Arrow’s Flight (28 page)

He could tell, although his own Gift wasn’t anything like hers, that she had almost managed both actions. Almost—but not quite. The images were over-lapping, but not fusing; and they dimmed and brightened and dimmed again. And he could see that she was off-balance and not-connected, although to her it probably seemed as if she’d done exactly as he asked.

Poor lady—he was about to do a very cruel thing to her.

He sighed, and signaled Tantris—who gave her a little mental shove.

A shove that translated into a very physical top-over.

“Not good enough,” he said coldly, as she stared him from where she was sprawled with a dazed expession on her face. “If you’d done the thing correctly, he wouldn’t have been able to budge you in. Ground and center.”

Talia tried—much shaken, this time. If anything,

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of energy exhausted by the efforts of the day. Kris remained awake a bit longer, trying to figure how he was going to fit in the training with the all-too-necessary effort of digging out. Just before he Finally slept, Tantris had the last word.

:Not one day,: Tantris ordered. :You’re more tired than you thought. You rest tomorrow, too.:

“I’m Fine,” Kris objected in a whisper.

:Hah! You only think you are. Wait until tomorrow. Besides, if you can get her centered, you’ll be on the way to solving that problem. That takes precedence, I think.:

“I hate to admit it,” Kris yawned, “But you’re right, Featherfoot.”

Kris had not realized how truly bone-weary they were until he woke first the next day to discover that it was well past noon. He woke Talia, and they finished mending all the now-dry garments, putting off the inevitable “lesson” as long as possible by mutual unspoken accord.

Finally it was she who said, reluctantly, “I suppose we’d better . . .”

“Unfortunate, but true. Here—” he sat on the blankets of their “bed,” and patted a place in front of him. “—I told you I was going to try a different tactic. You’ve linked in with me before, so you know what it’s like.”

She seated herself cross-legged, their knees touching, and looked at him warily. “I think I remember. Why?”

“I’m going to try and show you your center. Now, just relax, and let me do the work this time.” He waited until she had achieved that half-trance, closed his own eyes long enough to trance down himself, then rested his hands lightly on her wrists. It was little more than a moment’s work to bring her into rapport; that part of her Gift was still working, almost too well. He opened his eyes slowly, and Looked, knowing she could see what he Saw.

She looked, gasped, and grabbed—throwing both of them out of trance and out of rapport.

He had been expecting something of the sort and had been prepared for a “fall.” She had not been, and sat shaking her head to clear it afterward.

“That was a damn fool move,” she said, when at last she could speak.

“I won’t argue with that statement,” he replied evenly. “Ready to try again?”

She sighed, nodded, and settled herself once more. This time she did not grab; she hardly moved at all.

Finally she broke the trance herself, unable to take the strain. “It’s like trying to draw by watching a mirror,” she said through clenched teeth.

“So?” he replied, giving her no encouragement to pity herself.

“So I try again.”

It was hours later when she met with victory; as Kris had suspected, when she centered properly, it was with a nearly audible snap, a great deal like having a dislocated joint pop back into place. There was a flare of energy—and a flash of something almost like pain—followed by a flood of relief. Kris had Tantris nudge her—then shove her, with no effect.

“Ground!” he ordered; she fumbled her way into a clumsy grounding with such an utter lack of finesse that his other suspicion—that she’d never done grounding and centering properly before—were pretty much confirmed. It was then that he realized that her shields hadn’t just gone erratic, they’d collapsed; and the reason they’d collapsed was that they’d never been properly based in the first place.

“All right,” he said quietly, “Now you’re properly set up. Can you see now why it’s important?”

“Because,” she answered slowly, “You have to have something to use as a base to build on?”

“Right,” he agreed. “Now come out of there.”

“But—”

“You’re going to find it yourself, this time. Without my help. Ground and center, greenie.”

“Ground and center. Dammit, that’s not right.”

“Do it again. Ground and center.”

“Again, and faster.”

“Dammit, it should be reflex by now! Again.”

Talia held to her temper by the most tenuous of holds. If it hadn’t been for the concern he was feeling, so overwhelming that she could sense it with no effort at all, she’d have lost her temper hours ago. Ground and center, over and over, faster and faster— with Tantris and Rolan shoving at her when she least expected it.

The first time they’d pushed her before she was properly settled, she’d literally been knocked out for a moment; she came to with Kris propping her up, expression impassive.

“Tantris hit me,” she said indignantly.

“He was supposed to,” Kris replied, letting her go.

“But I wasn’t ready! It wasn’t fair!” She stared at him, losing the tenuous hold she’d had on her emotions. It felt like betrayal; it felt horribly like betrayal—

“Damn right, it wasn’t fair.” He answered the anger and hurt in her voice with cool contempt. “Life isn’t fair. You learned that a long time ago.” He felt the anger then—hers; it couldn’t be coming from anywhere else, since beneath his veneer of contempt, he was worried and no little frightened. He was taking his life in his hands by provoking her, and was all too conscious of the fact. “Dammit, you’re leaking again. Lock it down!” The anger died; she flushed with shame. He didn’t give her a chance to get back into the cycle of doubt and self-pity. “Now; ground and center—and get centered before they can knock you over.”

He didn’t even let her stop when they ate; snapping at her to center at unexpected moments, letting Tantris or Rolan judge when she was most off-guard and choosing then to push at her. It wasn’t until he was exhausted, so exhausted he couldn’t properly See anymore, that he called it quits for the night.

She undressed for bed in total silence; so barricaded that there was nothing to read in her face or eyes. He waited for her to say something; waited in vain.

“I’m not sorry,” he said finally. “I know it’s not your fault you got out of Grays half-trained, but I’m not sorry I’m doing this to you. If you don’t learn this the hard way, you won’t learn it right.”

“I know that,” she replied, looking up at him sharply. “And I’m not angry at you—not now, anyway. I’m mostly tired, and Gods, my head hurts so I can hardly think.”

He relaxed, and reached for the container of willowbark on the mantlepiece, handing it to her with a rueful smile. “In that case, I can assume it’s safe to come to bed?”

“I wouldn’t murder you there, anyway,” she replied with a hint of her old sense of humor. “It would get the blankets all sticky.”

He laughed, and settled himself, watching her make herself a cup of herbal tea for her headache. Before today he hadn’t been sure—but now he dared to believe she would tame that wild Gift of hers. It wouldn’t be too much longer before centering would be reflex. Then it was only a matter of time, to build back what she’d lost.

“Kris? Are you still awake?”

“Sort of,” he answered drowsily, lulled by the warmth and his own weariness.

“I just want to say that I appreciate this. At least, I do when you’re not pounding on me.”

He chuckled, but made no other reply.

“I need you, Kris,” she finished softly. “That’s something I don’t forget even when I’m angriest. I really need you.”

It took a while for the sense of that to penetrate— and when it did, it almost shocked him awake again. If he hadn’t been so tired—

As it was, guilt followed him down into sleep. She needed him. Good Gods; what if it was something more than need?

Talia waited until Kris’ deep and even breathing told her he really had fallen asleep, and carefully extricated herself from the bed without waking him. She always thought better with some task in her hands, a holdover from her childhood, so she took her cup of willowbark tea and set about polishing some of the bright bits of metalwork on Rolan’s tack. The cloak she’d wrapped around herself kept the chill off her back, and the fire in front of her gave off just enough heat to be pleasant. Thusly settled in, she put her mind to the myriad of problems at hand.

The fire crackled cheerfully; she wished she could feel cheerful. Lord and Lady, what an unholy mess she’d gotten into! The storm alone would have been bad enough; any of the problems would have been bad enough. To have to deal with all of them together . . .

At least she’d made a start, some kind of start, on getting herself retrained. Kris seemed happier, after this afternoon’s work. He had been right about one thing; now that she knew what “being centered” felt like, she’d never lose the ability to find that firm base again. She’d wanted to kill him this afternoon, and more than once—but she was learning in a way that would make her stronger, and now that she was calmer, she could appreciate that.

She needed him, more than she’d ever needed anyone else.

But—Lord and Lady—what if it was something more complicated than need, or even need and the kind of feeling she had for Skif?

He was handsome; handsome as an angel. And despite a certain smug vanity, a man she’d be more than proud to have as a friend. Look at the way he was taking his life in his hands—literally—for the sake of getting her back in control of herself and her Gift. He was kind, he was gentle, he was considerate, and with the way her mind had been playing tricks on her lately, it was more than a possibility that she’d unconsciously used her Gift to influence the way he thought about her. Even to the point of getting him into bed with her—

Lady knew she was no beauty. And if she had influenced him in that, she could have caused an even deeper attraction.

She clenched her hands on her mug so hard they ached. That was one thing she had not wanted. At least not originally. But now?

She liked Kris well enough. Well enough—but not that well.

She was attracted to Dirk, there was no question about that. And strongly; more strongly than she’d ever felt about anyone.

It was almost, she decided a bit reluctantly, as if Dirk was some hitherto-unrecognized, hitherto-unmissed, other half of herself, and that she’d never again feel whole after having met him unless—

Unless what?

Heralds seldom made any kind of long-term commitment; contenting themselves with the close friendship of the Circle, casual, strictly physical liaisons, and the bonds of their Companions. And truly, few Heralds she knew were at all dissatisfied with that kind of life. Realistically speaking, the job was far too dangerous to make a lifebond possible or desirable. Look what had happened to Keren when Ylsa died; if Sherrill hadn’t had exactly what she needed and been right on the spot, she might very well have death-willed herself in bereavement.

And she’d only seen Dirk a handful of times. But for Heralds, sometimes only once was enough. Her mind drifted back years.

It was late one night that they’d all been gathered in Keren’s room over hot mulled wine and sometimes ribald conversation. Somehow the subject turned from bawdy jokes to the truth behind some of the legends and tales told by outsiders about Heralds: they were laughing at some of the more absurd exaggerations.

“Take that love-at-one-glance nonsense,” Talia had giggled. “Someone ought to really take the Bards to task over that one. How could anyone know from the first meeting that someone they’ve just met will be a lifepartner?”

“Oddly enough, that’s not an exaggeration,” Sherrill had replied soberly. “When it happens with Heralds, that’s generally exactly the way it happens. It’s almost as if there were something, something even deeper than instinct, that recognizes the other soul.” She’d shrugged. “Metaphysical, sentimental, but still true.”

“Do you mean to tell me that both of you had that happen?” Talia had been incredulous.

“As a matter of fact, the very first time I set eyes on Keren,” Sherrill replied. “Notwithstanding the fact that I was just under fourteen at the time.”

Keren nodded. “Ylsa and I knew when we met midway through our third year—until then we’d never done more than wave at each other across the room since we had had very different schedules. We did wait, though, until we were both sure that it was something solid and not ephemeral, and until we’d completed our internships, before commiting to each other.”

“And I didn’t want to intrude on what was obviously a lifebond.”

“You would have been welcome. To tell you the truth, we’d wondered a little—”

“But I didn’t know that at the time, did I?” Sherrill had laughed. “Truly, though, Talia, anyone-I’ve ever talked to that has seen a lifebond has said the same thing; that was the way it was for Selenay’s parents, for instance. It either happens the first time you meet, or never.”