by Sharon
The street behind him was very nearly empty. No one stood near, hand raised in greeting.
He heard the call again—slightly louder. His name, certainly, the voice seeming to come from—the east. Toward Mid-Port.
Holding his breath, he slipped into the car, started the engine—and sat waiting, stretching his ears, though of course that was foolish. When the call came again, he put the car into gear and followed the fading echoes through the noisy chatter of the outside world.
“YOU WILL HAVE THE goodness to produce the piece of bogus evidence linking Liaden language to Terran.”
Anne eyed Fil Tor Kinrae carefully. The gun was steady, but at least he had let Shan sit next to her on the hard wooden bench. The crying in the back of her mind had stopped, replaced by a kind of exhausted half-trance.
“If the evidence is bogus, why bother with it?” she asked the gunman.
He returned her scrutiny blandly. “I collect lies, Scholar; it is an avocation. Produce the material or pay the price. Please understand that I am able to extract whatever payment I will. Behold the destruction of the Languages Department on University and believe me.” He moved the gun. “The proof, Scholar. Now.”
“I don’t have it,” she said, meeting his disturbingly expressionless eyes and willing him to believe the truth.
“Jin Del yo’Kera had it,” he returned.
“So I believe. However, the central argument is missing from his notes. I thought it might be in his research computer, but I was not able to find it.” She nodded toward the briefcase leaning against the wall. “I copied the core. The disk is in my case. You’re welcomed to take it.”
“Am I? But how kind. However, I am not interested in negative results, Scholar. I give you one more opportunity to cooperate: Produce this central argument of Jin Del’s, this masterpiece of error that attempts to link Liad and Terra to a common mother tongue.”
Her son’s body was a torch, scorching her side, his presence in her mind an alert somnolence. She met the gunman’s eyes fully, and saw Jin Del yo’Kera’s death in their depths.
“I have no such information.”
“I see. It is my belief, Scholar, that you are not fully awake to the vulnerability of your position. Perhaps a demonstration is in order.”
THE VOICE NO LONGER called his name.
Indeed, Er Thom thought, threading the narrowing streets toward Mid-Port with rapid skill, that which guided him was no longer voice, but—compulsion. He followed it and in good time pulled over to the side of an alley, just behind another, nondescript and slightly battered, landcar.
He got out of the car and walked a short distance. It took less than a minute to persuade the street door to admit him, after which he lost no time in going up the rag-tag stairway.
Jyl ven’Apon spun round as he burst through the door, her hand flashing toward the weapon set ready on the desk—too late.
Er Thom’s gun was already out and aimed, with regrettable accuracy, at a point in the precise center of her forehead.
ANNE TRIED TO BLOCK the man with her body and earned a fist against her shoulder for her efforts. He grabbed for Shan.
The child flung himself back against the wall, soft-booted feet flailing at the man’s face.
“Mirada!” he screamed in piercing hysteria. “Mirada! Mirada!”
Fil Tor Kinrae swore and snatched again, clawed hand grabbing for fragile throat. Anne twisted, flung the man half backward and used her elbow in the way she had been taught.
One blow to crush a man’s windpipe. Kinrae dropped like a stone. Before he hit the floor, Anne had the gun out of his hand and caught Shan to her.
“Hush, baby. Hush, OK?”
Face against the side of her neck, he nodded. Anne held him, mind working feverishly. The woman in the other room: She would have to be prepared to kill her, as well. Anne swallowed, feeling the gun in her hand, the plastic still warm from Kinrae’s grip.
“Shannie, listen to me. You listening?”
“Yes.”
“OK. I’m going out for a minute. You need to stay here (with a dead man on the floor, Annie Davis?). I’ll be back in a minute and then we’ll leave. (Gods willing.) Promise me you’ll stay here until I come for you.”
“Promise, Ma.”
“Good.” She hugged him tight. “I love you, Shannie.”
The warning was little enough—a light step in the hall beyond. Anne came to her feet, thrusting her son behind her, gun held ready.
The door burst open.
“Mirada!”
Er Thom’s eyes flashed over her face, took in Shan and what was left of Fil Tor Kinrae on the floor. He slipped his gun away and held out a hand.
“Come away now. Quickly.”
ER THOM HAD THE briefcase, Anne was carrying Shan, uncertain if the shaking she felt was his or her own.
They went through the console-room. A glance revealed no body bleeding its life out on floor or desk. Anne swallowed around a mingled sense of nausea and relief, recalling what was left behind on the back room floor.
“How did you get here?” she asked Er Thom, voice sounding thin in her own ears.
He spared her a quick violet glance. “I heard you calling.”
“Oh.” She gulped, hugging Shan tight. “We’re leaving Liad, Er Thom.”
“Yes,” he said, leading the way down the tricky stairs. “I know.” At the bottom of the flight he turned to her.
“You and our child must be attended by a Healer as soon as possible. We should thus book passage on Chelda, which leaves this afternoon and has a Healer on-staff. After we are safe away, we may modify direction.”
She stopped, blinking into his beautiful, beloved face. “We?”
He met her eyes, his own unguarded, his face fully open to her.
“If you will have me.”
Have him? Anne drew a careful breath, aware of Shan, trembling in her arms. “We have to talk,” she said.
Er Thom bowed slightly. “We do, indeed. Let us board Chelda. The Healers shall tend to you and to our son. We shall talk. Fully, I swear it. If you choose then that we must go separate paths, I shall trouble you no further.” He held out a tentative hand.
“Can you trust me in these things, Anne?”
She touched his fingertips lightly with her own. “Yes.”
“Good,” he said gravely. “Let us go away from here.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
In the case of a clan’s loss of an individual member through the actions of a person unrelated to the clan, balance-payment is hereby set forth. Such payment weighs equally the occupation, age, and clan-standing of the individual who has been lost. The attached chart shall henceforth be the standard by which all clans shall compute such balance-payment.
—From the
Charter of the Council of Clans,
Fifth Amended Edition
“YES, I SEE.” The Healer folded neat hands into his lap. “For the child, forgetfulness. And for yourself as well, if you wish it, Lady.”
Anne found herself looking into a pair of bright brown eyes.
She frowned, fighting to think with a mind that seemed frozen and unwieldy. Er Thom had handled the arrangements at the reservation office, slicing through what Anne dimly perceived as a daunting mountain of red tape. He had bespoken them a suite aboard Chelda, she remembered that he had said so. But what else he might have told her, she could not presently call to mind.
On consideration, they might very well be on Chelda now, in the very suite Er Thom had rented, though the shuttle trip seemed likewise lost to recollection. The only thing she clearly remembered was the scene in the Mid-Port back room, where she had killed a man and left him lying on the floor …
The Healer was looking at her, head tipped to one side, face alert and friendly.
“Forgetfulness,” she managed. Her voice was shaking badly, she noted with detachment. “You can make Shan forget what happened?”
The Healer inclined his head. “Very e
asily, Lady. Shall I?”
“It would be best,” she heard Er Thom murmur beside her.
She hugged Shan tight against her chest. “Yes,” she said awkwardly, the dead man looming before her mind’s eye. “If you please.”
“Very well.” He stood, a diminutive man with a quantity of curly gray-shot hair, and held out a hand. “We shall have to be alone, Shan and I. It will not take long.”
On her lap, Shan stirred, looking up at the tiny man out of dull silver eyes. Abruptly, he wriggled upright and leaned forward in Anne’s hold.
“Beautiful sparkles,” he announced, and raised a hand toward the Healer. “Show me.”
The Healer smiled. “Certainly.”
Shan wriggled again, and Anne took her arms away. Her son slid from her lap and clasped the Healer’s hand. Together they disappeared into an anteroom.
“Anne?” Er Thom’s voice was worried. She turned to look at him. “Shall you take forgetfulness, as well?”
Forget … She wanted, desperately, to forget. Especially, she wanted to forget that last moment, when her body had taken over from her mind and—She had killed a man. She had intended to kill him. He had threatened her child, herself. He had murdered Jin Del yo’Kera, by his own word, he had destroyed the Language Arts building and only pure luck that no one had died of it—
“Anne!” Er Thom’s hands were on her shoulders.
She realized she was trembling, looked wildly into his face.
“What happened—happened to the—master trader?”
His fingers were kneading her shoulders, setting up a rhythm in counter to her trembling. “She need not concern you.”
“You killed her.”
“No.” He lifted a hand and tenderly cupped her cheek. “There was no need. She ran away.” Gently, he bent and lay his lips against hers, whisper-light and warm.
Tears spilled over. She lurched forward, face buried in his shoulder, arms tight around his waist. The trembling turned to violent shaking, the tears to half-cries, gritted out past locked teeth.
Er Thom held her, one hand stroking her hair, the vulnerable back of her neck. He spoke in the Low Tongue, honoring her, loving her. Indeed, he barely knew what he said, except it came full from the heart. It seemed the sound of his voice soothed her.
The storm passed, quickly for all its passion. She lay shivering in his arms, her cheek pillowed against his shoulder.
“Remember something for me,” she said huskily, her breath warm against the side of his neck.
He stroked her hair. “What shall I recall?”
“That—Fil Tor Kinrae. He wanted the central argument—the material that was missing from Doctor yo’Kera’s proof. I know—I think I know where it is.” She drew a shuddering breath. “It’s behind the flat pic of—of the Aus sheep farmers. In his office. Remember that, Er Thom.” Her arms tightened around him. “It’s important.”
“I will remember,” he promised.
“Thank you.” She sighed and nestled her cheek against him, seeming more peaceful, though she trembled still.
The door to the anteroom opened and the Healer spoke with the ease of one for whom there are few surprises in life.
“The child is asleep. If the lady will come with me, I shall see what might be wrought.”
She stirred and moved her arms from his waist. Er Thom stepped back, took her hand and helped her to rise. Slipping her arm through his, he guided her to the doorway and gave her over to the Healer.
“I will be with you,” he said, smiling up into her beloved and careworn face, “when you wake.”
She gave him an uncertain smile in return. “All right,” she mumbled, and allowed the Healer to lead her away.
THE HEALER’S EXHAUSTION showed clearly in his face. He accepted a glass of wine with unfeigned gratitude and slumped into the offered chair with a sigh.
Er Thom sat in the chair opposite, sipped his wine and put it aside.
“It is fortunate,” the Healer said after a sip or two of his own, “that they were able to be seen so quickly after the event. I anticipate no complications for the child: The dream will be hazy when he wakes from trance and will continue to fade over the next two or three days.
“The lady I believe capable of recapturing the entire experience, did necessity exist. She has a disciplined mind and a very strong will. If she should find it difficult to concentrate, if her sleep is disturbed, if she is troubled in any way—only call. I shall be honored to assist her.”
Er Thom inclined his head. “I thank you.”
“It is joy to serve,” the Healer replied formally. He had recourse once more to his glass.
“The child,” he said then and met Er Thom’s gaze. “Your Lordship is perhaps not aware that the child is something out of the common way. It would be wisdom, were he to be shown—soon—to a master Healer, or brought to a Hall.”
Again, Er Thom inclined his head. “I shall discuss the matter with my lady.”
“Certainly.” The Healer finished his wine and rose to make his bow.
Er Thom rose, returned the man’s salute with gravity, straightened and held out a hand in which a six-cantra gleamed.
“Please accept tangible evidence of my gratitude for the service you render my lady and our son.”
“Your Lordship is gracious.” The coin disappeared. The Healer inclined his head.
“Good day, sir. Fair fortune to you and yours.”
“And to you, Healer.”
Er Thom walked the smaller man to the door and let him out into the wide, cruise-ship hallway. He closed the door and locked it—and went back through the parlor to the bedroom, there to keep watch at Anne’s bedside until such time as she should wake.
COMING OUT OF SLEEP was like coming out of heavy cloud, into lighter cloud, to dense fog, to mist—to bright, unencumbered sun.
Anne stretched luxuriously. She felt wonderfully well, without care or grief; lucid and joyful for the first time in days.
She stretched again, knowing that they were booked on the cruise ship Chelda, bound for Lytaxin and points outward, scheduled to leave Liad orbit this very afternoon. Her son was safe and happy—deeply asleep at the moment, she knew. Er Thom was traveling with them—she forgot precisely how that had come about, for surely—
The thought slid away, vanishing into a warm glow of happiness.
“Hello, Anne.” His voice, in gentle Terran. “Are you well?”
“Well?” She opened her eyes and smiled up into his, extended a languid hand and brushed his cheek with her fingertips, relishing the slow stir of passion. “I’m wonderful. I guess I needed a nap.”
“I—guess,” Er Thom agreed softly. He traced her eyebrows with a light fingertip. “You are beautiful.”
She laughed. “No, laddie, there you’re out. I am not beautiful.”
“You really must allow me to disagree with you,” he murmured, fingertips like moon-moths against her lips. He smiled, eyes smoky, fingers running the line of her jaw. “Beautiful Anne. Darling Anne. Sweetheart.”
She gasped, as much from surprise as from the tingle of pleasure his caresses evoked.
“You don’t—You never say—things … ” His fingers were tracing a line of fire along the curve of her throat.
“My dreadful manners,” he murmured, bending his bright head as his clever fingers worked lose the fastening of her shirt. “Forgive me.”
His mouth was hot over the pulse at the base of her throat. His fingers were teasing a nipple to erection.
“Teach me,” he whispered, raising his head and kissing her cheek, her eyelids, her chin. “What else should I say, Anne?”
She laughed breathlessly, cupping his face in her two hands and holding him still.
“I don’t think you need to say anything more at the moment,” she murmured, and kissed him, very thoroughly, indeed.
SHE WOKE AGAIN, sated and a-tingle in every nerve, opened her eyes and saw him leaning above her, face suffused with tenderness. She
shivered and reached for him.
“Er Thom, what’s wrong?”
“Ah.” He stroked her hair softly back from her forehead. “I shall—miss—my clan.”
Coldness leached into her, riding confusion. Why was he here? The plan—hadn’t the plan been to take Shan and herself away to New Dublin? Er Thom was to have stayed with his clan, wasn’t that the plan? How—She groped after the precise memory. It eluded her, leaving her blinking up into his eyes, feeling half-ill with loneliness, vulnerable as she had never been vulnerable.
“You could—” Gods, she could scarcely breathe. She pushed her voice past the tight spot in her throat. “The ship’s still in orbit, isn’t it? You could—go home … “
“No, how could I?” He smiled gently and lay his finger along her lips. “You and our son are leaving Liad. How can I stay?” He kissed her cheek. “I shall learn, sweetheart. I depend upon you to teach me.”
She stared at him, speechless—then blinked, attention diverted.
“Shan’s waking up.”
“I shall go to him,” Er Thom said, slipping out of the wide bed and bending to retrieve his clothes. He smiled at her. “If you like, we three may go up to the observation deck and watch the ship break orbit.”
He was going to stay with them, loneliness and vulnerability be damned. She felt his determination echo at the core of her. He was turning his back on his clan, on wealth and position; throwing his lot in with Linguistics Professor Anne Davis, untenured.
“Er Thom—”
“Hush.” He bent quickly over her, stopping her protests with his lips. “I love you, Anne Davis, with all of my heart. If you will not have Liad, then you must lead me to another place, and teach me new customs. Only do not put me aside … ” His voice broke, eyes bright. “Anne?”
“You lied,” she said uncertainly, for that had suddenly come crystal clear. “You said you weren’t a thief—”
“Nor am I.” He sat on the edge of the bed and caught her hands in his. “Anne, listen. If there were a child who was Davis, and I caused him to brought into Korval, that is thievery. But a child named yos’Galan, brought into Korval—how may yos’Galan steal a yos’Galan?” His fingers were tight on hers; she felt the truth in him, like a flame, melting away old fears.