by Mark Eller
Aaron reached out to shake her hand. Her grip was gentle. "It's a deal. For what it's worth, I can listen too."
"Of course, you can. That's what friends are for."
* * *
The tea had too much sugar in it. Granules pooled on the bottom of his cup, refusing to dissolve. The stains on the cup's exterior were old and faded and comfortable, a perfect match for the homelike atmosphere of their surroundings. The room was littered with randomly placed sets of mismatched furniture. Some of the seats had torn cushions, and a few tables were less than level, but nobody seemed to care. Folded napkins beneath table legs resolved that problem.
Aaron was not sure how Felicity had found this bistro, but there had been a time when he would have cherished it. It was peaceful and sedate, a place where the world could be pushed aside and looked at with irony. Cathy's Reading Emporium had been something like this, a relaxing spot for friendship and thoughtful contemplation. He had loved spending his evenings there.
That was then. A lifetime ago. Lost loves and several murders ago. Aaron was no longer the same man, and because of the changes within himself, this was not a comfortable atmosphere.
Felicity set her cup on a small table beside her comfortable chair. Leaning back, she flexed her shoulders. The faint smell of salty, clean sweat rolled off her body.
"I'm ready to address two issues. One is something you brought up. The other is something you ignored completely."
"Go ahead," Aaron encouraged.
"The first is this Thirty Clans thing. I have to admit that they have a point, but it's a very personalized and skewed point. Both you and they believe Clan lost the war a little quicker because of your involvement, but you didn't start the war, and you didn't fight in it." She raised an inquiring eyebrow.
"I can't tell you what I did. I signed non-disclosure papers."
She nodded. "Yes. I know that's true because my Talent doesn't want me to pursue it or the other secret you truly want to hide."
Leaning forward, she jabbed a finger at him. "The thing is, I'll accept that you believe you had a major part in the war. I'll even accept that you think your part helped win the war early. None of that means Isabella would have lost without your help. We have a better ability to wage war than Clan do. We know how to raise troops, and we know more about strategy and tactics because our historians kept track of the battles and wars of all our varied ancestors. We have an advanced educational system and trained generals. We can also wage a year-long war without worrying about our crops and herds. Now, I'll admit that I'm not an expert on Clan, but I have a few friends who are fascinated by them. As I understand it, the clans are divided into two parts: nomads and villagers. Neither thinks of war as something to be desired or avoided, but when war does break out, it's usually between two villages or between two nomadic clans. In our case, we warred against nomads who didn't have experienced generals or a cohesive plan."
She patted his hand. "No, Aaron, the Thirty Clans had no choice but to lose that war. Your actions may have sped things along somewhat, but the overall body count would have been higher if you hadn't become involved."
"Maybe," Aaron reluctantly admitted because other people who knew more facts had told him the same thing. This viewpoint offered him a way out of his guilt, but he wasn't sure he wanted to take it. "Still, the people killed because of me were their leaders. I helped the clans lose hundreds of their best minds."
She snorted. "Please, don't tell me you're some kind of elitist. Are you saying that the life of a smart man is worth more than that of an average one? Better example, are you telling me that any one life is worth more than two or three, that it is right to deliberately sacrifice a thousand people to save the lives of ten or a hundred others?"
Torn, Aaron did feel some lives were worth more. Many of the Clan's best leaders had been killed by weapons he had provided to Talented snipers wearing Talent stones he had given them. A few of those dead leaders could possibly have led the Thirty Clans to more prosperous times, ensuring that fewer women and men and, most especially, children did not die at the enormous rates common with barbarian tribes.
Then again, pushing his guilt aside, Aaron had to admit that realistically, there was only one real answer. A person's worth did not matter on whether a man or woman was mentally or physically superior. Genius or idiot, warrior or scholar, everyone was loved by many people. Parents and lovers and friends and children loved people despite the loved one's potential or lack of it. Some of the most average people had the greatest hearts. Sometimes the intelligent ones embraced evil, and in many cases, genius hid itself away in a search for mediocrity.
Coward that he was, he opted to sidestep the issue entirely.
"I killed their messiah." Try as he might, he could not make himself feel bad about that one. Felicity must have seen this in his face because she had no patience with his statement.
"Oh, for the Two Gods' sake! Why don't you pull my other finger? First of all, you won't make me believe for one moment that you regret killing the man who murdered your family. I also don't believe the clans are all that unhappy he's gone. I think he was one messiah who had worn out his welcome long before he quit this sphere."
Smiling ruefully, Aaron remembered eavesdropping on Beech when he tried to convince the clans to resume their war. He nodded to Felicity, granting her a point he had not been trying to win. He felt no guilt over killing Beech. The man deserved to die, but so many others had not deserved their fate. Despite what Felicity said, the war might have ended with less bloodshed if Aaron had not become involved. As he recalled, the Isabellan Guard had not been enthused about fighting. Isabella might have done nothing more than set up a permanent blockade across the pass if Aaron had not given them rifles and Talent Stones. No, this was one guilt he could not cast into the wind.
"You said there were two things," he pointed out. "I'm almost afraid to ask about the second one."
Felicity set her gaze directly into his eyes. "You should be afraid. The next point shows that you're both blind and thoughtless or else just plain stupid. Aaron, how long ago did this attack on you take place?"
Aaron did some quick calculating. "About ten days back."
"Does your wife know you're unhurt? When listening to your tale, not once did I hear of you sending a letter to tell her you're not dead. You two may be estranged, but the matter of your survival might be of some interest to her."
Aaron went cold. Oh, Gods. How could he have let that one slip by him? Oh damn. Oh damn. Kit would kill him. There was no way around it. She would just flat-out kill him. When that woman got mad, she wrapped fury around her like it was a coat from hell.
Felicity didn't need to hear him say it. "I can tell from your expression that it never occurred to you." Her face was a careful mask. At this moment she was not too pleased with her new friend.
"No, I never thought about it," Aaron admitted. "Too much else was going on, and then a day or two went by, and then it somehow slipped my mind. It isn't as if she's the first thing I think of every morning when I wake up. She has sort of arranged things so she's the last."
"Thing?" Felicity shook her head. "Aaron, you have to face the truth. This matter isn't entirely her doing. It's yours, too. You married Kitty because your beloved Sarah wanted you to marry her. You liked Kit but didn't love her. She knew this from the start. Do you really think she would invest effort into loving you after that? No woman would. Kit couldn't compete with Sarah, so she settled for loving only Sarah."
"Sarah isn't here anymore," Aaron said sadly, forcing the memory of her charred body from his mind. "She died."
"She died," Felicity agreed. "She died, and Kit faced a battle against more than the woman you loved. She had to fight against your idealized memory of Sarah. If the last battle was hopeless, this one was even more so, and that doesn't even take into question this childish infatuation you still have for Cathy Haig. I notice you didn't see her or her sister when you went back to Last Chance. Cathy, I can
understand, but not Missy. From what I gathered, that girl worshiped you. She likely thought you close to a god."
"Clay-footed," Aaron said miserably. "Felicity, I couldn't face either of them. I knew I should go see Missy, but I just couldn't face her."
"I suppose we can drop the subjects of Missy Bayne and her sister," Felicity sighed. "There are so many things going on with you that we can't address all of them at the same time. As for Kitty, well, I'll tell you, the woman has a lot of strengths, and she holds a good deal of resolve, but there is something of the coward in her, too."
"Kit!"
"Yes, Kit. Aaron, she didn't battle for you because she thought it was hopeless. Kit gave up the war before it even started."
"No. No." Aaron shook his head and took another sip of the too-sweet tea. "I don't think so. She really prefers women."
"How does she know? Most of her experience is only with women. Even when she was with you, most of her sexual experience was with Sarah." Felicity's smile grew sad and thoughtful. "I've heard this story before. It's common. Many women deny themselves a fulfilling relationship with their husbands because they hold a secret fear that they aren't good enough. All their experience is with other women so they assume they really only like the same sex."
Had Felicity tried the different routes, Aaron wondered? She professed to have no sex drive at all. Had she owned courage enough to experiment before reaching her conclusions?
Felicity lifted her cup and studied him thoughtfully over its rim. "There's something in you that is sick. That thing wants to take the blame or the credit for all the horrible things that happen around you. I won't lie to you. Some of that blame is yours. You have thoughtlessly taken actions that brought harm to others. Guess what. You're not alone. We all do it. None of us live without causing others harm."
"But my mistakes are so much worse," Aaron protested. The turn in conversation had set his nerves on edge.
"Some of yours may be worse," she admitted as she set her cup back down. "Not all. The nature of what you've been involved in means that you've been at the center of momentous events. It put you in a position where it's easy to cause great harm. It also put you in a place where you can do great good."
"Well I--."
"I hope you don't mind, but I researched you after we first met." She smiled. "You're an enigmatic man. However, when putting the facts I discovered together with this conversation, I've no choice but to believe a number of the recent changes in this country have you somewhere at their base. I'm not sure what your contribution is in most of those cases, but I do know one thing--that you take care of the children and women who have been lost. Yes, you have been a focal point for a lot of harmful events. You seem to want to accept the blame for all those events, and the guilt is eating you alive, but--for some reason I don't yet understand--you seem incapable of accepting credit for the good you have done or caused. It's almost as if you want to be alone and miserable, as if you want to apologize for the simple fact of being alive."
"Some good things have happened because of me," Aaron admitted. "For most of those events I've only been a distant spectator. I provided the impetus, but other people made things happen. They are the movers while I just sit and watch."
"Well, then, I suggest you start moving yourself. It's past time you took a hand in your own destiny instead of relying on others to do all the work."
Straightening an arm, Felicity leveled a pointing finger. "However, you had best see to your wife first. The thoughtlessness you've shown her really is inexcusable."
"Yeah." Aaron thought for a moment. "Would it help if I brought flowers?"
"No," Felicity Stromburg said firmly. "That won't help at all. Flowers would be a mistake."
"I'll try them anyway. Maybe in a day or two."
She sighed. "Go ahead and put it off. It's your funeral."
"I know Kit," Aaron insisted. "Flowers will do a lot to set matters right. Okay, Felicity, I've made up my mind. There are a lot of things going on that I have no control over; there are some things going on that I have no idea how to resolve. It's past time I got off my butt and started finding out if there is a way to resolve them. Sooo, here is how it is. I'll get in touch with Miss Bivins and a few others to let them know I'll not be available for a while. Then I'll see what I can do about the Thirty Clans people."
She looked doubtful. "That's a long trip to make in a short time."
Guilt stabbed Aaron in the gut. Felicity was now his friend. Friendship demanded openness, and yet not even her Talent had induced him to tell her of his abilities. Too many people already knew he could transfer. His Talent was becoming something of an open secret, but that secret was known only to two or three dozen people, and those people were, hopefully, not prone to gossip. It was imperative that the secret not become general knowledge, and really, he did not know Felicity Stromburg all that well. He had, perhaps, told her too much of himself already, but her Talent had made speaking very easy.
Too much indeed. He had told her enough of his secrets that she must know or guess at his deeper ones. How else would he have a need to apologize to Kit? Felicity Stromburg was not an idiot. She might not be well versed in geography, but she had to know Last Chance was far from N'Ark. The name of the place had been in the papers often enough during the war.
"I--I need to do some research. If I'm going to take steps, I need to discover what steps need taking." There, that wasn't too bad. It was more of an evasion than a lie.
No, that wasn't right either. It was more of an evasive lie than it was honesty. It was a horrible injustice against a new friend when he knew he would soon be proving to two more people that he was something less and something more than an ordinary man.
Chapter 10
Aaron hunched his shoulders to make himself appear smaller in the crowd. He stared at the Assembly Building, becoming a still island in the ebb and flow of the pedestrian liquidity. Uncertainty pulled at him. This step was irreversible. This step was a tacit acceptance of responsibility, the acknowledgement of partial culpability. He wasn't sure if he was ready to go that far, but he had to do something. He was not a still pool in a barren land. Life and fate had crashed upon him, so now he was the stream, and the stream could not stand still.
Unfortunately, like the stream, he had very little control over his course.
Drawing on the shreds of his courage, blanketing himself in false bravado, Aaron firmed his resolve and moved toward the walkway leading to the Assembly Building.
"About time," somebody called out. "You were blocking my view."
The paving stones were firm and rough against his feet. Stares and comments followed him. Picnickers and disappointed aspirants for the ears of the assembly, those who hoped to one day be privileged movers and shakers, mocked his rough clothing that was still creased with the manufacture's folds. Aaron carried a large backpack filled with dried food, camping supplies, and a small but heavy canvass tent upon his back. He looked like a pretend rustic, a poser, and he knew it.
Reaching the front steps, he slowly made his way up. When he reached the top, he licked his lips, firmed his shoulders, nodded once to the guards on either side of the doorway, and stepped forward. He ignored speaking to the honorary guards and addressed the guardian standing within.
"Mister Penfrost, you may remember me. I'm Aaron Turner. I wish to speak with the ambassadors from the Thirty Clans."
Issac Penfrost eyed Aaron with resignation. Sniffing disdain, he frowned. "Sir, could you explain to me why you refuse to seek admittance to this building unless you are dressed in a disreputable manner?"
His manner and tone were designed to socially intimidate. His attempt probably would have worked against those who cared for their social position. It fell flat against Aaron's attitude. Despite his many business concerns, Aaron cared nothing for suits and ties and social niceties. He knew he was not on the bottom rung of the social ladder and did not care about being at the top. He was a non-player unaffected by the po
litical game of social dominance.
"I wish to see two people," he said with quiet emphasis. "One is named Delmac, a male, and the other is called Tremon. I have no idea if those are given or surnames. I don't care if they're in a meeting or if they're at dinner. I don't even care if they're using the facilities. I want to see them now, and I know they want to see me."
Penfrost smiled nastily. "Sir, I know that you do not have an appointment for today. When you care to go through the proper channels and obtain an approved appointment, I will be more than pleased to allow you admittance--provided you take the time to change your attire." Reaching to an angled shelf set against the wall, he pulled out an official form and thrust it at Aaron. "Mail this in after filling it out. Somebody might read it."
"Perhaps not," Aaron said in his most reasonable voice. "A short conversation with Mistress Bestrow should put your attitude to rights."
Penfrost yawned behind a raised hand. "I doubt it, as the Mistress is presently not on the premises. She has been sent on a fact-finding tour and is not expected back for some time. Now, you will be so kind as to leave, because I really don't want to rouse the guards. They get very nasty when they are forced to move."
Aaron smiled. His voice came out like smooth silk. "I can't get you fired, but I can get you transferred, and your guild will not even try to save you."
"And why is that?" Penfrost asked in a bored tone.
"Because my name really is Aaron Turner, and despite what you think, I do have power in this city." Aaron leaned forward, throwing his slight body into the other man's personal space. "Sturm and Cory Pharmaceuticals, Eidenburg Experimental, Selam Modern Production. I have strong interests in those enterprises and in many, many more. I have partial ownership in four new manufacturing facilities that are presently being constructed. Believe it or not, my word has a lot of weight when it comes to deciding if we're inviting the guilds in. We are talking hundreds of guild jobs, Mister Penfrost. Hundreds. Which one of us do you think your guild leadership will support the most? You with your small weekly dues, or me, who can bring them a hundred silver a year, perhaps more, in new memberships."
