HM01 Moonspeaker

by K. D. Wentworth

  He glanced up and she sensed a surge in the psionic energy the others were feeding through him. The crystals shrilled until she thought her head would split. She swayed, clenching her fists, barely able to see or think. You can’t enter the timeways, not ever! she told him. It would be the end of everything!

  He squinted, mouth open, then his legs wilted. He turned and groped his way back to a chair.

  Haemas raised her shields, shutting off her awareness of the nexus. Her heart raced. How many more times would they try before they finally succeeded and destroyed the very fabric of time? She braced her back against a towering winterberry tree and tried to think. There had to be a way to make them listen.

  * * *

  Pausing to snatch up a shawl, Alyssa glanced up the long narrow stairway to the family courtyard. Yes—she could still feel Jarid’s mind up there.

  Her cheeks burned as she remembered how he had brushed her aside when he’d arrived back home because her old fool of a husband hadn’t died. Well, that was more his fault than hers. If he’d done the job right to begin with, neither of them would face this problem now!

  Winding the filmy green shawl around her head and shoulders, she lifted her long skirts—

  A sneeze sounded explosively behind her. She froze in mid-stride, then collected herself and turned to see Dervlin round the corner just behind her, struggling to put one arm through the sleeve of his barret-down jacket.

  “There you are.” His face was ashen but for two spots of feverish color in his cheeks. “Have you scheduled the musicians yet?” His fist finally emerged from the end of his sleeve, but he made a poor figure in clothing that had become too large for him since his injury.

  She released her full skirts and clasped her hands before her. “Dervlin, I’m sorry, but I haven’t the faintest idea of what you’re talking about.”

  He threw her a withering glance. “Don’t even try to pretend that you don’t remember.”

  She tried to read his surface thoughts, but could pick up nothing. “Remember what?”

  His eyes were flat and cold, as though he were no longer even human. “The Lady Haemas’s Naming Day.”

  She stared numbly at her husband’s rigid face. “Haemas? But she’s—”

  Yes . . . Dervlin caught her wrist in a viselike grip. What about her?

  Alyssa fought back the tears that sprang into her eyes. “I was only going to say she’s not here.” She pulled at her wrist but his fingers bit into her tender flesh.

  No, he said, his intense golden eyes boring into hers. There was something else in your mind, just for a second.

  She gasped as he wrenched her arm back, then took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure. “Dervlin, stop it! You know what Healer Sithnal said—you’ll make yourself ill again.”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He shoved her against the stone wall, then released her wrist. “Then you could run after every man who came within twenty miles of this House!”

  She cradled her throbbing wrist and straightened her spine. “I will take care of the Lady Haemas’s Naming Day arrangements, my Lord, if that is your wish.”

  He stood, his legs braced apart, glaring at her, strain and weariness thinning his face to the bone. For a split second, she caught an undercurrent of doubt and loss leaking through his still patchy shields.

  “See that you do,” he said finally, then, wheezing, started up the staircase. “And do it right! If I look weak, they’ll take the Council leadership away from me. I can’t have anyone saying Tal’ayn didn’t do it right!”

  Watching his slow progress up the worn stone steps, she smoothed a bright-gold curl out of her face. He had lost his mind after all. She pulled the shawl from her shoulders—the delicate green fabric had torn on the rough-cut stone. Fingering the hole, she nodded angrily to herself. If the old nit wanted a Naming Day Ceremony for his missing brat, then by the Light she would provide one he would never forget, and might he have much joy of it!

  * * *

  A tree barret climbed halfway down the trunk, bobbing its short tail as Haemas emerged dripping from the pool. She held out a bit of leftover fruit to the compact brown creature. It hesitated, sniffing, then whisked back up the tree, its feet scratching furiously on the bark.

  She sighed. Windsign and Summerstone had drifted away to do whatever ilseri did on their own, perhaps eat or sleep, and the grove felt empty. Leaning over to pick up her wet clothes from the edge of the pool, she caught a glimpse of something white and fluttering caught on a low tree limb.

  Abandoning the dripping tunic and breeches, she padded through the lush spring grass in her bare feet. It looked to be the same material in which the ilseri clothed themselves. She drew the white fabric along her cheek; it was soft as the finest velvet and oddly warm. She wrapped it around her shoulders and it clung to itself, adhering to make a garment of sorts.

  She looked down at the front where she had drawn the two edges together; not even a seam was left. As she watched, the material divided and flowed up her outstretched arms to make long, trailing sleeves. She moved her right arm, realizing that, for the first time since she’d fallen on Kith Shiene, her injured shoulder didn’t hurt.

  She ran her hands down to her waist and the material followed, shaping the garment to her contours. Even Alyssa had never worn anything so fine. The thought of her stepmother spoiled her mood, though. Sinking to the ground, she wrapped her arms around her knees and stared up at the roof of whispering leaves. No matter where she went or what she did, her thoughts always came back around to Tal’ayn and the wreckage of her life.

  Over in the pool, the five pale-blue ilsera crystals inset into the pristine white stone flickered. Summerstone had told her to remain alert for another attempt on the timeways so she eased her shields to catch the faint crystalline song. The pathways sprang up around her, shimmering blue lines that led to misty outlines of people and buildings and landscapes.

  Rising, she saw the thermal garden again and Anyah walking with her daughter in the frosty air, but she couldn’t even let herself think about visiting that time when there was so much danger in the here and now. Then her attention was caught by a scene near Anyah’s garden—a sturdy, serious-faced youth and a white-haired man sitting on a bench under a tree in golden late afternoon sunlight, talking. A huge sprawling keep of rough brown stone rose behind the walled garden, and rust-colored leaves lay scattered ankle-deep on the ground. The boy’s profile turned toward her, somehow familiar. She edged closer to get a better look.

  He glanced up and stared in her direction with golden-brown eyes that matched his thick curly hair.

  It’s Kevisson Monmart, she thought, and that . . . she stepped forward again, drawn by something for which she had hungered without knowing. . . . that must be Shael’donn where so much learning and knowledge were available, where life revolved around something more than the High Houses’ endless jockeying for inheritance and succession.

  Shaking his head, the boy turned back to his companion who had a craggy, lined face, but a surprisingly gentle manner. The old man smiled, saying something she could not hear. Then he rose and walked through a wrought-iron gate in the garden’s stone wall.

  She would go there just for a second, she told herself, then come straight back. She took the final necessary step on the shining blue line of power. Her foot descended onto bleached, frost-nipped grass.

  The boy’s dark-gold head snapped up. “I thought I heard something!”

  Haemas shivered and drew a fold of the silky white material into a hood against the crisp fall air. Wood smoke from a dozen chimneys drifted lazily across the clear green sky and playing boys shouted somewhere on the other side of the grounds. “That’s Shael’donn, isn’t it?”

  “How did you get in here?” Kevisson lay the book aside and studied her with penetrating eyes. “Did you climb the wall? The only entrance is
behind me and I know you didn’t come in that way.”

  She felt his mind pressuring her shields. Her heart pounded and her bare toes curled in the dead grass. “Are—you one of the students?”

  “Yes.” A touch of grimness crossed his face. “And you needn’t look surprised. No matter what you’ve heard, I’m not a chierra.” His shields slipped and she caught a brief glimpse in his mind of tight-lipped anger over constant allusions to his dark coloring, continuing taunts, open rejection, all answered by his bitter pride. He picked up the leather-bound volume and leafed through it. “I don’t have time for this nonsense. You’ve had a good look at me. Now go away.”

  She was astounded; in all the time they had spent together, it had never occurred to her that he might have problems of his own. She looked away, unsure what to say to him—none of this matters? Someday you’ll be a highly trained Searcher and work for the Council of Twelve? Someday I’ll be in desperate trouble and you’ll save my life? She shook her head; it sounded foolish.

  Kevisson slammed the book shut. “All right, then, I’ll leave and you can have the bloody place to yourself!” His dark-gold eyes smoldered.

  “Please.” She stepped forward. “Don’t go yet.”

  “I know. Everybody loves a trained animal—”Shael’donn’s pet chierra, I’ve heard that often enough.” Setting his jaw, he angled around her.

  “No, please.” She held out a hand. “Someday we will meet and . . .” She struggled for the words, knowing how ridiculous she must sound.

  Kevisson advanced on her and she found herself backing away. “Just who in bloody Darkness are you, anyway? I’ve never heard of any House letting its daughters go about dressed like—that.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come here.” She looked up at the brown stone towers of Shael’donn rising behind the wall. “I shouldn’t have come.” Turning around, she reached with her mind again for the crystals’ song.

  “There’s that sound again.” He cocked his head, looking around the garden. “Like before.”

  “Don’t listen,” she said without looking at him. “It’s not for you.” She took the first step on the shimmering blue line—and her booted/bare foot crunched on the fine crushed gravel of the garden pathways. The sulfuric smell of the steam-vents and thermal pools filled the air.

  “What do you mean it’s not for me?” Kevisson demanded from behind her.

  Before her, a woman, dressed in an ankle-length dark-blue tunic over soft flowing breeches, glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “I didn’t know we had company.”

  Haemas put a hand to her head, staring around her; the ghostly image of the thermal garden at Tal’ayn obscured Kevisson and Shael’donn.

  Kevisson’s hand gripped her shoulder and she spun around. “Where did you come from?”

  At the same moment, Anyah bent down and slipped an arm around the child at her side. “Look, Haemas, we have a visitor.”

  “What is that chiming noise?” Kevisson insisted.

  Haemas drew away from his touch. “I—I have to go.” The duality of voices and places dizzied her. How had she crossed into Anyah’s When too? She tried to concentrate on aligning with the pathway back to Summerstone’s grove. She took a second step on the line, but seemed only to draw nearer to the garden at Tal’ayn.

  Anyah smiled. “Are you a Killian? You certainly have the look of one.”

  The wrought iron gate squeaked open and the old man hurried up to place one hand on Kevisson’s shoulder. “It’s all right,” he said to the boy quietly, then turned to Haemas. “Well, my dear, how have we come to have the pleasure of your company?”

  Haemas wavered, caught between two realities.

  “I’m Anyah Killian Sennay, although I suppose you already know that.” The woman scooped the child up into her arms. “You must sit down and tell me the news. My husband receives so little company at Tal’ayn these days.”

  “The—news, my Lady?” Haemas faltered.

  The old man’s eyes wrinkled in a smile. “I don’t think that I’ve ever been mistaken for a lady before. You seem unwell, my dear. Perhaps you’d like to come inside and lie down.”

  “No!” She closed her eyes, trying to sort out the vibrations that would lead her back to the grove.

  “Can’t you hear it, Master Ellirt?” Kevisson asked. “That strange sound—almost like music?”

  “Please forgive me,” Anyah said softly. “I didn’t mean to be so forward.”

  “You mustn’t listen to that!” Haemas opened her eyes and found Anyah/Ellirt reaching out for her. Sick and shaking, she lifted her foot again and set it down on what seemed to be the right line, although with everything so double, it was impossible to be sure.

  Her foot touched the soft spring grass and she looked around at the comforting dark shapes of the trees, then saw her own pale face reflected in the pool at her feet.

  * * *

  Cale scooped up the last of the tart keiria berries he’d picked earlier and popped them into his mouth. Across the campfire, the Kashi sat brooding out into the darkness, his bound wrists propped on his knees.

  A sudden rustle in the dimness overhead made Cale jump to his feet. “What was that?”

  The Kashi’s strange eyes, so dark for the one of the high-and-mighty mountain Lords, swung back to him as the leaves moved again, and then sharp claws scrabbled against bark. Cale swallowed and ran his fingers over the gleaming sword blade. He sank to the ground, closer to the crackling fire.

  The Kashi smiled slightly, then closed his dark-gold eyes. Cale balanced the sword on his knees while he reached for another stick for the fire. More than once in the past few days, he’d had the distinct feeling the Kashi was just playing with him, that he could take control of the situation any time. He knew full well what Eevlina would say if she were in his place—wait until the devil was asleep, then bash his Kashi brains in.

  High overhead, a branch suddenly dipped, then he heard a twig snap. “Mother above!” Easing the sword into his right hand, he craned his head, trying to get a glimpse. “What in the seven hells is up there?”

  The Kashi shrugged.

  Cold sweat dripped down Cale’s temple. Something made a sudden scraping leap, but he could only see the swaying branches and a couple of dislodged leaves drifting down. Then an ear-splitting snarl rattled his eardrums. He whirled to face the source, above and to his left, holding the sword’s wicked point ready. The beast screamed again.

  Cale glanced at the Kashi, who was gazing thoughtfully up into the leaves. “It’s you, isn’t it?” He leveled the sword at the other’s chest. “You’re calling the blasted thing just like she did!” He licked his dry lips. “Well, I’ll not going to the next world alone! I’ll take you with me, you yellow-eyed bastard, if you don’t call that Motherless creature off right now!”

  With a great leap, the lithe black beast sprang from the overhanging branch to land between the two men and the fire. Tufted ears flattened, tail lashing, it glared from face to face, rumbling a low snarl all the while.

  Kevisson stared at the sleek black whiskered muzzle for a long moment. “She’s not here.”

  “Who’s not here?” Cale demanded.

  The Kashi’s face was pale and drawn. “Who in the name of Darkness do you think?” he muttered, never taking his gaze off the silsha. It blinked its hot yellow eyes, then lowered its head to snap up the rest of their dinner, downing the whole barret in one flash of gleaming white fangs.

  “Dammit!” Cale felt the muscles in his sword arm tremble with fatigue. He eyed his quiver and bow lying on the ground on the other side of the fire.

  “Don’t bother.” Kevisson used his bound hands to scratch his face. “I don’t think it intends to hurt us, as long as we don’t interfere with it.”

  Gathering its muscular black haunches, the silsha leaped back into the tree, then draped itself
over the lowest branch, bathing them in its steady yellow gaze.

  Kevisson stood slowly. “It’s here for a reason.”

  “You did call the damned thing!” Cale let the sword tip fall into the dirt, then leaned on it to limp around the fire.

  “Actually—no.” Kevisson grimaced wearily in the waning firelight. “Because if I did have any control over it, believe me, you’d have been silsha-fodder long before now.”

  DERVLIN heard old Jayna’s chierra mind fussing as she hurried up the hall to announce the unwelcome visitor. It was pointless, of course. Even in his present condition, he’d known the instant Aaren Killian came through the Tal’ayn portal. His hand trembled as he leaned against the polished Old oak mantelpiece and gazed down into the shifting flames in the hearth. It was too damn late in the spring for such a big daytime fire, but his so-called “accident” had left him weak and easily chilled.

  Some of that fateful night had begun to come back to him, how he had sat at dinner while Alyssa and Jarid prattled on. His daughter had arrived late, then barely touched her plate. She had merely sat there, her white-gold hair caught in a neat braid, somewhat withdrawn, but not unusually so. He had brought her up to keep silent unless she had something sensible to say, which she rarely did. He pressed a hand over his eyes, trying to remember. Had he missed something, some hint of what was to come?

  Haemas had gazed across the crockery at him, her odd light eyes so like her mother’s that he found himself uncomfortable and looked away. And then—what? He’d reached for a knife to slice an excellent ebari roast—