"But you did not. You gave to others, not once but many times. Your . . . misadventure . . . down the Porta Romae only cinched your right to hold this honor, Skeeter Jackson. From this day until the end of your life and beyond, you shall be known as a Found One, for although you have been Lost all your life and took great pains to hide it, Marcus was able to discover the truth. You are one of us," she swept the room with one arm, taking in what must have been more than a hundred women, men, and children of all ages, dozens of societies and time periods—some having come through a tourist gate, more through an unstable one.
"You are one of us, Skeeter Jackson, and we are now your Family."
And then, as people filed past, many giving him gifts of welcome—plain, simple gifts made to be cherished over a lifetime: a flower, a handmade handkerchief bearing an embroidered logo which must stand for The Found Ones, a box of food, a new pair of bluejeans—it happened. Skeeter Jackson began to cry. It started as a tickle at the back of his throat. Worked its way up to a tight throat, then to wetness welling up in his eyes. Before he knew it, he was crying so hard, each indrawn breath shook his slender frame. Eventually he found himself alone on the dais with Ianira and Marcus and the many, many gifts left for him.
"Why?" Marcus asked quietly.
Ianira rolled her eyes. "Men," she said tiredly. "It is so obvious, Marcus. He has a family now."
Skeeter nodded vehemently, still unable to speak. He had a real Clan again! One that accepted him on his own terms, knowing his worst faults, yet took him in anyway and made something of him more than an outcast kid shivering in the Mongolian nights and trying desperately not to waken Yesukai the Valiant, lest he waken the man's formidable temper—and worse punishments.
"I swear," he whispered, voice still choked with tears, "I swear to you, Ianira, Marcus, I will never betray your faith. I have a Clan again. And I never break faith with the people who are of my Clan. There . . . there were times I believed I was not worthy of finding another to accept me, other than one I adopted from necessity's sake."
"The 'eighty-sixers?" Marcus asked.
Skeeter nodded. "Not that I'll start stealing from them now. I did adopt them, after all. And . . . and it sounds crazy, but . . . I don't know what to do. I haven't any skills worthy of The Found Ones."
Ianira and Marcus exchanged glances, obviously having given this careful thought. Then Ianira bent close and murmured in his ear. "We have a few ideas you might find . . . intriguing." She then proceeded to describe three of them, just to tantalize his imagination.
Skeeter started; then grinned and began to laugh like a newly freed imp. Not only would he be useful, it sounded like fun!
"Lady," he shook her hand formally, "you just got yourself a twenty-four-carat deal!"
He had difficulty, still, imagining himself an honest man. But what the hell? Ianira's ideas were fabulous.
An entire new life stretched out before him.
All he had to do was grasp it.
"Yeah," he repeated softly, to himself, "a genuine twenty-four-carat deal."
That said, he dried his face with the heels of his hands and let Marcus and Ianira carry some of his gifts while he carried the lion's share. They escorted him away from the dim-lit Council Chamber (blowing out candles as they went) up to the bright lights and holiday cheer of Commons.
Skeeter Jackson stopped and just looked. Today, for the first time in his life, all he saw were happy people making merry during the happiest time of year. "Say, how about we dump these things at my apartment and go celebrate somewhere out there?"
Marcus and Ianira exchanged glances, then smiled.
That was exactly what they did.
THE END
For more great books visit
http://www.webscription.net
Wagers of Sin Page 41
