At that, memories of the terrifying scene in the Dream slashed through her amiable mood. She felt heavy, as if the local gravity had increased. What kind of monster could do that to another human being? That he would do it again, she had no doubt. The problem was their lack of clues. The Dream left no physical evidence, and the Guardians hadn’t found any at the murder site. How could they track a killer that left no traces?
Her stomach growled for supper and the walkway swayed gently under her footsteps. Ara shook her head. The investigation wasn’t really her problem. She had been brought in as a consultant and she had done her job. Everything else was up to Inspector Tan and Inspector Gray.
Ara snorted. Tan and Gray. She hadn’t noticed that before. Still, she couldn’t get her mind off poor Iris Temm. The whole thing filled her with both anger and sorrow. Someone had to catch the man. Maybe she would check with the inspectors later and see if anything had turned up. Something they said might lend Ara an insight that would help them.
A shudder passed through her. Did she want more details? She firmly pushed the case into the back of her mind and brought her thoughts back to the new students. Tomorrow they would register for classes, and Ara would have to speak to Toshi about flying lessons for Kendi.
Kendi. Ara let her hand trail along the ivy-covered cable that held up the walkway. It had been almost two years since she’d taken on a private student, and she hadn’t had an actual apprentice in twice that time. Ara had little patience for classroom instruction, but she greatly enjoyed small group and one-on-one teaching. Taking on students—and, later, apprentices—was also an unspoken requirement for promotion within the ranks of the Children. Ara was the youngest Silent to reach the rank of Parent, and at age forty-one she was within spitting distance of becoming the youngest Parent Adept. Murder investigation or not, it was time to take on another student.
And who better than Kendi?
CHAPTER SEVEN
Would that my body could fly as do my thoughts. Unfortunately, genetic engineering can only do so much.
—Irfan Qasad
The cliff reached up to the sky. Atop it, Kendi spread his arms to the sun. Voices whispered at him, muttered in his ear, plucked at him with ghostly fingers of sound, but they didn’t bother him. They were perfectly normal. The scalding sun felt good on his bare skin, and a hot breeze rushed past him, bringing the smell of dust and baking vegetation.
And then he heard his mother’s voice. Kendi stiffened. He whipped his head around, trying to locate the source of the sound, but the whisper had already retreated. Had he heard it at all, or was he just imagining?
"Mom?" he said. "Are you there?"
The whispers continued to hover in the breeze around him, but none of them sounded familiar. Heated dust assailed Kendi’s nostrils. He strained to listen, his heart pounding. Every fiber of his body ached for his missing family. He missed Utang’s blue eyes, his mother’s rich voice, his father’s warm laugh, Martina’s little fingers as she took his hand to cross the street. Kendi missed them like he might miss walking or breathing. In some ways it would have been better if he knew they were dead. It was somehow worse knowing that they were out there somewhere, but he couldn’t talk to them, let them know that he was all right, find out if they were safe. It made him want to cry. It made him want to hit and scream and yell and jump off the edge of the cliff. Instead he stood and listened to the wind.
Just a word
, he pleaded.
All I need is a word. Are you there?
The whispering mingled with the breeze, but none of it sounded familiar. After a long moment, Kendi went to the edge of the cliff and looked down. The rocky ground lay some fifty meters below. Kendi wondered what would happen if he simply stepped over the edge. Would he feel anything when he smacked into the stones? Or were the stories true that you died of a heart attack just before you hit? He put a foot over the edge, then jerked it back with a little thrill of fear once, twice, three times. Then he stared down at the far-away ground with a hypnotized fascination. Finally he shook his head, turned around, and slowly lowered himself over the side. Finding hand- and footholds with practiced ease, he clambered down the sheer slope until he reached the base of the cliff.
A camel waited for him at the bottom. Kendi nodded to it. Camels weren’t native to the Outback, but centuries ago someone, probably an opal prospector, had gotten the bright idea that they would make ideal pack animals for the Australian desert and had a bunch shipped in. Kendi gave a mental shake of his head. The idea of packing a herd of foul-tempered, biting beasts that spit and smelled onto a sailing ship and then putting up with them for a week or more during the voyage across the Pacific to Australia made Kendi laugh and shudder in alternating doses.
A hold full of seasick camels
, he thought.
Would that qualify as sadism or masochism?
Inevitably a few camels had escaped and made their way into the wild, where they had adapted themselves remarkably well to the local ecology. The original Real People ate them as necessary, of course, and their bladders made excellent, if overlarge, waterskins.
"Sister, may I ride?" Kendi asked.
The camel spat something brown and foul and gave Kendi a look that managed to resemble a shrug. Kendi gave a great leap and landed on top of the camel’s single hump with the grace of a gazelle, even though the camel was taller than Kendi. The moment he had his balance, the camel took off at a galumphing run. Kendi clung to the dusty, furry hump with hands and thighs, whooping as the camel sped over the rough terrain. Bright wind and sunlight rushed past him while rock and sandy soil blurred into a single brown mass. They came across a billabong, a muddy water hole surrounded by scrubby trees and bushes. Birds called to each other among the leaves. The camel came to a halt. Kendi leaped down as the camel changed into a crocodile, which slid into the water and vanished. Kendi waved good-bye to her.
~ ...evan ...~
Kendi jumped. This time he was sure he had heard it—his mother’s voice. She wouldn’t know his name was Kendi now, had called him by his birth name. She was here, somewhere. His heart came back into his throat and he spun around, trying to look in all directions at once. All he saw was the still billabong, the scrubby trees, and the endless Outback.
"Mom?" he called. "Mom, I can hear you! Where are you?"
He strained to listen. The endless whispering continued, but Rebecca Weaver’s voice wasn’t in it. Kendi closed his eyes, trying to sort through the babble of soft voices. She had to be there. She
was
there. It hadn’t been a mistake or his imagination.
The breeze died around him and the whispers began to fade. Kendi kept his eyes tightly shut, staring into the darkness behind his eyelids, listening with every iota of his being. But the whispers grew softer still.
"Mom?" he said in a small voice. No answer.
He opened his eyes and stared at a blank white ceiling. Kendi blinked at it.
What the hell?
The air was a bit chilly, and he was lying down. It took him a moment to figure out he was lying in a comfortable bed in his new room at the monastery of the Children of Irfan. He sat up, a little dazed. Was the dream the Outback? Or was the dream this room?
The Outback
, he decided, and lay back again with a sigh. The Outback dreams were coming with more intensity and reality of late, but they were nothing more than a symptom of Silence. The monastery was reality, as was his room and his bed. At least it was a pleasant place, one he was beginning to like. The intense longing he had felt for his family faded until it was bearable, though it didn’t vanish entirely. He suspected it never would.
Outside the window, Kendi could see the sky had lightened only barely. Awake before dawn again. For a moment he lay in his warm bed on the comfortable mattress, luxuriating in the fact that he didn’t have to get up. He tried to drift back to sleep, but his mind was broadly awake. There was a whole alien planet out there, with a monastery and a city to explore.
And he was free.
Eventually he gave up sleep as a lost cause and pushed the covers aside. After a quick shower, he pulled on his—
his!
—new clothes, including the suede boots. He was reaching for the jacket and found himself hesitating. Should he wear it? Mother Ara’s note said it was a present, but it had been a terribly expensive one and he didn’t quite know how to react. No one had ever given him anything like it before. Should he write her a thank-you note? Thank her in person? Pretend it had never happened? For a brief moment he wished she hadn’t given it to him, creating this whole dilemma. Then he flashed on one of his family’s interminable visits to the Outback and the words of a woman who called herself Firestarter.
A true gift doesn’t put any obligation on you,
she said.
Say thank you once to be polite, and then use the gift however you want.
She had then given him a set of fire-starting tools. They had been among his things on board the colony ship, though they had doubtless been ejected into space three years ago, along with anything else the slavers had decided was garbage. The thought made Kendi angry. All his possessions and those of his family—stolen or tossed aside, with no way to recover them. Irreplaceable family holograms and photographs, mementos, his favorite shirt, the journal he had kept for a year when he was in grade school—all gone forever, along with the three years of life Giselle Blanc had taken from him. She had also taken his mother. The anger grew until Kendi’s hands hurt and he realized he was clutching at the suede jacket so hard his knuckles had gone pale. He made himself relax his fingers and stretch them, wincing at the pain. The anger remained. He wanted to get back at the slavers and at Giselle Blanc, find them and somehow make them understand what they had done to him, make them pay for it.
Not that he ever could. Giselle Blanc was wealthy and on a planet far away from Bellerophon. And who were the slavers? He didn’t even know their names, let alone how to find them. He was stranded here on Bellerophon while his family lay scattered across thousands, perhaps millions, of light years. The longing returned full-force, mixing with the anger until Kendi’s skin felt itchy and too tight.
He flung the jacket on his bed and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The doors in the deserted lobby were wide open, and the air was a bit chillier than it had been yesterday morning. Tendrils of fog floated in the twilight among the branches beyond the wide balcony. Kendi thought about going back for his jacket, but didn’t feel like turning around. Still fuming, he went down to the cafeteria, dumped a handful of rolls onto a plate without really paying attention to them, and sat down at one of the long tables. An abandoned tray sat across from him, and he shoved it aside, slopping the dark remnants in the coffee mug over the side. Kendi tore a sticky chunk off one roll and stuffed into his mouth, chewing without really tasting.
"What happened here?"
Kendi looked up sharply. Another student, two or three years older than Kendi, was looking down at the skewed, coffee-strewn tray in confusion. He held a croissant in one hand.
"That’s my tray," the student said.
"Yeah, well, it looked abandoned to me," Kendi all but snarled. "You shouldn’t have ...have ..." Kendi trailed off. The other student had brown hair and a broad build, with large hands and impressive biceps. Wide hazel eyes looked out over a square jaw and an undeniably handsome face. Kendi swallowed and felt a flush spread from the top of his head all the way down to his toes.
"I mean ...I mean you should’ve left a note or something," he finished weakly. "Sorry. I thought you were done and gone."
"No big deal," the student said in a light tenor voice. "It’s not like there isn’t more food. I’m Pitr Haddis." He held out the hand that wasn’t holding the croissant. Kendi automatically shook it. Pitr’s grip was dry and firm, but before Kendi could register anything more than that, electricity jolted his spine. Kendi almost yelped. Pitr winched at the touch but didn’t let go of Kendi’s hand.
"Pretty strong Silence," Pitr commented, sitting down and looking ruefully at his tray. The coffee had sloshed everywhere, mixing with crumbs from the remainders of Pitr’s breakfast.
Kendi shrugged uncertainly. "That’s what they tell me. Look, why don’t I get you some more coffee? I forgot to get some for myself anyway."
"You don’t have to," Pitr said amiably. "I probably shouldn’t—"
"Hey, I insist." Kendi managed to flash a grin. "Be right back."
Before Pitr could say anything else, Kendi left the table and hurried back to the food bay. Several silvery urns with spigots at their bases stood in a row next to a tray of coffee mugs. They reminded Kendi of the ones he had seen as a child in the church basement back in Sydney in the days before his family had become involved with the Reconstructionists. Coffee self-service, it seemed, hadn’t changed in a thousand years. Kendi drew one mug and was reaching for the second before he remembered that he hated coffee. He hesitated, then decided to go ahead with it. Otherwise he’d look the fool in front of Pitr.
Kendi put the mugs on a tray, dumped a handful of sugar packets and cream containers next to them, and headed back to the table where Pitr was munching his croissant. He accepted the mug without comment.
"What did you say your name was again?" Pitr asked as Kendi sat down across from him.
"I didn’t—sorry. It’s Kendi Weaver." He frowned briefly at his coffee mug, then started opening sugar packets and stirring them into his coffee. "I’m new here. Like I said, I’m sorry about your tray."
"I was pretty much done eating anyway. Just wanted one more croissant." Pitr looked at him quizzically. "You gonna drink that coffee or eat it?"
Kendi looked down. He had emptied almost a dozen packets into the mug. His face grew hot with embarrassment. "I guess I’m kind of out of it this morning," he muttered.