“It is winter,” T’Heather said drily.
“A mild one so far,” D’Sea said.
“Snowstorm’s coming today,” T’Heather said, nose twitching.
“Oh. The Hollys have a plant room and pool, that should suffice.” D’Sea filled an indigo blue pouch with herbs.
T’Heather gestured, and the lights dimmed. Tinne’s chair tilted back.
“The pack will go on your brow. Get comfortable. Close your eyes. Visualize a starry sky,” T’Heather said.
Like mountaintops, the words starry sky brought terrible memories of shooting unwillingly through space. Tinne let himself say a mental curse word, figured all of these tests would slice him to the very marrow. Then he steadied his breathing and went back to his hill. This time he was lying on his back, looking at the intersecting galaxies, the bright stars, the twinmoons. His hand was in Gen—No. He was alone. Lonely.
Jasmine and mint comforted him, as a velvet pouch was set on his forehead. It helped him fight the loneliness and prepare for the worst. Which would come.
Lahsin hurried through the streets of Druida as inconspicuously as possible. There were too many people who could notice her.
As soon as she’d left the big estates of Noble Country and wended her way into the city, the streets became more crowded. She kept zigzagging into shadows whenever she saw someone. Middle- and low-class folk were going to work. How she wished she was one of them! But she trusted no one.
Her plans were wrecked. Every gate of the walled city would have been notified she was missing. She couldn’t leave Druida anytime soon. Tears leaked from her eyes, made her cheeks cold.
Soon she was hopelessly lost. All she knew was that she was going north. Her only comfort was that if she didn’t know where she was, no one might be able to find her.
Not much reasoning, but her ties with her Family were small— T’Yew had seen to that. Her connection to him was broken, and no one else of the Yew Household had wanted to know her well enough to have any Family links to her.
She couldn’t be found that way.
She prayed that what she’d heard a couple of days ago was true and the FirstFamily GrandLord who was the best tracker was out of town on a mission.
She snuffled, dug in her coat pocket for the small mound of softleaves, drew one out, and wiped her eyes and blew her nose.
A while later she stopped in the deep alcove of a door of a deserted building. Feeling foolish, she sniffed. Old brick, dust. She turned west and inhaled again—the sea. She moved back to check the north—cold, wind, a storm coming. She shivered and took a step outside the door and looked northeast. One last large breath . . . at the edges of the mixture of humanity, stridebeasts, food, gliders . . . the scent of growing things. Green. She drew in a shallow breath, and as she did, a low thump came into her mind associated with the green smell. She strained her ears and her mind, but it didn’t repeat.
So she pulled her cloak around her and went back out onto the streets, keeping her pace to the brisk walk of those around her. Going northeast to the smell of green. The streets turned smaller and older, but busier because many people lived over their shops. It was a part of the city she’d never been in and didn’t recognize. Both interesting and scary.
Then she caught it again—the low thump. She waited again. Nothing.
Someone called to her, trying to sell her something, she thought, and she turned—again northward—into the first alley she came to, then she took turns at random. A third time the thump came to her mind, and she finally realized what it was, the heartbeat—living, growing beat—of a garden.
Finally she came to the end of a small corridor between buildings, into a little hollow tangled with plant stalks. The brown stems were thick enough to be impassable on each side, and there was a six-meter wall in front of her. Beyond it branches of even taller trees thrust into the sky.
She shivered, thinking it was a good thing this winter was milder than last year, or she’d have been forced to find shelter by now. Even so, her Flair weathershield was spotty, sometimes warming her hands but leaving her face open to the chill, sometimes making her feet clumsy, cold blocks. But her energy and Flair were waning. Too much lack of sleep. Too much fear. Too much unknown.
“Who’s there?” asked someone, sounding nervous.
Lahsin sidled with silent feet along the wall, saw a low opening in the thick brush, and dropped to her hands and knees to shove her sack before her and move inside the low animal path.
Heavy feet crunched dried, dead leaves, then came low mutters, then receding footfalls and silence.
She huddled against the wall. It was warm. It had appeared to be of the excessive height and armored brick that ringed an estate, but could it possibly be the side of a building? Carefully, she sent her mind probing for others.
She found an abundance of plant rhythms, but no other minds. A small sigh trickled from her. She was getting stiff. It wouldn’t do to linger in this little, scruffy nest. And she was hungry. She had to find a safe and private place to eat and plan how she was going to escape from the city, from her husband—her former husband.
He would be very, very angry.
Just the thought of him and the hunt for her had her moving again, continuing to crawl through the underbrush next to the warm wall along the animal path. It was larger than cat-sized, and there weren’t that many feral cats, and even fewer dogs, as dogs were prized as pets.
As soon as she realized she heard little rustlings in the back of her mind, she stopped, listening. Verdant plant life. Not the barely pulsing beat of the bushes she was pushing through, but plants on the other side of the wall. Huge old trees, some Earth trees, some Celtan, some hybrid. Their life signatures nearly mesmerized her. FirstGrove?
She strove to recall what she’d learned in grovestudy as a child. The place had been the first grove planted and tended by the colonists. The site had contained the first HealingHall, natural Healing springs that had been augmented by a hundred years of Healers. That HealingHall had become so exclusive to the highest Healers and Nobles that those visiting it had dwindled, then the secret had been lost.
Lahsin snorted and began moving on hands and knees again. Whether this place was the lost garden or not, she didn’t know, but the wall was warm, and the wind outside the bushes had risen, cold and cutting. She’d had enough of cold and cutting.
After a while of crawling, the bushes arched high enough for her to stand and hurry down the path, spending more Flair to keep her movements quiet. Soon the weak sun shot blue white rays through the gray clouds that added a smidgeon of warmth. She was more aware that she could use her Flair to keep quiet or keep her warm, but not both. She’d expended too much energy and Flair this morning, shattering the T’Yew Residence’s spellshields and windows and running away.
The wall curved gently, and she followed and finally saw an indentation ahead. A door?
She heard the stomping of feet and crunching of branches ahead of her.
She scuttled, then stopped at the sound of voices and put her hand over her mouth to quiet her ragged breathing. “That pidyn-suckin’ fliggerin’ sonofa-blerk Winterberry. Swaggerin’ inta our gatehouse an’ tellin’ us to walk—walk!—to Northgate lookin’ for some stup of a lil’ girl who got herself lost. I was just ready to sink my teeth into a cinnamon glazed doughround.”
“Sloegin, he said ‘patrol’ between here and Northgate.”
Lahsin was caught in an awkward crouch. The door in the wall was just two meters from her. She could see it now, a small, square door. If only she were there! Branches had formed a thicket around the door, but were much thinner beyond it. She could see the colors of the Eastgate guardsmen’s uniforms. If she could see them, they could see her . . .
“Patrol,” Sloegin snorted. “That’s walkin’ our asses off this whole quarter a’ the city! Ya think Winterberry went ta Southgate an’ Northgate? No. He only came ta us and we’re the only ones doin’ this search.”
“I heard that on ancient Earthan, the guards patrolled in gliders,” the second man said.
The first smacked the second on the head, snorted, “Gliders? My ass. Gliders are for more important things than findin’ a little girl-wife.” He smacked his lips. “The old man liked ’em young ’n’ tender.”
“Those FirstFamilies are weird. Always said so.”
They were coming closer. Lahsin used precious Flair to fashion a no-see-me spellshield around herself and wondered if it worked. She’d only heard of the new no-see-me spells and had practiced crafting this one by herself. It demanded considerable Flair, so she slowly straightened and leaned against the wall.
“Did you hear somethin’?” the second guard asked.
“Dunno.”
There was silence except for their breathing.
“Gettin’ cold, snow’s comin’ t’day or t’morra.” There was more boot stomping. “My feet are cold. Nothin’ but big plants here. Pro’bly got big thorns.”
Another snort from the first one. “You afraid’a that shadow beast they talking about?”
“Ain’t no shadow beast, some big tomcat, mebbe. Don’ believe nothin’ ’bout no big beast at all.”
“Yeah. This trashy strip runs quite a way atween the wall and the backs’a those buildin’s.”
“Mostly deserted, those buildin’s. Don’ know what might be livin’ in or ’round ’em.”
Lahsin couldn’t keep the spellshield up, it was slipping, but the door was shrouded by tall bushes and set deeply into the wall. She ran and fell into the dark corner of the door.
“That was def’nitely a sound,” one guard said loudly. “The beast?”
“Thought you said you didn’t believe in the beast.”
“Changin’ my mind. Should we ’vestigate?” He sounded nervous but determined.
“Yeah.”
Fumbling, Lahsin found the door handle and pressed the thumb latch. Nothing. Oh, Lady and Lord, oh, please, please, please, she prayed. Sensing the strong shields—more like force fields—set in the walls, she fiddled with them. She’d always been good with shields. Lady and Lord, please, I need in—
“Guess we better look down there, ’least ’til it narrows.”
“Them plants are too high, too wild.”
I need in now! Tears streaked down her face. She breathed through her mouth. Lady and Lord, in!
The door opened, and she plunged into a tangle of bushes. “What’s that?”
“Nothin’. Nothin’s here,” the second man said loudly.
Lahsin watched with wide eyes as the door swung silently shut. On the back was a plaque that caught the sun and read, “BalmHeal.” She slumped in relief.
There came thrashing beyond the door, the crackling of bush branches and swearing.
“You said the guards used to patrol in gliders?”
“On Earthan, yeah.”
“Guy at Northgate owes me. Might wangle the gate glider.”
“Yeah? Can’t go no farther. Sure looks like a place where that shadow beast might lurk. Look, gotta rip in my coat sleeve. Nasty plants.”
“Yeah, you’re a reg’lar sophisticated city boy.”
“Glider.”
“Sounds good.”
Lahsin ran down a twisting path, showing patches of stone underneath the overgrown ground cover, and through a couple of tall, mazelike hedgerows, in, in, in.
She stopped, panting, when the vista spread out before her.
The measure of a garden is its beauty in winter, and this one was glorious. Or had been glorious once upon a time. A pool of irregular curves lay before her, wide and long enough to swim in. Steam rose from it in fragrant drifts. It was bordered with crafted white marble. A couple of bays were obviously made for Healing specialities—a headrest of stone filigree, a round curve that looked like it had an underwater seat. Wooden benches were grouped in threes around the pool, some set in stone, some in the ground. An arbor and a small garden shed were near.
A whimper fell from her lips. Best of all was a deep curve of land jutting between two rounds of the pool. It was a mound of emerald green permamoss. Surely the last bit of green in all of Druida. Permamoss was used in bedsponges, and the soft springiness and the color called to her. She walked to the green, set her sack down, and stretched out. Yes. Perfect.
The humid warmth drifted over her from the pool. Mist covered her, enveloped her, wrapped her.
All was quiet. There was no sound except the natural movement of leaves, of water lapping at the sides of the pool. The moss beneath her smelled herbal and comforting and drained her lingering anxiety. Her bruises and aches eased.
She let the grayness of the mist thicken into sleep.
Tinne thought he’d lost a few pounds already, expending Flair, running patterns between the tests to keep himself going.
Next his relationship with Genista would be examined. Since he’d requested two days of testing, the Healers had decided to change the order of the examinations. They probably knew he was trying to deny his failure in his marriage.
D’Sea and T’Heather had left. Saille T’Willow, the matchmaker, was conducting this test. Saille was nearer to Tinne’s own age, no gray in his chestnut hair. He was new to his title, and understanding softened his blue eyes.
“I need to walk around,” Tinne said. He preferred to be moving between the actual tests. If he sat in the chair, he’d try to relax, then pain or anger would sweep him, and his body would prepare to defend him from threat.
All the threat—and blows—had been mental and emotional, and he wished he’d gone through a week of hard fighting with his G’Uncle Tab instead.
Saille T’Willow crossed to the desk where he’d placed a case upon his arrival. “Please feel free to walk around.”
The window had been lightened and revealed a smattering of large snowflakes drifting down. Tinne paced the room, loosening his muscles, did some stretches, and saw Saille eyeing him.
Saille murmured, “I need to sign up for exercise at the Green Knight.”
Considering him, Tinne said, “You look in good condition.”
“Thank you.” Saille hesitated. “I have already formally allied with the T’Holly Family—with your father and brother. I would ally with you, too.”
This took Tinne by surprise. He was a SecondSon, his descendants—his mind grappled at the thought of having no descendants, then gave up. “My Family is close. Alliance with them is alliance with me.”
“Nevertheless, I would ally with you and your G’Uncle Tab.” Saille sat behind the small desk and unrolled a thin, flexible pad of compressed permamoss in a dark, forest green color. He opened the velvet bag and poured out some runes made of pottery fired a deep green with the incised symbols in real gold.
They were different than most runes Tinne had seen. Instead of individual glyphs they had single and double lines, forks, and branches, as if they’d connect into patterns.
“Pull up a seat,” Saille said.
Relief washed through Tinne. He found a regular chair and sat.
Saille gathered the runes and held them in his hands. “We ask the blessings of the Lady and Lord in this consultation. May all that is revealed here be for the greatest good of Tinne Holly and Saille Willow.” Glancing at Tinne, he continued. “Hold your hands over the pad on the desk, then I want you to find your center.”
Tinne rubbed his hands to hide the fine trembling of his fingers. Saille dropped the runes into Tinne’s cupped hands.
The pieces of pottery tingled, but Tinne used that to take him to a place deep within himself. The still place, his center.
“When you are ready, we will proceed.” Saille’s voice was low and soothing.
Tinne closed his eyes and cleared his mind, imagined the pale green light of a forest morning, his favorite image based on a spot at Tab’s small country estate. He welcomed the lack of thought and emotion, sank deeper into the serene peace. But he couldn’t quite let himself escape. Someone else was near. Som
eone who wanted something from him, a link to the outer world with all its heavy burdens. A word escaped his lips, “Ready.”
“Think of your wife, Genista, and your marriage.”
Tinne’s fingers spasmed over the runes, his hands cracked open, the pottery clattered to the pad.
He opened his eyelids. Even to him the pattern looked ugly and jagged and was definitely in two different parts that didn’t seem like they could ever align.
A jolt of pain shot through him as he considered the runes more closely. The runes appeared as if there had once been a pattern, bold and vibrant, and the very skewing of it hurt his heart. He studied Saille’s face instead and found it expressionless, but his mouth had thinned.
Tinne’s insides clenched. His back had tensed, he sat straight and focused on steadying his hands. Saille picked up the runes, his breath expelled, his fingers trembled. The man curved his hands over his prized tool—surely something he’d crafted himself—and chanted several couplets, then scowled. Apparently he didn’t feel that was sufficient to cleanse the runes—was the energy so negative? Tinne winced, breathed deeply, and shoved the edges of depression away.
Saille opened his box, sprinkled herbal water on the runes, and replaced them. He took another small embroidered bag and tipped it, streaming runes Tinne knew, with proper symbols of gold and backs of deep metallic red. Again Saille blessed them, then gave a halfhearted smile. “Ready?”
Again Tinne found his center. He lingered a while in the pale green, moved even deeper to where the glade was dappled with sun and the leaves rustled a little, changing the light. Finally he said, “Ready.”
“Think of sex.”
Again his hands clamped and broke apart, the runes hit the pad, this time accompanied by a guttural sound Tinne wished he could call back. Opening his eyes, he saw a pile of red-backed runes, no glyphs showing. Precariously atop the pile was one rune gleaming with a gold sigil that Tinne knew. “I’m not impotent!” He shoved from the chair, turned his back on Saille, but knew his red neck would show his humiliation.
“There are other meanings to the rune,” Saille said in his professional voice. Tinne heard the clicking of the runes, then muffled sounds as they went into the velvet pouch. Thank the Lord and Lady that was done! “I would say that you have suppressed sex and are frustrated.”
Heart Fate Page 4