“Choice can only be offered, Human, from Chooser to unChosen. The risk is the male’s. We cannot force our females—as your species is known to do.”
Morgan turned to Barac with a cold, piercing light in his eyes. “Your opinion of Humans aside, for the moment, I hope you’re right, Clansman. My impression of this renegade and those he deals with doesn’t allow me your touching faith. And what of Kurr? Think, Barac—Sira’s mind has already been tampered with; Yihtor’s had her drugged and kidnapped in order to bring her to Acranam.
“Rael was correct in at least one respect. I don’t think we, or Sira, have any time left to waste.”
Barac’s lips tightened. “Just you remember what I’ve told you, Morgan. Sira won’t be happy if she finds out she’s killed you.”
“I won’t be too happy about that either,” Morgan replied steadily.
Chapter 28
CLEARLY, Yihtor had spared no expense in order to turn this frontier world into a home. The glittering scene I surveyed from my vantage point at the head table could have come intact from any of the better insystem banquet rooms. There were a hundred or so people gathered around small tables; these were set with attractive randomness within the domed hall. Fountains whispered in the distant corners. It was a far cry from the wilderness surrounding us and a potent statement of Yihtor’s determination to rule here.
The crowd, many of whom I caught staring at me, was remarkably uniform. Everyone I could see was young, well-groomed, and animated. Regardless of whatever expression darkened my face as the unwilling guest of honor here, the majority of the celebrants were enjoying their leader’s success.
Another course came and went. The food was probably excellent, but I couldn’t taste it, though I was hungry enough. It wasn’t a particularly cheering thought that my body and mind didn’t always share the same opinions. If Yihtor had his way, that split could soon be permanent.
I scanned the faces below, struck by the oddness of watching excitement. Few individuals spoke aloud. Hand gestures were plentiful and often interfered with the process of enjoying the feast. It was easy to hear the bubbling of the distant fountains and the soft background music supplied by a lone musician. Indisputable evidence that everyone present was indeed Clan. Even the serving staff carried themselves with that unconscious arrogance.
Yihtor had noticed my inspection. “I—we have many faithful supporters on Acranam, my dear Chooser.”
“Bought by pirate leavings?” I asked bitterly, ignoring the jab of Fem Caraat’s fingers in my ribs.
“Actually, no,” Yihtor replied politely, courteously offering to refill my glass, nodding slightly when I refused. “Most of my wealth and influence comes from a service I provide. It is an ability of my own, one which I believe may be a first among the Clan.”
He wrapped his fingers around a bowl of fruit and raised it to the level of his eyes. “Imagine, Sira, that this is the mind of a Pact scientist, say a Human whose research might uncover some secret about the M’hir. When I served the Council, I learned how to enter such a mind, to erase key thoughts so that the research would fail. Very subtle work.”
There was a chuckle beside me as Fem Caraat found something in this funny.
Yihtor turned in his seat so the bowl was between us, suspended over the floor. “Since then, I’ve learned how to pluck out what I—or a customer—wants from a mind,” he reached into the bowl with one hand and removed a cluster of nicnics.
Then, Yihtor released the bowl and its remaining contents. The delicate crystal shattered on the floor. “Not subtle,” he said with mock regret, “but very profitable.”
Knife-edged shards of crystal glinted among the pieces of fruit. I looked up at Yihtor. “You can do this from here?” I asked in horror.
“Not yet,” the Clansman admitted readily. “Physical contact is required. And there are beings whose thoughts I can’t touch. Still, it’s quite a good living for me—and so for my followers.”
He waved his long hand, drawing my attention back to the crowd. “Most you see here came with me long ago. Not all of us were as obedient as you when the Council tried to dictate our lives for us. And others came later.”
“And all were converted to your view of how things should be? Why do I find that difficult to believe, Renegade?”
Fem Caraat glowered. “How dare you speak to my son like that! He—”
“Silence, old woman,” Yihtor’s voice was low and chilling. “Leave us.” Their eyes met briefly, then hers dropped and she stood.
“I’m First Chosen here,” she said uncertainly, her look toward me full of sudden fear.
Yihtor deliberately turned back to his food, dismissing his mother. A good pair, I decided.
We were now alone at the elevated head table. Ironic. Those watching us, between bites of their sweet course, probably thought Yihtor and I were deep in some mental conversation, closer inside than out. How important was appearance to Yihtor’s control over his followers? Was all this to make them believe I was here willingly? I felt the tentative stirrings of hope.
I should have guarded the whimsy: Yihtor’s long hand closed upon my arm just above my elbow. An affectionate gesture to those watching; a painful crushing of flesh over bone in reality. I met his gray-green eyes with deliberate intensity. “You’re damaging the goods, Renegade,” I said tightly. “That’s not part of the script tonight. This is all for their benefit, isn’t it?” I waved and several returned the salute.
He released me, smiling a rather nasty smile. “We’d make a formidable pair, daughter of Jarad. Your strength and intelligence added to my own—we could dominate the Council itself!”
“I’m sure you know the answer to that. Shall I tell your faithful of your kind offer—and its catch?”
Yihtor leaned back and chuckled softly, for all the world as if I’d amused him with a flirtatious story. “Tell them. Tell them and see for yourself the extent of their loyalty to me, and to me alone. Those who’ve been with me since the beginning would give their lives for me without question. Those who came later can no longer oppose my will.
“So tell them, Chooser. Amuse me as is your pleasure during our Joining Feast.”
“I may be your prisoner,” I said through my teeth, wishing I had something to throw. “But I’m crew on the Silver Fox. Spacers protect their own.”
Yihtor wrinkled his nose in disgust, then gave a short laugh. “Invoking Humans, Chooser? What do they have to do with us? I’d expected threats from the illustrious di Sarcs—”
“My name is Sira Morgan. I’m crew on the Silver—”
“Stop.” Yihtor’s face turned stormy. “I know what was done to you, and why. That obscene experiment came all too close to ruining you forever. You should be grateful I’ve intervened.”
“What experiment? What possible reason could anyone have for taking my memory?”
“It is over. That is all you need to know.” Yihtor’s frown faded. “And tonight is the beginning of your new life.”
Unfortunately, I knew what he meant. “I can’t Choose you,” I said evenly. “You must know that by now.”
Yihtor’s expression didn’t change, but his hand trembled as it reached for his cup. “Don’t worry, Chooser. I will make it possible.”
“By taking away my mind? What use can I be to you then?” I protested.
“To rule here is nothing,” Yihtor said, taking sips from his steaming cup. The aroma was nut-sweet and almost gagged me. “My plans don’t include permanent exile here for myself and my followers.” A sidelong look at me. “Nor do they include allowing my power to be lost from the gene pool of the Clan. I intend to father a dynasty of supremely powerful beings—a new ruling class of Clan, whose power in the M’hir will be tasted by all. Perhaps even, in time, the Homeworld itself!
“And you, Sira di Sarc—daughter of Jarad and Mirim, granddaughter of the Houses of Mendolar and Teerac, Serona and S’udlaat, descendant of the most ancient and powerful lineages recorded by our h
istorians—you will bear those sons and daughters for me. Since you have conveniently Commenced, I really don’t care if you remain able to enjoy your destiny.”
I came close to losing my few scraps of supper. I stared down, fighting for control, hating my new, so-useful body. Better to be mindless. No, I said to myself, reaching a new dark calm. I welcomed a ripple of memory, floated with it to what I needed. The control center of life was vulnerable here, and there. I could do it. I would do it. Once the drug was gone, I’d take my own life before Yihtor could steal my awareness of his defeat.
At such a moment, I was jarred by the feel, or was it a taste, of some change about me. With Yihtor’s attention momentarily claimed by some entertainers beginning to set up their props before our table, I looked around the huge room, frowning as I found myself searching the shadowed corners near the ceremonial doors. What was it I sensed? And how could I sense anything through the mind-numbing drug? For the sensation was strong enough now to recognize as a mental stirring—too faint to be identifiable, yet definitely there. Could the drug’s dosage have been weaker than Roraqk’s? Could Yihtor have been so sure I’d prefer to Choose him when the time came that he ensured my mind would be free? I fought to keep my reaction from him.
The nagging feeling continued. I lowered my gaze to my plate, feigning an interest in the latest offering. Something was about to change. I’d be ready. It was less than hope, but more than I’d had.
INTERLUDE
“I tell you there’s no one here.” Rael stood in the middle of the roadway, her frustration with their cautious exploration of the deserted town obvious and shared by her companions.
“We could be watched,” Huido warned, his own impatience schooled by experience. Eyes swiveled to examine the dark, paired windows overlooking the street. “Can you be sure these are empty?”
“We’re quite alone,” Rael repeated acidly. When neither Barac nor Morgan showed any disagreement with her claim, Huido’s eyes settled into a more relaxed pattern.
“Suggestions, Clanswoman?” Morgan asked. “I didn’t think our major problem would be getting Yihtor’s attention.”
A small frown showed Rael’s puzzlement. “I agree, Captain. Where could they have gone? And why?”
Barac had stepped away from the group, looking up and down the empty thoroughfare. Now he came back, head lowered ever so slightly, as if he waited for an attack. “Why no doors?” His tone was tense. “Is this a town or some kind of prison?”
Morgan seemed at ease, but his eyes and other senses continuously surveyed their surroundings. “No. Not a prison. Yet hardly a convenient place to live, unless—”
“Unless Yihtor’s people were all Clan,” Rael finished with reluctant conviction. “It makes sense, Barac. Living this way would mean having to move through the M’hir constantly; they could build up their own paths on this world much more quickly than usual.”
Huido shuffled his broad feet.
“What does it matter? They’re not here anyway.”
“It matters a great deal,” Barac disagreed instantly. “The three of us together may not be enough against Yihtor. We can’t manage so much as one more Clan as an enemy—and how many might live here?” A look meant for Rael. “Yihtor faked his own death—how many others might have done the same?”
“The Destarian exploded with twenty of our people on board,” Rael answered thoughtfully. “It wasn’t long after Yihtor’s supposed accident. There could have been others.”
She fell silent, her eyelids half-closed. Then they snapped open. “The M’hir here burns with pathways. There are almost as many as on Camos itself.”
“We have to notify the Council,” Barac said urgently. “Before it’s too late—”
“I’m not leaving Sira here,” Rael said firmly, not needing to glance at Morgan.
Barac sighed fatalistically. “Then let’s find her. And then can we run? We can’t afford to die without warning the Council about this place.”
Rael gestured to the rows of buildings. “Do you suggest searching for them through the M’hir? That should get Yihtor’s attention for us.”
Morgan was smiling gently at a memory. “Do either of you know how to augment a heart-search?”
Barac and Rael traded startled glances. “What do you know of the heart-search, Human?” the Clansman almost snarled.
“Sira helped me check on this big lummox, here,” an affectionate rap of knuckles on armor. Morgan didn’t appear worried by the pair’s surprise or Barac’s tone. “It seems an eavesdropper-proof method.”
“It is,” Rael concurred after a long moment during which she and her cousin communicated silently. “I shall—”
“No,” objected Barac aloud. “It must be Morgan.”
Rael’s beautiful face lost all color. “This isn’t the time or the place to debate your outrageous theories, Barac. I’m the one best suited to imaging Sira.”
“Rael.” Morgan’s voice was quiet but firm. “Barac told me what he thinks may be happening between Sira and me. I know you’re reluctant to accept his idea—it’s strange to me, as well.” His eyes had darkened, exerting force unconsciously. “But while Sira may remember you one day, Rael, right now I’m closer to her than anyone else. If that matters at all to this technique, and I think it must, then I’m the only possible choice.”
Rael looked unhappy, but there really was no logical argument. They all were aware of the truth in Morgan’s words, but, as they hunted for some sheltered place in which to attempt the search, Barac drew close to Morgan’s side. “The word choice was an unfortunate one, Human,” he muttered. “The heart-search could have the effect of triggering Sira’s power. You might not be able to withdraw in time to save yourself.”
Morgan let Rael and Huido go ahead, before turning to look directly at Barac. The Clansman’s face showed concern. Morgan was oddly touched. “Why are you so sure Sira would harm me? I’ve been in mental contact with her before.”
“Harm you?” Barac said. “Haven’t you listened to me? She’ll kill you. She’ll drag you into the void and leave you to die. And it wouldn’t be Sira—your destroyer would be a mindlessness, an instinct, less under her control than the orbit of this planet.” He stamped one foot on the packed earth of the roadway for emphasis. “Rael doesn’t believe me, but you must, for both our sakes. I think your power is alike enough to ours to trigger Choice. And you couldn’t survive Sira and the M’hir, Morgan, even if you were Clan and not merely Human.” Barac shook his head sadly. “No. There’s no hope for either of us if Sira has been completely freed from her stasis. Unless Yihtor were present . . .” His voice trailed away behind a sudden thought.
“What about Yihtor?” Morgan asked impatiently, noticing Rael and Huido had stopped in the shadow of a building to wait for them.
Barac ran one hand through his hair. “I don’t know. Council rejected him for some reason. But the nature of the Power-of-Choiceis to find and select superior power. Yihtor’s should be more attractive to Sira’s than ours. He might distract her from us.” His lean, elegant features took on a ruddy hue. “This is very distressing for me, Human. What should be kept private is becoming our usual topic!”
“Not as distressing as it is for Sira,” Morgan reminded him grimly.
“From your point of view, perhaps,” Barac’s reply was slow. “Maybe from hers—I don’t know this new Sira as you do. I find it difficult to ignore my fear. And I suggest you learn to share it, Morgan. For your own good.”
Chapter 29
I SQUIRMED again in my padded chair. A servant noticed my wiggling and stepped up to my elbow.
“More wine, Fem di Sarc?”
I grunted something negative, curling my hands around each other in an effort to hold them still. My bones itched. I found it harder as the hours dragged past to keep my twitching to myself and look dignified.
Looking dignified helped. What else could I do with all eyes turned my way, knowing all the unheard conversations were about Yi
htor’s Chosen? I looked down at the other guests, envying their privilege of walking among the tables or over to admire the fountains, not to mention their ability to leave.
If I glanced right—but I refused to acknowledge his presence by so much as that. I could feel Yihtor, anyway, like some cold draft sliding down my spine. He constantly and contentedly stayed by my side, acting the emperor he planned to become—with or without my consent. His confidence had beaten the wisp of something I’d experienced earlier into fantasy.
“Ah,” my host gave a long sound of satisfaction at the approach of a pair of Clansmen, each wearing robes of ornately paneled white. One carried a pair of roughly carved wooden goblets; the other held a matching pitcher.
Spectators in the hall were quick to notice the new arrivals. They hurried excitedly back to their seats. My boredom vanished with a cold thud in my stomach. It was time. There was no doubt in my mind that here was the heart of the ceremony of Joining to which Yihtor had referred.
“Your ignorance of the ceremony is unimportant, daughter of Jarad,” Yihtor said, voice pitched for my ears only. “Do as I say and do.” The bearers, both older than the majority of those here, placed their burdens on the table in front of me.
I concentrated on their faces, my attention caught by something strange. It wasn’t their expressions; it was a lack of awareness. They were like sleepers moving through a dream. No, I decided; it was something worse; something I’d seen before. They were hands and face, skin and flesh, moved only by Yihtor’s will.
Gistries, I thought, swallowing bile, forcing myself to look straight at the fate she’d died to avoid. I hadn’t understood, never truly believed she’d been right.
As I studied the mindless Clansmen, I felt a draining beginning at my head, moving down to chill my shoulders, arms, and upper body. It was as though my life-blood was melting away, leaving only the decision to make it final. The draining and decision were infinitely soothing, like a good end to a story.
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