Wrapt in Crystal

by Sharon Shinn

  “It is not possible to explain to you,” she said, her voice quieter still, “what that moment of salvation meant to me. I rose from my knees and I came straight to the Fidele temple and I applied for admittance. And I have been there ever since. And it is not for penance that I stay. And it is not to do good works that I stay, although it is some balm to my heart when I am able to help someone else now and then in some small way. It is because Ava loves me. And Ava’s love is all that is keeping me alive.”

  “You told me once,” he said, not wanting to say it but bothered by the discrepancy, “that you had served Ava all your life.”

  She nodded. “And so I have. Because I count my life only from the day that I walked into Ava’s temple.”

  “How did you know,” he asked, “that she wanted you to be a Fidele and not a Triumphante?”

  Laura smiled faintly. “I think,” she said, “that I would not have had the joy that one needs to be a Triumphante, and Ava knew that.”

  The words “Triumphante” and “joy” reminded him. “Oh, damn. I think I’ve just been very rude.”

  “What? How?”

  “I had a dinner date—tonight? night before last?—at the Triumphante temple.”

  Instantly, the semi-ironic mask was back on Laura’s face. “It’s been canceled.”

  He inspected her face. “How do you know?”

  “There was a note brought round the other day from la senya grande.”

  “She canceled?”

  “No, we canceled on your behalf.”

  “We?”

  “Well, Sergeant Warren, actually. I believe she sent a note back explaining that you were delirious.”

  “Some people would say that’s when I’m at my best,” he said, half-closing his eyes.

  “She sent you flowers.”

  His eyes opened again at that. “Jovieve sent me flowers? Really? Where are they?”

  Laura nodded toward the desk across the room. “There. Aren’t they pretty? From the temple gardens, I believe.”

  The blossoms were hard to make out in the gloom of the chamber, but they looked bright red and cheerful. By any reckoning, it had to cost a fortune to maintain a garden that produced such a harvest. “That was nice,” was all he said.

  “I think the sergeant’s note said that you were too sick to receive visitors just yet, but perhaps la senya grande will call on you later.”

  He studied her face, trying to read anything at all behind her expression or her tone of voice. Both were completely impassive. “Perhaps she will. She’s been very generous with her time so far.”

  “She has that reputation.”

  “Are you being catty?” he asked directly.

  She actually laughed. “Not at all. Everybody in Madrid likes senya Jovieve. One never hears anything to her discredit.”

  “Except that she might be a little close to the governor.”

  “To those who honor the Triumphantes,” Laura said, “that’s hardly a failing.”

  “And what’s your opinion?”

  “Mine?”

  “As a devout woman from a celibate sect. How do you feel about a religious order that—celebrates the act of love?”

  She was silent a moment. “You have picked a series of hard topics to discuss tonight.”

  “You must have thought about this.”

  “Oh, I’ve thought about it. I’ve never really considered the ‘celebration of love,’ as you say, to be a sin. There are times when it is perhaps unwise or hurtful—when very young teenagers experiment with sex, when a man or a woman is unfaithful to someone—in those cases I would have grave doubts. Even the Triumphantes, I believe, acknowledge that there are times when the act of love is better avoided.”

  “But for a sister? A priestess?”

  “The argument for celibacy,” she said carefully, “is that knowledge of the body diverts one’s attention from knowledge of the spirit. Distracted by jealousy or rapture, you do not give Ava the affection she requires. Then too, if you love one man or one woman, you are too focused on an individual. Whereas, as a cleric, you should be focused on humanity as a whole—the mass soul, so to speak, the incorporated body of humankind.”

  “You do not sound as if you have wholly bought the argument,” he said.

  “In theory, I think it sounds a little bleak,” she said. “In practice, I believe it to be true. Speaking for myself, I have nothing left over to give, because I give everything to Ava. I do not see that I am in any danger of transgressing this canon of Fidele law.”

  “And if you were? If you were tempted?”

  She looked down at him seriously. “Tempted enough to be willing to leave Ava’s service forever?” she said softly. “I cannot picture a lure that strong.”

  “Love is a powerful lure,” he said.

  “So it is,” she agreed, “but I am not afraid.”

  “You are,” he said. “And you just told me about it.”

  She gave a small nod of acknowledgment. “You are twisting my words,” she said, “but I know what you mean. I am afraid of being dropped again down the abyss. You are familiar with that abyss, you told me so yourself. How did you climb out?”

  He reflected. He was having a hard time believing that this conversation was taking place, that Laura—the most guarded and uncommunicative of women—was speaking to him so freely. Delirium or drugs; hard to tell.

  “Power of will, I suppose,” he said. “And already having something I believed in.”

  “Your job?”

  “I had always been good at it,” he said. “I became one of the best.”

  “What happened in the first place?” she asked. “To push you in.”

  He moved his head uncertainly on the pillow. This was something he literally never talked about. “My whole family was killed,” he said. “Massacred, actually, in an uprising that tore apart an entire planet. The revolution on Ramindon was not completely unexpected—in fact, there were Moonchild forces already in place against the possibility of civil war. In fact, I was with the Moonchildren stationed there. In fact,” he said for the third time, “I had tried to convince my parents and my sister to leave, at least until things got better.”

  “But they wouldn’t.”

  “They wouldn’t. My father felt he could make a difference—mediate between the sides. My sister and my mother—well, they could not imagine leaving, not for any reason, not to any place. I had already been a Moonchild ten years or more. I had seen more planets and more stars and more races in that ten years than they even knew existed. Travel held no fear for me—a new life held no fear for me. I did not understand the value of familiarity. I did not understand trying to fight for something that was already lost. I did not understand how they could not listen to reason.”

  “And so you argued with them,” she said softly, “and the last words you ever spoke to them were angry.”

  “That, yes,” he said. “But that’s not what made it so hard. It was more the fact that I felt if I had tried harder, argued longer, done more, I could have saved them. I could have kept them alive despite themselves—that was a knowledge that I found very bitter to live with. But even that wasn’t the worst of it.”

  “Then?”

  “The fact that they were gone,” he said simply. “Dead. Everyone who had ever loved me, in one night—every one. Everyone who called me by a single nickname, who knew me when I was a child, everyone who felt pride in me. That’s a hard thing to explain. I have had my share of honors, before and since. There are commanders in the Moonchild forces who think well of me, who promote me, who recommend me for awards and posts. And of course I have friends who are happy for me when I do well. But there is no one who feels proud of my accomplishments—who feels that I have added honor to his life, who repeats the list of my glorious deeds to her friends. There’s no one who has a stake in me.”

  He glance
d up at her. “Does that sound selfish?” he said.

  “No,” she said.

  “It does,” he said. “Selfish and lonely. And besides all that, I miss them more than I can express. I don’t spend much time expressing it, in fact. It happened—they’re dead—and my life goes on. But you shouldn’t be surprised when I notice bleakness in somebody else.”

  She smiled again. Absently, she smoothed the covers over his ribs again. “But you don’t seem to me like the kind of man who has to be bleak,” she said. “You seem like the kind of man who draws people to you easily, almost without effort. Why should a man like you be alone?”

  “Like you said,” he said. “I don’t have that much left over to give.”

  Her hands stilled; she watched him. “I think you might be in the habit of thinking that,” she said at last, “but you haven’t paid attention to how you have healed. You could love again if you tried.”

  “Could you?” he asked.

  “I do love,” she said. “That’s how I know.”

  Chapter Eleven

  It was two more days before Drake was completely well, though he was able to get up for short periods of time while he recuperated. Lise was with him as much as possible, entertaining him and bringing him food. Laura never returned for a visit, but on the second day, Jovieve put in an appearance.

  “Oh, you’re actually robust again. I meant to get here sooner,” she said, as he answered the door himself. She was carrying another bouquet of red flowers, and she wore a dress the color of amber. He felt as though a fire had strolled into his room, and he smiled.

  “Shall I lie in bed and allow you to tend me?” he suggested, taking the flowers from her to put them in water.

  She regarded him skeptically. “I don’t think that’s the sort of remark one should make to a foreign priestess,” she decided.

  “Mi dispiaci,” he apologized, still smiling. “Here, sit down. I am not entirely recovered, and I would prefer to sit myself.”

  They settled themselves on the white sofa under the ceiling fan. Jovieve studied him. “You do look better than I expected,” she said. “The fever can be devastating.”

  “I had good care,” he said. “Thank you for the flowers—these, and the ones you sent before.”

  “Who tended you? The sergeant who sent me the nice note?”

  “Part of the time. And one of the Fideles I’ve been working with.”

  Jovieve’s thin brows rose in surprise. “That was kind,” she said. “You must have made quite an impression on the abada.”

  “No, I think the motive was guilt more than anything, since I probably picked up the fever working at the temple. That’s what Laura believes, anyway.”

  “Laura? Is that the sergeant?”

  “No, that’s the ermana.”

  “Strange name for a Fidele,” Jovieve commented.

  “Well, that’s what I thought,” he said. “Most of them have very plain names. Kay, Lynn, Jan. They sound so unnatural in Semayse.”

  Jovieve smiled briefly. “That’s because the Fideles don’t bestow names, as the Triumphantes do, they merely shorten their given names when they join the temple.”

  “But why?”

  “Surely it has not escaped your attention that the Fideles eschew ornamentation of any kind,” she replied dryly. “They don’t believe their names should be any more ostentatious than the rest of their lives. By their standards, the name Laura is almost opulent.”

  “I take it you don’t know her,” he said.

  Jovieve shook her head. “The only one I’ve had much dealing with is the abada.”

  “Interesting woman.”

  Jovieve smiled. “I like her. I don’t always agree with her, but I like her.”

  “You seem to know a fair amount about the Fideles,” he observed.

  “Of course. They are my sisters. And like all sisters, we are sometimes at odds. But our hearts are tied with a single tether, and that gives us a connection most of the time.”

  “Certainly you’ve been connected lately.”

  She nodded. “Have you learned anything about Deloro?”

  He told her of his search in the chapel neighborhoods. “And when I’m well enough, I’ll look into this post office business,” he finished.

  “And when will that be?”

  He laughed. “I’m leaving this room tomorrow if it kills me.”

  “Take care of yourself, Cowen,” she said gravely. “You are more valuable than you think.”

  “All right,” he said.

  She rose to her feet but held him in place with her hand on his shoulder when he would have risen as well. She looked down at him. “If you are in good health,” she said, “I would like you to come with me to a celebration two days from now.”

  “I’ll be fine,” he said. “What’s the event?”

  “A wedding. I thought you might enjoy it.”

  He looked quizzical, but she did not elaborate. “Should I meet you at the temple? What time?”

  “Around six in the evening,” she said. “Dress formal.”

  “I’ll be there,” he said, and she left.

  * * *

  * * *

  He was well enough to resume his search the following day, though he moved slowly and took frequent rests. He had never been so glad of the cooling system in the Triumphante car, for the illness had left him sensitive to the heat. And none of the buildings he found himself in had any air conditioning at all.

  It took him two days to track down the postal number that Aurora Perdida had left with her last respectable landlady. The mail house that he finally located stood on the fringes of the barrio. Its plain brownstone façade had been defaced by so many layers of graffiti that the colors of the paint all ran together into one bright, abstract display. Inside, the clerks were sullen, defiant, and unhelpful.

  “Records are classified,” said the slovenly middle-aged man who worked behind the customer service desk. “Can’t show you.”

  “I’m working with the hombuenos and the Triumphantes,” Drake said patiently. He showed the man his wristbadge. “I’m a Moonchild.”

  Dead black eyes without a flicker of interest looked back at him. “Records are classified,” he repeated stubbornly. “Can’t let you see them.”

  Drake worked his way up through two more layers of bureaucracy, but the answer was unvarying. He was in a foul humor when he finally stalked from the building and flung himself into the car. He made it to hombueno headquarters in record time, skimming in and out of traffic with a recklessness he ordinarily did not exhibit. Slamming the car door shut was his last act of temper; he was self-possessed when he presented himself to Benito.

  “Sure, we can get the records,” Benito said, scribbling a note. “Might not tell you much, though. Kind of a cash-up-front operation. Probably don’t have an address to direct you to.”

  “Worth a look,” Drake said.

  Benito leaned back in his chair. “Any other leads?”

  Drake shook his head. “No. You?”

  “Nothing. And I’m getting nervous.”

  Drake nodded. “Getting to be about time for the guy to strike again. Another week, maybe.”

  “If he follows his pattern.”

  “May be time to do some self-defense seminars at the temples.”

  Benito smiled faintly. “There’s a thought.”

  “Certainly wouldn’t hurt for you to do a couple of presentations. ‘Here’s what happened before, here’s some precautions you can take for the future.’ Triumphantes at least would listen.”

  “And the Fideles?”

  “I’m working on the Fideles.”

  From the hombueno headquarters, Drake proceeded at a more sedate pace to the courthouse. The heavyset clerk assigned to him looked dismayed when the Moonchild walked in, but brightened considerably when he heard the request.

 
; “I want you to concentrate on the cases that occurred five years ago,” Drake said. “Forget the others for right now.”

  The big man took Drake’s notes from his hands. “Trial dates, verdicts and dispositions?” he asked.

  “Yes. And, if possible, current status of anyone who was convicted.”

  “Be a day or two.”

  “All right. Thanks.”

  * * *

  * * *

  A nap regenerated him completely; he felt as if he’d finally escaped the effects of the virus. He was putting on his formal clothes when Lise knocked and came in. “My, my,” she said. He wore again his ivory uniform with the navy sash, and even to himself he looked impressive. “What’s the occasion?”

  “A wedding.”

  “Yours?”

  He gave her a repressive look. She laughed. “Well, whose?”

  “I don’t know, actually.”

  “Who’s your date, then? Let me guess, the senya grande.”

  “It’s not a date.”

  “But it is taking you away for dinner.”

  He regarded her in the mirror. “Yes.”

  She gave an exaggerated sigh. “Haven’t seen much of you since you’ve been healthy enough to be any fun.”

  He swung round to face her. “Sorry. I’ll keep tomorrow night open for you.”

  She laughed again, clasping her hands over her breast. “Be still my heart.”

  “But not if you don’t appreciate it.”

  “I appreciate it! I’m already planning what to wear.”

  He turned back to the mirror to finish hanging his sash. “Where do you want to go?”

  Her eyes glinted. “The spaceport.”

  His eyes lifted to meet hers in the glass; he grinned. “You’re in a reckless mood.”