“And all that time, plus years before I was born, you’ve been a Chooser. Now, you seem so young.” When I merely stared at her blankly, a smile twitched her lips. “Choosers don’t age until Choice is made, although no one’s remained unJoined as long as you have. Small compensation for being less than whole.”
I thought of the image Morgan had found in Roraqk’s records, the image of a young Jarad and myself taken over a hundred years ago, and caught at the edge of an understanding that slipped away from me again. “How old am I?”
Rael’s smile faded. “In what sense?”
How could she make a simple question complex? “How long have I lived? How old am I?”
“Well,” she said with an absentminded toss of her hair, “you’ve
lived
for,” she paused and thought about it, “100 standard years or so. As for how
old
a M’hiray is, that depends on how much of that time you’ve spent in the physiological lock of Choice. In your case, as I’ve said, you’ve been a Chooser for around seventy-five years. As humans calculate such things, I suppose you are somewhere around thirty years old. You will start from there and live out a normal life span once Chosen. Why do you want to know?”
“Never mind,” I mumbled, unsure myself, my thoughts churning with half-understandings and obscure emotions. “If I was, am, this Chooser, then what was I waiting to choose? Why was I a prisoner?”
“Your mind is too empty!” She wrung her hands together. “I don’t understand. Stasis doesn’t block so much. What have they done to you?” There were tears in her eyes again. “My poor sister. If you can’t remember the most basic facts of life, it’s no wonder you’ve forgotten me!”
“Basic to you,” I reminded her grimly, “but not to me. What am I to Choose?” Somehow, I knew this was important. Without meaning to, I gripped her hands tightly, squeezing until my fingers bit into her softer skin. When I realized what I was doing, I let her go, ashamed.
“Your power seeks its life-partner.” Rael looked at the marks my fingers left. Her face was anguished. “You used to be a gentle person.”
“I’ve changed.” Morgan would have heard the pain in my voice—and understood. Rael took it another way.
“The Human.” She said it like a curse.
“Survival,” I countered just as harshly. “And if I was so gentle, why was I imprisoned? Why was I dropped on Auord with nothing but compulsions in my head?”
From the shifting of her eyes, I knew she picked the easier question to answer. “You were never a prisoner. No matter what you think you remember. You agreed to be isolated.”
“I agreed! Why?”
“To protect the honor of our family. Yihtor’s shameless behavior brought enough disaster—”
My face must have been as transparent as her own in that moment, for Rael’s voice trailed away, a startled look widening her eyes.
“It always circles back to him,” I said bitterly. “What does he want from me, Rael? I’ve been kidnapped—and now marooned on this forsaken world—all by the mysterious Yihtor. Is it any wonder I distrust the very word Clan?”
Rael’s eyes were like black holes in a white mask. “Yihtor is dead.”
“Not this one.” I remembered Gistries and swallowed my sarcasm. “Yihtor is alive. Believe me, Rael.”
“There’s some mistake, Sira. There was a terrible accident, not long after Council refused him. Yihtor was killed—so were others.”
I raised a brow, for once feeling superior. “Believe what you choose, Rael. The Yihtor who inhabits this planet is far from dead and has caused me a great deal of grief already.”
Her shoulders hunched as if expecting a blow. “What world is this?” A whisper.
“Well, I hope it’s Acranam,” I replied, surprised she didn’t know. “I used the M’hir once since landing, but I—”
“Acranam. It had to be.” Her voice rose. “Don’t you see—first Kurr, and now this dead name, both tied to this cursed place! Barac is coming here without realizing his danger!”
Barac. The Clansman who paid Morgan to take me from Auord. And who was this Kurr? “You gave me your word,” I spat at her, furious and afraid at the same time. “Why would the Clansman come here unless you told him?”
“I didn’t betray you, Sira,” Rael protested, her eyes darting around the tent as if expecting some loathsome creature to scuttle from under the blankets. She went on quickly: “Before I came to you, I left Barac a message to tell him I was taking responsibility for your safety, as is my right as closer kin. Barac’s brother Kurr was murderedas he passed through the Acranam system. Without you to search for, I know Barac will retrace Kurr’s journey in order to find his killer. He will bring the
Fox
here. And Barac will be killed, just like Kurr, if you’re right about Yihtor.”
“Morgan’s
Fox?
” I repeated stupidly. “Next, I suppose you’ll tell me you brought Enforcers.”
Rael leaned forward, her face pale, her voice low and intense. “What use would they be? If Yihtor faked his own death to turn renegade, we’ll need the Council itself to save us.” I’d thought her face expressive. Now, the ashen look of horror filling it was enough to make me shiver. “Sira! How could I be such a fool?”
The Clanswoman started to pack up gear at a furious pace. In her frenzy, most missed the mouth of the bag. I intervened, pushing her out of the way. Rael said something incoherent, then: “We must leave here at once. Don’t you see? I used power to come here. I didn’t think there was any risk disturbing the M’hir.” Defensively, though I’d offered no reproof: “Barac’s good in his way, but he can’t follow M’hir trails. And you already knew I was coming.”
“Was I better at things like that than Barac?” I asked absently, more concerned with a sack that wouldn’t swallow.
Rael looked up. “How terrible to lose so much, Sira. To remember nothing of what you were or did.” I restrained the obvious reply and tugged the fastening closed. Rael shook her head sadly, hair tumbling over a shoulder. “You were better.” That was all she’d say.
We worked together in silent haste, striking the tent and watching it fold into a tiny compactness. When done, we had all our gear in two packs carried by shoulder straps. I took both, finding their weight vastly reassuring. I was becoming satisfied by less and less each day. The darkness was broken only by the glimmer of unfamiliar stars. A light wind rustled the grass.
“Where, or should I say what, now, Rael?” I asked.
I’d startled her. “The
Fox,
Sira. Where else could we be safe? And I must warn Barac.”
There was a way to chain her power, to stop her before she drew us into the M’hir. Knowledge erupted from within my mind and I acted swiftly. “No. I won’t.”
Rael stood quiescent, though I sensed her probing at the unseen bonds I had formed around her mind. She sighed, a sound softer than the night breeze chilling my arms. “You asked me to compare your power to Barac’s. You should have asked me to compare you to yourself.”
“What do you mean?” I whispered back, apprehensive of what she would say, though I wasn’t sure why.
“You aren’t merely stronger than Barac—or me. You are, or were, the most powerful individual ever born to our species, the crowning achievement of generations of deliberate and careful selection for power. As such, and a Chooser, you are the prize beyond hope for Yihtor, should he truly live.
“Sister, let me take us from this world before he knows you’re here!”
“He knows,” I told her, with utter certainty, identifying the whisper-thin mental presence nosing at the edge of my mind with sickening familiarity. “Remind me how to find my way through the M’hir and quickly, Rael, or neither of us will survive to warn anyone.”
Chapter 24
I’D lost Rael, or she’d lost me. It depended on your point of view, I decided. The taste of Yihtor’s probe had been enough to panic her completely; not that I’d been immune to fear myself, forced to see Gistries’ dying face at the merest hint of Yihtor’s presence. In our mutual desperation, I’d lowered my barriers to Rael in order to receive the information on passing form through the M’hir.
And she’d managed to use the moment to break my control and leave me. To be charitable, I was sure Rael thought I’d have to follow her to the
Fox
and Barac. It was a very simple way to suicide, entering the M’hir without the clear visual image of a locate. I’d survived my first attempt only because power in the M’hir tended to follow existing paths, like water collecting into channels. My directionless power had slipped into the path Yihtor must have forged through his trips around his world.
However, with its owner now alerted, I didn’t plan to tap that particular route again.
With enough power, it was also possible to travel by targeting oneself at the dimpling of the M’hir surrounding an unshielded mind. Rael’s particular talent took that further, since she could send her image or form to where someone’s power had recently touched the M’hir.
But for most Clan it was easier and safer to go to a remembered place. Which meant I’d had a locate to use, one Rael should not be able to find if I were careful. So as she
pushed
herself to the
Fox,
I went somewhere else.
My mind shielded to the best of my ability, I edged my way over a massive curl of root until I glimpsed the campsite. The pod, the dead fire, the bundled blankets were easy to see in the filtered sunlight. Night where I’d been, but day here. If I’d always been on Acranam, I must have slipped past half the planet on each trip through the M’hir. Instead of exhausted, I felt exhilarated.
Where was Morgan? My plan was simple, provided that I could avoid him. I needed more supplies, clothing, possibly even a weapon, in order to seek the shelter offered by the seemingly endless forest behind me.
I needed time—time to think for myself and to discover how to return to Morgan without endangering him. But where was he? I couldn’t risk a mental search. I was afraid of the force within me, not to mention who might eavesdrop. After a long moment, I took a cautious step toward the pod, keeping a link to the M’hir ready in case I was discovered.
My stealth and care were wasted; Morgan was gone. I chewed a lip thoughtfully as I packed the goods I thought I might need. There was no indication that the supplies had been touched; no carrying sacks were missing from their hooks. I opened another small cupboard and drew out its contents with my hand, watching it start to tremble. Morgan’s blaster.
I ignored my small pile of essentials, turning the lethal weapon over and over in my hands. Morgan wouldn’t leave it, not on this world. There was only one means I knew of which could remove a person without a trace. It added up to something I didn’t care for in the least. Yihtor had found easier prey.
The blaster made an unfamiliar weight in my belt. Ruthlessly, I dumped out my pack in order to refill it with smaller, lighter items: ration tubes, lights, a medikitI regarded soberly before stuffing it on top and cinching the pack shut. In the back of my mind a voice I tried to ignore was producing a virtually endless list of reasons why I should leave well enough alone.
Just as I was about to leave the pod for the last time, I took a final glance around. I tugged open a half-ajar cupboard door. There were two unmarked green bottles inside and the sight of them gave me a wild idea. Perhaps I couldn’t contact Huido mind-to-mind, but what was there to prevent me using him as a locate?
Quite a bit, the more rational, less impulsive, portion of my mind replied. Depending on where the alien was, I might end up in worse straits. And although it was theoretically impossible to exit from the M’hir into a solid object, there was no comparable safeguard against Huido’s reaction to my unannounced entrance. Despite these and other drawbacks, the notion stayed with me as I closed and locked the pod’s air lock. Huido would be a comforting ally.
Once outside, I looked around the campsite, trying not to think of the peaceful enchantment of the night before. I tried not to think too much about Morgan either. The distorts would function for days yet on the pod’s powerpak, keeping any native wildlife at bay. Preparing to slip past that barrier, I stopped, shrugging away my doubts. With a whispered prayer, and a firm, if uncomfortable, recollection of the feel of the Carasian’s mind, I prepared the locate, concentrated, and
pushed
. . .
. . . only to bump my head soundly on the rough edge of a stone overhang. “Huido?” I called softly, rubbing my head with one hand while the other gained support from a damp rock wall. Once my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw I was within the entrance of a large cave.
Outside the cave, a slope covered with a talus of small, round stones flowed steeply downward, vanishing under the forest canopy. There was no sign of the second escape pod. I paused for a moment, awed by the tremendous crowns of the trees I’d so admired from beneath. Huido had come precariously close to his own prediction of perching on a mountainside.
“Huido?” I called again, turning back to the cave mouth, peering unsuccessfully inside. “It’s Sira.” Still no reply.
My movement to bring the light from my pack was frozen by a cold pressure against the base of my neck. “Oh. There you are,” I said hopefully, a cold sweat on my brow.
“Where is Morgan?” I sagged with relief at Huido’s bellow, only to be jabbed by the Carasian’s weapon. “What have you done to him?” I tried turning my head, but couldn’t see him.
“Morgan’s in trouble, Huido. He needs our help.” This was ridiculous. I turned around, pushing the weapon aside. “And why do I deserve this?” my voice close to quivering with indignation.
Multiple eyes milled as if in consultation as Huido regarded me for a long moment. Then he rumbled: “Perhaps you don’t. I lack my brother’s ability to read the truth from a mind. You smell all right.” He rumbled to himself a minute. “But I don’t like it. You arrive out of the air, with Morgan’s weapon in your belt. You wouldn’t be the first of the Clan to try to harm him.”