by Eileen Wilks
"Not far enough to be immediately harmful. They've taken no damage. Adam McClosky, Steve Timms, and Marilyn Wright will be treated well once we reach the City."
Very softly he said, "But not Cynna?"
It was Cynna who answered him. "I have to Find the medallion they lost, Cullen. Not much choice about that."
"What the gnomes lost," Wen said, and that sure sounded like bitterness in his voice. "For hundreds of years they have held it, claiming only they could be trusted… they call it the Chancellor's Medallion. It brings order, sorcerer. Among other things, it brings order to the seasons."
As Wen's meaning sank in, Cullen's hands clenched into fists. "It's Night Season now," he said slowly.
"Yes. Here, as in other realms, it gets cold at night. If night does not end, it will get very, very cold in Edge."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Cynna walked along the rail, rocked by water. The Ka made the Mississippi look like a creek. She still hadn't seen the far shore, though she'd been on the boat for two days now… no, two sleeps. No days here. No daytime at all.
Not that it was completely dark. Aside from the vast smears of stars overhead and the glow of the moon, mage lights scattered along the barge's hull announced its dimensions to other vessels. More mage lights floated freely over the deck like oversize fireflies. One bobbed along beside Cynna as she made her way past boxes and crates and barrels to the front of the boat.
That one was hers. Cullen had shown her how to cast one. He'd been right—it was absurdly easy. She didn't understand how they'd come to lose such a simple and useful spell.
Near the lighted hull the river was brown and shiny, like suede rubbed slick by use. Away from the ship, brown rolled gently into black, its darkness interrupted by the running lights of other boats. The Ka grew crowded this close to the City.
The cant of the deck felt almost normal to her now. It dipped toward the prow because their means of propulsion stayed underwater most of the time, dragging it along against the current. Built for cargo, not passengers, the barge Bilbo had commandeered was a long, shallow-draft vessel with a shack at the rear where Marilyn Wright lay, still and silent. Tash had spent most of the past two "days" keeping her alive. Once they reached the City, she'd be seen by one of the best healers in Edge.
Soon now. Ahead were the lights of the City—a million fireflies spreading along the left bank of the river, Most of the mage lights were white, but others were red, pink, green, purple. Like Christmas lights, she thought.
Cynna wondered what the Ka looked like in daylight.
Chances were, she'd never know. Edge was about halfway into the Night Season now. If things went well, she'd be heading home as soon as the Dawning arrived and the gnomes could open a gate to Earth. If things didn't go well, no one would see the Ka in daylight again.
She didn't see much point in thinking about that, so she didn't. Mostly.
Just ahead of the barge, a huge, pale shape rolled to the surface and exhaled, sending a spume of air and water from its blowhole. Cullen said the blowhole made the sea ox more like a whale than a manatee, which it resembled, because it breathed when it decided to.
He was such a knowledge magpie. She had the idea he'd been collecting facts all his life—all sorts of facts, not just those relating to magic. But he'd been around twenty-four years longer than her, hadn't he? Maybe by the time she was fifty-nine, she'd know a lot more than she did now.
God, she hoped so.
Of course, she'd also look fifty-nine. He didn't. He probably still wouldn't twenty-four years from now, either.
The sea ox wore a vestlike halter with a big metal ring on top that attached it by a chain to the barge. Clinging to a strap on that halter was the sea ox's rider, his scales gleaming wetly in the light from the ship, the moon, and the stars.
The triton looked over his shoulder, saw Cynna watching, and grinned. He called out something in his language that sounded like bat screeches. She grinned back. "You know I don't understand a word you say."
He laughed, waved, and sank below the water again as his enormous mount dived, its flat tail flipping up in what looked like its own parting wave.
"Flirting with your aquatic admirer again?"
She turned.
Cullen looked like an extra in a biblical movie in that long woolen dress. His feet were bare. He hadn't shaved, of course. None of the men could shave. The Ekiba didn't use razors.
On him, beard stubble, skirt, and bare feet looked good. On him, everything looked good. So did nothing, as she remembered very well.
Not just from having enjoyed that nakedness up close and personal, either. She'd seen him dance. He called himself a stripper, and it was true he danced naked—or all but, since the law insisted on a G-string. But what he did wasn't as crude as stripping. Carnal, definitely. But not crude. More as if the music had come alive so it could celebrate itself… "He is kind of cute."
"He's four feet tall and an excellent representative for Barracudas 'R' Us. Lots and lots of tiny, sharp teeth."
"Guess I won't French him, then."
"Good decision." He draped an arm over her shoulders. "Warm enough?"
He'd been doing that a lot the last two days—no, the last two sleeps. Whatever. He kept touching her. Not sexually, which was just as well, since there was no privacy on the barge. The sanitary facilities consisted of a damned chamber pot used in the meager shelter of the shack at the rear, then dumped overboard.
But lupi were touchy-feely types, weren't they? Physical contact came naturally to them. It was probably her own fault that all those casual touches kept her hormones churned up.
Unless, of course, he was doing it on purpose. "Are you doing that on purpose?"
"What?" His expression was all innocence. His fingers were skimming along the side of her neck… lightly, oh, so lightly.
"You are." And she really ought to make him quit.
"As a friend, I consider it my obligation to distract you from time to time so you don't wear yourself out with all your brooding." One finger dipped into the hollow of he throat. "I'm good at distraction."
"I don't brood. I've had a lot to think about, that's all."
"Mmm." He stood with her in silence a moment, forgetting about his distraction duties. "You think you'll know him?"
Cynna didn't have to ask who he meant. "How could I?"
The Ekiba they'd traveled with had passed on news of their arrival to Ekiba in the City. Word had come back that Daniel Weaver was eager for her arrival. That he was excited about meeting his grown daughter. "I was three years old when he left. I don't remember him at all, but… I've got a picture of him. I guess I'm expecting him to look like that, but it's been thirty years. He's probably fat and bald now."
"And wrinkled."
"Yeah." Cynna sighed and tucked away the longing. "How's Ruben?" Cullen had been talking to him the last time she saw him—about ten minutes ago. No privacy, none at all, on this barge.
"He wants some crutches so he can get around on his own."
"Well, that's nuts! He doesn't walk much when his leg isn't broken."
"But he can?" Cullen asked.
"Yeah, but not much. It exhausts him. I'm pretty sure it hurts, too, but he doesn't tell anyone when he's in pain. None of us, anyway. Deborah probably knows."
"Deborah?"
"His wife." Cynna had met Deborah Brooks a few times. She was short, chubby, and cute as a cocker spaniel. She looked like a cheerleader and possessed enough backbone for any two normal people.
She'd need it. Cynna tried not to think about how worried she must be.
"He says he's feeling different. Stronger. Maybe the Ekiba healer did something to help him with his condition… whatever that is." Cullen looked a question at her.
"I don't know. He doesn't know. He's seen so many doctors, been diagnosed with everything from muscular dystrophy to Lou Gehrig's disease, but none of the diagnoses help. Current medical opinion is that he's got some sort of autoim
mune disorder, but it isn't lupus."
"A misnamed disease if ever there was one," Cullen murmured.
"From your perspective, I guess it is." Cynna sighed. "Sometimes he seems to get better, but it never lasts." And lately he'd been in his chair almost all the time. If the healers here could do something for him…
"He also said he's got a feeling about why he's here."
"Yeah?" As far as she was concerned, Ruben's feelings were gold. Precognition wasn't an unusual Gift, but accurate precogs were rare, and most of the good ones were involuntary visionaries, not intuitives.
Ruben didn't see the future. He just knew stuff. He tested at 70 percent, which all by itself blew the curve, but Cynna, like most of Ruben's people, thought the tests were bullshit. Precognition wasn't a Gift that could be summoned, yet in order to be "scientifically valid," the tests required the precog to perform on demand.
Idiots. "I'm betting it isn't because of the crush Bilbo has on him."
"Good guess. Though the gnome shows more respect for Brooks than for the rest of us."
"Ruben makes it hard to treat him any other way. So what did he say?"
"That he's supposed to be here."
"Oh, now, that's helpful."
"Also, he's sure you're needed here, which unfortunately puts him in agreement with Bilbo. But so am I. Needed, that is."
She grinned. "As something other than a black eye for Bilbo, you mean?"
"A worthy purpose, yet I'm hoping for a more active role."
Cullen's presence in Edge had not been part of the gnome's plans. He'd planned to shove Cynna and Lily through his gate, of course, and had decided to take Ruben, McClosky, and Ms. Wright along, too—as honored guests. Cullen insisted that "guest" and "hostage" were interchangeable terms to gnomes, but Bilbo was treating them okay so far. He claimed his council—the Harazeed gnomes who governed the City—really did want to open trade with Earth.
Assuming they survived.
A head popped out of the water near the barge. It was round, orange, and chewing something.
"You catching lots of fishies?" Cynna called.
Gan didn't bother to swallow before answering, treating them to a good view of partly masticated raw fish. "They're not as good as Lily's little fishies, but they're fun to catch. I like swimming."
No kidding.
One of the crew had taught Gan to swim their first day on the barge. She'd caught on fast, and after that wanted to spend every waking moment in the water. The crew weren't always available to swim with her, so Cullen had. A lot. No one went into this river alone, not even tritons, former demons, or restless werewolves.
Cynna hadn't gone in at all. She'd seen the crocs, and there were supposed to be bigger, nastier beasties in the river, so she hadn't argued when Wen told her humans shouldn't go in the river.
Especially pregnant humans. Her secret wasn't much of a secret anymore. Too many of these people could spot a pregnant woman instantly—by scent or magic or whatever. She didn't think Ruben knew yet. At least, he hadn't said anything. But all the Edge people seemed to know.
There hadn't been much to do on the barge except talk, but that worked out okay. They had a lot to learn about this place. No one would discuss the medallion, but that left a long list of other topics they were ignorant about. Ruben had asked each of them to concentrate on a specific subject. Cynna's task had been learning about the various races here. Wen and Tash didn't mind talking about that sort of thing, so she'd had an easy assignment.
She'd also learned the mage light spell and taught Cullen how to key his diamond so no one else could use it… then been keenly flattered when he keyed it to her, too. She'd gotten to know Steve better, too. They'd played many, many hands of poker with the deck of cards she'd dug out of her old denim bag.
"Better climb back on board," Cullen said to Gan. "We're nearly there, so your swim buddy will be—"
But Gan had ducked back underwater.
Cullen shook his head. "Guess she'll come out when the triton does. He'll have to come topside before we dock."
"We're nearly there."
Cullen sighed. "Bathtubs."
"Indoor plumbing, period. And clean clothes."
"Shoes. Pants. I grow eager for a pair of pants. And a toothbrush."
"Oh, man. I hope so." The Ekiba had given them these little sponges. First you wet one, then you chewed on it so it released this oozy stuff which was not at all like toothpaste. Then you scrubbed your teeth with it. She sighed, thinking of toothbrushes, and added, "Vegetables. Tash says they have plenty of fresh produce in the City."
Cullen looked at her quizzically. "You're longing for stir-fry, not pizza?"
"No, it's just that… it gets what I eat, doesn't it? The baby, I mean. I breathe for it. I eat for it. It's kind of like a parasite, only—"
Cullen made a muffled sound. His arm dropped away. "A parasite."
She felt herself flush and was glad he wouldn't be able to tell. "Maybe I didn't put that well. I mean, some parasites are helpful, right? Like bacteria. We've got lots of bacteria in our bodies that we need to survive, and they need us. There's a word for that, but I can't remember it right now."
"Symbiosis." Cullen barely got the word out. He seemed to be strangling. "You're talking about symbiosis."
"That's it. I guess the baby and me are kind of like that now—in symbiosis. It can't survive without me, and I… well, I'm not sure what I get from it, but I figure there's supposed to be an emotional payoff. I'm not there yet, but—"
The laughter he'd been choking on won. He laughed so hard he gasped for breath.
She stared at him coldly. "I'm ridiculous, am I?"
"Yes, but that's okay. I'm an ass." Grinning, he slid an arm around her waist.
She shoved it away. "Go play with yourself."
"Entertaining as that can be, I'd rather not. Cynna." He touched her cheek. "I'm glad you're coming to terms with the baby's presence. Sharing your body with another being, however tiny, must feel strange."
If she told him it reminded her of when she'd been a rider herself—of demons—he probably wouldn't laugh. Cullen wasn't easy to shock, but that ought to do it. "Yeah, it's pretty weird. Did I tell you what Gan said about how Bilbo and Company arrived right where Lily and I were?"
"How they knew where to open their gate, you mean?"
She nodded, pleased with herself for changing the subject so neatly. "She said it was a congruence problem. Well, she put it another way, but that's what she meant. Edge is geographically congruent to lots of realms, but not always time-congruent, and the realm they entered from wasn't time-congruent with Earth at all."
"I know. We went over that. It shouldn't be a problem on our return."
Or so the gnome said. They had learned a few things while on the barge.
The Edge people had spent a couple days in the neighboring realm they crossed to first, then another couple days on Earth. When they returned here, four weeks had passed—one week for every day they'd experienced. This had seriously freaked Cynna, who did not want to get home only to find it was 2050 or something. But Bilbo insisted the discrepancy happened on their trip to the less congruent realm, and that time slippage wouldn't be a problem between Edge and Earth.
"I know," Cynna said, "but Bilbo wouldn't talk about why he showed up where he did on Earth. According to Gan… well, I don't know why Bilbo won't admit it, but she thinks he used her as a beacon. Apparently what she does naturally makes her sort of an anchor, a way to get a time-fix between realms. Bilbo didn't target me and Lily. He targeted Gan."
Cullen got that distant look in his eyes that meant he was running her explanation over his own mental hurdles, checking it against what he knew of gates. Which, admittedly, was more than she did. After a moment he nodded. "That holds together. It would make even more sense if I knew how Gan can cross the way she does."
Cynna grinned. "It's because she's special."
His smile was softer than hers. "You'll be a go
od mother."
Cynna blinked and tried a laugh on for size. "Where did that come from?"
"You deal well with Gan, who's the child from hell if ever there was one. You care about her, look out for her, but don't try to squeeze her into your image of what she should be."
"Yeah, well, you know… she's a demon. Or was. I'm not sure there's a strong correlation here."
"You don't see the baby as an extension of yourself, the way so many parents do. Just the opposite. Yet you've accepted sharing your body with it."
"That doesn't mean I'll have a clue what to do once it's outside my body."
"No one does," he said, and moved so he could wrap his arms around her from behind. He pulled her up against him. "Or so I'm told."
She stiffened. "I'm not—"
"Relax. For a few minutes, turn off that busy and wary mind of yours. I'm not seducing you or trying to force you into a decision or a discussion you aren't ready for. Just… relax with me a bit."
"You're not so good at that, either."
He chuckled so low she felt it as much as heard it. "I'm a lively sort, it's true. Sometimes selfish."
"Sometimes?"
"It took me a bit to realize that I hurt you when I laughed. I'm sorry for that."
His mind was lively, all right, jumping from one thing to another without warning. "I guess it did sound funny."
"You compared our baby to beneficial bacteria."
She muffled her own laugh into a snort. "I get your point."
For a while neither of them spoke. Cynna found herself content with silence, with the slow rocking of the boat, and even with the darkness, marked as it was by so many stars. Up ahead she could see a line of piers stretching out into the water—dark themselves, but outlined by more mage lights. There were a lot of boats around and ahead of them, too, most of them small, but a few big barges like this one. And a couple sailing ships.
She wished she could see those better. They were pretty cool.
How did they decide which boats went where so they wouldn't bump into each other? Did they have a river version of air traffic control? Not that the river was as busy as an airport, but still…