HM01 Moonspeaker

by K. D. Wentworth

  Couldn’t they feel it? She swayed, then caught herself on the tall corner beam, crushing anith flowers beneath her hand. Her father and Alyssa and the pale-eyed man all stared at her, frozen in place.

  The crystalline shrieking phased into an agonizing higher register. The blueness surrounding the portal thickened into a darker muddy blue; somewhere in the Highlands the timelines were being torn apart.

  Leaping down from the ceremonial stand, she tried to align her mind with the vibrations, to trace them as Summerstone had told her, but they were so dissonant, it was like trying to catch lightning in her bare hands.

  * * *

  The blueness abruptly faded, although the pain still seared along his nerves. Trembling, Jarid stood knee-deep in grass in a mature Lowlands orchard somewhere in late summer. Around him, the heavy-leafed nasai trees bowed low under their burden of ripe purple fruit. The scent of newly mown hay filled the air. He reached out a hand to the smooth gray-barked trunk in front of him.

  A voice came soft and low. “I thought I heard someone.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, pet,” a male voice answered. “There’s no one else here.”

  Jarid stared numbly through the branches at the pair; Danih with her golden hair fashioned into a single braid coiled on her head, and a tall richly dressed man with eyes of amber ice.

  She pressed his larger fingers between her two hands as though they were a great treasure, her bronze eyes seeking his pale ones. “Take me with you.”

  “You know I can’t.” He stroked her braided hair and pressed her head to his chest. “Ketral’ayn would protest and the Council would have the right to revoke my charter. I could lose everything.”

  “I want to go back to the Highlands.” Her large eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I can’t bear it on this wretched farm another day!”

  He didn’t answer.

  Danih put her hands on his shoulders and stood on her tiptoes, staring into his face. “Please, Aaren!”

  Aaren Killian! Jarid felt the long-controlled anger flash through him like wildfire, aggravating the already staggering pain of Transfer until he thought his head would split. “Don’t beg!” He darted out from behind a tree. “Don’t you dare beg that bastard for anything!”

  “And who in the name of Darkness do you think you are?” Aaren thrust Danih behind him and drew his dagger.

  Jarid hesitated, then caught a faint crystalline ringing. The pain in his head redoubled as blueness laced the air around him.

  Aaren and Danih stared at him through a whirling dark-blue wall crackling with energy. Jarid put both hands to his skull, fighting to control the renewed surge of power, as well as the frightening dissonance that threatened to tear his brain apart.

  The seething blueness thickened before him until he could see nothing. Struggling for breath, he turned back and glimpsed the misty outlines of the conclave room behind him. Gathering his will, he made his feet take one step along the shimmering blue line, then another, and at last, one more.

  The room solidified around him, and he fell to his knees, summoning his shields against the frightening flow of power still directed at him.

  The relay faded. Senn left his chair and knelt beside him. “Are you all right, boy?”

  Jarid glanced up into the older man’s drawn face. “Yes.”

  “Where did you go? What year was it?” Senn put a hand under his arm and levered him back into his seat.

  Taking a deep, steadying breath, Jarid looked down the table at Kimbrel Killian’s exhausted face. “It was the past, my Lord. I’m not sure of the exact date.”

  “Wonderful, my boy!” Senn clapped him on the back. Approval washed over him from all sides of the table.

  “As soon as we’ve all rested,” Jarid said, “I want to try again.”

  HAEMAS sank limply to the portal floor, the breath sobbing in and out of her chest, the cessation of pain so sudden, she couldn’t comprehend it for a moment. Nothing of the disruption remained except a hollow ringing in her ears.

  “Are you ill?” An unfamiliar bejeweled woman dressed in dark green silk leaned over her. A dozen more white-faced onlookers peered over the woman’s shoulder and through the open latticework of the portal housing.

  The memory of the dissonance still rang in Haemas’s bones; every nerve throbbed as though flayed. “No-no-no.” She flinched as her words seemed to echo.

  “Then you must return to the stand.” The woman reached for her arm. “Your father’s calling you. The ceremony is already running quite late.”

  Shrinking back, she thought she would scream if anyone touched her, and she lacked the strength to use the crystals to transfer.

  Master Ellirt hurried up and crowded the woman in green aside. “What in the name of the Blessed Light was that?” He bent low, but made no move to touch her.

  Haemas locked her icy fingers together, shivering as reaction to the near catastrophe set in. “You heard it too?”

  “Only through you.” He crouched beside her in the portal’s shade, ignoring the whispering onlookers. His expression was haggard. “Evidently, you’ve become sensitized to a whole new frequency that the rest of us don’t normally perceive. I was maintaining a light link, in case you needed me, and it almost took my head off.”

  “It was very close to—” She broke off, not sure how to explain. “—to the end of everything. I have to go back to the grove!”

  “To the ilseri?”

  She put a hand on her throat, trying to steady her ragged breathing. “They—say Kashi are causing the disruption.”

  “Which Kashi?” His face darkened.

  “Some of the men, I’m not sure just who, but yesterday, when this happened and Kevisson almost died, I saw Lord Rald in the nexus.”

  “It has to be the Temporal Conclave.” Ellirt lowered his head and ran spread fingers back through his white hair. “They only try once each meeting, and even that is too much for some of them. It should be safe for you to stay for a few minutes and talk with your father. Then I’ll take you to the Conclave. Perhaps together we can talk some sense into them.”

  She could feel Dervlin Kentnal Tal’s angry presence all the way across the courtyard. What if he hammered at her again? She wasn’t sure she could stand against him after what had just happened. “Shouldn’t we go to the Conclave now?”

  “Your father may still be in danger,” Ellirt said gently. “Only you can say.”

  The false memory leaped back into her mind, the terrorizing moment when her father had sprawled dead at her feet. She shuddered, fighting the fear and guilt and smoldering anger still buried under images that had never happened. Perhaps just a few more minutes wouldn’t matter. The portal ilsera crystals lay quiescent now, humming their inaudible crystalline song. Pulling herself up, she stood and looked out over the sea of golden Kashi heads.

  Ellirt moved aside to let her pass. “What of your cousin Jarid? Is he here?”

  “I don’t know.” With so many mental presences crowding around, it had been all she could do just to keep everything screened out. “Alyssa is here, but I haven’t seen him.”

  “Strange.” Ellirt offered her his arm. “With all the trouble that rascal has gone to, I wouldn’t think he would miss this farce.”

  `Rascal,’ Haemas thought, what a pale word to describe her handsome cousin. She stepped down from the portal, hesitantly laying her hand upon the old man’s arm. The contact felt warm and comforting though, and she found she could bear it after all.

  Once more the people fell back before her, even as their minds clamored for an explanation of her outrageous behavior. Unbidden images flashed into her mind before she could shield them out: a barefoot, dirty-faced urchin draped in a bizarre length of white material . . . a disrespectful young whelp who had defied her father . . . a coward who had stuck him down, then run away.

  She
straightened her back and rubbed at her face with the back of her free hand.

  Never mind, Ellirt said, it’s only a smudge, hardly worth bothering about.

  He dropped his arm as they approached the stand, and she went on alone, forcing herself to meet her father’s gaze as she ascended the steps again.

  “Shall we begin the Testing now, Lady Haemas?” The priest’s concerned gold eyes blinked at her as he shifted his weight beneath the braid-encrusted ceremonial cassock.

  She turned to her father. “Can we go inside?” Fear hammered at her stomach; perhaps something even worse lay buried beneath the false memory. What had she done? “I want you to read my memory of what happened that night. It’s—not right.”

  “No!” Alyssa’s delicate features contorted. “She nearly killed you before, Dervlin! Don’t listen to her!”

  Dervlin Tal glanced down at his wife. His mouth tightened. “You don’t want me to listen to her? I find that very interesting.” He glared again at Haemas, his heavy gray brows meeting over his nose. “If I do, will you go through with the ceremony?”

  Haemas glanced at the priest, then the pale-haired man at his side who was studying her as though she were a prize mare. “If you still want me to.”

  He rubbed one hand across his chin. “And you’ll allow me control?”

  She nodded.

  “Then open your shields, dammit, and let’s get on with this!” His irritation washed over her.

  “Here?” She looked over her shoulder at the restless crowd.

  Yes, here, or not at all!” His gaze was flinty.

  Trembling, she closed her eyes and dissolved her shields, summoning up yet again the hateful memory that had haunted her. Fingers pressed against her temple.

  * * *

  . . . she stood at the dining room door, her palm pressed to the satiny wood.

  Haemas clasped her cold, white fingers together as old Pascar opened the massive door into the dining hall. Jarid turned his light eyes to her, eyes so much like, yet totally unlike her own. “Come in, Cousin.”

  She glanced at the long table. “Where’s Father?” Only Alyssa, her stepmother, and Jarid, the orphaned son of her father’s sister, were waiting to eat.

  What is this garbage! Dervlin’s mind bellowed at her. You know damn well I was there when you came in, late as usual!

  . . . Something was wrong. Pascar moved quietly around the huge table, lighting the tall, twisted candles for the evening meal. Jarid’s eyes followed him impatiently. “Out!” he demanded as the last flame took hold. Pascar dropped his brown chierra eyes and bowed, then closed the door behind him.

  Haemas slid into her accustomed place. Jarid lounged back against the intricately carved wood of his chair and stretched his arms over his head like a carnivore limbering for the hunt. “You want to know where your father is, skivit?” He winked. “Why should you care? He’s never had any use for you.”

  Alyssa’s amused eyes gleamed over the hand she used to mask her smile.

  But I was there, blast it, sitting next to that simpering excuse for a wife! Dervlin’s irritation flooded through Haemas’s helpless mind.

  . . . She realized her hands were clenched around the table’s edge. With an effort, she dropped them. “I don’t believe I’m hungry,” she said faintly, holding her shields very tight so no sense of her unease would escape. “Please excuse me.” Nodding to her stepmother, she began to rise.

  “Not so fast, Cousin.” Steel rang in Jarid’s arrogant voice.

  Stop this nonsense! Dervlin ordered, but Haemas, caught in the unfolding memory could only ride the current on through.

  . . . Without meaning to, she found she had dropped back into her seat.

  “I have a little something for you.” His sense of interest in her became stronger, sharpening into something closer to . . . ownership. “Something which I trust you will not find unappealing.”

  Haemas tore her gaze away from Jarid’s compelling pale eyes. “I want to go.”

  “Very well, then, skivit, by all means, go.” His tone mocked her. “But first, you must drink a toast with us.”

  Frozen, she watched as his steady hand poured dark-red tchallit wine into the green crystal goblets set before each place.

  My best Nivan tchallit! The little bastard would never dare!

  . . . Jarid’s sense of triumph was so strong, Haemas knew he was not even bothering to shield. He handed one goblet to Alyssa, the next to Haemas, reserving the last for himself.

  I was there, dammit! Dervlin’s anger burned like a hot poker inside her head. It did not happen that way! What are you trying to pull?

  . . . The moment her hand closed around the slender green stem, Haemas knew with certainty that something was wrong with it. Her hand jerked away from the goblet as though it had burned her.

  That—

  . . . Her hand jerked away from the goblet—

  —never—

  . . . Her hand jer—

  —happened!

  Haemas felt herself flung into blackness as she shattered . . . and pieces of herself spun away into emptiness . . . lost . . . nothing to hold onto . . .

  * * *

  Deep in the velvety darkness, a dream waited for her. Haemas looked up and realized that Pascar stood by the dining hall door.

  His familiar old face wrinkled into a sympathetic smile. “Late again, my Lady?”

  “Third time this week,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “Have they started yet?”

  Pascar reached out and twitched her collar down, then nodded. “I be feared so, my Lady.”

  Haemas smoothed down the fine flyaway hair around her face. Just let Alyssa guess she’d been running again and Haemas would never hear the end of it. “All right, Pascar.” She folded her hands.

  The massive oak door swung back on its well-oiled hinges. “Decided to join us, have you, whelp?” Her father stuffed a chunk of roast savok into his mouth.

  Alyssa shot her a sideways look out of large green-gold eyes, allowing a sly smile to steal across her red lips. So kind of the child to drop in, she confided to Dervlin without bothering to shield.

  Haemas’s face warmed. Not again, she chided herself, it only makes Alyssa worse when she knows she’s upset you.

  Pascar crossed the room and pulled out her chair. Not daring to look the old chierra servant in the face, she slid into her place and unfolded her napkin.

  Across from her, Alyssa cut her roast into precise tiny bites, then speared one with her fork and chewed it thoughtfully. Pascar swept Haemas’s plate up from the table and filled it from the steaming dishes at the sideboard. Then he lit the tall, twisted green candle before her place.

  Haemas watched Alyssa’s perfectly chiseled features through the wavering candle flame for a moment. Every movement her stepmother made down to the last flick of her wrist was so graceful that Haemas felt like an ummit every time she saw her.

  “Not hungry, skivit?” Jarid stretched his arms behind his head and stared at her through slitted pale-gold eyes. “You know you have to keep your strength up for the big Testing.”

  Pascar picked up the stem of her green goblet, filling it then with sweet amber callyt wine. Dropping her gaze, Haemas buttered a piece of spicy dark nutbread and took a bite. Why did he always bring up her upcoming Testing? No Tal had ever failed.

  Now, Nephew . . . Alyssa smiled fondly at Jarid’s high-cheekboned face. Don’t tease the child. You know how it upsets her.

  “Both of you, shut up!” Her father’s fist crashed on the table, making the silverware clatter. “A man can’t hear himself think with the two of you always babbling in his head!”

  Alyssa wiped the corner of her mouth with the most delicate of gestures. “Please forgive me, Dervlin.” She motioned at the servant. “Have some more of this excellent wine.”

  Der
vlin stared moodily at the goblet in front of him as Pascar poured the amber wine, then he snatched it up and downed half the contents with one swallow.

  Jarid smiled thinly. “Yes, it is good, isn’t it, Uncle?”

  A heavy air of expectation ran through the room, making Haemas feel itchy and uncomfortable. She pushed the slice of roast savok first to one side of the etched Tal crest on her silver plate, then the other. “I’m not very hungry tonight,” she said finally. “Please excuse me.”

  Jarid rose and placed his hands flat on the table’s gleaming surface. “You’re not going anywhere!”

  “It’s no good!” Alyssa crumpled the napkin between her hands and threw it to the floor. “She didn’t drink enough!”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Leaving his place, her cousin paced around Alyssa’s seat to peer into his uncle’s face. “He’s had plenty, and he was the only one that mattered.”

  Haemas could not take her eyes off her father sitting there, staring slack-jawed into his empty goblet. Alarmed, she scraped her chair back and stood up. “Father, are you all right?”

  Sit down!

  Without meaning to, her knees buckled. She sank back into the chair.

  Now stay there. Jarid’s sense of triumph rolled over her. I’ll deal with you later.

  Her mouth was dry, and the room seemed to swirl around her. The wine must have been laced with something . . . a drug? Haemas tried to watch her father. A dark form rustled near the sideboard. She glanced out of the corner of her eye; it was old Pascar, standing in the shadows.

  “Well?” Alyssa abandoned her chair and slid her hand up Jarid’s shoulder. Her voice was sharp. “Can you do it?”

  “Stop whining and let me concentrate.” Jarid shrugged her hand off, then reached for his uncle’s brow, just under the fringe of gray hair. At his touch, the old man’s eyelids fluttered, then he slumped heavily to the table.

  Haemas tried to shout “Stop it!” but her voice came out in only a hoarse whisper. Gripping the chair so hard that her knuckles stood out, she levered herself up. “Leave him alone!” The walls whirled sickly around her.