As so many were lost. I fought to keep the tide of grief from the child; sent a plea for help. Aryl—
An instant response, patient yet firm. Your friends are sad and you want to help, Andi. This won’t, trust me. You’ll hurt yourself and them.
A lower lip quivered. I don’t know what else to do. I promised.
Ask Rasa and your other friends to share good memories of those who are gone. Write down the names they share. The most important help you can give them is to be happy. Play together. That most of all.
Then, with a little snap. And teach them some manners when they ’port before you startle your poor elders.
Dimples returned. Yes, Aryl. Her head tilted. “Dre’s calling me, Sira. May I go now?”
As if I’d a choice. “Have fun.”
My hands dropped through empty air.
We did what we could. Children must leap to learn to safely fall.
In the canopy, I countered as I stood, uneasy at having let Andi go without a sterner warning. Vines and giant fronds could be grabbed by small hands; only strength of will and personal Power mattered in the M’hir.
I opened my sense to that other space, sought a particular mind. There. Ruti.
Sira. Power in abundance here. Along with an air of distraction the young Clanswoman put aside at once to focus on me. What is it?
I shared the memory of our conversation with Andi, finishing with, what do you think?
That I should keep an eye on her, came the prompt reply, and will. What about her parents? An afterthought, but Ruti was right. Nik and Josa should be made aware.
Presenting its own difficulty. Like Holl and her Chosen, Leesems, the pair had been M’hir Denouncers, convinced its use would lead to the downfall of the Clan. Unlike them, Nik and Josa clung to my mother’s teachings. To have a daughter ready and eager to leap, as Aryl put it, into the M’hir couldn’t be easy on them.
Did they even understand the risks? There’d been a time I’d had to relearn everything, from the existence of the M’hir to its dangers—
To what I was.
Pointless, to regret any of it. I couldn’t have stayed half of myself. Couldn’t have loved Morgan as I did—or helped my people. Still, the part of me that empathized with Nik and Josa and the rest of my mother’s people knew what I’d given up in return. Had I stayed that person—been, as I’d believed, Human—I felt the M’hir churn and slapped it down. I’ll talk to Nik and Josa.
Let me, Ruti sent, adding matter-of-factly, You’d scare them.
Amused agreement from Aryl.
Go ahead, I conceded. Keep me informed.
I will, Sira. I could almost see Ruti’s grin. Now go eat.
The answering growl from my stomach prevented a more dignified response.
Food packets were stored on a lower deck, dispensed twice daily through a wide opening from rotating racks, to be collected and brought to those waiting in the galley.
Sona’s helpful distraction had been to send those racks spinning out of control, littering the storeroom floor. A little too helpful, I decided, wincing at the growing stacks on the tables in front of me. Two Clan, arms full, appeared, left their burden, and disappeared. More to come, then.
The galley had seating for our number and no more, Sona somehow aware how many it carried. Most of those seats were empty. During shipday, with warmth restored, the Clan spread out. There were tasks to be done: some essential, such as moving packets and refuse or caring for children; some, in my opinion, less so, but they helped pass time. Our lack of records inspired several. Those mapping out potential matches between unChosen were doing their best to create a genealogy, and a trio of Om’ray scholars had begun a history of the Clan. This group’s approach being to question at tedious length anyone who’d sit still, I made myself busy elsewhere.
I’d no idea how the rest spent their days.
They couldn’t all still be picking up in the storeroom.
“Sira!” Holl di Licor beckoned me to the table where she and four others were sorting the flat silver packets. As I came up to her, she pressed one into my hands. “Here.”
With so many to choose from, I’d looked forward to a guilt-free indulgence. Certain packets contained something very like nicnics; this wasn’t one of them. “Thank you,” I said, swallowing my disappointment. “What are you doing?” They weren’t sorting, as I’d first thought, but inspecting each packet closely before putting it into one of two groups.
“Look at this.” Holl indicated a hair-thin crack along the side with every evidence of disgust. “Striking the floor damaged the wrapping.”
“So don’t eat it,” I ventured hopefully, starting to hand the offending packet back.
Frowns from all five. “Yes, eat it. A compromised packet must be consumed as soon as possible,” the scientist informed me. “We’ve no means to return them to stasis or even keep them cold. In my judgment, the contents won’t last more than a few hours at best.”
Most of what was here could spoil, then. I lowered my voice. “How serious is it?”
She blinked. “I wouldn’t call it serious. The Om’ray think it shameful to waste what could be used. Rather than waste these, we should use them. That’s all.”
Save me from the planetborn, I thought. The food we had was what the ship doled out each day, rationed from a supply that would inevitably—even if enough for more than were on board—end. The below-freezing nights precluded any attempt to produce our own food. Coincidence? Unlikely, according to Morgan.
Morgan, who was little more than distant preoccupation, being focused on his immediate concern.
Don’t invent more, I warned myself, forcing a smile. “Of course, Holl. You’re right. Thanks for this,” I lifted the packet.
Planetborn, but not slow by any means. “Are you concerned over the food, Sira?” Holl asked in a low voice. “What does the ship say? If there are repairs needed—”
>I do not require repair, Keeper.<
Was that a tinge of annoyance?
My own, certainly, having the ship interrupt. “Sona claims to be fine,” I replied, preferring truth to accuracy.
“Good to hear.” Holl’s guarded expression told me she understood the difference. “I’ll have someone do a final sweep through the storage area once we’re done.” Her lips sounded out “Morgan.”
No one better, but I’d no idea how long my Human would need. “Ask Barac.” I grinned. “Give him something to do.”
Other than help his Chosen with the ship’s children.
I took my meal to an empty table, eating with slow care. There were green biscuits that tasted fishy—or like pepper, depending on how long they sat on the tongue—as well as shiny purple globes reminiscent of spiced tea. The sum was nutritious, without the metabolic accelerants of the Om’ray diet.
Along our link, I knew the moment Morgan laid his palm, space-tanned and callused, over Ruis’.
Deliberately, I took another bite.
She’d be surprised. My Chosen, especially in the M’hir, was unlike any Clan. Warm, real, and reassuring, his presence was steady and sure, as if nothing there could disturb him, a steadiness that revealed astonishing Power. That didn’t make him invulnerable.
Not that I’d interfere.
Not, more grimly, that I’d leave him linked to another Clan mind without protection.
I chewed, ignoring taste, dismissing texture, my awareness of Jason Morgan strengthening until his heartbeat became a counterpoint to my own.
On guard.
Interlude
TO MORGAN, the M’hir flowed away, before and behind, as an endless beach, with firm yet yielding sand beneath his feet, the only sound the gentle lap of black waves to either side. Waves to watch, for they could become a tumultuous nightmare without warning, their foam like flame, able to sweep him away if he wasn’t awa
re and braced.
Sira? If she were close, the light of her presence would burn away the dark and calm the sea to glass.
Ruis had no such impact. Her mind manifested in the M’hir as a faint indecisive shimmer, near, but not. They needn’t be here to communicate—and wouldn’t. But such introduction between adults was, according to Sira, important.
He’d the feeling his Chosen liked her kind to see him here, not that she’d ever told him why.
Introduction complete, by mutual agreement he and Ruis let go of the M’hir, their thoughts mingled only at their outermost layering. Wait. There. The path to the depths of her well-organized mind, unprotected.
A test, no doubt, of Human manners. Ruis had the Talent and skill to make him regret any intrusion.
Manners he had. As for his own mind—well, what he wouldn’t share lay locked, shrouded, and beyond any possible reach. He let no one but Sira behind those shields. That there were some beyond which even she couldn’t pass, not without damaging his mind?
Half the fun.
The tempting path vanished. I am ready. Show me the child, Morgan.
He guided Ruis through his memories of what had happened, protecting her, as much as possible, from those of the backlash that had consumed him and almost his Chosen.
She wasn’t fooled. Risky, the Om’ray commented. And for an unChosen? Before he could react, she continued with overtones of respect. Well done. But you’ve more to share, and worse, have you not?
Perceptive, but a Healer-of-minds would be. Other Healers could remove a blockage or repair injury to the brain, but very few had the Talent to grasp and manipulate the workings of a mind.
Yes, he replied, letting her feel his concern. I fear Eloe and these Chosen are only the beginning.
You believe their madness has spread, despite our care? Doubt. I’ve seen no evidence of it.
Not spread. He readied another, much older memory. I fear—confined in this ship, with no escape? It wasn’t fear. It was sickening terror. I fear what’s happened to the Clan has left wounds, wounds that will fester and become madness unless we heal them first. I know it can happen—
Memories gushed forth as though from a reopened wound. Terrible, consuming. War. Loss. Rage born of grief twisting into self-destruction—
The agonizingly slow process to heal, to let go the past, to begin to live again. Hard, leaving that pain, even now. Hard—
Beloved. Sira, nearer than he’d expected, letting him feel her presence. He followed her calm warmth along their link.
As Morgan came back, Sira retreated, leaving him alone with Ruis.
To Om’ray, those who have gone before are no longer real, Ruis assured him, her mindvoice distant and proud. We do not cling to our dead, as you or the M’hiray—
Have you rung the bells? Aryl’s mindvoice glanced by Morgan like a sharp and bitter wind, aimed at Ruis. Have you spoken their names the final time? Om’ray may no longer feel the dead, but let us have truth here, Healer. You are the last of the Rayna Adepts—what of your fellows? You had children—a brother—his family—
Ruis let out a cry, but Aryl, far stronger, had neither compunction nor pity. Your dead haunt your memory, Healer. The wind fell away, became like pealing bells. As do mine. As do those of everyone aboard. We will be in pain until we have paid those respects and have time to mourn. Do not dare deny—
The connection broke.
Morgan withdrew his hand, his eyes locked on Ruis’. Though hers were dry and met his with a surely justified anger in their depths, she caught her lower lip between her teeth and was silent.
Perhaps thinking better of a protest.
“No time.” He used Aryl’s word. “No certainty or comfort. Only this ship and where it might take us. Under such strain no wonder minds are crumbling. I’m amazed more haven’t. We need to act before they do, Ruis. Heal their wounds.”
“What you suggest is impossible.” Almost bitter. “To pull a mind back from the brink, yes, that we can sometimes accomplish—if we catch that mind before it fails. But these wounds you speak of—” Ruis grimaced. “Grief and dark memories. Despair and unhappiness. Who doesn’t struggle with those now? Morgan, you know as well as I do our Talent can’t heal what isn’t yet broken. Our only recourse is to watch for signs—”
“We’re trapped in a can,” he countered grimly. “Wait for madness to manifest, and it’ll be too late.”
Ruis gestured understanding. “The problem—and its answer. We must end this journey and get off the ship. Be under a sky—a proper roof. Feel some hope, Morgan. That above all.”
Circling back to Sona, again. To a shipmind that wouldn’t—or couldn’t—answer the most basic questions about where and when and how. There had to be a way— “Which may never happen,” he said, a warning to himself as much as the other Healer-of-minds. “What then?”
“One. Two and three.” She made an unfamiliar gesture, brushing her palms across one another with each number to produce a soft susurration. “Eloe and her heart-kin took most of your strength. I value your skills and know my own, Jason Morgan, but if it is all of us, or even most? Four, five, six—” her hands moving faster and faster, more numbers tumbling forth, “—fifteen—” becoming a blur—
He trapped her hands midstrike. Held them. “There’s too many,” the Human agreed, his voice catching in his throat. “I know. We couldn’t heal them all, not in time. But maybe we won’t have to—not if we ease the strain within everyone’s mind at once.”
“I’ve told you—” She stopped, staring at him. “You would use the Maker. Morgan, no!”
“Yes. I’ve seen it in action. You were Rayna’s Keeper. You know how to use it.”
Ruis hesitated. When she spoke, it was as though the words were being pulled from her. “I’ve sent the dreams. Helped those Lost. But this—I wouldn’t know how.” She turned her hands in his, tightened her grip before letting go. “Even if I did, I’m not Sona’s Keeper.” Softer. “Even if I were, Morgan, there’s a greater problem.” She nodded at the di Kessa’ats, still asleep—or unconscious—in their beds. “Everyone knows what the Maker did to the M’hiray, how it changed them into different people. No one will allow its use again.”
“We don’t tell them.”
Her head rose sharply, hair twitching at the ends. “Dreaming to learn what’s needed by a Clan is one thing. What you’re suggesting—it’s Forbidden.”
“So is letting people suffer when we could have helped.” The mind he’d touched cared more for her patients than her own life. “So is risking the lives of everyone on this ship, because it could come to that, Ruis, if any go mad and strike out, instead of in.”
The Rayna closed her eyes. He waited without moving, watched her hair slowly settle over her shoulders.
When her eyes opened, their expression was bleak. “We need proof of all this. We Heal these two.” Ruis indicated the di Kessa’ats. “If you’re right and their illness is like Eloe’s, we search for similarities that could be warning signs. If—if, Morgan, we find such signs, we look for them in others. If we prove more are at risk, that we can identify them, then—” with conviction, “—we take what we’ve found to Council. They must decide what to do. It’s not up to us.”
“Agreed,” he said. “But if we find those signs, the trick’s who to test first.” Of course, the Human nodded to himself. “Council. Decent sample of our population, none more discreet, and—as you say—it’s their decision. What better way to show them the urgency of making one?”
Her lips had parted in a half-gasp. Very slowly, they curved into the first full smile he’d seen on her face. “You are different. I keep forgetting that.”
Morgan gave a small bow. “Some never will,” he replied honestly.
“‘You can’t make an Oud swim.’” Ruis’ smile faded. “We need new sayings. As far as I’m concerned, you’r
e the finest Healer-of-minds I’ve ever met, Morgan. You’d have made an exceptional Keeper.” She gestured apology. “By so saying, I mean no slight to your Chosen. Though untrained for the position, Sira’s done well.”
By not doing anything—despite being unsaid, the qualification came through, loud and clear. Morgan grinned. “She’ll appreciate that.”
As for his being Keeper?
Oh, he’d been thinking about that, too, in his “different” way. Ruis was right about one thing—the sooner they’d a realistic hope of leaving this ship, the sooner most could start to heal on their own.
Which required answers Sona wasn’t providing.
First things first. Heal these two, then—
Sira, he sent to his Chosen, would you join us?
Chapter 5
GIVE ME A MOMENT.
Morgan’s unexpected invitation could mean they needed me. Just as likely, I grinned to myself, he’d decided having me there was better than my listening along our link, but I wasn’t about to ask. Instead, I warmed four more of the damaged packets, reasoning they might be welcome—and it made Holl happy.
Then formed the locate and concentrated . . .
. . . I arrived, at a small distance, and quietly put the packets down on the nearest table.
Morgan and Ruis didn’t notice, being busy doing whatever Healers-of-minds did for those in need.
I sat by the packets to watch. Not that there was much to see. Fingers on foreheads; looks of effort and concentration. Matching frowns that eased before I could start to worry.
And, in the end, eyelids opening on sane awareness. Ruis looked at Morgan. Something passed between them before she went back to Luek di Kessa’at, murmuring as she loosened the Clanswoman’s wrappings.
Nyso, finding a Human leaning over him, twisted himself in a sheet-encumbered knot and fell off the bed, squawking like one of his Chosen’s birds.
Why we’d saved the pair—
Prejudice, according to Morgan, was a greater problem for the one who harbored it. At the time, he’d been referring to my wearing a space helmet to our meeting with a roomful of Lemmicks, thus bringing the meeting to a swift, unprofitable end. There may have been insults, but as they were honked, loudly, I couldn’t swear to it.
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