In the common room of the wayhouse, Simon grabbed two mugs of hot, spiced tea and two delicate, flaky pastries and brought them up. As more guests came downstairs, he flattened against the wall to let them pass, not wanting to risk a fall. During the past few months, he was glad he’d never let his healing powers make him reckless. Even though he could have fixed any injury, he’d stayed careful, and that care now served him well. He never blundered into danger like Dillon had, depending on old Laz to fix everything.
Samira sat up as he came back in, smiling at him and then smiling wider at the breakfast. “Are you sure you’re not a telepath?” she asked, a question she often put to him, but she knew he was good at reading people, just like she was.
“Think we’ll see the ocean today?” she asked as they ate. It’d been nearly dark when they’d gotten to Celeste the previous evening, and they’d been in a hurry to find shelter for the night rather than explore.
“If you like. We’ll have plenty of time for—” A tingling feeling slid over his scalp, making him twitch. Even though he no longer had power, he could still sense it when someone was trying to use telepathy on him.
Samira sat up straight. “I felt that, too. The Sun-Moon?”
“Maybe.” But of course, he had no way of checking, and Samira wasn’t a telepath. He sighed. He’d considered the fact that he might run into them, of course. Celeste and the surrounding countryside was their domain, but he’d hoped to bump into them rather than have them seek out his mind.
Of course, if it was them, why weren’t they saying anything? He might not have power, but that wouldn’t stop them. They could speak in anyone’s mind.
“Should we try to find them?” Samira asked.
Irritation thrummed through him. “If they want to find us, let them.”
She grinned, and he answered it with a smile of his own. She liked the rebellious nature he’d discovered after leaving Dillon; she even fostered it. He’d been doing what someone else wanted for over two hundred years. He liked hanging out with someone who appreciated going against the grain.
They dressed and went out together. Celeste sported buildings made of white and rose colored clay. Flowers and plants flourished in the sea air, and the people of Celeste kept them in pots and window boxes, and more than one storefront or home was covered in climbing ivy. He and Samira started down to the left, heading for the market rumored to be near the city center. According to the owner of the wayhouse, the city was laid out in concentric circles, with many small spokes connecting them, very different from the grid of Gale.
And that wasn’t the only difference. Sun-Moon worshipers were raised as pairs, partners, and they spent their whole lives together. Simon had cringed when he thought that pretending to be partners would mean he and Samira would have to pretend to be lovers, but it wasn’t the case. One half of a pair could be married to one half of another pair and so on until great groups of people lived in the same house with spouses and partners and children until it was hard to tell who was bonded to whom, though the Sun-Moon worshipers always seemed to know.
And their language hadn’t drifted much from what was spoken aboard the Atlas—just like the language of Gale or that of the plains dwellers—and Simon found this one as easy to pick up. Samira still tripped over unfamiliar words like those of local food or animals, but she’d quickly learned the words for Sun-Moon, and both of them were careful never to impugn those names.
The crowd parted ahead, pairs scurrying out of the way, eyes downcast. Simon and Samira mirrored them, though he sneaked a peek, guessing at what he’d see. A lone man strode past; large, exaggerated teardrop tattoos stained his cheeks. The black marks were red around the edges, newly done, as was the black circle that surrounded the embroidered sun on his back. In one of the outlying towns, Simon had asked what it meant, and in hushed tones, the partners had named such people widows, those whose partners had died. And to spend too much time in their presence was to tempt unseen forces into killing one’s own partner.
Simon felt pity for the man, but he kept his eyes downcast like everyone else. It wouldn’t do to draw too much attention. He wouldn’t need to be a rebel if no one gave him a reason, after all. Still, after the widow passed, Simon glanced after him. Partners often shared the same interests, often had the same careers, but even if they didn’t, a widow had to devote what remained of his or her life to preventing whatever had killed their partner. If it was illness, the widow had to become a medic. If an accident, he must work to protect others from the same fate. If it was murder, he must hunt down other such murderers, even after avenging his partner’s death. Indeed, groups of widows often hunted together. If a partner died from old age, the widow had to care for and comfort the elderly as best he could.
When the widow passed, life in the street resumed. Samira nudged Simon’s arm. “Maybe we should get one of those when we leave.” She nodded ahead to where two men were hustling a band of animals up the street.
Simon stared at them and shuddered. As large as an ostrich, the ossors were giant insects, just like the hoshpis of Gale. They stood on two legs covered in spines and had a pair of vestigial wings that a rider could tuck his feet under. Two huge, bulbous, multifaceted eyes stuck out from the top of their head, just below long antennae, but what drew the eye was the pair of mandibles that clicked together constantly.
Simon could feel the blood draining from his cheeks the longer he stared. In one of the villages, he’d been persuaded to ride one, but when those wings had closed over his feet, encasing them in the bug’s warm…meat, he’d nearly gagged. “No thanks.”
These ossors had yokes around their necks, and they pulled a cart of injured people. He thought at first they were going to a hospital, then he noticed the bonds.
“Prisoners?” Samira asked.
“Plains dwellers.” He craned his neck. He’d heard of some fighting between the plains dwellers and the Sun-Moon worshipers. He’d hoped it was isolated, as the two cultures had developed a trading system after years of conflict, but if captives were being taken to Celeste, the fighting must have spread.
“Dr. Lazlo!”
Simon was glad he was turned away from the voice. It gave him a moment to get his face under control. “Lisa,” he said as he turned, recognizing her high-pitched voice.
She flung her arms around him as if they were old friends, and she wasn’t one of the worst breachies on the Atlas for gossip and cliques and other petty, school-like bullshit that drove him nuts. She stood with Aaron, another breachie, who gave Simon an embarrassed wave as if he acutely recalled every petty torment he’d levied Simon’s way. And all that because Simon was quiet and unassuming; it never seemed to matter that he also kept them all immortal.
Lisa beamed and held him at arm’s length, not even deigning to glance at Samira. “It’s so nice to see you! I thought I felt your mind earlier. We don’t get to talk to many equals.”
If Dillon had been there, he would have howled with laughter, probably after giving Lisa a leer. The powers of the bridge crew dwarfed those of the breachies. In fact, Simon had met many yafanai, like Samira, who could rival them. Marie Martin, the strongest breachie, was killed by Dillon shortly after they arrived, so maybe Lisa meant she had no one around with a power as equally weak as her own.
Of course, everyone was more powerful than him now. “Um, were you looking for me?” he asked.
“Just taking a quick telepathic scan, seeing if there’s anyone interesting.” She sniffed. “The Sun-Moon don’t care as long as we don’t try to influence anyone.”
He fought the urge to roll his eyes. Those among the bridge crew had always called one another by their real names, but the breachies loved the names they picked out for themselves. If Lisa and Aaron had a god name, he’d never bothered to find out what it was. As far as he knew, they didn’t even have worshipers, or maybe they borrowed some from Christian and Marlowe.
He felt another tingle as she scanned him again, and he automaticall
y reached for his shields to keep her out, but all he got was a headache. Still, she narrowed her eyes as if she detected something, and he hoped it was his spike of anger.
“We should be going,” he said, turning.
She laughed. “Wait, Dr. Lazlo, I’m sorry. I was just curious.”
He didn’t feel her reach for him, but Samira said, “Keep your hands to yourself.”
When Simon turned, Lisa looked at Samira at last, her eyebrows raising. “What did you say?”
Aaron looked embarrassed. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go.”
Lisa shook him off. “Who in the world do you think you are?”
Samira glanced at Simon, and he knew she would follow his lead, but he must have looked even angrier than he felt. “Simon’s not going to be your emotional punching bag anymore.”
She’d said something similar to him once, that she wouldn’t be a sponge for other people’s feelings. He knew the idea ticked her off. Lisa narrowed her eyes, and then staggered back a step as Samira used her power, making Simon’s head tingle all over.
Lisa’s eyes widened. “How dare you!”
“Stay out of our heads.”
Simon opened his mouth to ask them to break it up so they could all get away from one another. So much power was flying around, and his head was starting to ache. But Lisa launched into an angry tirade, and Samira met her word for word, and Aaron was stepping up behind Lisa as if he’d changed his mind about getting into a fight. He was a bit of a telepath and a bit of a micro, nothing like Simon used to be, but together, they’d be more than a match for Samira.
And all Simon could do was glare at them, more handicapped even than when he’d had power but had been unwilling to use it. And he could feel their power gathering. He had to stop them. “Samira.”
But even if they ran, Lisa and Aaron could follow them, find them, attack them from a distance. He snarled and focused again on the way their power gathered, pushing at something inside himself in a way he hadn’t had to do in a long time until he could actually feel their power.
It was enough to make him gasp and lose the feeling. All those back twinges that had been fading faster and faster each morning. He’d thought it had just been the transition from camping to sleeping in a bed, but…
Lisa left off arguing and stared at him, Aaron staring with her. Their mouths dropped open, and he knew they had to feel something. When Lisa’s face broke out in a delighted smile, he knew what she was thinking, what all of them would be thinking when word spread. If his power had returned, if his brain had mended itself, that meant they could all be immortal again. They just had to catch him and keep him as if he was some leprechaun out of an old story.
“Samira,” he said, a harsh whisper.
She couldn’t know what was going on, but she had to see his panic, and it made her brow darken. When her gaze darted to Lisa and Aaron, they flew across the street and smashed into a fruit cart. She didn’t hesitate but grabbed Simon’s arm and ran, threading through crowds.
“Are you all right?” she asked when they were several streets away. “What did they do to you?”
He shook his head. He couldn’t tell her out loud. “We have to get out of here.”
And go where? Back to Gale and Dillon? Beg the Storm Lord to protect him? He snarled at the thought, but he needed to do something. He reached deep inside for his power and felt a soggy, weak response. As he was, any breachie could catch him. He’d run first and think about where later.
Horace. The idea almost stopped him dead. If Simon’s powers were coming back, Horace’s might be as well. And Dillon at least knew about Horace’s augmentation, knew that he could grant immortality as well. Simon had to warn him.
“We need some supplies,” Samira said. “Or we won’t make it far.”
The crowd parted ahead of them as it had earlier, and Simon thought it might be another widow, but people were falling to their knees, and as they did, Simon caught a glimpse of a familiar face, two faces, that were never far from one another.
He grabbed Samira’s arm. “Down!”
“What?”
“Don’t think of me. Don’t think of anything!”
She closed her mouth and kept her face down. The crowd had fallen silent, and Simon cast one glance down the lane to see the lieutenants, Christian and Marlowe, walking arm in arm among their prostrated followers. Quadruple damn! He tried to think random thoughts, little songs and grocery lists. The lieutenants turned down a side street, and Simon thanked his lucky stars, guessing there were just too many minds around for them to focus on anyone. He hoped like hell Lisa and Aaron hadn’t reached out to them.
“That was the Sun-Moon!” Samira said.
“I hope they didn’t sense us.”
“Maybe they can teach those other two to mind their manners.”
“They’ll be so much worse, believe me.”
They headed away from the lieutenants and found the outdoor market. Like the Galeans, the people of Celeste used metal coins as currency, and Simon haggled while Samira kept lookout. He’d just bought salt when a tingle passed over his scalp. He gripped Samira’s arm and tried to find his random songs again. The tingle passed, and he hoped it was only Lisa looking for him. She wouldn’t forgive them anytime soon.
“Someone’s scanning for us,” he said. “We need to hurry.”
“We have enough for a day or so. We can pick up the rest in that little town by…”
She trailed away, and he almost didn’t want to look, but he knew that if they ran, they’d find their brains so scrambled they couldn’t move, or perhaps Marlowe would slam them into the ground with her macro-psychokinetic powers, or Christian would burn them to death with pyrokinesis.
“Dr. Lazlo,” they said as he turned. “So good to see you again.”
Everyone else had fallen to the ground. Simon managed a sickly smile. He started to greet them by their human names, but a warning prickle along his scalp stopped him. “Lords?” he tried.
With a laugh, they nodded. “That will do. Lisa told us you were here. We felt you in the crowd.”
“Oh?”
“Those songs, Dr. Lazlo. No one here knows them.”
He cursed himself, and they smiled wider. “Well,” he said, “I suppose I just proved it’s possible to be smart and stupid at the same time.”
“All those years with Colonel Tracey must have taught you that,” they said in his mind, and he fought another wince.
“Come,” they said aloud. “Be our guest at the palace. You won’t have to see Lisa or Aaron again. We promise.”
He glanced at Samira, and she shrugged. The invitation hadn’t been a question, after all.
*
Samira sat on a divan, hands folded in front of her. Since she’d entered the Yafanai Temple as a teenager, she’d been learning how to school her thoughts, curb her emotions, and control her temper. All those exercises were supposed to help her control her power, but only the third lesson really benefitted her. She suspected the other two were to help telepaths who were trying not to be distracted by the powerful thoughts of others.
Faced with the Sun-Moon inside their palace, she didn’t know if any lessons would help. Simon had told her they could read minds from space. Even the most determined mental exercises wouldn’t keep them out. All she could hope for was to remain slightly unnoticed.
The Sun-Moon glanced at her and winked.
The room was opulent, with tall ceilings and windows. Rugs covered the cool stone floor, and she and Simon sat on one heavily padded divan while the Sun-Moon occupied another. The number of stairs they’d climbed to get here indicated a second or third story, and before she’d sat down, Samira had glimpsed the blue expanse of the sea through the windows. Two servants opened the large doors at one end of the room, stirring long curtains. The servants set a tea service on a low table before scurrying out again, passing a lone side door on their way.
Samira didn’t reach for the drinks, letting the Sun
-Moon hand them around. She held hers tightly in case it might prove useful. Simon put his in front of him and adjusted his robe for the twentieth time. He hadn’t stopped fidgeting since they’d been discovered. Occasionally, his hand wandered toward his temple as if looking for something, but he simply toyed with his dark blond hair before lowering his hand to his lap and starting the whole process over.
She’d pictured the Sun-Moon as looking exactly alike, but they differed in almost every way: him with straight blond hair and her with dark curls and him paler than her. He had blue eyes, and hers were hazel, and as she stared, all four eyes fixed on her.
“We’ve never gotten to study a yafanai this closely,” they said together, their voices matching perfectly.
Samira nodded, but at the sudden speech, Simon started. Samira tried not to sigh. He was the one who’d spent centuries with these people. He’d told her they did everything in unison.
“Not always,” the Sun said.
“But most of the time,” the Moon added. Without looking at each other, they joined hands, and she supposed having such a deep telepathic connection meant they always knew where the other was.
One of the mugs rose into the air and settled in the Sun’s hands before steam billowed anew from the liquid inside. Her macro-psychokinesis and his pyrokinesis, working in harmony. Samira smiled to show she admired them. They could all be friends.
“Indeed,” they said with a smile.
“Will you stop that?” Simon shouted. When everyone looked, he glowered. “Oh yes, you’re powerful, but you didn’t bring us here to wow us, so will you stop dicking around and tell us what you want?”
Widows of the Sun-Moon Page 5