Twin Soul Series Omnibus 1: Books 1-5 (Twin Soul Series Book Sets)

by McCaffrey-Winner

  “Hana,” Krea called as she picked out the pile of knitting on a table nearby, “can we sit with you?”

  “I’ll sit over here,” Lyric declared, moving toward an empty table.

  Hana looked up, her mouth full, and gave Krea a startled look.

  Krea took a seat opposite her and glanced down at her piping hot plate of food. “Do you think I’m eating too much?”

  Hana shook her head quickly.

  “How old are you?” Krea asked as she sliced into the stack of pancakes, and put the food into her mouth. “Oh, by the gods, this is great!” she cried when she could talk once more.

  “It is good,” Hana agreed. She gave Krea a look. “Have you never tried pancakes before?”

  “I never even heard of them,” Krea admitted. She raised her fork with more food on it. “Have you? Did you want to try?”

  Hana shook her head quickly and took a bite of her food. Krea recognized it as an omelet with bits of ham and cheese.

  “Where do you come from?” Krea asked. “I came from Kingsland.”

  “I come from the far east,” Hana said. She shivered. “I do not like the cold.” She raised her knitting. “Which is why I’m making things to keep me warm.”

  “It’s not cold!” Krea said, looking around the large room in wonder.

  “Inside, no,” Hana said. She gestured beyond the walls that surrounded them. “Outside, it is the bitter north.”

  “North?” Krea said. “I flew that way.”

  “For how long?” Hana said. “And you flew?”

  “I gave an oath to a wyvern,” Krea said. “And I turned into a wyvern.”

  “Of course,” Hana said, sounding enlightened, “you are a twin soul of Ophidian’s get.”

  “And you?” Krea asked.

  “I am fleeing the gods,” Hana said. “They are angry with me.”

  “Why?”

  “I have not had the courage to ask them,” Hana replied, lowering her gaze to her food in shame.

  “I’m sure you will,” Krea told her stoutly. “Who did you give your oath to?”

  “I did not give an oath,” Hana said, her lips turning down. “I was sacrificed.”

  “Sacrificed?” Krea repeated in horror. “By whom?”

  Hana dropped her gaze and shook her head mutely.

  Lyric rose from her table loudly. She came over to them, saying to Hana, “Is she disturbing you?”

  Hana kept her eyes downcast and shook her head again.

  Lyric turned her eyes to Krea. “You shouldn’t cause trouble.”

  “I didn’t mean to!” Krea cried.

  Lyric paid her no heed, jerking her head toward the exit. “Come with me.”

  Krea gave Hana an apologetic look and rose from the table. A short, bustling woman approached them, eyeing Krea unfavorably.

  “Is there trouble?” the woman asked, frowning at Krea. She glanced at Lyric. “You said there would be no trouble.”

  “It is not of my doing,” Lyric said, waving toward Krea.

  “I will not have trouble in my house,” the woman scolded Krea.

  “Your house?” Krea repeated in surprise. She dropped into a curtsy. “Please, my lady of this marvelous house, accept all my apologies for however I may have wronged anyone here.”

  “She did nothing wrong,” Hana said quietly from where she still sat, head bowed.

  “I determine who stays in my house,” the woman replied frostily.

  Hana rose from her chair and met the woman’s eyes frankly. “I will take charge of her, if you wish.”

  “I have been given that task already,” Lyric told the dark woman.

  “You say Ibb appointed you,” the woman said, turning to Lyric. She pointed at Krea. “She did not.”

  “She would have died in the snows without me,” Lyric said, her face going cold.

  “That is not known,” a new voice — a boy’s — piped up from behind Krea. Krea turned quickly and saw a young boy, perhaps ten. She smiled at him and he smiled back, then waved a hand toward the lady of the house.

  Krea turned back again, and saw that the boy had disappeared. She stared at the empty space for a moment, then turned back to the lady of the house. “I’m sorry, the boy…”

  “What boy?” Lyric asked, giving Krea a look like she’d lost her wits.

  “Never mind him,” the lady of the house said. “We’re talking about you.”

  “I can watch out for her,” Hana said again. She rose from her chair and turned to the lady. “Really, it won’t be any trouble.”

  “Both of you have been here for days and neither of you has done any chores,” the lady said waspishly.

  “My lady,” Krea said, curtsying once more, “please tell me how I can be of service.”

  “How remains to be seen,” the lady said sternly. Then her expression relaxed and she sighed. “At the very least you can help Sybil with the dishes.”

  “A pleasure!” Krea said, curtsying once more and rising to grab her tray, ready to bring it back to the kitchen.

  “The cleaning room is over there,” the lady said, gesturing toward a door that Krea hadn’t noticed before. Under her breath, she muttered, “Really! To even imagine mixing good food and waste together!”

  “I’m sorry,” Krea said. “Our kitchen had the only sink in our —”

  “Please!” the woman stopped her with an upraised hand. “I don’t care what was in your past, child.”

  “Yes, my lady,” Krea said dutifully. She started toward the door, then turned back. “Is there any other way I may serve?”

  “My name is Avice, as you should well know,” the lady replied sternly. She waved a hand toward the door. “Just clean all the dishes, that’ll be a sufficient start.”

  “As my lady Avice wishes,” Krea said, ducking her head in acknowledgement. She walked swiftly to the indicated door, turned around to open it with her butt because her arms were full and entered. As the door closed, she saw Lyric speaking to Avice and Hana looking on in worry.

  She turned around to head forward, discovering that she was in a hallway. She listened and heard sounds coming from the doorway to the left but none from the right. The sounds on the left were kitchen sounds, so Krea guessed that Sybil was there. To the right, she decided, must be the cleaning room.

  She entered and found a room full of dirty dishes. Had no one cleaned, ever? Krea asked herself in outrage.

  She looked around the room. There were two sinks — both full — and four tables piled her with dirty cookware, plates, bowls, forks, spoons, knives — it was endless. Several things had green mold on them, Krea noted in disgust.

  In addition to the four tables there were three carts on wheels, all full of dirty cookware.

  How could anyone ever hope to clean all this? Krea thought in despair.

  A sound startled her and she looked up to find Sybil wheeling in another cart full of dirty dishes.

  “Oh!” Sybil said. “You volunteered! I was hoping it would be you.”

  “There are so many dishes,” Krea said, waving at the piles.

  “I’m sorry,” Sybil said, “it’s just that I get so caught up in cooking that I forget that things need cleaning, too.” She turned to leave, calling back over her shoulder, “Of course, all this is no problem for you.”

  “For me?” Krea said. “Why me?”

  “You’re a wyvern, dear,” Sybil replied as though it was obvious.

  “How does being a wyvern help with dishes?” Krea wailed. But Sybil was already gone.

  Krea was no stranger to soap and water, being responsible for her father’s kitchen from an early age, and, earlier, being her mother’s helper. So she looked at the large sinks, at the jars of soap stacked on shelves above them and thought merely to add soap to one of the sinks, use the other
for rinsing, and slowly —

  — but the sinks were clogged with dirty dishes! And there were no towels to dry the dishes once they were washed!

  The whole situation was impossible!

  Krea turned at a noise behind her and saw Hana.

  “Can I help?” she asked quietly.

  Krea gave her a look, gestured at the dishes, at the sink and wailed, “I don’t see how anyone can help!”

  “Well, I’m pretty good at drying dishes,” Hana allowed. She glanced at the sink. “I don’t suppose you could use fire magic and heat the water?”

  “Fire magic?”

  “You’re a wyvern,” Hana said, as though that should explain everything. Krea gave her a blank look. “Wyverns are children of Ophidian.”

  “I’ve never tried anything like that,” Krea said. But her expression changed as she remembered, years ago, when she’d tried to hammer a sword in her father’s forge. She’d got it completely wrong and the sparks had flown into the kitchen, nearly setting the house on fire but… there was something. And her father was always good with fire. She bowed her head and took a deep breath. “Do you know how I would do that?” She frowned as she recalled Hana’s words, “How do you dry dishes?”

  “Wash one and I’ll show you,” Hana said, leaning back against the wall to the side of the door.

  “How would a wyvern wash dishes?” Krea mused. She tried contacting Wymarc in her mind — her twin soul must know such things — but the old wyvern did not respond. Krea could feel the other’s presence but it refused any contact. Perhaps the wyvern was sleeping? It didn’t feel that way to Krea. It was like the wyvern was waiting, giving Krea the chance to find the answer on her own.

  So how does a wyvern wash dishes? Krea wondered. She gets her human half to do it. The words weren’t Wymarc’s: they were Krea’s sense of humor answering her.

  “Heat the water,” Krea said to herself. “Heat the water, set it to boiling, have it scrub the dishes, and have them —” Krea closed her eyes and imagined the water in the left sink boiling merrily. She moved her hands toward the sink, not putting them in but imagining the water hot, steaming. She opened her eyes when she felt the first tendrils of steam rise to bathe her hands.

  “So I boil the water,” Krea said, “and then get the dishes to fly into the cold sink to rinse and then —”

  “I’ll take them,” Hana said, moving forward and raising her hands in a dancing gesture.

  Krea jumped as a dish hopped from the steaming sink into the cold rinsing sink and she gave a shout of surprise as the dish leapt out of the second sink and into the air. She turned to see Hana waving her hands like she was using the very air to dry the dish — and then suddenly the dish was dry. “Where should I put it?”

  “I don’t know,” Krea told her. As if in answer, an empty cart rolled through the door toward them. Krea shook her head and pointed. “I guess we’re supposed to put the dishes there.”

  “Keep washing,” Hana said, wafting the clean dish toward the cart and turning back for another.

  Krea cried with happiness, causing dish after dish to jump, cleaned, from the boiling sink into the rinsing sink and out again into Hana’s waiting waves of air.

  “It works best with a song,” Krea said aloud. But she wasn’t sure if the words were hers or Wymarc’s coming from her throat. Hana nodded and began to hum in a light, delicate voice that sounded a bit like wind through chimes on a windy day. Krea smiled at her and opened her mouth to add… a melody she’d never heard before.

  It was quick, it was throaty, it was warm. It was like the crackling of fire or the flapping of wings. The waters of both sinks seemed to be encouraged by the song and the hot sink was soon empty. Hana’s song changed and suddenly more dishes flew into the sink. Krea laughed and nodded to her, changing the pitch and the tempo of her song as she whisked the plates and silverware through the boiling, soapy water and into the cold rinse of the second sink. She turned to Hana, smiled challengingly, and shifted the tempo even more. Hana smiled at her and nodded in return.

  And they began a race. Their songs intertwined, the sounds of carts entering and leaving the room began to change in time and tempo as more and more plates, dishes, pots and pans flew through the air in an orgy of cleaning.

  Somewhere in their race, Hana gave Krea a look and pointed at the dishes flying into the cleaning sink, a look that said, your turn. Krea smiled at her and waved one hand toward the dishes, imagining them flying like a wyvern into the steaming sink of wyvern’s breath. Hana gave her a nod and increased her efforts in drying and stacking the newly-cleaned cookware. Their tune and tempo changed again to meet the new procedure.

  In no time at all, it seemed to Krea, the last pot was flying into the sink, the last dish was sinking to a cart… and they were done.

  Krea laughed and rushed over to Hana, hugging her tightly. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she said, emphasizing each thanks with a squeeze of her arms. “I couldn’t have done it without you!”

  Hana stood still, seeming shocked. Krea pulled back, afraid that she’d insulted the other girl somehow. Hana was silent for a long moment, then one tear ran down her right cheek and she said in a very small voice, “No one has ever thanked me before.”

  “Well, they should have!” Krea declared stoutly. “You were excellent!”

  Hana shook her head. “I only did what I had to.”

  “Did you have to come in here and offer to help me?”

  Hana frowned for a moment, then shook her head.

  “There you have it,” Krea declared firmly. “You didn’t have to. You chose to.”

  Hana had no answer for that.

  A noise from the doorway distracted them. “Very good, girls,” Sybil called approvingly, waving her hand at the last cart which obediently moved to her direction. “I have two bowls of soup on the counter, when you’re ready.”

  Krea and Hana exchanged looks and Sybil laughed. “Don’t worry, you won’t have to do these dishes.” They relaxed, sighing. Sybil laughed again, “At least, not until tomorrow.”

  Chapter Five: Wandering

  After they finished their soup and thanked cook Sybil, the two looked around the large dining hall. Krea didn’t know what to do. Lyric was nowhere in sight.

  “Why don’t you go to the gardens?” Sybil suggested. “Everyone finds them restful.”

  “Where are they?” Krea asked when a glance to Hana showed that the girl was as lost as she.

  Sybil laughed. “Wander around! Find them yourselves. I’ve got work to do.” And the cook walked back into her kitchen, out of their sight.

  Krea shrugged and gestured to Hana who gave her a nervous look.

  “You can tell them you were showing me around,” Krea said.

  “I don’t know where anything is,” Hana replied. She’d picked up her knitting and pocketed it in one of the large pockets sewn on the front of her dress. It was white and looked like it was a hand-me-down or found clothing — not something the girl brought with her.

  “Where were you?” Krea said.

  “I was in the healing room at first,” Hana said. “And then you came and I stayed to watch you.”

  “Why?” Krea’s brows creased with curiosity.

  Hana shrugged and wouldn’t meet Krea’s eyes.

  “You didn’t want to go out, did you?” Krea guessed shrewdly. She was delighted when Hana’s reaction showed that she’d guessed right. The girl seemed almost Krea’s opposite. Krea grabbed Hana’s free hand and tugged her along after her. “We’re going to have so much fun!’

  “We might get in trouble!” Hana wailed.

  “You can blame it all on me,” Krea told her with a wicked grin. They reached the doors to the dining hall and Krea looked left then right. She jerked her head to the right. “Come on! Let’s go!”

  It seemed, as Krea wal
ked down the halls with a reluctant Hana in tow, that there were more doors than she recalled from the other day. Something inside her roused and she got the impression that Wymarc was amused.

  “I can feel air,” Hana said, pointing to the door at the end of the corridor.

  “Outside?” Krea asked, tugging the other to the door.

  Hana took a deep breath and shook her head. “It smells —”

  Before she could finish, Krea and pushed open one of the two double doors and pulled the dark-eyed girl behind her.

  They stopped in their tracks. The door closed behind them.

  “It’s beautiful!” Krea said.

  “This must be where the food is grown,” Hana said. Krea gave her friend a look and a nod — they were in a huge garden. Above them was bright clear glass which showed a world outside that was frozen, the ground covered in snow. Krea moved forward enough that she could crane her neck in all directions. They were in a valley surrounded on all sides by high ice-covered peaks. Krea wondered idly how a wagon, like the one she’d been in, could possibly have made it through those mountains to reach here.

  A smell distracted her and Krea turned toward it. “Wyvern flowers!” She dragged Hana toward them and knelt to sniff at the marvelous honey scent from the small plot of the blue-hued flowers. “I met the wyvern in a field of wyvern flowers,” she told Hana.

  A short man, only shoulder-high to Krea’s form, pushed a wheelbarrow down a path toward them, his expression intent.

  “Are you the gardener?” Krea asked. The man stopped, eyed her from foot to head and frowned. A moment later he shook his head. She gestured toward the wyvern flowers. “Did you plant these?”

  The man glanced at them and nodded.

  Hana jerked and turned with a horrified expression on her face toward another patch of plants. There were red at the top, shading down to yellow. Krea thought they were beautiful. They seemed to have a hot, spicy scent that gave Krea energy.