“You’ve had some kind of virus, we think. You’ve been very feverish, but the fever broke last night.” The woman gestured at the soup. “Please, go ahead. I know you must be hungry.” Tiran gratefully lifted the bowl and tasted the soup. It was a simple vegetable soup but it tasted heavenly. She started to eat more quickly.
“This is the home of the Women of the Tender Heart,” her host explained brightly while Tiran ate. “You collapsed at the door to our soup kitchen, and we brought you in. My name is Sister Lucie.”
“Women of the Tender Heart?” Tiran asked between spoonfuls.
“Yes, we’re a small order. We worship Veshti according to the old ways, caring for the forgotten ones in the city,” Sister Lucie explained as she pulled back the curtains to the single window. Sunlight filtered into the room making its starkly bare appearance more cheerful. Tiran finished her soup and placed the bowl back on the tray. She swung her feet around and touched the cold floor with bare feet. Glancing down she saw her fancy party slippers scuffed and scraped but placed neatly next to the bed. She smiled sadly. Markus hadn’t produced an extra pair of shoes to go with her now filthy and crumpled skirt and blouse. She had had to wear the shoes she had worn to the ball. It seemed like ages ago already. A sob rose in her throat. What had happened to Markus? Had someone in the Brotherhood gotten to him too?
Sister Lucie was staring at her curiously. Tiran slipped on the shoes and stood unsteadily. “Thank you so much for all your help, Sister Lucie. I wish I could repay you, and someday maybe I’ll be able to,” Tiran said gratefully.
“Are you sure you feel well enough to get up?” Sister Lucie said worriedly.
Tiran wasn’t sure at all, but four days! She had to find a way to get a hold of her father.
“If you are feeling well enough to rise,” Sister Lucie said, “I think Sister Marna would like to speak with you. She’s the head of our order.” It was a polite request, and Tiran agreed without reservation. Maybe this Sister Marna would be able to help. Sister Lucie led her through the door and down a plain white hallway. Several closed doors lined the hallway; Tiran assumed they must be the rooms of the other members of the order. At the end of the hallway, Sister Lucie knocked on the door gently.
“Come in,” a voice answered calmly. Sister Lucie opened the door and ushered Tiran in. An older lady sat behind a scarred desk, writing smoothly on a piece of letter paper. She wore a gray dress identical to that of Sister Lucie, with her snow white hair pulled back from her face by a headband, then falling softly to her shoulders. Her face was deeply lined and her hands were wrinkled, but for some reason she gave off an aura of energy. Tiran was drawn to her at once.
“It’s the young lady, Sister Marna. She is feeling much better, and I brought her to see you like you asked,” Sister Lucie explained.
“Thank you, Sister Lucie.” The younger woman nodded to Tiran and closed the door.
“Please have a seat,” the other woman invited courteously. Tiran sat primly in the chair opposite the desk. “If you’ll wait just half a moment I am nearly done with this letter.” Tiran accepted, and she glanced idly around the office. It was just as plain as the room she had slept in. The only major difference was that this room had no window. Plus she noted a trio of yellow daisies in a vase on the desk. They boldly defied the surrounding asceticism, and Tiran felt measurably brightened. Funny how simple things could do that. When was the last time she had noticed and taken pleasure in a few flowers?
Sister Marna put down her pen and folded her letter. Stowing it inside a drawer, she turned her full attention to Tiran. “How are you feeling, my dear?” she asked kindly.
“I’m feeling much better, thank you. I am so grateful for all of your help. I don’t know what I would have done.”
“Not at all, my dear one. We were simply following Veshti’s example in caring for those who cross our path.” Tiran squirmed uncomfortably. Her parents had never talked about religion much. It was disquieting to hear a god spoken of as if he was a real person, someone Sister Marna knew personally. Sister Marna seemed to read her thoughts and took pity on her by changing the subject.
“What are you planning to do now?” she asked. “I don’t think you are used to life on the streets,” she added, with a pointed glance at Tiran’s party slippers.
“I need to find some way to contact my father,” Tiran explained. “I came here with a friend, but we were separated, and I don’t know anyone here. But if I can get a hold of my father I know he’ll come get me. He’s probably worried sick,” she finished, more to herself.
“Where is your father?” questioned Sister Marna.
“In Roma. He’s the ambassador from the Union.” At this, Sister Marna’s countenance grew very grave. She sat silently for a moment before answering, her serious eyes studying Tiran’s face intently. Tiran wondered suddenly if these kind women were unhappy with the Union’s influence on Corizen. She was still searching for something to break the silence that couldn’t possibly be offensive when Sister Marna spoke again, this time very quietly.
“I am afraid that getting in contact with your father may be quite difficult at this time. The embassy at the International Complex was bombed yesterday.”
Tiran gasped. It wasn’t possible. Her life was turning into one never-ending nightmare! Had something happened to her father too? Sister Marna saw the terrified look on Tiran’s face and hastened to add, “I do not think your father was hurt, my dear child. The news reported that the Union Ambassador left the planet last night.”
Tiran sat in petrified silence on her chair. How could her father leave now? Didn’t he want to find her? She had counted on her father to come and rescue her from this terrible mess. Maybe with her mother dead her father had quit caring about her. She choked back a sob and pushed the thought away. She had to hold herself together and find a way out of this. There was no one she could depend on now but herself.
Sister Marna was studying her thoughtfully, one finger absently tapping the table. “Our order is very much removed from the world, my child. I am the only one in the order who watches the news streams or reads the local gazettes, and I only do so to make sure I can protect our order if necessary. With so many terrible things happening lately, it has been vital for me to keep informed at all times.”
Tiran looked at her curiously. What did that have to do with her?
“What is your name, child?” she questioned.
“Tiran Morten.”
“Ah, I thought so,” she said with a sigh. “It is even more difficult than I thought,” she continued to herself. Abruptly, the woman rose and started to pace the small room. Tiran watched her in alarm. What could possibly be more difficult? As it looked right now, her life seemed hopelessly bleak. Finally, Sister Marna stopped and turned to face Tiran.
“Before I decide what to do, I must know something,” she said directly. “Are you in truth the daughter of Sirra and Laeren Bruche?”
Tiran was taken aback. She had never been asked that question, not directly, and all her life she had been taught to keep it a secret. She couldn’t answer; her mouth hung open in shock.
“Some of the newscasts are speculating that this is the case,” Sister Marna explained quietly, her eyes probing Tiran’s face. “It seems they’ve dredged up some obscure member of the Resistance who claims that Laeren Bruche had a child who would now be about your age.” Tiran bit her lip in fear. This was exactly the kind of thing she didn’t want to hear. Should she tell this stranger the truth? She wavered for a moment. Yet she felt she could trust Sister Marna. She hoped so.
“Yes,” Tiran admitted at last. “My real father died when I was a baby. But my stepfather has been the one to raise me, and I use his name.”
Sister Marna sat back down heavily in her chair. “So it comes back to me.” She raised her eyes to the ceiling and muttered, “Veshti, thy will be done. I will shoulder this burd
en thou hast seen fit to give me.”
She turned back to Tiran and continued in a businesslike tone. “My dear child, you are in grave danger. It was recently reported on the news that you are the number one name on the Red List of the Brotherhood.”
“Me?” gasped Tiran. “Why? What did I do?”
“Nothing,” Sister Marna continued, barely masking her anger. “There are rumors that the Oman of the Brotherhood declares that Veshti wants the line of Laeren Bruche erased. Veshti’s ways are mysterious, of course, but here in Kruundin City we know what Sirra Bruche did for us. We remember the suffering she ended, and I cannot believe this is the will of our God.” Her voice trembled with passion.
Tiran’s eyes dropped to her lap, and she struggled hard against the tears. She didn’t want to think about her mother but the memories came flooding back. She pressed her hand to her mouth.
“My dear girl, I had forgotten,” Sister Marna cried apologetically. “Your mother . . . you do know that your mother . . .” she said hesitantly.
Tiran nodded, and she couldn’t hold the tears back any longer. Putting her face in her hands she wept uncontrollably. Sister Marna rose and sat next to Tiran. Putting an arm around Tiran’s shoulder she said softly, “It’s been only a few days since you lost your mother. It is all right to cry, my dear. Don’t hold it in.”
She sat patiently with Tiran while the tears seemed to go on forever. It felt like a great weight had lifted off Tiran’s shoulders. She could finally quit pretending that she was fine. Finally, when her tears seemed to ease, Sister Marna smoothed Tiran’s hair away from her forehead. “Hold on to hope, my dear,” she whispered. “We don’t really lose the ones we love. Not forever.”
Slightly comforted, Tiran finally raised her eyes to Sister Marna’s.
“But what am I going to do?” she said, hiccupping as her sobs died away.
“Don’t worry, child. We’ll take care of you,” Sister Marna promised. So Tiran put her life into the hands of the Women of the Tender Heart. What other choice did she have?
13. Recovery
It was a bright spring day on Zenith when Andie finally woke from her coma. She looked around at the hospital equipment and the nurse at her side. Blinking her eyes against the harsh fluorescent lights, she frowned in confusion. She blearily tried to figure out what she was doing in a hospital. She had been searching for something. What was it? Had she found it?
“How are you feeling, Andie?”
She turned in surprise, wincing at the soreness in her neck. “Dad?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. The confusion deepened. She had been searching for Scott, right? Her date had disappeared and she had gone looking for him and slipped in the snow. Wasn’t that it? It didn’t feel quite right though. Where was she? She hadn’t seen her father in years. Or had it just seemed like years? Her father was standing over her, his face deeply lined and his hair completely white. He was wearing a plain long sleeve shirt over dark work pants. She didn’t remember him looking so old.
“Where am I?” she managed, her voice a bit stronger. A nurse was checking a computer panel on the side of the medical capsule.
“Omphalos Central Hospital on Zenith. Casey sent you to us,” her father explained calmly. Suddenly it all came flooding back. She had been searching for Tiran. Oanni had found them, and Tiran had left with Erron Kruunde.
“Tiran!” she cried hoarsely. “Dad, they’ve got Tiran!” The nurse stepped back to her side. “Easy now,” she soothed. “You need to stay quiet, ma’am, for your own good.” She motioned to another medic who had come to the door.
“Just stay calm, Andie,” her father ordered evenly. “You can’t do anything to help Tiran if you don’t get better. Relax. Casey is taking care of it.” Andie fought down her wave of panic. She needed answers, and her father seemed to be the only one who could give them to her. Trying to force herself to calm down didn’t seem to be working though. Her heart seemed to race faster and faster, and she could barely breathe.
She felt a sudden pinch on her upper arm and turned to see the medic injecting something into her arm. Moments later her anxiety lessened, and she seemed to be floating peacefully in her bed. She remembered her missing daughter and all the questions she had, but suddenly they just didn’t seem quite so urgent. There was time to rest after all.
The nurse was monitoring the panel at Andie’s side. She nodded at Andie’s father. “Five minutes, Admiral,” she instructed. He sat down in a chair at Andie’s bedside.
“Feel better?” he asked gently.
“Mmm-hmm,” Andie murmured. She could understand her father just fine, and things weren’t fuzzy, but for some reason she just couldn’t manage to feel anxious at all. What a powerful drug, she thought dreamily. It’s nice not to worry about things for once.
“Do you remember what happened to you?” her dad questioned quietly.
“Yes. Oanni shot me at the Inaugural Ball,” Andie answered tranquilly.
Her father frowned. “That crazy old steward of the man who held you hostage on Corizen all those years ago? Casey didn’t tell me that.” Andie started to nod and stopped. Moving her head was painful.
“So Casey found Tiran, then?” she asked her father in return.
Her father hesitated. “Not yet. He was working on it with a staff dedicated just to finding her, Andie. I’m sure we will hear from him as soon as he finds her.”
“Oh,” Andie’s heart sank, but still she didn’t worry about it. She was starting to get drowsy. “Kendra?” she continued.
“Kendra is just fine. She traveled here with you.”
She tried to focus on her father but it was getting harder and harder. What was she trying to ask him about again?
“Your mother is anxious to see you. She’ll try to be here the next time you wake up.” Andie’s eyes had closed by now. Her father’s voice seemed to be coming through a fog. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she felt his hand pressed to her cheek just before sleep took her completely.
♦
The next time she woke up it was her mother at her side.
“Andie!” she cried softly when Andie opened her eyes and turned her head. She rose quickly and gently hugged her daughter. “I’m so glad to see you awake. We’ve been so worried.” She backed a bit and looked at Andie’s status panel herself. “You are doing much better though.”
Andie coughed and tried to roll over, but she couldn’t manage it. “Is it that bad? I thought I was just shot. People survive that all the time.”
Her mother laughed grimly. “You were shot at close range with a diffusing laser, Andie. You are lucky to be alive at all.” Andie groaned and tried to stretch.
“I’ve never felt so stiff. I know I’m not young anymore, but it feels like I haven’t stretched out in months,” she complained with a yawn. Her mother shot her a guarded look but Andie wasn’t really paying attention.
“So when can I get out of here, Mom?” she asked impatiently.
Her mother smiled. “You are still my action-loving girl, aren’t you? Some things never change.”
“You’re trying to avoid my question, Mom. You haven’t changed either,” Andie returned lightly. “Seriously, how long do I have to stay in the hospital?”
“You’re anxious to get home.” It wasn’t a question.
“Of course! I have to find Tiran! Doesn’t anybody understand that?” Andie’s voice trembled. “Mom, they’re monsters, those men who have Tiran. We have to find her before . . . before they hurt her. I don’t want her to go through what I went through.” Her voice choked up, and the tears started sliding down her cheeks. Her mother sighed softly and leaned forward toward the bed.
“Oh, Andie, we all want Tiran safe just as much as you do, but you see, you were in a coma for a long time—almost five months by the standard calendar,” her mother explained gently.
A
ndie’s tears stopped abruptly.
“Do you mean that Tiran has been missing for five months?” she asked incredulously.
“Yes. Casey’s team has been searching and they only traced her a short way from the Palace. They found her ball gown in the apartment of the man she left with and hints that they had gone to Nubia. But they haven’t found any trace of her on Nubia yet.”
Andie’s heart began to race. They couldn’t have killed her! Not Tiran! But if she had been missing for that long, in the hands of someone like Oanni or Erron Kruunde, was it really better for her to still be alive?
Her mother’s hand closed over hers. Andie turned to see her mother fighting back tears. “If I could have spared you this I would have, Andie. You’ve been through so much. We would give anything to have our granddaughter back safe and sound. But you need to prepare yourself for the likelihood that she is no longer alive.” Andie listened to her mom in shock and disbelief. Then she grew angry.
“But how could I just give up on her?” she demanded of her mother. “You never gave up on me. All those years people kept insisting I was dead, and you believed I wasn’t. You were right, too!”
Her mother didn’t say anything. She just stroked Andie’s hand gently. Andie’s anger melted away as quickly as it had flared. Instead, she just felt gnawing fear.
“She’s alive somewhere, Mom. She has to be,” Andie pleaded. Her mother didn’t answer, and Andie couldn’t hold back her own tears any longer. It was as if the gates had been opened to a new kind of emotional agony. How could she go on for years not knowing if Tiran was alive? What if she was? What were they doing to her? The two women cried together until interrupted by the medic who came to check on Andie.
When her mother left in the evening, Andie lay with her thoughts rushing through her head, possible horrors that Tiran could be suffering. Finally she could stand it no longer. She decided that no matter what, she was going back to Corizen. She would find Tiran herself or die trying. There was no other option.
Corizen Rising Page 11
