“Of course.”
I kissed him. “Have fun.”
I went back to bed. I spent an enjoyable time visualizing lifting the Dowager off her feet, swinging her around, listening to her shriek. Then I fell asleep.
Chapter Eighteen
It was the full moon, which was a poetic coincidence. It silvered all the curves and lines and shadowed the hollows. It was pretty. Lanterns cast a yellow glow here and there, but the greatest source of illumination was the moon. It made me fanciful. I imagined the silver light had secret effects that would keep those who slumbered in their beds, and would shield us from prying eyes. Which was just stupid. If anything, the light would make us easier to see.
There were spells that were supposed to be performed under different phases of the moon. That struck me as unrealistic, but from what I understood, the moon had an effect on the tides. Perhaps it had an effect on other things, things I didn’t know anything about.
I looked at the arch, which had been rebuilt after the rock slide. I hadn’t bothered to look before, as I had little reason to visit the shoreline. I couldn’t imagine how an arch big enough and strong enough to support a rock that size could be built with human hands. In the bright light I did see not large stones piled on top of each other, which was what I had expected, but smaller stones, uniform in size and shape, interlocking. I ran a fingertip along the lines between the stones. I couldn’t fit even a nail between them.
I imagined it all had to do with balance and directing force and weight, but the arch really didn’t look sturdy enough to do its job. If we got the rock that high and the arch collapsed, not only would it be dangerous for those casting the spell—and those who would be handling the chains used to hang the rock—but it would create a mess no one could ignore. The tenants would see it as another sign of bad luck.
But the attempt had to be made.
The rock lay where it had first collapsed the day of the rock slide, tilted half on its side. It looked enormous. It seemed impossible that mere words could move it. I almost felt stupid being part of the group that was going to try.
It was decided that we would stand in a circle around the rock. Mitloehner waved out the beat of the song with his hand and we started singing. We went through the cast, went through it again, and went through it again.
The rock didn’t so much as shift.
Hell.
Mitloehner stopped us with another wave. Then we stood around and stared at the damn rock.
I’d really thought that was going to work.
“We need ideas,” said Mitloehner.
“Maybe if we all touch the rock,” Thatcher suggested.
So we tried that, singing the cast again and again, and accomplishing nothing.
I didn’t expect to feel this frustrated. “Maybe we could raise everyone’s singing up a few notes.”
“What could that possibly accomplish?” Berlusconi demanded.
“I don’t know. He was asking for ideas. It’s an idea.” Maybe singing in higher notes would enable us to lift the rock higher. It made at least as much sense as relying on the moon.
“Let’s give it a try,” Mitloehner said.
So we gave it a try. It was a mess. Transposing the notes in a consistent manner and remaining in harmony was beyond the abilities of just about everyone, including me. I loved music, and it had a powerful effect on me, but I’d never been much of a singer.
“Is there anything causing it to stick to the ground?” Yonhap asked. So we looked, but as far as we could tell there was nothing adhesive under the rock.
“Maybe if we held hands while we sing,” Coutler suggested. It was how they began their meetings. So we tried that, with no result.
I couldn’t believe it was all going to be useless. We’d already worked so hard. And success would have been so good for morale.
Maybe we should try to find a way to make it lighter, after all.
“Maybe we’re just too tired,” said Browne. “We’ve been pouring a lot into this, while carrying on with our other duties.”
I’d had no other duties to fulfill over the course of this project. What was my excuse?
I
was
tired, though. “What I wouldn’t do for coffee,” I complained.
Then I pressed my lips together. I hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
Browne snapped her fingers and stared at me. “That might work.”
“Coffee?” Mitloehner asked with understandable confusion.
“No, not quite. But I have something that might help. Wait here, I’ll be as quick as I can.” She took off at a trot.
I almost sat on the rock before remembering it was a good luck talisman, and sat on the ground instead.
“So, Shield,” said Berlusconi. “Where does your Source think you are?”
My, she was an annoying person. I thought quickly. “He believes I am interested in healing. He thinks I am helping Browne with a patient.” I would have to remember to tell him that.
“Shouldn’t you be with him?” Berlusconi demanded. “How can you do your job if you’re way out here?”
“We don’t have to be together to channel.”
She crossed her arms. “Really.”
I looked at her in silence for a few moments. I should not be getting irritated with her. If I were as disciplined as a Shield should be, her words would flow around me without making even the slightest impression. But, on the other hand, sometimes just letting things go meant you had to deal with everincreasing amounts of them. “What is your problem?” I asked her.
She appeared taken aback by the question, but recovered herself enough to hiss, “I had to earn my place in this circle!”
“How?” What did earning her way in entail?
“None of your damn business.”
I shrugged. “All right.”
“And then you come here out of nowhere and just slide in like we owed you something.”
“I didn’t ask to be a part of this. Browne didn’t even tell me what she had in mind when she first brought me.”
“Just because you’re a Shield, you think you can have whatever you want.”
“In fact, I’m not a part of this circle.”
“You come here and flounce about sneering at us.”
“How have I been sneering at you?”
“You’re from a big city. People like you think people like us are stupid.”
I wasn’t going to bother responding to that. I didn’t think the residents of Flown Raven were stupid. I didn’t act as though I thought they were stupid. I had too much respect for how hard they worked.
“Too good to talk to me, are you?”
“Well, you’re hardly original, are you?” I drawled. I’d heard most of her complaints before, from other people.
“Oh, don’t you sound grand? It’s your Source who’s the’risto, darling, not you.”
“So you’re not normally this obnoxious? It’s just me who inspires this dip into bad manners?”
“That’s enough,” Mitloehner snapped.
“This isn’t circle business,” Berlusconi retorted. “I owe you no respect.”
“You were just complaining that she got into the circle without earning her place,” Thatcher reminded her. “That’s circle business.”
Mitloehner spoke over them both. “I know we can’t help making a lot of noise, but we’re not going to create more noise than necessary. We don’t want people coming to investigate.”
Berlusconi said nothing more.
Browne returned with a small bag. “All right, this is kyrra powder.” She shook the bag. “I use it when I know I won’t have the chance to sleep for a couple of days.”
A couple of days? That couldn’t be good for a person.
“What use is a powder that will keep us all awake?” Mitloehner asked.
“The reason it keeps a person awake is that it increases vigor and focuses the mind for several hours. With multiple doses, it is possible to stay up for a few days.”
“I’ve never heard of this.” Mitloehner was almost accusatory. “I could have used something like that many, many times.”
I could have, too, especially for some of the long night shifts in High Scape.
“I’ve never given this to anyone before. People can come to crave it, and the more one takes it, the more exhausted one feels when the effects wear off. Other discomforts include blinding headaches and intense thirst. To alleviate their discomfort, a person will take more kyrra, will soon get hit by the side effects again, take more kyrra, and so on. I don’t know what would happen to a person who took kyrra constantly for an indefinite period of time, but it can’t be good. So I don’t give it to anyone. I’m suggesting this only because I believe these circumstances warrant it.”
“Because you think this increased vigor will help us raise the rock,” said Mitloehner.
“It’s the only thing I can think of.” She held up the bag. “Just understand, you won’t be able to sleep tonight, and you will have a headache when the effects wear off, and you will be thirstier than you’ve ever been in your life.”
“Does anyone object to using this . . . kyrra?” Mitloehner asked.
I wasn’t the only one to look at Berlusconi, but she didn’t speak.
“All right, palms out.” Browne poured a little bit of powder into Thatcher’s hand. “Just a warning, it’s quite bitter.”
Thatcher licked his palm and two moments later, the grimace on his face was truly spectacular.
“Don’t spit it out!” Browne ordered him.
I watched him swallow. “Gods, woman!” he griped.
Everyone else assumed expressions of disgust before tasting the powder, extending the tips of their tongues reluctantly. I decided to do what I would do when entering a body of cold water. Just jump in. I stroked my palm with the flat of my tongue.
It was bitter, but I’d had worse. Shields tended to feel physical sensations less acutely than the average person, and that included taste. In the Academy, this had been described as a liability, but I’d always been grateful for it, myself. Being sensitive seemed to equate to being uncomfortable.
It didn’t take long for the effects to become evident. My blood seemed to start racing. I had the almost uncontrollable urge to run, or climb something, or push against something. And my mind, that was strange. At first it whirled around unpleasantly, as though there were four rats in my brain all running and dancing in different directions. Then it suddenly settled. The focus that resulted was, at first, unwieldy. I looked at the moonlight, and it was all I could see, the silver, bouncing particles filling my eyes. And then, without any direction from my thoughts, my gaze shifted to Thatcher. I’d never paid much attention to him, he was just one in a relatively large group, but I realized right then that his cheekbones were magnificent, gloriously highlighted by the moonlight.
The next thing I knew, Browne had me by the arm and was guiding me to stand somewhere. Then she snapped her fingers in front of my face. “Look at the rock,” she ordered.
So I looked at the rock.
After a while, my mind seemed to balance, and I became aware of the singing. It filled my ears, and I was pulled into it. I could sing the words, put force behind them, and look at the rock, the lines and angles of it etching dark borders in my eyes. Everything else just didn’t exist.
And the rock moved.
The excitement that created made my heart race even faster, but while I noted the change, the fact of it bounced against the edge of my focus and disappeared. I watched the rock rise higher.
This was fascinating.
At one point, a voice hovering around the edge of my mind came to penetrate my thoughts. It was Browne, telling us to lower the rock. This order didn’t make sense to me, but I obeyed it.
I had no idea how long we practiced raising and lowering the rock. It couldn’t have been too long. It wasn’t yet dawn when Mitloehner called a halt and told us to return the following midnight. I didn’t think we should stop. I was pretty sure I could work a few hours more, and we could get the damn thing done. I was not, however, compelled to dispute the decision. It was easier to just follow along.
I ran back to the manor. It was pure pleasure. Working the muscles in my arms and legs, feeling my lungs expand, cool air brushing over my face and playing in my hair. Why didn’t I do this, run for the joy of it? I wouldn’t have thought of running as something so sensual. It was something one did to get away from someone. But it felt so good, I almost kept on running instead of entering the manor.
But I didn’t think it would look good, my running around for no reason. Normal people didn’t do that. The residents didn’t need to be thinking their Shield was odd. Or they might panic, thinking there was something wrong. Better to be more circumspect.
I was a little loud climbing the stairs. I couldn’t slow down. I hoped I didn’t wake anyone.
The suite was too small. The sitting room had too much furniture, tables and chairs and settees. Nowhere near enough room to pace, but I couldn’t bear to sit still. So I chose a settee and walked around and around and around it.
The door to the bedchamber opened. I heard it but I was counting my footsteps so I didn’t look up. I knew it was Taro.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“It takes nine steps to circumvent this settee,” I told him. “Though if I stretch my stride . . .”
“You’re pacing.”
“I’d go around the room, but there’s all this trash about. Why do we need twelve pieces of furniture just for people to sit on? We’d never have that many people up here.”
“What’s going on?”
“I mean, even if we had you and me and your mother and my mother and my brothers and Fiona and Stacin and the Prides up here, we still wouldn’t need all this furniture. And we’d never have all of them up here at the same time. Can you imagine your mother having a conversation with Dias? My gods, it would be hilarious. One would end up slapping the other. I think your mother would hit harder than Dias. Do we have any water?”
“What the hell is wrong with you?”