Empress Unborn se-7

by Jean Lorrah

  “Pyrrhus,” Master Clement pleaded, but the man continued inexorably.

  “Then she stupidly tried to set me on the Path of the Dark Moon. But I told you, it was a short journey.”

  “You ran away,” said Master Clement.

  “The morning of my supposed wedding day. Never did meet my intended bride.” He gave a snort of humorless laughter, and opened his eyes. “Have you ever tried to hide when Readers are searching for you, Clement?”

  “As a matter of fact,” said the old man, “I have. You have to Read, to discover whether they are tracking you, but every time you do you risk giving yourself away to them.”

  “Yes. Well, I escaped-and learned a skill that has since served me very well.”

  “Your ability to block sending out thoughts,” said Aradia, “even pain. The reason none of the Readers noticed how badly you were hurt yesterday.”

  “Yes,” said Pyrrhus. “I established an identity as an ordinary Aventine citizen, and began to contact some of my old friends from the Academy who had become Dark Moon Readers. Of course, most of them deserved to be, but even they resented the Masters’ crippling some of the best Readers if they were dangerous to Portia’s schemes.

  “We made plans, tried to determine if any among the Master Readers were uncorrupted. We contacted a few Magisters we could trust, but we needed a Master Reader to persuade other Masters. We settled on Master Julius, head of the hospital at Termoli. I went to him, with three Magister Readers, healers from his staff. He… listened.”

  “And then,” said Master Clement, “he went to the Council of Masters. Yes, Pyrrhus-I learned the full story later, after the fall of Tiberium. Your name was not mentioned, though.”

  “No-there was no need to record what happened to me,” Pyrrhus said bitterly. “I was just another failed Reader on their books. But they had to account for the healers: Magisters Samantha, Tyrus, and Cylene, and Master Julius.” He winced. “The man was a fool. He had immersed himself in healing, never been involved in politics. The very innocence that made us confide in him caused him to betray us.”

  Master Clement said, “Master Julius thought you were mistaken. He was concerned, though, that the tactics of the Council of Masters were causing misunderstandings among both Dark Moon Readers and Readers in training. He honestly thought he was helping your cause by reporting to the Council of Masters everything you had told him.”

  Pyrrhus gave another of his perfectly insincere smiles. “I learned an important lesson from that experience: never trust an honest man.”

  Aradia saw Wicket lean forward at that, and take Pyrrhus’ uninjured left hand in both of his. Pyrrhus took no notice, but neither did he withdraw the hand.

  “You were an honest man,” Master Clement pointed out, “and Master Julius should have trusted you. As it was, Portia turned the Council against him, insisted he was incompetent, and had him retested. I don’t know how he was made to fail the testing-I wasn’t there.”

  “They drugged him,” said Pyrrhus. “I was there. In spirit, anyway. One of the last things I ever Read. Did you know that when they told him he’d failed, and they were going to marry him off, he took poison?”

  “Yes… I heard,” said Master Clement. “But you, Pyrrhus. Why have you shut yourself off to Reading?

  How can you live that way?”

  “I live that way because I have to,” Pyrrhus replied.

  “What do you mean? It’s safe to make yourself known as a Reader now-it has been ever since the fall of Tiberium. ‘

  Pyrrhus looked directly up at Master Clement, and suddenly his smile was genuine, if brief. “You really are that innocent, aren’t you?

  “But then,” he added, his face returning to its expressionless mode, “that means you are just like Master Julius. Clement-I can’t Read.” The voice was flat again, devoid of feeling. “Portia caught me spying on the testing of Master Julius. You see, I was stupid enough to care what happened to him, and when I Read them cheating him out of his life’s work by testing him under drugs, I slipped. My anger showed. I learned another lesson too late: forget the rest of the world, and look out for yourself.

  “The next day Portia and her cohorts went to work on me. I’ll wager you didn’t even know the techniques exist, Clement my innocent. But they do. They used drugs, and then they used their minds against mine-the combined power of thirteen corrupt Master Readers who didn’t care how much pain they inflicted as long as they were sure I’d never be able to spy on them again. “

  Aradia felt sheet horror prickle her skin, Read the same reaction from Julia and Master Clement, but none of them could close themselves off from the rapport with fellow Readers as Pyrrhus stated in that cold, empty voice, “What it felt like was that they burned out pieces of my mind. After that… oh, I can project thoughts with the strength of a Reader, although I’ve learned not to. But I can’t receive thoughts anymore.

  “I cannot Read.”

  Julia felt sick, a terrible grim sickness such as she had never known before. To lose the ability to Read?

  Never to touch another mind again? Unthinkable!

  Both Master Clement and Aradia were as deep in shock as she was.

  Wicket was still leaning forward, holding Pyrrhus’ hand, unnoticed. Julia saw him tilt his head back, fighting tears. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.

  “There was no reason,” Pyrrhus answered. “There was nothing you could do.” He removed his hand from Wicket’s grasp, no longer making the effort to keep his voice flat and steady. It betrayed his exhaustion by trailing off almost into a whisper on the last words. His perfect control was slipping; Julia could Read the throbbing sting of his incompletely healed burns.

  Master Clement said, “You are tired, Pyrrhus, and still in pain. The Lady Aradia will put you back into healing sleep, and tomorrow-”

  “No!” His pain disappeared again as he regained control, eyes flashing. “I will not allow anyone to manipulate my mind!”

  Aradia said, “I understand now why you fought me when I tried to help you yesterday. Pyrrhus, all I want to do is finish healing your wounds.”

  “Do it without putting me to sleep,” he said.

  “I can’t. Conscious, your body cannot tolerate the stress of such extensive healing.”

  It was stalemate. After what they had just learned, Aradia could not use her powers to force Pyrrhus to sleep.

  Then Master Clement said, “You know how to put yourself into trance sleep, Pyrrhus. Do so, and then Lady Aradia will start the healing process again. By tomorrow your body will be back to normal.”

  “But not my mind,” Pyrrhus said flatly, defenses at full alert again.

  “Pyrrhus, please,” said Wicket. “Let them heal you. You can’t leave here in that condition.”

  With a sigh, Pyrrhus closed his eyes. “There are times, Wicket, when even you are right.” And he slipped off into the meditative sleep that Julia had only recently mastered, his body in total relaxation. He would not move or dream, as in normal sleep. His mind could not interfere with the healing of his body.

  Master Clement said to Aradia, “Shall I get a healer to help you?”

  “No, I have done no other healing today,” she replied. “I have more than adequate strength for this.”

  Then Aradia went to stand beside Pyrrhus, her hand on his injured shoulder. She became blank to Reading, and Adept healing fire coursed through Pyrrhus’ burned flesli-this fire renewing rather than destroying.

  When Aradia stepped back, Wicket looked up at her. “Will he be all right now?”

  “When he wakens tomorrow he will be completely healed, just ravenously hungry again.”

  The tears he had forced back while Pyrrhus was awake escaped Wicket’s control as he looked at the sleeping man. “He never told me! Four years we been together, and he never told me who he really was.

  My best friend.”

  “Wicket,” said Master Clement gently, “I do not believe Pyrrhus withheld the information f
rom you to hurt you. I don’t think he ever meant to tell anyone. But today he found good reason to tell it. To hurt me.”

  “But why?” the man asked.

  “Because I sent him to Tiberium, where he came to Portia’s notice. And because as one of the Council of Masters I should have known what Portia was doing. I do blame myself. Pyrrhus is right. I was sinfully naive. It is difficult for a Master Reader to comprehend that anyone-even the Master of Masters! — could be so corrupt without other Readers noticing.”

  “Pyrrhus noticed,” Wicket said bitterly, sniffing and wiping tears from his chin with his sleeve. Then suddenly he got to his feet and turned to Aradia. “Can you cure what Portia did to him? Can you fix his head so he can Read again?”

  Aradia looked at Master Clement. “I don’t know,” she replied. “Will you Read him for me, Master?”

  The old man nodded. “We certainly owe him to try,” he replied. “Come sit down, Aradia,” he said, leading her to the empty bed, and sitting beside her. “Julia-”

  “Don’t send me away,” she said. “I won’t go.”

  He smiled. “I wasn’t going to send you away, child. I want you to Read with us. Sit down. This will take concentration.”

  So Julia sat in the chair beside Aradia and Master Clement, and let her mind open to the fullest, most perceptive Reading.

  Julia well understood muscle and bone and blood vessels, for she had been working with Adept healers for years. The brain, though, and delicate fine nerves were areas in which she had little experience. It was easy to follow Master Clement’s perceptions into Pyrrhus’

  head. What they found, though, brought on her sick feeling again.

  When the three stopped Reading Pyrrhus and lifted their heads, they found Wicket’s anxious eyes on them. “Tell me!” he demanded. “Did you fix it?”

  “No,” Julia told him.

  “Why not? Can you fix it?” he insisted.

  “I’m sorry,” said Aradia. “To repair such nerve damage is beyond the ability of any Adept I know.”

  Master Clement spoke, not so much to Wicket as to himself, as if trying to convince himself that what they had Read was true. “It is actual physical damage-nerves literally burnt out in the area of Pyrrhus’

  brain that… translates what a Reader Reads into coherent images.”

  Wicket obviously understood only one word of that. “Burnt? But you can cure burns!”

  “We cannot restore destroyed nerves,” Aradia said patiently. “I am sorry, Wicket.”

  Master Clement, though, was still preoccupied. “Physical damage,” he mused. “Aradia, there is no way that Readers could-”

  “Remember what Zanos and Astra discovered?” Aradia reminded him. “Portia was giving her protection to at least one secret Adept in Tiberium, in return for his… favors.”

  Wicket got up from his chair and stalked toward them, all trace of the cheerful little nondescript gone.

  “Portia!’ he exclaimed in fury. “Damn-I wish Pyrrhus hadn’t told me she’s dead. I want to kill her with my own hands!”

  “You’re too late,” said Julia. “We already did.”

  “Julia!” exclaimed Aradia.

  “Well, with our minds, then. It’s the same thing.”

  “But it’s as if she won’t stay dead,” said Master Clement. “Just as she wouldn’t stay-”

  “You, of all people, know she is dead,” Aradia said firmly, and Julia remembered how the old Master Reader had lain for days, his mind trapped outside his body, lost on the planes of existence, for when Portia’s body died her spirit had refused to depart peacefully to the plane of the dead. Master Clement had tried to escort her there-and only a circle of Adepts and Readers had been able to call him back to his body before he, too, died.

  But later they had found out, to Master Clement’s dismay, that Portia’s angry spirit had not stayed on the plane of the dead. Torio had gone there to bring back the woman he loved. He had met Portias spirit, still seeking revenge, on what he described as the plane of lost souls. He had made certain Portia could not follow, knowing she would trace him back to the physical plane if she could. So Portia’s spirit was left trapped in a hell of her own making.

  Master Clement said, “She is dead, but not at peace. I should not have let you call me back. I should have escorted her through the portal. If she escaped from where Torio met her, she could-”

  “No,” Aradia said. “Torio made certain she could not follow him back to the physical plane. Don’t you trust Torio, Master Clement?”

  Master Clement stood. “Yes, I trust Torio. Portia may be what prevents his return. He left her trapped, and feels the same guilt I do.

  “Oh, yes, Portia is dead, but her evil lives on. Indirectly, she drove Torio from us. Directly…” The old man shook his head. “The damage she did lives on. Pyrrhus-how could one Reader do such a thing to another? By the gods, it would have been kinder to kill him!”

  When Aradia returned home that evening, she found it difficult to eat supper despite having used her Adept powers. Julia also picked at her food, and Aradia did not have to Read her to know the girl was as depressed as she was by what they had learned from Pyrrhus.

  Feeling excessively tired, Aradia decided to be sensible and go to bed early. She didn’t even hear Devasin’s chatting, and dismissed the woman as soon as she was in her nightgown, her hair let down.

  Then she sat for a while, brushing the tangles out of her hair, thinking of Lenardo. She remembered how she had first come to respect him when he helped her and Wulfston cure their father of a brain tumor.

  Healing such a condition had been impossible for either Adepts or Readers alone, and they had always been alone in those days, trapped on either side of the border in societies where the appropriate power meant respect and position, but exhibiting the wrong power meant that a child would be summarily executed. But when Lenardo and Aradia overcame their arbitrary division, together they had brought Nerius back to full health.

  Only to have him die in the battle with Drakonius.

  He died as he would have preferred-fighting like a man, she reminded herself. He saved my life, and Lenardo, Wulfston, and I went on to defeat our enemies.

  For a time, it had seemed that Adepts and Readers working together could accomplish anything. Only now was it coming home to them how little they could really do.

  What kind of ideal society were they building, where nothing could be done for someone as devastatingly wounded, physically and mentally, as Pyrrhus?

  Small and recent as Aradia’s Reading talent was, she shuddered at the idea of losing it, never to know again the touch of another mind… Lenardos mind.

  I may never know his touch again, on my body or in my mind.

  Aradia stared into her small round mirror and shook herself. “No more maudlin thoughts!” she said aloud, getting up and taking off her robe. “I’m just being… pregnant!”

  Still, as she lay down and tried to fall asleep, she was acutely aware that the other side of the bed was empty. No warm chest to curl up against. No strong arms to make her feel absurdly protected even though both she and Lenardo knew that she was the one with the Adept powers to throw thunderbolts orusing proper leverage-move mountains.

  She would never fall asleep if she lay there missing Lenardo.

  But when she tried to put her husband out of her mind, the confrontation with Pyrrhus replayed itself, unbidden. No wonder the man was so brittle, bitter.

  Aradia sat up in bed, her arms about her knees. If all she could do was think negative thoughts, perhaps she should go into her study and read. But she was very tired. She had not slept well recently.

  Then she remembered something Nerius had taught her when she was a little girl and couldn’t sleep because she was upset over something she had no control over. “Make plans,” her father had told her.

  “Make positive plans to correct something that is wrong. Remember, daughter, there are far more things in this world outside your control
than in it-so worry about what you can do something about.”

  It had always worked in childhood.

  She had no control over Lenardo’s absence. She had no control over Pyrrhus’ burnt-out nerves.

  But if she could not restore Pyrrhus’ Reading, perhaps she could do something for the ex-Reader and his loyal Wicket. “We’re in this together,” Wicket had said. What was “this”?

  If they had a purpose, Aradia would try to help them achieve it.

  If, as so many people did, they had come to Zendi seeking work, a better life, possibly she could hire them. She smiled. Tomorrow she would have to find out what, exactly, the two men could do.

  On that positive note, she fell asleep.

  And dreamed.

  It began as a pleasant dream, one that was becoming familiar now. She saw her baby floating in the womb, as before not an infant but a fully formed young woman. Again the girl spoke serenely without opening her eyes, the same words: “After I am born, I will give you what I owe you.”

  Aradia felt warm love for her child, and watched as the girl’s eyes began to open.

  But as they did so, Aradia suddenly felt a sense of recognition. She knew this woman, but from long, long ago.

  A childhood memory.

  It was… her mother!

  Fully open now, the eyes glowed with fury. The face was no longer the serene, doll-like face of Aradia’s daughter, but the mad face of her mother, screaming as she had screamed the last time Aradia ever saw her.

  “You’re not my child! You’re evil! You stole my powers!”

  The face twisted, and the woman suddenly held an upraised dagger, grasping Aradia by the throat with the other hand as she howled, “You stole my powers, witch! But you can’t control them yet-and I will have them back! Die, you sorceress! Die!”

  Chapter Four

  Julia did not sleep well that night. She had restless dreams, but could remember only one, and that only in snatches. She was in a strange country, lost in a tangled woodland where unfamiliar animals snorted and howled.