by Jean Lorrah
“The horse market’s tomorrow. Come Read the animals for me, and what the dealers are thinking about them. Help me get the best I can for my money.”
“Of course,” she replied. Actually, Galerio did not need her help to keep from being cheated; Readers who knew horses much better than she did patrolled the market to be certain that hidden problems were not palmed off on unwary customers. But their job was not to influence the dealing; Galerio would get a better bargain with a Reader to determine what the dealers really considered their animals worth.
“Julia,” Aradia called.
Knowing she would see him tomorrow, Julia did not linger with Galerio. She had a momentary advantage with her stepmother, since the friend Aradia disapproved of had become a hero, so she could afford to be cheerfully obedient.
In fact, Julia was cheerfully obedient most of the time; she had to admit that Aradia was always just with her, and encouraged her to grow and extend her powers. If pressed, she would also have to admit that Aradia treated her better than her real mother, who had neglected her, often hit her when she was an inconvenience, and eagerly sold her to Lenardo when Julia was revealed as a Reader.
Julia had never known her father-her mother wasn’t even sure which of several possibilities he was-so Lenardo had felt “real” to her from the moment his mind first touched hers. It was harder to accept the stepmother who took his attention from her, but Lenardo had trained her always to seek the truth, the facts.
And the fact was that Aradia went out of her way not to come between Lenardo and Julia.
With Lenardo away, Julia found herself becoming closer to Aradia. Something Aradia had said last night haunted her with its truth.
Julia had been waiting to be scolded for running away in frustration when she had not been able to manifest Adept talent. She had been braced with arguments in her own defense, ready to point out how she had recognized the worth of Galerio and his followers, who had proved themselves heroes in the aftermath of the whirlwind.
Instead, after supper, when Julia was bathed and already in her sleeping garments, Aradia called the girl to her study.
Julia loved that room. It was Aradia’s study, but both Julia and Lenardo often went there in search of books and scrolls, for Aradia was determinedly rebuilding the library she had lost in the destruction of Castle Nerius.
Aradia sat quietly by the window that opened onto the courtyard, on one of the two comfortable lounges.
She was also in her sleeping garments and robe, her pale hair loosened from its intricate daytime style.
On her way in, Julia picked up a wax tablet and stylus from one of the tables-a tablet Lenardo had written on many times. Then she sat down on the lounge where Lenardo usually sat, and swung her feet up.
With her ability to Read the history of an object, she was thus able to feel surrounded by her father, protected by his love and caring.
Aradia watched her in silence for a moment, and then said, “I wish I could feel him as you do, Julia.”
The simple statement brought sudden, unexpected tears to the girl’s eyes. “Read with me,” she offered, and Aradia’s mind touched hers, sharing the memories of Lenardo sitting on that lounge, writing on that tablet.
But if she could share the sweet with Aradia, Julia also shared the bitter: each time she touched something of her father’s, the most recent memories were farther away. The days were passing. No message came from either Wulfston or Lenardo, and none of Aradia’s inquiries brought an answer.
Mind to mind, neither woman knew whose throat tightened first with unshed tears. They looked into each other’s glistening eyes, and broke the rapport.
“We both miss him,” said Aradia.
“Yes,” Julia agreed.
“Julia-you know that I am trying to care for you as Lenardo would.”
“I know,” she had to admit.
“Never mind the events which followed-would Lenardo have approved of your running away from your lesson today?”
Julia looked into Aradia’s violet eyes, but her stepmother had become deliberately unReadable. So she had to focus on the question-nothing about Galerio, but about leaving an unfinished lesson.
A sad smile came to Julia’s lips. “You’re right. Father would scold me for giving up a lesson I need to learn. I’m sorry, Aradia. I won’t do it again. “
“At least you will try not to,” the other woman acknowledged. Then she also smiled. “Julia, you and I have more in common than our concern for Lenardo.”
“Our concern for the Savage Empire,” Julia responded immediately.
“True,” Aradia said with a nod, “but I meant personal concerns. At the moment, we are both having great difficulty working with nature, because nature is toying with us.”
Julia frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You are undergoing puberty. Your body is changing-and as a Reader you certainly know the body affects the mind. Your feelings are often confusing. Sometimes you don’t know what you think about something. Then on some other idea you will feel completely convinced one way one day, and the opposite way the next.”
Julia said, “Yes, I know you were my age once.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Aradia replied. “You think it doesn’t matter that I’ve been through what you are going through, because I’m not feeling it now. But you’re wrong, Julia. Being pregnant does very much the same things to my body that puberty is doing to yours.”
“Father asked me to be careful about your feelings while you’re pregnant,” said Julia.
Aradia smiled. “Your father may be the greatest Reader the world has ever known-but although he may delve into women’s minds, he will never live inside a woman’s body. You do, Julia, and so do I. There are some things you and I have in common that Lenardo will never, ever understand.”
And Julia suddenly knew why Aradia would not say a word about Galerio. She smiled back at her stepmother with a new understanding. “May I Read the baby?” she asked.
“Of course,” said Aradia. “I was going to ask you to.”
And the two women shared sensing the small life Aradia carried that was a part of Lenardo.
On the following day, Julia was in a benevolent mood toward her stepmother. When Aradia called her away from Galerio, she went at once, and found that Aradia and Master Clement were going to the hospital. She was not being arbitrarily called away from her friends; she was being called to work with the healers.
It was an adult responsibility Julia had been performing for years-and one area of her powers where not even Master Clement questioned her judgment or her competence. Eager to help her people, Julia followed the others from the forum.
At the hospital, Aradia moved from one ward to another, greeting the recovering patients who were awake. Most needed only rest and nourishment now, and would be ready to go home within the day.
The healers had been able to care for all the injuries, but today most of them were themselves in recovery sleep. Minor Adepts now joined Readers in nursing the patients.
Julia and Master Clement went to help Read the patients still in healing sleep, to be certain all was going as intended. Aradia made sure they were well involved in their work before she sought out Pyrrhus.
Pyrrhus was awake, Wicket already at his side. As Aradia approached, she saw that his friend had given Pyrrhus the gold coins, and Pyrrhus was holding them on the open palm of his left hand, staring at them.
He was in one of the small wards where severely ill or injured patients were cared for, with only three other beds. One of those beds was now empty, and the other two men were still deep in healing sleep.
As Pyrrhus should have been.
The entire right side of his face and neck were vividly red and sore: regenerated flesh that in another day under Adept care would heal unscarred to its normal condition, but today must be as painful and sensitive as if flayed.
Pyrrhus seemed to be hiding his pain successfully from Wicket, but without Reading Ara
dia could see it in his eyes, dilated so they appeared black rather than their natural dark brown. Although it was pleasantly cool within the stone building, his brow showed a faint sheen of perspiration. Yet even with Reading, she still could not detect his pain.
It made no sense. She might be a very weak Reader, but pain such as Pyrrhus was experiencing should have had her sending him to sleep in self-defense. She had never heard of anyone masking such strong feelings except Lords Adept, but a Lord Adept in Pyrrhus’ condition would not have the strength for such effort.
Was Pyrrhus a secret Adept grown up in the Aventine Empire, where until four years ago such powers had been anathema? No, even the greatest Lord Adept would be at the mercy of his own body’s defenses, which would put him back into healing sleep whether he willed it or not. Besides, a Lord Adept would block the pain, not suffer it while blocking transmission to Readers. There had to be some other explanation.
However he was doing it, why was he masking his pain? It meant only that no Reader called an Adept healer’s attention to him, and he suffered for no reason.
Aradia crossed the room to Pyrrhus’ side, and waited for him to look up at her. Although it was discolored, his face was back to its normal contours now, thin with sharp planes, high cheekbones, pointed chin, eyes set deep under a heavy browbone. A large, straight nose saved it from appearing pinched, but it would have been a severe, even frightening face were it not for a sensuous, beautifully sculpted mouth, now tense with suspicion as his eyes met hers.
“You remember Lady Aradia,” Wicket said brightly, too eagerly cheerful. “She’s the one healed you, Pyrrhus-and gave us the gold!”
“Why give us money?” Pyrrhus asked, his eyes like twin weapons trained on Aradia.
“Because,” she replied gently, “although there is no adequate repayment for saving a life, such a deed cannot go unrecognized and unrewarded.”
“I assure you,” Pyrrhus said acidly, “my action was unpremediatated. Simple animal reflex.”
“The reflex of a good man,” Aradia told him. “Witnesses told us what happened: when you saw the vat of oil toppling, about to spill onto a little boy, you ran in and snatched the child up. And when you could not move fast enough to escape the burning liquid, you tossed the child to Wicket, who carried him to safety.”
“At least it was a child,” Pyrrhus said, closing his hand over the coins with an audible snap. “Although of course he will grow up, won’t he?” He made it sound like a curse.
By now it was clear to Aradia that Pyrrhus was wounded far more in mind than in body. Such cynicism could only cover deep scars of betrayal. It was not an uncommon symptom among the people their Savage Alliance had conquered, and the only cure was to prove their benevolence over time.
The sole medicine she could offer Pyrrhus at the moment was to continue his healing. “Have you eaten?”
she asked.
He frowned slightly at the abrupt change of subject. “No.”
There was fruit and bread on the bedside table, along with a pitcher of water. “You must be hungry,”
Aradia said.
“Yes,” Pyrrhus replied. “Wicket, have you a knife? I don’t know what has happened to my clothes and belongings.”
Of course-he would be ravenous with the hunger that came from depleting the body’s reserves in Adept healing, but the pain in his face would not allow him to bite into the fruit. Aradia opened to Reading, sending an order to the hospital kitchen for the revitalizing soup that was kept ready for awakening patients.
Wicket handed Pyrrhus a knife with a thin blade, in trade for the coins. But when the man in the bed tried to move, simply to reach for the fruit, the pain escaped his control, and he gasped as his body twisted.
Wicket deftly caught the falling knife.
“Let me help,” said Aradia, laying a hand against the back of Pyrrus’ neck, where the nerve centers led to his cheek and down into his injured shoulder. Deliberately, she stopped the pain.
At the sudden relief, Pyrrhus collapsed back onto his pillow, eyes closed. Then he reopened them, and lifted his right arm with an effort, staring at his hand. “It’s gone numb,” he said, unable to control the slight hint of fear in his voice.
“Just temporarily,” Aradia quickly assured him. “It’s the only way to take away the pain so you can replenish the strength healing has taken from your body.”
Wicket had already sliced up an apple. “Here,” he said, putting it in reach of Pyrrhus’ left hand.
Once the man began to eat, his body’s needs took over. It was a common experience to Aradia, but obviously neither Pyrrhus nor Wicket had ever seen anyone eat after Adept healing. Bread and fruit disappeared as fast as Wicket could slice them, and when an attendant brought the soup Aradia had called for, it vanished with equal speed.
Wicket was staring at his friend in utter astonishment. “You won’t stay so skinny if you eat like that, Pyrrhus!”
Aradia guessed that Pyrrhus was hardly satisfied, although his stomach was full. He lay back, looking embarrassed, but did not answer.
“Your friend is behaving normally, Wicket,” Aradia assured him. “Adept healing takes the strength from his own body to repair the damage, and he has to replenish it. Even after he is healed, he’ll need to eat far more than normal for several days.”
“Well,” said Wicket, “I can see where our money’s going to go, then!”
“Don’t worry, Wicket,” said Pyrrhus, “I won’t ask for any of yours.”
Pyrrhus was not looking at Wicket; he did not see his friend’s face fall. Then Wicket’s look became determined. “We agreed we were in this together, didn’t we? So it’s our money, not yours or mine, and if you need it to get your strength back-well, where’d I be without you?”
Pyrrhus turned his head to look at Wicket. “Probably much better off,” he answered.
“I’d be dead!” Wicket said.
Pyrrhus nodded. “Precisely.”
Aradia knew that physical weakness was exacerbating Pyrrhus’ attitude, so she said, “Pyrrhus will feel much better tomorrow, Wicket. You mustn’t take anything he says now seriously.”
“Why not? It’s the way he always talks. Good thing he doesn’t act the way he talks, innit?”
It sounded like a long and enduring friendship, and the way Pyrrhus raised his eyes to study the ceiling without attempting to answer confirmed it. Aradia upgraded her estimate of the chances that Pyrrhus would modify his cynical attitude with further experience of life in the Savage Empire.
She smiled at Wicket. “I’m going to put Pyrrhus back into healing sleep now, so-”
“Oh, no,” Pyrrhus snapped. “No more of that, thank you!”
“If I don’t,” said Aradia, “you’ll be in pain for several more days, and it will be weeks before you’re healed enough to be active. Aggravate those half-healed burns in the meantime, and you could get scar tissue that would hamper the use of your right arm. Your sword arm,” she added, remembering that when she first saw him, Pyrrhus had been wearing such a weapon, sheathed at his left.
“Do the healing,” he said, “but don’t try to knock me out again.”
“It’s the only-”
“Aradia.”
She turned, to find Master Clement and Julia entering the room.
“What are you doing, Aradia?” the Master Reader asked. “There are plenty of competent healers. You must not exhaust yourself.”
“I’m not,” she replied. “It’s only this one man.”
“What is-?”
Master Clement approached the bed, and stopped in his tracks when he saw its occupant. “Pyrrhus!”
Aradia opened to Reading, and was engulfed in the old man’s astonishment and concern, followed by sorrow. “What has happened to you?”
Pyrrhus looked back expressionlessly. “I had a brief encounter with a vat of boiling oil,” he said flatly.
“You?” asked Master Clement. “I heard the name, but I never thought-Pyrrhus, what’
s wrong? Why aren’t you Reading?”
Now Pyrrhus’ voice was heavy with sarcasm. “Oh-hadn’t you heard? I was sent on a short journey along the Path of the Dark Moon.”
Aradia saw Wicket’s eyes, wide with astonishment, go back and forth between his friend on the bed and the imposing figure of Master Clement in his scarlet cloak. It was clear that he’d had no idea his friend was a Reader.
“But-that’s impossible!” Master Clement was saying. “I tested you for the rank of Magister myself. You should have been a Master Reader by now.” Then he silent for a moment, gathering his emotions. “Yes,”
he said grimly, “I understand what must have happened. Portia.”
“Indeed,” Pyrrhus replied with a smile that would form ice crystals on a volcano. “Portia.”
Aradia felt something then from Master Clement that she had known only once before in the wise, courageous, and benevolent man who had been her husband’s mentor: guilt. “I sent you into her power,”
he said, “when I sent you to Tiberium.”
Pyrrhus said in a voice of total insincerity, “It doesn’t matter. It happened nearly five years ago. I’ve adapted.”
“Portia is dead,” said Master Clement.
Pyrrhus raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I know,” he replied in a voice of savage satisfaction. HI was in the rapport. I helped you kill her.”
Master Clement strode to the bed. “Then your powers are not severely diminished. Pyrrhus-we know how to heal the Readers Portia and her cohorts forced onto the Path of the Dark Moon. As soon as you’re well, you will come to the Academy, and-”
“No!” That barked word seemed to drain the last of Pyrrhus’ energies. He lay back against the pillow, pale and sweating again, and closed his eyes. Then, in a voice devoid of emotion, he said, “What Portia did to me was not her usual method of taking an uncooperative Reader out of her way. Oh, she had originally planned to marry me off, drug me with white lotus, drain my will so she and the other corrupt Masters could implant the belief that my powers were reduced. “
The man’s mouth twisted in a parody of a smile. “I found out what they were doing,” he said. “You were right, Clement. I was one of the best Readers you ever trained. So I Read too much, found out what Portia was doing-and stupidly refused to join her inner circle. I still had the ideals you taught me. Much good they did me!”