by C. N Lesley
“It’s not something that can be learned. It’s like having three eyes when you can’t explain how much more you can see to a normal person. Copper . . . I’d rather you didn’t raise this subject with Shades.”
“Why?” He leaned forward, resting his chin on the point of his steepled hands to gaze at her. The question, though set in mild tones, was intent.
“Some Brethren are special because they’re fey like you?”
“Yes. Only the gifted rise to power.”
“Some Shades—a select few—have much stronger minds, and abide in a place apart from the rest.” She paused, knowing her next words were going to cause disgust. “These special people are called seers. They do many things with their minds the others can’t. These skills mean they don’t concern themselves with the menial chores in the community.”
“Shadow, you’re talking about a ruling class.”
“It’s more complicated. Seers don’t rule . . . not exactly. Sometimes they suggest, and others see it their way.”
“That is ruling. Is this leading somewhere, or am I being sidetracked?” Although his voice tone remained level, his eyes snapped irritation.
“I’m trying to explain why I don’t want them to know I borrowed one of their skills.”
“Borrowing implies consent from the owner. You stole someone’s thoughts!”
“Not exactly,” she countered, not looking at him. “If you didn’t know how to ride a horse, saw someone mount up and do it, and then copied him when he wasn’t around, it wouldn’t be theft, would it?”
“That’s splitting hairs. I’d have to be a natural born rider to succeed.”
“My point, I believe.” Shadow drained her tankard, yawning, hoping Copper would take the hint and show her to a sleeping area. He refilled her vessel instead. “No don’t, I’m tired.”
“You slept a full day and a half. Now humor me by telling me why your ability needs to be kept from a race of beings who value these skills?”
“Seers acquire all those with enhanced ability wherever they are found.” Now she trod on dangerous ground. “Their main purpose is to improve their mental capacity beyond current limitation. They are all strong telepaths, but I am not sure of their ultimate goal.”
“Like bees or ants? I knew they raided the minds of strangers, but not that they inhabited one another’s.”
“Something like that.” She looked him directly in the eyes. “Give your Brethren oath you’d hold to this alliance, even if you don’t agree with certain practices performed by a small portion of your allies.”
“Now I’m intrigued. Shadow, you’re being unfair. Enticing bait displayed in a lure with the trap well hidden. I’m not rising to it. All Brethren are my subjects, especially in my domain. I’m commanding an answer.”
“I stand as their ambassador to you as I would for you in their domain. I sacrificed a chance for direct conflict with Harvesters to fulfill this position. Give your oath, or keep your ignorance.”
He frowned. “Strategy training isn’t part of War Maid knowledge, yet I find myself outflanked.”
“I don’t remember training. Strategy is high profile for Elite strike units. Decision?”
“My oath,” he agreed.
“Seers strive for the perfect individual in their eyes. As horses are bred for strength, or speed, so they—”
“That’s disgusting.”
“Tell your thoughts to Ector, who shares them. He escaped their slimy clutches after they caught him as an adolescent. They tried to make him mate with a breeding mistress. I don’t believe there’s anything you can say, however coarse, he wouldn’t agree with.”
Copper slammed both hands on the tabletop, glaring at her. “These creatures are tolerated?”
“War brings all sorts of nasty surprises out of the woodwork. Shades need seers on reconnaissance sorties, as you need fey brothers for acquisitions. Copper, swords aren’t very nice, either. When you split somebody’s gut, his innards spill out, making a terrible smell. Would you give up your sword to placate your nose? I don’t think so.”
“Ector escaped? How, when by your own admission these creatures are so powerful?”
“On a scale of mental strength, most of them don’t rank above a twelve. Ector’s a fifteen. He was too old to subvert, too strong to force into their mold. He endures all sorts of unpleasant personal restrictions, but they can’t understand that Ector’s freedom means more to him than their limitations.”
Copper signaled an acknowledgement across the room. “My second arrived while we talked. He just signed over an interesting report he’s picked up from Grimes troopers. No woman has the strength to fight off three hardened soldiers and leave them downed. Few men could. Is this part of your skills? I know I couldn’t have snapped the ropes we used to tie you down in High Fort.”
Shadow shrugged and emptied her second tankard.
“I think I want to know just how good you are. Weapons practice with me before the sisters wake tomorrow. We can bathe together after unless you have any objections?”
Trapped, Shadow could only nod. That he wanted to see her in water didn’t bother her; hot water didn’t activate membranes, as she’d discovered from showers taken in Avalon, but she was tempted to fudge defense maneuvers when they fought in an attempt to lull his suspicions.
“Bed time,” Copper decided. “Want a lift, or can you walk?”
Shadow managed quite well until they were out of sight from onlookers, and then she began to lag. Copper scooped her up. He carried her along a passage to a curtained alcove similar to the one she had occupied in the sisters’ area.
“There’s a piss pot under the bed. I’m in the next cutout. If you want anything in the night, just yell.” He deposited her on the mattress.
In partial darkness, Shadow listened to the sounds of Haven winding down for the night. In a place packed with the most casual killers in existence, tension appeared minimal. Twice, angry voices rose to threatening levels, instantly repressed by many soothing tones. None of the brothers wore weapons inside Haven, but all had small knives for eating – sharp enough to inflict a lethal wound.
What of the sisters? When Copper removed her from their living area, none of them had been in view. Why was Copper sorry for them? As far as Shadow could tell, the difference between sisters and Colored Band women was an aversion for men the sisters showed. Were they all as dead inside as she? Was that what Harvester sentence meant for women? Yet there had been a time when she had begun to live again. In the city of Avalon, the wonder of a new life growing inside her gave her hope of someone to love, who wouldn’t condemn, but Boy took what he needed without giving of himself. Hope had withered like a fragile flower caught by frosty indifference. It was best stamped out before it began, for how could a soldier of fortune function with a dependent?
That set off another line of thought: no child’s voice sounded in Haven. The Colored Band women must occasionally reproduce, if their marked attention to brothers was any yardstick. Maybe gravid women were retired to other caverns with the children. A contradiction surfaced: if Colored Band women produced offspring, what happened to those children at the age of banding?
The sound of a low giggle came from nearby, and Copper’s voice hushing. She willed sleep.
*
Copper woke her early with a gentle shake and a tankard of beer. Shadow turned away in disgust.
“We don’t run to herbal brews. Beer provides the mellowing effect we need. Are you fighting this morning or not?”
Shadow blinked against the light of torches from the passage, inhaling the harsh smoke. Copper was wearing a loose gray robe belted at the waist, and had another such outfit slung over his arm. The strange, sleeveless costume reached to the ground and reminded her of her own state of undress. She pulled her covers higher.
“Scared to fight?” he challenged, tossing the spare robe at her.
Shadow yanked the mass over her head, resigned to being disturbed. A surge of ang
er made her reach for the beer. He had leered as she dressed, and she didn’t want to cause hurt out of sheer irritation when they fought. He wound a black sash around her waist, one that matched his own and one as bereft of weapons.
Gentle snores sounded as Copper took Shadow deeper into Haven to a bare cavern with a sandy floor. There was a wooden weapons rack lining one wall. He walked halfway down to withdraw his weapon and her lighter sword.
Shadow didn’t want to fight, didn’t want to reveal her Submariner fighting skills, or the strength of her new arm. She elected a defensive strategy using minimum force, reasoning he expected her to be tired. Copper seemed to accept the ruse until they clashed close, then his leg shot out to sweep her feet from under her, landing her flat with him on top.
“No points for effort. Shades wouldn’t let a novice out as spy. They’d want to be confident of return. Much too passive, lady,” he chided. “Let’s see if we can’t get some antagonism.”
Shadow didn’t expect his kiss, a brutal gesture designed to infuriate. He bit at her lips until she surrendered, fuming. His greasy hair on her cheeks disgusted her. A wave of sheer hatred flowed from deep within.
Copper leapt away from her. “Now I can sense danger. If I floor you again, I’ll exact the same payment.”
Humiliated and angry, Shadow warred with a need to hurt, still holding back until his furious onslaught dumped her a second time. She sensed his arousal when he dealt her punishment, a fact sending shockwaves coursing through her. If he downed her once more . . . she guessed he wouldn’t stop at a kiss.
The Outcast King backed away, eyes blazing. Shadow now fought as she had been trained. His skill proved good, very good, but not enough to match a fighting mechanism. She just pulled back on a lunge to his heart, stopping at his robe.
“You’re dead,” she hissed.
Copper laughed, arms open wide in surrender. “A sweaty corpse begs his need to cleanse.”
“I am a sister. Never infringe my dignity again, or I’ll not hold back.”
“Stop lying to me by misdirection and I’ll consider the request,” he countered. “The pool is behind you, through a tunnel. Are you so threatened by a vanquished foe that you will decline a decent wind down?”
“I can kill without weapons. Remember that,” Shadow said, calmer now. He had forced one secret out of her, but the other was safe enough in warm water.
The bathing cavern didn’t resemble other parts of Haven. It was much older, like places made by the ancients. The pool measured a perfect rectangle with colored pieces of flattened rock paved into the surround to form pictures. Time had eroded much of the pattern, but here and there, definite recognizable objects came clear. The most intact was of a stylized, couchant cat. Stone benches lined the side at intervals.
“It’s beautiful.”
“We think so. Brethren found it thirty years back during an expansion program. The original entrance is over by the rock fall at the far end. That debris is far too unstable to shift, even if we wanted another way in. Pity, as there might be other chambers under all that rubble. Maybe with manpower and time . . .” Copper shrugged.
Shadow wanted to find the water source. Stripping, she shallow-dived. It was too dark to investigate beyond touch. Five deep dives confirmed the bottom of the pool was paved, and sloped down at one end. She surfaced for air to be wrenched up and back by her hair leaving her throat exposed. Release came at once. Copper backed away into his depth, grinning.
“Just what did you expect to find?” Shadow said, shaken to the core.
“The same things I saw when I doused you down with seawater on the beach, a momentary glimpse each time I tried. I started because I hit you a bit harder than I’d intended. Do we all get those for working with Shades?”
He stood there lathering his hair with a bar of soap, casually discussing the most private part of her existence. Infuriated, Shadow dived, grabbed his ankles to dunk him. Copper kicked away from the bottom, powering toward deep water with strong, even strokes. He almost made the side when Shadow dragged him under again. A lucky kick in the mid-section winded her, and they both surfaced, gasping, gripping the edge to get breath back.
“Trying . . . to drown . . . me?”
“No . . . right to . . . touch.” Shadow gasped, fighting for air.
“Every right.” Copper coughed up the last remnant of water and cleared his throat, breathing deeply. He grinned, inviting her to forgive him. “Swap information in a fair trade after bathing. The sisters will be furious if I’m still here when they arrive.”
Shadow was too upset to consider his offer. She swam away to a shallow depth to finish washing. That he had discovered her ability by chance didn’t alter the fact that he had investigated his find. She still fumed as she dressed. Copper approached, already clothed, toweling his hair. He stopped a safe distance from strike range.
“I can hear stirrings. Ready yet?” he said, casting an anxious look toward the entrance.
“We’re out, so why the rush?”
“I don’t want to hurt the sisters by being here when they arrive. They might not all be veiled. I’ll meet you in the dining area when you’re through,” Copper said. He almost ran from the cavern, not waiting for her reply.
Chapter 18
Earth Date 3892
Arthur yawned, struggling to stay awake, too tired to process more data. Indigestible lumps of information sat in his mind. The thing he tried to avoid hung over him, waiting for the first slip from consciousness to devour him. He’d refurnished his room earlier, with a light green wall tone and black accents on the door frame. His bed coverings and chair now matched in a darker shade of verdant, which left him in debt. After that, he searched for data on males in his peer group, figuring one of them might know of Shadow’s son. A slight sound from behind gave him warning.
“Archive, is the sleep suggestion installed?” a male voice asked.
Arthur spun around, shocked at the intrusion into his quarters, sure he had sealed his room for privacy. The Supreme Commander of Elite forces wore a plain gray bodysuit with no indication of rank. He needed no insignia with his shock of flame red hair and violet eyes. Arthur tried to read the expression on the man’s lean face, but Ambrose held his features in relaxed mode.
“Yes, Ambrose. Arthur needs to dream.” The sibilant voice sounded almost gleeful.
“Excuse me? Do I have any say?”
“Not in this, Arthur,” the Archive replied. “Physical analysis indicates a high level of ketones in body fluids. Addiction occurs frequently in weakened vessels.”
Ambrose frowned. “In other words, I’ll have a comatose operative soon. I asked the Archive for a solution.”
“There is a distinct alteration in brain waves, Arthur. These dreams will not stop. Logic suggests a fully rested body has a greater ability to withstand inner change.”
“Sorry, Arthur. This is the only way.” Ambrose turned down the bed covers.
Arthur withdrew the link from his interface, aware that the Archive needed physical contact to establish a sleep rhythm – daring Ambrose to force him to reconnect.
“Archive . . .” The commander’s eyes narrowed.
“No need for concern, Ambrose. I can touch his mind at will. Arthur, would you like to lie down before you sleep, or do you wish Ambrose to place you in bed after?”
The strength of that vast mind bore down on Arthur. It didn’t compel, merely waited. He stalked over to his bed as ordered, building up defenses.
“Ashira,” the Archive said, quite gently for a mechanism. The word washed over Arthur, repeating like waves lapping at his mind, leeching away consciousness.
*
A huge cavern dripped with water falling from fingers of calcified rock to land on structures rising from the ground. Plunk . . . plunk . . . endless tears. An old-young man dressed in a black robe sat across a fire from Arthur, watching, listening. Frost-white hair framed an unlined face; matte-black eyes windowed a soul as old as eternity.
“How much time passes between one pearl of moisture falling and another?” the man asked.
“Six heartbeats.” Where is this place?
“In time, the point of origin will meet the point of impact, and still drips will fall. Will the heart stop?”
“All hearts stop.” Arthur brushed an insect from his hand, noticing blond hair on the back of a swordsman’s callused hands – not young hands.
“Does life stop at the cease of a single beat?”
“Ask that question of the Great Mother.”
Arthur frowned, impatient at stupid riddles, wondering why he had said such a nonsensical thing, not knowing of any called the Great Mother.
“Who are you now, Arthur? Much time has passed. How many heartbeats? Are you ready?”
“I’m dreaming. Why are these dreams disturbing my life? I need to serve my people.”
“That’s good, Arthur. The first lesson I taught you—that a leader is a servant to his people. When every lesson is remembered, you will be ready.”
“Who are you? I’ve seen you before in my dreams.” His skin prickled with the power emanating from this individual.
“That will come to you at the appointed time. Sleep, child. We can visit again when you’re rested.”
*
Arthur awoke refreshed, restored by sleep and by inner peace. The dream-watcher’s challenge stirred his interest. He mulled over the encounter as he showered and changed before reporting for duty in a happier frame of mind.
The new recruits in his class studied each other, waiting for their instructor to arrive in the gymnasium. A door opened to admit a dark man of medium height, who introduced himself as Vernan, master of arms. He proceeded to put them through a grueling regime of exercise that started with basic stretches and ended with full body press-ups.
A meal break gave Arthur and his fellow victims time to exchange horrified glances. He caught the eye of a tall boy who looked at Vernan with raised eyebrows as if to say, ‘What will he put us through next?’ Arthur shrugged in answer.
