her instruments 03 - laisrathera

by M. C. A. Hogarth

  Reese’s heart gave a great double-beat as whispers erupted in her head, ancient as childhood stories of the soil of Mars reddening with the blood of fallen patriots. She suppressed the urge to look down at the ground, see for herself her new life and the old mingling. Trying not to shiver, she said, “And then what?”

  “And there he would have conquered, had not love brought him low,” Belinor continued, looking at the tower. The gray sky and sea reflected off his eyes, winter-dulled. “But the love of a woman caused him to give himself over to judgment. Or so they say. Some of the tales say he killed himself for remorse for having slain her by accident.”

  “Wouldn’t you… well, remember?” Irine asked, trying to be delicate about it. “It hasn’t been all that many generations, has it?”

  “I wasn’t alive, certainly!” Belinor exclaimed. And then peering at her, added, “How well do you remember the events of your childhood? The details? Can you see them clearly in your mind? Could you describe them in the exact same way to more than one person, and know that you are recalling them truly?”

  Irine opened her mouth, then closed it and looked away, frowning. “Okay, right. And I’m only a few decades old. Good point.”

  “You’d think ‘committed suicide’ or ‘was dragged back for a trial’ wouldn’t be a matter of detail,” Reese said, studying the gash in the castle and the long spray of stones that extended out from it, crusted over with sea salt and streaked with rain and rust. “Did the army pull down the tower?”

  “No,” Belinor said, hushed. “On that matter all the records are clear.” They looked at him and he hunched into his robes. “The mind-mage did that, in his fury.”

  Which is when it really hit her, what Liolesa had done. Indignant, Reese exclaimed, “The Queen gave me the first mind-mage’s castle? Me? What, is she expecting me to die to keep Hirianthial sane? If she is, I’ve got news for her!”

  Irine covered her mouth with her hand but her giggles escaped her anyway. Reese glared at her and noticed again just how poorly her glares worked on her crew. “Oh, Reese,” Irine said, laughing aloud finally. “You think that woman thinks you’d roll over for anything?” She shook her head, eyes sparkling. “I bet it’s a joke.”

  “The Queen does not jest,” Belinor muttered.

  Reese glanced at the castle. “Not about something like this, no,” she said. Black towers against thick winter sky, the smell of brine, the slap and distant hiss of the sea on the shore. No, this hadn’t been meant as a joke. A correction, maybe, of something that had gone wrong. Maybe Liolesa expected them to re-write the story of this Corel, and give it a happy ending this time. And for that to happen….

  “Taylor,” she said. “Tell me there’s a way into this relic. And that you know how to cook a sheep.”

  The foxine looked up, bemused. “I don’t know about cooking sheep, Captain, but I can get us inside.”

  “That’s a start.”

  In the end, they didn’t go through the doors because they were so massive they had to be opened by chains that had locked up centuries past, with rust and age. So Reese entered her new home, the one she’d been given, the one that the Queen had written out a deed for, to make the transfer of ownership official… by climbing in through one of the windows.

  “This is not how I imagined this happening,” she grumbled.

  “Think of the story you’ll be able to tell your kits,” Irine said.

  Reese shot her a fulminating glare, and this one actually worked. A little anyway. “Fine,” the tigraine said. “Think of the stories you’ll be able to tell my kits.”

  They had landed in a narrow corridor, much taller than seemed necessary but close at the elbows. It reminded Reese of the corridors of the Earthrise: nice and claustrophobic. She could get used to castles, maybe, if they were built like spaceships. Trailing after Taylor, she drew in a deep breath and wondered why the air wasn’t thicker. Weren’t shut-in places supposed to be full of dead air?

  And then she found out why the corridor smelled so fresh.

  “Angels,” Irine whispered as they reached the corner, and stepped out of the rubble into a crumbled courtyard. It had been whole once, Reese thought, halting abruptly at the sight. There were filigreed gates in wilted ruin, evidence of gazebos and arbors, and the remains of low walls and benches. There had been entire buildings in it too, if the wreckage was any indication. But there was nothing there now, but a garden. A garden blooming in winter, a garden that had overgrown every boundary and flowed like the ocean to the interior walls, a garden that in places was as tall as a hedge maze and dense with black thorns as long as Reese’s palm.

  And everywhere, everywhere she could look, was a profusion of white roses, their perfume mingling with the sea breeze that swept in through the broken wall.

  “God and Lady!” Belinor whispered.

  “Do… do roses do that?” Reese asked. Before her the two Pelted women had flattened ears and low tails, and she was trying not to find the whole thing uncanny. “I thought flowers died in winter.”

  “Winter roses do not.” The acolyte stared, awed, looking toward the crumbled tower where the flowers were twining, sinking roots into the remains of the mortar. “They are rare, though. I don’t know of anywhere they grow like this…!”

  “You won’t find anywhere they grow like this,” came a voice from above them. “And unless you tell me now what you mean to do here, they will be the last sight you see.”

  Reese froze. A man’s voice—young, she thought—but speaking Universal. Did he have an accent? She couldn’t discern one. Had she led them into a trap after all? And then she tried to move, and discovered she couldn’t.

  Belinor cried in outrage, “Mind-mage! Release us, misbegotten cretin!”

  And the chances of their enemies having a mind-mage were… what… astronomical? Wasn’t Hirianthial supposed to be the first in a million years? Reese frowned and said, “I’d rather not talk to someone behind my back.”

  “I’d rather not let you see me.”

  She sighed. “Blood and freedom, what is it with you Eldritch and your having to be all dramatic? What, if I see you, you might have to kill me? Or you just enjoy being mysterious? Trust me, I’ve had enough of mysterious to last me a lifetime.”

  “Um, Reese—”

  “Not now, Irine. I’m not done yet.” She pulled against the invisible chains holding her in place. “And can I tell you how rude it is to do this? If you can freeze us anytime you want, then what’s the point of threatening us with it? You can’t possibly have anything to fear from us—”

  “Reese!” Irine hissed.

  “And another thing,” Reese added. “This is my bleeding castle, and I’ve already paid blood and sweat and tears for it, so you’re the one trespassing! I have a deed to prove it, even. Or I did, before the Queen’s enemies made off with it, damn them to all the hells.”

  Now Belinor blanched. “My Lady, you should not say such things!”

  “Even if she means it?” the voice asked again. A man dropped to the ground in front of them, raising a puff of ice from the ground, and turned to them. He looked older than Belinor, but nowhere near Hirianthial’s age, and unlike every Eldritch Reese had ever seen, he moved like a cat prowling, like something only half-tamed. The sharp, pointed face, the hair short enough to brush his shoulders, and the knee-length coat in pale gray over gray clothes, all made him look like some sort of snow fox. And he had eyes that Reese immediately liked. Suspicious, yes, but alive. Curious and quick and very alive.

  “God and Lady,” Belinor whispered. “A renegade priest!”

  “A what?” Irine asked.

  “Your boy is quick,” the man said to Reese. “You should keep him. In a few centuries, he’ll be a real wonder.”

  Before Belinor could speak, Reese said, “You really are abrasive.”

  “I don’t get much company,” he answered, studying her with interest. “I’m afraid I don’t have much chance to polish my manners.” />
  “You’re not howling in terror at the sight of the unclean alien.”

  “You’re not howling in terror at the sight of the evil mind-mage.” He glanced at her hand. “And additionally, you are breaking my compulsion.”

  Reese looked at her own hand, found it half-raised. “I do kind of want to wring your neck for this. I hate being espered at.”

  “This is something you have experience with?”

  Reese narrowed her eyes. “I don’t think you’ve earned that story yet.”

  He grinned. “Fair enough. And if I release you, you’ll promise not to let your tame priest try to kill me?”

  Belinor said, “My Lady! Renegades are dangerous!”

  “You have that all wrong, boy,” the man said. “It’s the priests who are dangerous. I should know, yes? And you should too, except you’re in the God’s garb, so what would you know?” He shook his head. “You have a lot to learn.”

  Reese snapped her fingers with the hand she was struggling to lift. “Hey. Showy Stranger. Over here. I’m the one in charge. Pay attention to me.” Had she judged him right? Yes, he was grinning. He even essayed a small bow. “Out of the chains, please?”

  “Fine. But mind your priest’s manners.”

  “He won’t do a thing against you,” Reese said. “Will you, Belinor?”

  “No, my Lady,” the youth muttered, but in poor humor.

  “Very well.” The stranger waved a hand, releasing them… and crumpled, caught in the crossfire of two separate palmers. Irine and Taylor glanced at one another.

  “Did we both hit him?” Irine asked.

  Taylor shrugged. “Shouldn’t matter. Two beams or one, he’ll be out a few hours either way.”

  “Well, let’s truss him up,” Reese said with a sigh. “No use having him wake up free.”

  “Ah, but what will being tied up matter if he can freeze us all up like that with his thoughts?” Irine asked as Belinor gaped at them. “I mean, I assume this is sort of what Hirianthial did to those bandits on the colony, but I don’t know how to prevent him from trying it again.”

  “I think drugs make it harder,” Reese said. “But I’d rather not drug him. We’ll just have to keep one of you out of sight behind him or something and hope we don’t need to think our way out of this a second time.”

  “My Lady!” Belinor said. “You had weapons!”

  “We have some weapons,” Reese corrected. “Not too many. But yes. We have a few.”

  “Then slay this creature, while you still can!”

  Thinking of Hirianthial, Reese said, “Not until we know who he is and what he’s doing here.”

  “But he’s dangerous!”

  Reese said, “I noticed. But so are we. At least a little bit.” She smiled wryly at Taylor and Irine. To the Eldritch, she finished, “We’ll keep an eye on him. In fact, you can keep an eye on him, if you’re comfortable guarding him.”

  “I will do my best, my Lady. But I am no mind-mage.”

  “None of us are.”

  Belinor subsided, but Taylor glanced at her. “He may be right, you know.”

  “Maybe,” Reese said. “But he could have killed us all before he even knew we were here. And he didn’t.” She glanced at the riot of roses and inhaled deeply. “Let’s get inside and see what we’ve got to work with.”

  CHAPTER 2

  “They told me you’ve been released,” Sascha said from the door to the room the Eldritch was only too glad to be vacating.

  Hirianthial glanced toward him, then looked away, suffering the unaccustomed swing of his shorn hair against his jaw and the unfulfilled promises it represented. The dangle the crew had woven him barely moved, a long rope down his back: that too, was a promise, but theirs to him, that they’d meant it when they’d said they would stand by him. He composed himself, then said, “Sascha, I am sorry.”

  “For snapping at me?” Sascha padded closer, pulling a stool with him and straddling it. He flicked his ears forward, aura a settled warm gold, comforting. “I could use an apology for that, yeah.”

  Hirianthial exhaled and met the Harat-Shar’s eyes. “You have it, then. I am sorry. I was… not myself.”

  “I think you were actually very much yourself,” the tigraine said. His ears flicked forward. “Worried, are you.”

  “We’ve left our own amid dragons and slavers and traitors,” Hirianthial replied. “Perhaps you have some knowledge that prevents you from worrying? If so, I would very much like to hear it.”

  Sascha shook his head. “If that’s a ‘tell me something’s changed since I was awake last,’ that’s a no. But you’re up, and that’s good. That’s one of the things we were waiting for. And frankly, you need to be on your feet because your cousin needs you.”

  “Ah?”

  “She’s going to explode,” Sascha said. “I’m no judge of royalty or anything, but I do know something about tempers, having lived with Reese for years now. And if something doesn’t distract that woman, she’s going to start punching walls. Or whatever passes for that among you people. Something that sounds more dramatic and genteel.”

  “We say cutting ourselves to feed the blade,” Hirianthial said.

  Sascha’s ears flattened and he grimaced. “You would, wouldn’t you.” Hirianthial felt the tigraine’s regard as he pushed himself off the bed, trying his feet. Far too weak, he thought. How long did he have before he’d need his full faculties? Not long, and he was no longer a youth to snap back from bodily distress so easily. So it surprised him when Sascha said, “You look good.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You looked like death when we rescued you, so… yes. You look much better.” The tigraine’s tail lashed once against the stool. “Fortunately we got you patched up by the best on the starbase.”

  “I had wondered. Where are we, then?”

  “We’re in the Fleet hospital,” Sascha said. “When we came barreling in, your cousin took over the comm and, not surprisingly, I guess, royalty gets perks. Especially royalty from an allied nation. Not only that, but the Earthrise is owned by one of the few holders of Fleet’s only civilian citation—for that business with Surapinet and Captain NotAgain—so we got privileged treatment. They’re shining the hull as we speak. I don’t think Reese will recognize her when we pull back into orbit.”

  His heart contracted at the thought. Theresa alone, and amid his enemies… had they never met, she would never have become their targets.

  “You really do love her, don’t you,” Sascha said, and Hirianthial broke from his reverie to find the tigraine studying his face.

  “Sascha…”

  “You’re about to tell me all the reasons why it can’t work,” Sascha said. “As if I don’t already know them.”

  “You don’t,” Hirianthial said, firm.

  “She loves you, too, you know.”

  “And now,” Hirianthial said, “You are meddling, Sascha—”

  “By telling you things you already know?” Sascha snorted. “You called me ‘arii’. That means we’re friends. And as prickly as she is, the Boss trusts me with her life. That gives me enough right to meddle when the both of you already know something and don’t want to look at it.” He looked up. “And you know. You know, don’t you.”

  The touch of her fingers in his shorn hair… the temple she’d pressed lightly against his in her wild despair. The feeling that had been wellspring to that despair, the only one capable of creating such panic and horror in her at his state, at the thought that he might die. He closed his eyes.

  “Thought so,” Sascha murmured. “Look, we’re going to live through this… so I’m not going to push you about it.”

  “No?” he said, surprised.

  “If I’m right,” Sascha said. “All that we’ve lived through, and all that we’re about to go through, will teach you far better than I could. I’m just pointing all this out so… you know. When you do live through it, it’ll be on your mind. About how precious some things are, and
how rare, and how easily you can lose them.” He smiled faintly. “You Eldritch. You think you’re magic just because you have the potential to outlive us ten times over. But that doesn’t change that it’s just potential. You know how often people realize their potential, arii? And that’s over things in themselves they can control.”

  Hirianthial stared at him, stunned. Not just at the words, but at the solidity of his aura. Before leaving the homeworld, Urise had been teaching him to reach the silence of the Universe, where the answers were implied because there had been a Listening in that silence. To see it reflected in the aura of someone his own kind would have called a mortal….

  “And how did you get so wise?” he asked.

  Sascha grinned. “Thanks for not finishing that ‘so young.’ By now you should know the answer, right?”

  “I fear not.”

  The Harat-Shar snorted. “By loving. Of course. What else?”

  “What else,” Hirianthial murmured, feeling it sweep through him like a vivifying wind, like the first breeze of spring.

  Kis’eh’t peeked in. “Is he awake? Is—oh! You are!”

  “I am,” he said, and had enough time to realize the Glaseah was running to brace himself. She halted just short of him as if remembering such as he was not to be touched for casual cause, but… surely this was no casual cause. So he leaned down and completed the embrace she’d wanted to give him, and she sighed against his ribcage, bringing him the effervescence of her pleasure at the sight of him on his feet, the quiet orderliness of her thoughts, the contentment she felt that things were finally falling into place… and the knowledge that she was holding… his clothes?

  “You have something for me?” he said, puzzled.

  “Yes,” she said. “If you’re up, the Queen asked that you come see her. Apparently you have family coming? And they’re arriving now.”

  “Family,” he murmured. “Of course. If you will excuse me? I will dress.” He paused and looked at Sascha.

  The Harat-Shar laughed. “What, are you waiting for the inevitable joke? ‘Do I have to go?’”