Heart Dance

by Robin D. Owens

  So he made that his priority.

  His steps slowed as he reached the HouseHeart. He’d barely been in it since he’d become T’Willow. His MotherDam had never admitted him to this place, never taught him the right words or rituals. She had merely ignored the fact that her previousheir, her older sister, had imparted the knowledge to him. When he’d taken the title, he’d named his mother as his Heir and shared everything with her.

  Despite all his personal and professional successes two floors above him in the ResidenceDen, and the acceptance of his Family and the FirstFamilies over the last two months, this being was the core of the Family. Would it accept him? He’d been loath to put it to the test.

  He’d accused Dufleur of being cowardly, of being too aware of others’ opinions. He should have aimed that argument at himself.

  So he took a big breath, shucked the robe he was wearing, and placed both palms on the ancient wooden door that had hardened with age and spells into stronger than steel. Softly, he recited the pretty poetry spell one of the previous many D’Willowshad crafted and felt the door swing away from his hands.

  A tendril of warm, scented air drifted out, redolent of generationsof female Heads of Households, spring flowers mixed with a hint of musk. The scent of the Family itself. Nostrils widening, he caught the faintest trace of masculinity. It was enough to have his shoulders easing.

  Welcome, Saille T’Willow. You have not spent as much time here as you should.

  He strode in. “My apologies.” The thick rugs, angled many ways and a blur of competing colors and patterns, caressed the soles of his feet. He walked to the center of the octagonal room and stood near the altar. The room was well lit with bright natural sunlight from hidden shafts on the property, set precisely in the four directions. Physics and Flair and mirrors. Saille thought a male Willow had contributed that.

  Why are you here?

  “As you said, I haven’t spent much time here as the GreatLord.” His jaw flexed. “I am the GreatLord, T’Willow. I want that acknowledged.”

  It is acknowledged, the HouseHeart voice sounded mildly amused.

  Saille closed his eyes and let out the breath he’d been unconsciouslyholding. His spine straightened. He hadn’t realized he’d been a little hunched, either. “Thank you.”

  Perform the empowering ritual, T’Willow. No humor now.

  He tensed again, shot his Flair around the chamber, up into the Residence, checking for weakening, for loss of energy. There was none, but with the example of Winterberry and Thyme Residences before him, he was all too aware of the need to keep the essential entities alive. With blood pulsing faster because of the scare, Saille bowed toward the altar, blew the dangle of nearby windchimes, enjoyed the light sounding of lovely random notes, then spent the next septhour reinforcingall the spells needed by the Residence. When he was done he was barely able to slip into the hot, bubbling tub that was the “water” portion of the four elements. He sat on a stone ledge and relaxed, head back. He was sure that this luxury wasn’t included in most male-dominated HouseHearts. Bless the ladies.

  All is as it should be, the HouseHeart said, as if it had been doing its own check.

  “Thank you,” Saille murmured.

  Better than even your predecessor at her prime.

  That sent a little spurt of interest through Sallie but not enough for him to open his eyes. “Each generation has more Flair,” Saille said lazily.

  The Residence is well maintained for the next quarter. Approvalhummed in the HouseHeart’s voice.

  “Mmm.” The water—there was some faint scent to it— soaked stress from his muscles.

  You are T’Willow, the GreatLord. Only your predecessor believesherself to still be the Head of this Household.

  That woke Saille up. “She does believe that.”

  She is the past, the HouseHeart said simply. One cannot dwell in the past.

  It occurred to Saille that the HouseHeart had seen many generations of his Family come and go, yet still looked to the future, and he had another distracting thought that time was very often spoken of casually by all and understood by none. Except Dufleur.

  Before he could comment, a soft yowl came, then a cat-expressionof horror. Myx sat, whiskers twitching wildly, a few feet from Saille. Another plaintive mew. Your Whole Body is in WATER. The cat shuddered.

  “I like it,” Saille said.

  Welcome, Fam Myx. You do the Residence honor, the HouseHeartsaid.

  Myx preened. Nice place.

  If you would be so kind, FamCat, to do me a favor, said the HouseHeart.

  A shrug rolled down the cat’s back, but a gleam of curiosity sparked in his yellow eyes. “Yesssss?”

  Here. The slide of a wooden panel, clinkings. These have been kept for Saille T’Willow.

  The noises stirred enough interest in Saille for him to shift and watch, as Myx picked up a small leather pouch and trotted with it to within Saille’s arm reach. The cat dropped the pouch and retreated to a safer place, purring.

  Saille picked up the small bag of fine-grained leather and opened it. There were two objects. One was a pottery leaf inset with a red jewel on a cord of braided gold. His heart began to thump. The Willow ruby. He’d heard of the prize possession, but never seen it.

  The first T’Willow was also a potter.

  Saille closed his hand over the pendant, received a jolt, a rush of impressions of many of his ancestors holding it as he did. Generous women. Honorable men. A few smears of selfishness,of dislike of the simple token, of a wish to remount the stone. He dropped it back into the pouch.

  It should be worn. YOU should wear it. The Flair it holds multiplies then.

  “Ah.” He coughed. His throat had clogged.

  Myx grinned at him with smug, narrowed eyes. I could wear it.

  Saille pulled the pendant over his head.

  Purring loudly, Myx smirked. Or I could have a ruby set in a willow leaf for a collar. From T’Ash. It would look good on Me.

  It would certainly accent the drab browns and blacks of his fur.

  “I thought you wanted blue faience beads.”

  Cocking his head, Myx grinned. I want both.

  Naturally.

  The HouseHeart said, There is another object in the bag. I had great difficulty preventing your predecessor from disposing of it. I had to cloud her mind. The thought contained echoes of old suffering at disobeying a head of the household.

  Saille looked into the pouch, a gleaming circle of gold showed. He plucked out the ring. A very delicate band, with even more elegant and delicate etched flourishes. Oddly enough, only male resonances came from it.

  It is for your mother. Brought to her by her HeartMate. Given to D’Willow who never told her of it.

  Shock cascaded through him. His fingers reflexively curved over the ring, protecting it, keeping it safe for his mother.

  When he managed to speak, his voice was rusty. “Not a HeartGift.” He wouldn’t be able to see it if it had been.

  No. But a gift from the heart nevertheless. The maker’s mark is T’Ash’s but he was commissioned by your mother’s HeartMate.

  Myx trotted over, keeping a wary eye on the tub, and looked at the ring.

  Now Saille knew what it was, he could sense more of the man. He’d have been good for his mother.

  The ruby on his chest flashed. Myx hissed, hopped back, slipped . . . envisioning sharp swiping claws, Saille sent a burst of Flair at his Fam that rolled the cat away from the tub.

  “Grrrrr. Too much water!” Myx rose to his paws and stalked to a corner to lick away the five droplets that dewed his fur.

  All thought of relaxation gone, imbued with renewed dedicationto his Family, Saille rose from the tub.

  Thank you for your gifts, HouseHeart.

  One has always been yours, the other your mother’s. Safely kept.

  “But that’s done and past. Now they should be used.”

  Yes, the HouseHeart and Myx said together.

  The
function that night was at the starship, Nuada’s Sword, and hosted by Captain Ruis Elder and his wife, SupremeJudgeAilim Elder. Every year Ruis reported to the Councils on the state of the reconditioning of the starship, and a gathering and a tour was part of that. This year he’d scheduled it as part of the social season.

  Some people wouldn’t attend, because Ruis was a Null—a person who suppressed the Flair of others, as well as Celtan spell-technology. So he was uncomfortable to be around. On the other hand, there was the Ship itself. An entity like the Residences,but one that was centuries old and had traveled from Earth itself. And everyone loved the Ship’s great greensward, the third of the Ship that nourished growing things—including the plants that gave Celtans their names, some of which only survived on the Ship, not having adapted to Celtan soil.

  The invitation stated that this year the cryogenics room would not be a part of the tour. Because one of the tubes was inhabitedby D’Willow.

  On impulse, Dufleur called ahead and spoke to Ruis Elder to see if she’d be allowed in the cryogenics room before the gathering began. She’d been prepared to argue the matter, but Captain Elder had just stared at her from under lowered chestnutbrows and agreed.

  Fairyfoot was already at the Ship, playing with the other cats and SupremeJudge Ailim Elder’s dog.

  Saille had not offered to take Dufleur to the event. He was still upset—angry—at her. Or pulling away because he felt he might be hurt. She knew that just from the tenseness that ran down their bond. And as he’d said of her earlier, she understood his feelings, but she didn’t like the situation.

  He wouldn’t like her visiting his MotherDam, either.

  The Ship wasn’t far—just a couple of blocks to Landing Park, then across the width of the park—but the snow was too bad to walk there, so Dufleur received permission to teleport to the north airlock, which, like the cryogenics chamber, was one of the places where Flair worked in the Ship. But the Ship was six kilometers long, and it would take time to walk from the airlockto the chamber.

  She arrived a half-septhour before the official time of the gathering. Passiflora would be fashionably late as always. Dufleur had noticed Passiflora D’Holly always arrived twenty minutesafter the gathering started unless her protégée was playing music for the function.

  So Dufleur dressed in the royal blue of the Thyme house colors and found herself surrounded by metal walls. Everything here was different than any other place on Celta.

  The whole ship gave her the shivers. More so than most Celtans, she thought, though the “curse” had been broken a few years ago by Ruis Elder.

  It was the Time Wind, she realized. The foam metal floor beneathher not only wasn’t Celtan soil, it was from a time and place more ancient than she could imagine. The Time Wind had been different on Earth. Or perhaps had changed—warped—during the long spacefaring journey.

  Her soles buzzed from small electrical charges. The atmospherearound her tingled, heavy with age, time trapped in cranniesof this strange entity. If she could tap it, use it, how would her Flair be magnified—or different? A scary thought, but a tantalizing one.

  Captain Elder’s voice came. “Merry meet, GrandMistrys Thyme.”

  Dufleur blinked. He gave her the noble salutation, as if she was of the same status as he was. “Merry meet, Captain Elder.”

  “I am sparing you my presence. I understand that you know the way to the cryogenics chamber, but there are maps on all the corridor walls. Should you have any questions, just ask Ship, or, if you prefer, I can stand ready to answer them.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of bothering you as you prepare for the gathering.”

  Elder chuckled. “Most of the work is done, but I am in the greensward. The FirstFamilies do like to look at the sacred trees.”

  “Thank you again for your courtesy,” Dufleur said.

  “My pleasure. I’ll see you later.”

  “Yes.” Dufleur pressed the button to open the iris door and stepped into the long hallway. As she walked toward the center of the Ship, her Flair changed. She thought others might feel a diminution of their Flair, but for her, it was as if the Time Wind buffered her a little, but the wind itself felt different.

  After taking a couple of omnivators, she found herself in the cryogenics room, surrounded by tubes that had held the foundersof the colonization—the ancestors of the FirstFamilies. The crew of the Ships had lived and died for generations during the long voyage.

  All the tubes were empty except one. There was a slight glow near the far wall and a small hum. “Ship?”

  “Yes, GrandMistrys Thyme?”

  “Flair works in this chamber.” Her feet had stopped tingling.

  “We have modified the atmosphere and the molecules of the walls, ceiling, and floor to accommodate both Earth and Celtan technology.”

  She supposed that was an answer.

  Ship went on, “Your ‘Flair’ is operative here, as well as in Sickbay B, which will also act as the nursery for the Flaired littleone, a gathering area for the leaders of your world just beyondLanding Ramp Six, and in what is now designated as the North End Airlock.”

  With slow steps, she went over to see D’Willow. A faint white fog filled the cylinder, sometimes parting so Dufleur could see a portion of the nude woman. She stepped back.

  It should have given her some satisfaction to see the woman who’d defamed her father lying helpless and near death.

  It shocked her.

  Why would anyone hold on to a miserable life so long, a life riddled with disease, instead of seeking rebirth on the wheel of stars? Life was precious, and to be savored each moment, but the great adventure of crossing the threshold of death should not be seen as so fearsome.

  Dufleur didn’t understand it. She considered what might be the basic motivation of such a person, a woman who had been pampered and powerful all her life.

  Greed. That was exactly what drove this woman. She was greedy—for food, for life, for power, for all the things her rank could give her, this time around on the wheel. Did she fear her next life? Dufleur snorted, if she’d lived the way D’Willow had, she’d dread karma and the next life. How often was a person born to great Flair and rank if they abused it? How often, if not? Too many philosophical questions. She was a scientist, she should think on the ethics long and hard, be sure that she followedher own ethical standards—as she did just by continuing experiments now considered illegal—but she wasn’t a priest or priestess to ponder all the vagaries of reincarnation.

  She put a hand on her own chest, felt the bump, bump, bump of it. She, too, had been close to death, her heart fatally damaged, yet she had been saved and lived. She could only think that it had not been her time to die. Could she take that as a sign her work was valuable and should be continued? It would be nice to think so, but was simply rationalization of her wishes.

  All the huge feelings for Saille set her philosophizing too much.

  “The Fams have joined the human gathering, including Fairyfoot, though there is a special anteroom for the FamAnimals.” The Ship prompted, sounding proud. “Samba, Ship’s Cat, is offering rides on her saucer.”

  Dufleur laughed. Cats lived every moment. She left the greedy old woman who’d ruined lives and now lived a half-life of her own, to join others who were in the prime of their lives.

  Tempted by the odd Flair and Wind of Time, and knowing Saille had arrived and was still displeased with her, Dufleur didn’t go directly to the party in the landing bay but followed the disappearing Flair until she found the epicenter, the Captain’s Quarters.

  Ruis Elder stepped from the door.

  Dufleur gasped, caught rambling the Ship alone. By the Captain.

  Twenty-six

  He raised an eyebrow at her. “The fact that my Nullness is spreading throughout the Ship and that it emanates from my rooms is in my report. My reports of the last three years.”

  Heat slid over her cheeks. She ducked her head. “My apologies.” But she was tempted again. Tur
ning aside to ostensibly study the marred door of the Captain’s Quarters and the fascinatingEarth writing, she gathered the slippery Time Wind and sent to Ruis mentally, Thank you for letting me visit the cryogenicschamber.

  Watching from the corner of her eye, she saw his startled expression.“I haven’t heard any mental talk since I was a young child before my Nullness grew. How did you do that?” he asked in wonder.

  She faced him again. “Magic.” Another name for psi powers, Flair.

  He considered her. “Could you boost someone else’s Flair to overcome my Nullness, even here?”

  Since she thought he had a specific experiment in mind and she’d already used most of the Time Wind in the area, she said, “Probably not here.”

  “But in a place that was equal non-Flair and Flair? Or one mostly Flair?”

  “I could definitely allow Flair to operate around you on Celta. With effort. And on the Ship.” She didn’t want to give away any secrets. “But areas with more Flair would naturally be easier to use.”

  “May I ask a favor?” He’d taken her arm, and they were walking briskly toward the landing ramp where the social event was occurring.

  “You’ve already done one for me,” Dufleur said.

  “I would like you to link with someone so he could use his powers on me. That can be done?”

  “That would be easier, yes. Why?” Ruis Elder had carved a strong and essential place for himself in Celtan society and was a member of the FirstFamilies Council.

  “I have this awful, interminable questionnaire . . .” He waved, then spoke, “Ship, please request my HeartMate and Saille T’Willow meet me and Dufleur Thyme in Ailim’s blue sitting room.”

  Ship said, “I have relayed the message.”

  “Thank you.”

  A few minutes later, when Ruis waved a hand over a plate set in the metallic wall and the door slid open on either side, Dufleur saw that Saille and SupremeJudge Ailim Elder were alreadythere. Ailim smiled at her. “Greetyou, GrandMistrys Thyme.”

  Dufleur curtsied deeply. “Merry meet.”