xen, you're dead." Not that she had any doubts, that soft damped-down glow . . .

  "Umm?" Sleepy tones, the arm tightened.

  "What are you doing here?"

  "Hiding from t'nightmares, horrible woman."

  She stretched her toes out to feel . . . "You really ought to take your shoes off before you come to bed."

  "Nuh uh. Might have had t'run for my life."

  "Weeellll . . . From what I've heard you’re the champion at running away from women, so I'll bow to your expertise in footwear requirements."

  That got a chuckle out of him, and a long stretch.

  Is he really short on sleep?

  "And nightmares? You? The Master of the Multiverse? Kick off those shoes and let me show you how to deal with this particular problem."

  Epilogue

  Rael bounced through the door and threw herself into her office chair. Three spins . . . then she forced herself to get serious and . . . figure out what she'd stolen before she put any serious power into it.

  She pulled out the spell and spread it wide. Glowing symbols and arrows and flowing transitions of colors hanging in the air, invisible to anyone without magic.

  Her careful application of power this morning had done nothing . . . not even given her a clue how it might work.

  "So . . . what have I got?"

  A snort from the door. "If it's drinkable, I think I want some." Urfa's brows drew together as he spotted the spell visualization.

  "Ha!" Fool was right behind him. Not quite her boss anymore, head of the highly trained and very dangerous women, "princesses," that comprised a quarter of the President's personal security. "Am I to believe that make-up sex—even with Xen Wolfson—is that intoxicating? You bounced through the morning run. With a grin on your face."

  Her voice trailed off a bit and she eyed the spell.

  Urfa poked at it. "What is that? That bit's momentum changes, right? Speed?"

  "Orientation." Fool looked from the spell to Rael.

  Who looked down at her fingernails, trying to look modest. "It is sometimes possible, in moments of great distraction, to get into that man's spell storage system. And take a few peeks. I
didn't recognize this one, so I copied it."

  Urfa was still looking at the spell, complex and beautiful.

  She giggled and sat back to watch their expressions. "He used it this morning when he left. Because of that, and from what I've identified so far . . . I'm pretty sure this is the teleportation spell."

  They both stared at her.

  Rael spun her chair. "And I'm in a good mood because . . . well, I may be the Multiverse's most incompetent assassin, but when it comes to mental espionage? I. Am. Awesome!"

  She cleared her throat. "If I can figure out how it works, that is."

  A stray scene . . .

  Imde slid through the loose sand and turned south. The best surfing was a couple of miles away from a good place to park. Here the surf was lower, and well out, breaking over the sand bars, barely submerged now at low tide.

  He slowed, as crowd's odd behavior caught his attention . . . pointing and peering out . . . to the dark hump fifty meters offshore . . . is that a whale? On the sand bar? Next best thing to beached. Is it alive?

  A flap of a long flipper answered that question. A humpback . . . Who do you call about a suicidal whale?

  He jabbed his surfboard nose first into the sand and walked out into the foamy surf.

  "I don't think it's tangled in anything." A man holding a child, sounding upset.

  "Maybe it's sick?"

  "I've heard a shift in the magnetic field . . . "

  "Loud noises, explosions or sonar . . ."

  Well . . . am I just going to stand here? I could probably wash it off the sand bar . . .

  He waded out crotch deep then started swimming.

  One! This thing is huge, when you get close to it. What's more dangerous, the head or the tail?

  He turned toward its head, and climbed out onto the sand bar ahead of it. The whale's weight and movement had flattened the top of the sand bar , trapped it in a shallow wallow. Imde edged closer, a bit to the side in case it managed some forward movement. In fact sloshing around to the seaward side looked actually safer, with the whale angled toward shore.