Free Stories 2015

by Baen Books

  "Sure."

  Darby came to the opposite side of the bed, and eased the covers back, until he'd uncovered her to the waist. Her face was white, with fire-red splotches high on her cheekbones; her hair was a soggy snarl across the pillow.

  "Enough," murmured Kestrel. "Hold her hand, and sit, so she will see you, if she should wake."

  Darby sat on the bed and took his sister's hand, twining their fingers together as he felt for her -- but all he got was a sort of vast weariness.

  "I don't think she'll wake up," he told Kestrel. "She's just. . .really tired."

  "Thank you. Please tell me if that state alters. I will now take her measurements -- blood pressure, temperature, respiration."

  Ean and Peor were watching from the door, so tense that he Darby felt he might start crying himself. He tried not to pay attention; focusing his concentration on Jewl.

  Concentration and calm -- that was what spilled from Kestrel, like a cool, bracing breeze. Darby breathed in some of that cool competence, and felt it settle his nerves, while the examination proceeded.

  "How does she fare? Does she wake?"

  "No. . .'bout the same. Just. . .too tired even to dream."

  Kestrel sighed, and turned back to his case.

  "As you know, she -- what is her name, your sister?"

  "Jewl."

  "Jewl," he repeated, like he was tasting the sound. "Jewl has a high fever; her blood pressure is elevated; her white blood count is elevated. These things indicate that she is fighting an infection."

  "The summer flu," Darby said.

  "That is how they name it at the clinic, yes. Now, I have something -- a small injection -- that will bring the fever to a less dangerous level. She will rest easier. I would not disturb her tonight. Tomorrow, she must be taken to the clinic, so that she may be more thoroughly diagnosed and treated. Call, and they will send the clinic taxi, so that the opportunity for infecting others is lessened. Do you understand this? I wish to be clear."

  "Understood," Darby said.

  "Good. I will administer the injection." He did that, and returned the injector and the rest of his instruments to the case.

  "Someone ought to stay with her," he said, slowly. "If she wakes and asks for food, she may take some of Peor's good soup. Tea, or water -- warm, or tepid, not cold." He sighed again, and seemed to sag where he stood. Darby felt a wave of pain-laced weariness flow from him, and, unthinking, reached out to ease the pain, and instill a little burst of energy.

  Kestrel looked up, lips parted, as if he were going to say something.

  But whatever he was about to say was cut off by the sound of the door opening, and a heavy, uncertain tread in the main room.

  "Hey!" Farnch called, voice slurred. "Where's everybody?"

  Peor and Ean ran out, meaning, so Darby felt, to turn Farncher toward the kitchen.

  "Put on your jacket," Darby said to Kestrel, as he got up from Jewl's bed, and pulled the covers back up to cover her shoulders. "Stay behind me. Sounds like my brother had one beer too many. Gets feisty. I'll take you down to Miz Prestoro's. Taxi oughta been here by now."

  "Sleet, no, I don' wanany o'that slop. I want real food. Where's Jewl? In bed already? Get 'er up and tell 'er I gotta have something to eat."

  "Ma's sick," Peor said, voice shrill with worry. "She's gotta sleep."

  "Sick, is it? She can go back to bed after she gets me something to eat."

  It wasn't cool competence Kestrel was feeling now; it was outright alarm, though not, as Darby parsed it for himself. He was worried for his patient.

  Darby wanted to tell him that they'd settle Farnch, and keep him away from Jewl, but there was the main room coming up, and the door, and Farnch just to one side of it, listing a little as he yelled at Peor.

  Darby took a breath, and walked firmly toward the door.

  Farnch spun, staggered, caught sight of Kestrel, and froze.

  "Liaden," he said, flat-voiced and suddenly sounding stone sober.

  Darby stopped, keeping his body between Kestrel and his brother.

  "Liaden," Farnch said again, and lurched one step forward, roaring fit to wake all the neighbors.

  "You cow-eyed auntie! Screwing a sleet-scarred Liaden in my own house? Or, no, wait -- it's Jewl, ain't it? Sleeping, is it? I'll damn well make sure she's sleeping!"

  He lunged, and Darby felt his brother's intent to strike out, at him, at Kestrel, and Jewl -- and that intention of his brother's, it. . .set fire to something inside him. He didn't know what it was, and he sure didn't know what to do with it. . .

  . . .except to strike out, and strike down, and stop Farnch right now!

  Fire seared through him. He saw his brother stagger, and crumble to his knees, before his own sight went grey, then black, and he hit the floor hard.

  A sharp smell filled his head, and he sat up, choking, his eyes running with tears.

  "See, there," Kestrel said, to the twins, who were leaning over his shoulders, where he knelt there on the floor at Darby's side. "He is well, your Uncle Darby. He may have a headache. I understand that this is sometimes a result of such strikes, but he will do very well."

  Darby sat up, looking into Kestrel's one good eye, but reading nothing there. The cool flow of calmness was back, wonderfully bracing.

  "Farnch?" he said, his voice hoarse, and his head still filled with the stinging scent.

  "Most soundly asleep," Kestrel said promptly. "I detected no harm done. I would suggest that he be left where he is until he wakes."

  He used his chin to point to the left. Darby looked, and there was Farnch, stretched out full length on his back, snoring away.

  He looked back to the twins.

  "Getcher Uncle Fancher a blanket, right?"

  "Right," E said, and ran down the hall to Fancher's room, and the only bed in the house that hadn't given its blankets to Jewl.

  Kestrel sat back on his heels, and stowed the little vial inside his jacket.

  "I would like to talk with you," Kestrel said, "when we have both rested and recovered." He had a card between his fingers; and held it out. Darby took it, gingerly, never taking his eyes from Kestrel's tired, bruised face.

  "Call me, please, and let us meet for tea and -- and chernubia --" a wry smile. "See how I am tired? I lose my Terran. I mean. . .dessert. Will you do this?"

  "Yes," Darby said. "I'll do that."

  "Good." Kestrel stood, and leaned down, offering a wiry hand.

  Darby took it and climbed inelegantly to his feet.

  "You should find your bed," Kestrel said. "My friend Peor has offered his escort to Ms Prestoro."

  "All right," Darby said. He felt slow, and stupid, and out on his feet. "Good-night."

  "Good-night," Kestrel said, and followed Peor out the door.

  Darby stood there, feeling blank, until E came back with a blanket and threw it over Farnch.

  "You better hit the bed," he said, looking at Darby critically. "Peor an' me'll watch Ma."

  He nodded.

  "If she looks like getting worse, you call me," he said.

  "Deal," said Ean, and Darby nodded again, and walked unsteadily down the hall to his bed.

  * * *

  Ander's Sweet Shop was just a block away from the clinic, and in the not-so-far-away past he'd've had to pay a toll to get across that street, if the tollkeepers let him through at all, which wasn't all that certain a thing, Boss Goyan and Boss Rinehart not bein' what you'd call best friends.

  Today, it was just zackly as easy as crossing the empty street -- empty 'cause almost everybody'd gone to the big shootout at Sherman's -- and walking down to the door under the bright yellow awning.

  Darby walked slow, trying to get himself in order, though why he should be in disorder was a puzzle all its own. He wanted to see Kestrel again -- it'd been seven days since the night they'd met. Jewl was up again, good as ever she had been. Good enough to fight with Farnch about sending the twins to the new consolidated school.

  T
hat was an argument came 'round every time it snowed, seemed like, and Farnch wouldn't allow it, him being head of the family. This time, though, Jewl'd said that she'd found rooms to let, affordable, nearer to her work and to the school, and she figured Farnch'd do just fine as the head of a household of one.

  Jewl was good enough with her figures that Darby figured she meant him to go with her, which. . .wasn't as warming as it might've been on another day.

  Funny thing about that argument had been -- Jewl'd won. Farnch'd got to the point where usually he punched the wall, or threw something or -- and it was like the mad went right outta him, and he just shrugged and said if she wanted to get her brats mixed up with the New Bosses, it was all on her, whatever happened.

  Why he was thinking about that now, he didn't know, 'cept prolly Kestrel would want to know how his patient was. He figured that was it, and he took a good hard breath, before he pushed open the door, and stepped into the sweet shop.

  Smells hit him first -- chocolate, cinnamon, vanilla -- and he paused for a second, just to let his nose get its fill. Then, he looked around the room. There ahead of him was the counter, all sorts of good things on display. To his left, there were a couple of tables, and a short, slim man with a brown jacket over a winter-weight blue sweater, was standing up from a table for three, while a dark-haired woman remained seated, watching him with interest.

  The man came forward, reddish brown braid falling forward over his shoulder, and it was right then that he recognized Kestrel, his face smooth and unbruised, both eyes wide open. A waft of cool amusement reached him, and he smiled.

  "Almost din't recognize you," Darby said, walking forward with his hand out, "with all them bruises gone."

  Kestrel hesitated, then placed his hand into Darby's, but not like he was going to shake. Instead, he brought Darby forward, to the table, and the woman waiting there.

  "I hope you will forgive me for bringing a. . .friend with me," he murmured. "I think you may find her of use."

  "Of use?" Darby asked, but Kestrel had let go of his hand, and gave the woman a heavy nod of head.

  "Hestya, this is the young man I told you of -- Darby Bajek. Darby, this is Hestya van'Lorin. She is a colleague from the clinic."

  Another doctor then, Darby thought, and gave her a friendly nod.

  "Pleased to meet you, ma'am."

  "And I am pleased to meet you, Darby Bajek." Her voice was. . .harder than Kestrel's, her accent more pronounced. And the feelings he got from her -- well, he didn't get any feelings from her. None at all.

  She smiled.

  "Aha! I confuse him!" she said, like it was a pretty good joke. She raised a hand and waved at the two vacant chairs. "Please, sit. I refuse to strain my neck by looking up at you."

  They sat, and Kestrel waved to the guy behind the counter.

  "Tea will come," he said, settling into his chair, "and a selection of sweets."

  "Kez Rel tells me that we may share a gift, you and I," Hestya said, then, leaning forward with her elbows crossed onto the tabletop.

  Darby blinked, at her accent, and suddenly turned toward Kestrel -- toward Kez Rel -- his ears burning.

  "No wonder you were mad!" he blurted. "I got your name wrong! You shoulda told me."

  "Well, and so I should have," Kez Rel said, and put a hand on Darby's wrist. "But, I found I liked the error. Kestrel. And, truly, panting as I was, and my face in such a state, it was wonderful that you made a guess that was anything so close. Please, I would be honored if you would continue as you have begun. I will have a nickname -- do I have that correctly?"

  "That's right," Darby said, doubtfully. "If you're sure you don't mind."

  "Not at all," Kestrel told him, and looked up as the tray arrived with tea and a plate of sweet things.

  "So," Hestya said, after they had each sipped some tea, and chosen a sweet. "Darby -- I may call you Darby?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Excellent. I will be Hestya, and Kez Rel will be Kestrel -- a tidy band of mischief-makers, eh?"

  Darby felt a flicker of amusement from Kestrel, but still nothing from Hestya, though she was clearly teasing.

  She smiled, and raised her tea cup.

  "I see that I remain a cipher. Would you like to learn to be so mysterious yourself, Darby?"

  He frowned.

  "I don't think I understand you, m-- Hestya."

  "I think that you half-understand me," she chided him; "but allow it to stand. Tell me, how fares your brother?"

  "My -- brother?"

  "Indeed. His name is, perhaps. . .Farnch? Kestrel tells me that you felled him with a thought on the adventure-filled night of your meeting."

  Darby looked down into his teacup, then up to meet Hestya's eyes. They were light blue. He felt concern, from Kestrel, and remembered the night of their meeting and the way he had controlled his pain. He thought Hestya had taught him that, and wondered if she'd teach him. But, he had a shrewd hunch that she wouldn't teach him anything until he gave her an answer.

  "My brother Farnch is doing pretty well, thank you."

  Hestya inclined her head.

  "No headaches? Noooo. . . behaviors that are, for him, not quite what you might expect?"

  "I --" He stopped, remembering the fight with Jewl, and how Farnch'd just given up.

  "There is something," Hestya said, softly. "Tell me."

  "He -- it's just he let my sister win an argument. Old argument, 'bout whether or not the twins ought go to the school. Got to the point where usually he throws something, or hits something, and he just kinda. . .folded up. All the temper went right out o'him and he told her to do what she wanted, and remember that if something happened, it was her fault."

  "Ah. And this is new, since you struck him?"

  "I didn't -- strike -- him," he said hotly. "I only -- only --"

  He floundered to a stop. Hestya was watching him with interest, her head tipped to one side.

  "Yes, I see," she said, when he just sat there like a lump and his face burning. "You have not the words, and it sounds foolish -- to you -- to say that you pushed your brother with your anger. Was it something like this?"

  He felt a hard shove at his -- at him! dammit, at where he lived, in the center of his head -- and threw up a hand, even though he knew that wouldn't stop what she'd thrown at him.

  Across from him, Hestya threw her hand up, reflecting him. The pressure against him. . .stopped.

  Darby cleared his throat.

  "I guess it must've felt sorta like that -- to Farnch," he said slowly. "To me, it felt like -- it felt like I. . .caught fire, and threw it all at him. He was gonna -- he was drunk, and he was gonna hurt somebody." He threw an apologetic glance at Kestrel.

  "My brother don't much like Liadens. He's got. . .politics."

  Kestrel inclined his head, but it was Hestya who spoke.

  "We have been told that there are no Terran Healers," she said. "This would appear to be. . .an error. Clearly, you are a Healer, Darby Bajek, as I am. The difference between us is that I have been taught control, which makes it much more unlikely that I would unintentionally kill my brother."

  "Kill!" he stared at her, his breath gone like she'd punched him. He felt Kestrel's hand on his wrist again, and a waft of gentle concern.

  "Kill," Hestya said. "Your gift is no shy flower, my friend; if I were not shielded, I don't doubt you would deafen me. But there is more. Kestrel tells me that you gave him peace and strength when his energy was flagging. Is that true?"

  "Yeah. He was out on his feet, and he still had to get home. Little jig o'energy was all; didn't hurt anything."

  "Indeed, it was precisely what was needed, as I understand the case. However. A Healer does not Heal, unasked. There are. . .ethical considerations."

  Darby looked down at his tea cup, picked it up and drank, deeply. When he put the cup back on the table, Kestrel refilled it from the pot.

  "I didn't know that," he said. "I'm sorry, Kestrel. I hope I didn't hurt you."<
br />
  "No harm," Kestrel assured him, with his slight smile.

  "One could not expect you to know," Hestya said in her hard voice. "You have had no training, and you are, therefore, a -- what is the phrase, here? Ah! You are a danger on the street, Darby Bajek. You must be less than that -- and more."

  "You'll teach me?" he asked.

  She threw up both hands in a wide gesture the meaning of which was lost on him.

  "It would seem so. I will not be your only teacher. There is a Hall here -- a poor thing, compared to the Great Hall at Solcintra, but we will do our duty by our kindred."

  "I can't pay," he said, thinking that was prolly rude, but also that she had to know that, right off. "Maybe teach me just to do what you're doing -- or what Kestrel did, when he was hurting, and needed not to be distracted by it."

  A flash of shrewd blue eyes.

  "Ah, you saw that, did you? Well. I think you are very much worth our time, Darby Bajek. We will teach you. When you have learned all that you may, then we will discuss proper payments, and Balance."

  Darby glanced to Kestrel.

  "Are you a. . .Healer, too?"

  "I? No, I am. . .sensitive. I may learn such things as the small wall, to separate and control. . .distress. And I am aware of a Healer's touch." He looked to Hestya.

  "Will you have him in the Hall?" he asked. "Or with us?"

  She held her cup out, and he poured tea for her, while she studied Darby through half-closed eyes.

  "The Hall," she said, after she had taken a sip from her newly filled cup. "He must learn to be safe, first."

  Kestrel inclined his head; and raised it to smile at Darby.

  "The Healers will teach you, and you will be able to teach others. Also, we would like to woo you. Or, at least, I would like to woo you. Hestya must, of course, bide by her melant'i as teacher, first."

  Woo. . .

  That got a body warm and thinking about things he hadn't thought about since Sandep started seeing his other boy, and then lied about it when Darby'd asked him -- like Darby couldn't see a lie two blocks distant.

  But, there'd been something else -- a word. Words were, in Darby's experience, very important, especially when dealing with people who maybe spoke Standard Terran, but not necessarily 'bleaker Terran.