There was an inexpressible gentleness in her voice. “You must leave the Human. Go home, Sister.”
Home? I swung my legs over the side of the bunk; I’d thought of this ship as my home mere hours ago. “I don’t know where that is. Give me the locate. And promise me—” I hesitated, not knowing how to judge her.
“I’m yours, heart-kin,” Rael’s eyes were as moist as mine were dry.
“Look after him.”
“I swear it.”
Once dressed, I drew the locate from Rael and made ready. She embraced me tightly for a moment then backed away. “Draw on my strength, Sira. It’s a long journey through the M’hir, even for you.”
“You’ll need your strength to handle Morgan,” I said. “Make him understand. I don’t intend this to be another trap for him.”
Rael nodded, unable to speak. I
pushed . . .
No!
A mental shout ripped through my mind, almost dissolving the picture I had of my destination.
Sira
—
A barrier slammed between us just in time. I
pushed
again . . .
Nothingness. Its emptiness teased at me. Lances of force arched past, luring me after them in all directions at once. I fought to hold together . . .
. . . and then I stood in a room—no, a series of rooms. No particular luxury, but there was comfort and the oddments and personal effects of a long stay.
I sank down on the easi-rest under the barred window and leaned my head against the cool metal bars, listening to the echoes of Morgan’s horrified cry.
INTERLUDE
“You were the one who kept saying you’d protect her. How could you let her go?” Rael wanted to flinch from each of Morgan’s furious questions. “Why didn’t she speak to me first?”
“She probably thought you wouldn’t listen. You’re not listening to me, Human.” The Clanswoman’s defenses were in place, but only by reflex.
“So. I’m listening.” Morgan leaned back against the bulkhead, arms folded in a deliberately eased posture. His face, emptied of expression, was dominated by the piercing blue eyes which never left Rael’s.
The Clanswoman rubbed her neck, trying without success to work out a knot of tension. “Camos is too dangerous for you—”
“And what about for Sira, especially alone?” Morgan’s quick, heated rebuttal belied his outward calm. “Do you think she’s safe now from whoever or whatever blocked her mind? Do you think she can just pick up her life as one of you, ignoring all that’s happened?”
“No.” Rael’s quiet answer fueled Morgan’s fury.
“Then why separate us now? On Acranam, you and Barac agreed I should come to Camos.”
“Did we have any choice? You wouldn’t leave Sira, and she wouldn’t come without you.” Rael shook her head. “The reality is that Sira has to be healed—you know that as well as we do. The Clan is scattered over a hundred different systems; only on Camos is there any concentration of us. I suppose that’s more information you should be killed for, Human,” Rael added in an absent tone. She continued, “There are those who can help her on Camos—”
“And those who used her.”
“All in the throw, Human. They can’t do anything more to her.”
Morgan’s lips twisted. “You’re the most cold—”
“Don’t presume to judge me,” Rael warned him. “If I say Sira is safe, you have to accept my word. You don’t know us, Morgan, even if you know more than you should. Sira is safe because of who and what she is.”
“Those things didn’t protect her before.”
“I’ll find out what happened. When the members of Council scan Yihtor’s memories,” Rael hesitated and changed what she wanted to say. “They’ll take action. Our justice is more practical than yours—the current Council will be removed from power if they overlook any of this.”
“None of this explains why Sira left the Fox.”
“For your sake.”
“Mine?”
“I’ll be honest, Captain Morgan. You’re a problem. Barac and I, well, we didn’t have the stomach to deal with you after what happened on Acranam. We thought it would be easier to leave you for the Council. But we found we couldn’t do that either.”
“Forgive me if I seem unappreciative,” Morgan said.
Rael smiled faintly. “I understand, Captain. I find it hard to believe I’m taking your side in this. I’m not sure how to convince you, but Barac and I are trying to help you. If the Council doesn’t find out about you until you’re outsystem again, there’s a chance you can survive all this intact,” Rael’s smile was predatory. “Then you’re on your own, Human. Barac and I are risking enough.”
“What about Sira’s risk?”
“Sira isn’t your problem. She understands that you must go.” Rael’s lustrous eyes sparkled suspiciously. “I promised Sira I’d help you. You have to do what I say—to leave Camos and forever avoid the Clan.” When Morgan didn’t answer, Rael frowned. “If there were any future for the two of you, a way for you to stay together, I think I’d help.” Rael shook her head with disbelief at her own words, her hair reluctant to lift as if her mood infected it with weight. “But all I see, all Barac can sense, is disaster unless you flee. For you and for Sira.”
Morgan replied so softly Rael had to strain to hear. “Isn’t this disaster enough?” He turned and walked slowly from the cabin, the measured tread of every step painfully eloquent.
“Morgan, wait!” Rael ran out into the short corridor. “Meet me on Deneb,” she offered, hands outstretched. “It’s a good world, new enough for opportunity and old enough for comfort. I’ll arrange to cover your trail from Camos. After I’m sure Sira’s safe, I’ll join you.”
Morgan lifted one brow. His eyes traveled over Rael’s body in a studied gaze meant as an insult. “I don’t require that sort of bribe, Clanswoman.”
“And I can’t offer it, Human,” Rael replied in a low tone, not attempting to misunderstand him. “Choice means exactly that. Once made, no other partnerings are allowed by the force within us, the Power-of-Choice.”
“What makes you think it’s any different for me?” Morgan asked with a small smile that invited Rael to share the irony. Then a flash of pain, so fleeting Rael might have imagined it, tightened Morgan’s lips. “I’ll have to wait on Camos for Huido to board the Fox. I won’t leave him stranded on your world. Can you arrange that, Clanswoman? Or will the hue-and-cry be out?”
Rael didn’t hide her relief or concern. “I can do what I said; a di Sarc has power on Camos. As long as you don’t delay until Yihtor’s memories become public knowledge.”
Morgan didn’t bother to hide his pain this time. “Or Sira’s?” he asked quietly.
“Or Sira’s,” Rael agreed sadly.
Chapter 33
EVERYTHING was so familiar, yet I didn’t know where I was. I touched objects, opened closets, and almost caught the true meaning of what was around me. I spotted a brown jacket sprawled over a table. Had I tossed it there before leaving for Auord? I picked it up thoughtfully, rubbing the nubbly fabric between my hands, trying to remember. The effort hurt.
I tossed the clothing into a nearby chair, intrigued by the glistening surface of the table. Without knowing why, I pressed my right hand onto it, just forward of the center. Lights flickered within the tabletop, outlining a highly sophisticated computer interface. I glared at the machine, then kicked the nearest leg of the table. How many questions could it answer, if only I could remember how to make it speak?
The rest of my explorations were about as successful. I found a closet with changes of clothing, all of which pleased my taste, even if very little of it still fit. More proof, if I needed any, that these chambers had been Sira di Sarc’s.
Mine,
I reminded myself.
It didn’t help that Morgan’s cry stuck to my thoughts like the cold sweat of a nightmare. I pushed the memory of it away as best I could, but it was difficult not to wonderwhat was happening on the
Fox.
Was Rael explaining? Was Morgan listening, or blaming her?
I thought about the Captain of the
Venture,
suddenly. She’d turned out to be a friend, if a self-serving one. How sure was I about Rael? Ossirus. What if I’d been fooled all along? What if she’d fed me a tale to get me here, leaving Morgan unprotected? What if . . .
“Sira?”
I whirled, then a ripple of memory transformed my alarm into something like relief. “Enora.”
The older Clanswoman had come through the doorway leading from the living area to the bedroom where I’d started sorting through the contents of a chest. My memory of her assembled itself, complete except for the gaps where I should fit. But I remembered the dignified, graceful features of her face with its tiny laugh lines around mouth and eyes. She was taller than I and carried herself with unconscious pride, as befitted the First Chosen of the Freisnen branch of the Sarc House. Barac and Kurr’s mother, not mine. There was nothing in my mind about a mother, I realized with an empty pain.
Run to her,
whimpered some foreign part of my mind, bury my face against the shoulder which had performed that service many times before. I couldn’t. For all I knew, she could be my enemy.
“It’s so good to see you, Sira.” Her bright, dark eyes ran over me quickly, as perceptive in their kindness as Bowman’s in her suspicion. “Your father told me you’d be home soon.” There was a pause, ended by a tactfully raised eyebrow. “Would you care to take supper on the terrace? The sunset will be exceptional.” As she spoke, she went over to a closet door I hadn’t tried yet. When she opened it, I could see racks of clothing, all of it looking brand new. So they had been ready here for my change as well. I found the inevitability of it unsettling.
I sensed Enora’s interest and concern, but detected almost no power from her beyond a feeling of empathy, of an ability to understand the emotional state of others. Mine must have been chaotic enough to warn her to restrain her questions. “On the terrace would be fine, Enora. I’m glad to be home.” An untruth, but I tried hard to believe it. My reward was a brightening of her smile.
Funny kind of prison, I decided later, gazing out over the mountainside, savoring the lingering and familiar flavor of spice from the tea Enora had left me as the finish to my meal. The sunset had been everything she’d promised; long golden rays had sparked diamonds from the narrow lake below, then wrapped behind the mammoth peaks across the valley from where I sat in comfort. Now the light was a diffuse, rose-tinted glow. The pine-scented air began to have a bite to it and I was grateful Enora had brought my jacket.
The building behind me was smaller than I’d expected, and older, its aged stones softened by blue-green shrubs and wildly climbing vines. The terrace itself was fashioned into a prow that jutted out in exquisite defiance of gravity. A fortress, rather than a prison. A retreat, rather than a cage. I found, without intending to, that I liked it here.
I felt an odd sensation, deep inside, like a tickle in my head. Before I could decide how to react, the view in front of me abruptly changed. I blinked slowly, looking around a darkly paneled room. The Clan probably did this to each other all the time. I tried not to appear startled as I looked for the person responsible.
The room was lit by floating portlights, their globes confined at varying heights by rope tethers. It gave them a primitive look, as though their owner had disdained to have them programmed to stay put. I’d dreamed of this place, I remembered, or rather some other part of it. Here, instead of the artifacts and names I expected, were carvings, mostly in pale stone, displayed on wooden pedestals placed near each light.
The floor wasn’t even, rising in steplike layers, irregular in shape. I was on the lowest. My chair hadn’t been transported with me. I felt a hard cold slickness and realized I was on some kind of curved stone bench.
“I trust you’d finished your meal, Sira.” A tall, almost gaunt man emerged from the shadows to stand within one of the small circles of light—a stranger my broken memory named my father, Jarad di Sarc, Clansman. His craggy, hawklike features refused to be softened by the dim illumination. One of his hands gestured a welcome. The other adjusted a pleat on his red robelike garment so it draped precisely like the others from shoulder to floor. “I have been waiting to see you since you’ve returned from your journey.”
I felt no urge to embrace him, as I had with Enora. I didn’t lower my mental defenses either. This deliberate distancing between us must have been customary; certainly Jarad di Sarc didn’t appear concerned by my lack of warmth.
A memory rolled over without warning, exposing its sickly belly. I repeated it out loud, my lips gone numb. “On the way to Auord—I remember what you said. You promised me a candidate for Choice.”
One of his hands stroked the carving nearest him, fingers lingering sensuously along a curve. “And has it been so distasteful? You appear to have met with success.” I couldn’t look away from his eyes. They were brilliant, darkly beautiful beneath incongruously long lashes.
My father moved forward and I drew a deep breath as the spell was broken. “What’s wrong?” he said, stepping down from his level to mine. “Why does your stasis block remain in place?”
“Why shouldn’t the blockage remain?” I snarled. “You put it there, didn’t you! Why?”
Jarad put up one hand to silence me, then came close to where I sat and lifted both his hands to the top of my head before I could utter a protest. Instantly, I was afloat, suspended just like the lights glowing before my eyes. A breath later, I was freed.
Jarad paced in and out of shadows, flickering in and out of sight. I stayed still, holding the stone bench with my hands, checking my shields. They were intact. So what could he have touched in my mind to disturb him? What was happening?
Jarad stopped, only the edge of his dull red robe, three crisp pleats’ worth, in the light. “Who tampered with you?” he said. “Who removed the initial layer?”
“A friend tried to help me,” I said, careful and afraid.
“Helped?” The lights in the room dimmed then brightened. Jarad paid no attention; his eyes blazed at me. “What kind of help do you call it when it ruins everything! Sira, how could this happen after you convinced us! There were protections—” he choked, then went on: “Who removed it? No Clan would dare tamper with stasis—”