“It rather surprised the old farmer when the—he thought—feckless, footloose Bard agreed with all his heart—subject to the agreement of his Circle of course. How could the old man have known that our Bard was born a farmer, and that entwined with his love of music and his love of the daughter was his love and deep understanding of the land? Well, the Circle agreed—provided he compose a Master’s ballad about the storm, courtship, and all; and he settled down happily with all three of his loves—land, lady, and music. Then before the year was out, he had a fourth.”
“Dirk. So that’s where he got that wonderful voice!”
“And where he learned to play so well. Actually, though, you’re a bit ahead of the tale. The first child wasn’t Dirk. He has three older sisters, two younger, and a baby brother. When they can be sorted into some semblance of order and organization, they have family concerts. You should hear them all singing together, it’s wonderful; I swear even the babies cry in the right keys! Well, grandfather passed to his reward content in the knowledge that the land would remain in the bloodline, since by the time he departed, two of the girls had begun enthusiastically producing enormous broods of their own.”
“I was asking about Dirk.”
“Talia, my little bird, you can’t separate Dirk from his family. They’re all alike; see one, you know what the rest are like. How things ever get done in that household I have no idea, since it seems to be formed entirely of chaotic elements.”
“Just like a Bard.”
“Actually, he’s the most organized of the lot. If it weren’t for him and the husbands of the sisters, they’d spend all their time flying in circles. There’s an incredible amount of love there, though; and it overflows generously on anyone who happens to find himself dragged unwittingly into their midst.”
“Like you.”
“Like me. Dirk insisted on hauling me home with him the first holiday after we’d met when he found out there wasn’t going to be anyone home with me but the servitors. They treated me exactly like one of the family, from bathing babies to teary farewell kisses. I was rather overwhelmed. I certainly hadn’t expected anything like them!”
Talia chuckled, picturing to herself the reserved, slightly shy young boy that Kris must have been, finding himself in the hands of what must have seemed like a family of madmen.
“Once I got used to them, I had a lot of fun. That’s why, every chance I’ve had, I’ve gone home with Dirk when he went. Right now four of his sisters are married. Three of them live in extensions to the original house and their husbands share the work on the Steading, because Dirk’s father has developed bad knees. The last has his own land to look after, but they’re still on hand for every holiday in the calendar. It’s a good thing they all get along so well.”
“We were talking about Dirk.”
“Right.” Kris’ eyes gleamed with mischief at the impatience in her voice. “He was Chosen even younger than I—only eleven; probably because at eleven he was more mature in a lot of ways than I was at thirteen. We were Chosen the same year, and almost the same month. He told me that Ahrodie Chose him in the middle of the marketplace on Fair Day, and he kept trying to direct her attention to his sister because he thought he was too ugly to be a Herald!”
“Poor child.”
“So we went through the Collegium as year-mates. He saw how lonely I was there, and how unused to dealing with other children, and decided that I needed a friend. And since I couldn’t seem to make one by myself, he was going to do it for me! In classes, though, I had to help him along, and he was never better than average. It was pretty well accepted by all of us that after our internships he was going to work Border Sectors and I was going to teach. Then we found out how our Gifts dovetailed, and how incredibly well we work together, and everyone’s plans were rather abruptly changed.”
“And you began working as a team.”
“Oh, yes. And we discovered that we have a kind of Gift for intrigue as well. The number of situations we’ve gotten ourselves into would astound you, yet we always seem to extricate ourselves and come home covered in glory.”
“Kris, what’s he really like?”
“Behind the jester-mask? Very sensitive—that’s his heritage coming out. Endlessly kind to the helpless; you should see him some time with a lap full of kittens or babies. Don’t think he’s soft and sentimental, though. I’ve seen him slit people’s throats in cold blood when they deserved it, and do it from behind in the dark without a pretext of fair play. He says that if they’re intending to do the same to him, it doesn’t make sense to give them warning. He can be totally ruthless in the cause of Queen, Kingdom, and Circle. Let’s see, what else is there? You’ve danced with him, so you know that his bumbling farmer look is totally deceiving. He’s one of the few people that Alberich will accept to act as a substitute with his advanced pupils when Alberich is sick. And for all that, he’s terribly vulnerable in certain areas. I helped him get over his broken heart, and I promise you, Talia, that I will personally break the neck of anyone who hurts him like that again.”
He was lying with his head turned to one side and pillowed on his arms; Talia could not help but see the fierce, cold hatred in his expression at that moment.
Kris’ fierce tone as he spoke the last few words was completely unfeigned. He remembered only too well what Dirk had been like then—broken, defeated—it had been horrible to compare what that bitch had made him into with what he had been before she’d worked her wiles on him. Dirk seldom shed a tear—but he had wept helplessly on Kris’ shoulder when she’d ruined his life and his hopes for him. It was a thing he never wanted to witness again. And if he had any say about it, he never would.
Then a painful thought occurred to him. He knew Dirk was more than interested in Talia… and she had been showing evidence of the same sort of feeling. But he and Talia had most of a year to go on her internship, and now that they were intimate, it was damned unlikely they’d go back to their earlier relationship. What the hell was he going to do if she started getting infatuated with him?
It was more than a possibility; after all, nearly every other female he’d spent any time with had ended up in the same state.
He didn’t want to think about it…
“I think it’s time to do something about your problem,” he said, thinking that trouble might be less likely if he reasserted his position as a figure of authority.
“Like what?” She sat up slowly, and shook her hair out of her eyes, her expression in the flickering firelight a sober one.
“I’m going to take you absolutely back to basics. Back to the very first thing they taught me.”
“Shielding?”
“Hell, no, girl,” he replied, astounded. “More basic than that—and if shielding was what they taught you first, maybe that’s one reason why you’re having this problem. I’m taking you right back to the first steps. Ground and center.”
She looked puzzled, and shifted a little, curling her legs under her. “Ground and what?”
“Oh, Gods,” he groaned. “How the hell did you get away with—of course. Ylsa must have thought you knew the basics. Maybe you did… instinctively.” He bit his lip, thinking hard, staring off into the space beyond his internee. Talia just sat quietly, peering anxiously at him through the half-dark of the Station. “Trouble is, as my teacher used to say, instinct is no substitute for conscious control.”
“I—I guess I’ve rather well proved that, haven’t I?” she replied bitterly.
“Well, once instinct goes, there’s no basis for reorganizing yourself.” He took a deep breath, acutely aware of the faint smell of soap, straw, and animal that pervaded the Station.
“Gods.” She sighed, and rubbed her temple with one hand. “All right—do your worst.”
“Don’t laugh,” he replied grimly. “Before I’m through it may well seem like just that. All right, are you comfortable? Absolutely comfortable?”
She frowned, shifted a little, then nodded.
/>
He settled himself, folding his own legs under him, shifting until the straw under his blanket moved to a more comfortable place. “Close your eyes. You can’t sort out what’s coming in at you unless you can recognize what’s you and what isn’t. That’s what my teacher used to call ‘the shape inside your skin.’ Find the place inside you that feels the most stable, and work out from there. Feel everything—then put what you’ve felt away, because you can recognize it as you.”
He was using what he called “teaching voice” with her, a kind of soothing monotone. She’d gone quite naturally into a half-trance, fairly well relaxed. By unfocusing his eyes and depending on Sight rather than vision, he could See every move she made by the shifting energy patterns within her. Sight was a good Gift to have for this situation, maybe better than her own would have been. By looking/not looking in a peculiar sort of way that made his eyes feel strained, he could see energy fields and fluxes. What he Saw was difficult to describe; it was something like seeing multiple images or “ghosts” of Talia, each one haloed in a different “color.” When he Looked at the unGifted or Gifted but untrained, the images didn’t quite mesh and the edges were fuzzy and indistinct. In Talia’s case the edges were almost painfully sharp and the images were given to flaring at unpredictable intervals—and they were so unconnected they almost seemed to belong to more than one person. If she could find her center, they would fuse into one; if she could ground, the flaring would stop.
“All right, once you’ve found that stable place, there’s a similar place outside of you—in the earth itself. When you feel that, connect yourself to it. Finding the stable place is called ‘centering,’ connecting yourself to the earth is called ‘grounding.’”
He could tell, although his own Gift wasn’t anything like hers, that she had almost managed both actions. Almost—but not quite. The images were overlapping, but not fusing; and they dimmed and brightened and dimmed again. And he could see that she was off-balance and not-connected, although to her it probably seemed as if she’d done exactly as he asked. Poor lady—he was about to do a very cruel thing to her.
He sighed, and signaled Tantris—who gave her a rude mental shove.
A shove that translated into a very physical toppling over.
“Not good enough,” he said coldly, as she stared up at him from where she was sprawled with a dazed expression on her face. “If you’d done the thing properly, he wouldn’t have been able to budge you. Again. Ground and center.”
She tried—much shaken, this time. If anything, she was worse off than before. Tantris hardly flicked her, and she lost internal balance. This time she did not lose physical control, although it was a near thing. She visibly swayed as if beneath a blow.
“Ground and center, girl. This is a baby-lesson, it ought to be reflex. Reflex, not instinct. Do it again.”
* * *
She was exhausted, sweat-drenched, knotted up all over, and shaking with the effort of holding back tears before he let up on her. There had been progress, though, and he told her so.
“You’re not there yet,” he said. “But you’re closer. You got a little closer to your true center each time you tried for it—except for the last time; you missed it altogether. That’s why we’re quitting for a little.”
She buried her face in her hands, trembling all over. “I think,” she said after a moment, her voice muffled, “that I could come to hate you with very little effort.”
“So why don’t you?” he asked, masking his apprehension and the cold chill he felt at her words.
She looked up at him, and lowered her hands away from her face, slowly. “Because you’re trying to help me, and this is the only way you know how.”
He let out the breath he’d been holding in a long sigh of relief. “Lord of Lights,” he said thankfully, “you would not believe how glad I am to hear you say that.”
“Because if I did hate you, I could quite easily kill you.”
“Exactly so. And all the easier while I was working with you—because I have to be completely unshielded to See what you’re doing.”
She shuddered, and he moved forward to put his arms around her. She tensed for a moment, then relaxed onto his shoulder. “How much more of this…?”
“Until you get it right.”
“Gods. And this is only the very beginning?”
“Just the first steps.”
She bit back a sob of frustration; he felt it, more than heard it, and ached for her.
And said the cruelest thing yet. “All right, you’ve had your wallow in self-pity. Now let’s get back to work.”
And when she stared at him in disbelief, he snapped an order at her like any drill-instructor. “Ground and center, girl, ground and center.”
* * *
When he finally let up on her, it was so late that he’d had to mend the fire twice; she was physically as well as emotionally drained. She crawled into bed and huddled among the blankets, too spent even to cry.
He was almost as exhausted as she.
He staggered over to the fire and banked it with painful precision, controlling the shaking of his hands with effort. “You almost had it,” he said, finally. “You came so close. I think you might have had it, if you’d just had the energy to get there.”
She lost the bleak emptiness that had been in her eyes. “I—I thought maybe—”
“Tomorrow we’ll try something different; we’ll try it in link. Once you find your center, you won’t lose it again. Gods, it is so frustrating watching you… I can See you coming close and missing, and I want to scream.”
“Well, it’s no Festival from inside either,” she retorted, then managed a wan smile. “The least you can do, after torturing me all night, is to get in with me and keep me warm.”
“Oh, I think I could manage something more personal than that,” he replied, dredging up a smile of his own.
* * *
Talia fell asleep almost immediately, every last bit of energy exhausted by the efforts of the day. Kris remained awake a bit longer, trying to figure how he was going to fit in the training with the all-too-necessary effort of digging out. Just before he finally slept, Tantris had the last word.
:Not one day,: Tantris ordered. :You’re more tired than you thought. You rest tomorrow, too.:
“I’m fine,” Kris objected in a whisper.
:Hah! You only think you are. Wait until tomorrow. Besides, if you can get her centered, you’ll be on the way to solving that problem. That takes precedence, I think.:
“I hate to admit it,” Kris yawned, “but you’re right, Featherfoot.”
Kris had not realized how truly bone-weary they were until he woke first the next day to discover that it was well past noon. He woke Talia, and they finished mending all the now-dry garments, putting off the inevitable “lesson” as long as possible by mutual unspoken accord.
Finally, it was she who said, reluctantly, “I suppose we’d better…”
“Unfortunate, but true. Here—” He sat on the blankets of their “bed,” and patted a place in front of him. “—I told you I was going to try a different tactic. You’ve linked in with me before, so you know what it’s like.”
She seated herself cross-legged, their knees touching, and looked at him warily. “I think I remember. Why?”
“I’m going to try and show you your center. Now, just relax, and let me do the work this time.” He waited until she had achieved that half-trance, closed his own eyes long enough to trance down himself, then rested his hands lightly on her wrists. It was little more than a moment’s work to bring her into rapport; that part of her Gift was still working, almost too well. He opened his eyes slowly, and Looked, knowing she could see what he Saw.
She looked, gasped, and grabbed—throwing both of them out of trance and out of rapport.
He had been expecting something of the sort and had been prepared for a “fall.” She had not been, and sat shaking her head to clear it afterward.
“That wa
s a damnfool move,” she said, when at last she could speak.
“I won’t argue with that statement,” he replied evenly. “Ready to try again?”
She sighed, nodded, and settled herself once more. This time she did not grab; she hardly moved at all.
Finally, she broke the trance herself, unable to take the strain. “It’s like trying to draw by watching a mirror,” she said through clenched teeth.
“So?” he replied, giving her no encouragement to pity herself.
“So I try again.”
It was hours later when she met with victory; as Kris had suspected, when she centered properly, it was with a nearly audible snap, a great deal like having a dislocated joint pop back into place. There was a flare of energy—and a flash of something almost like pain—followed by a flood of relief. Kris had Tantris nudge her—then shove her, with no effect.
“Ground!” he ordered; she fumbled her way into a clumsy grounding with such an utter lack of finesse that his other suspicion—that she’d never done grounding and centering properly before—were pretty much confirmed. It was then that he realized that her shields hadn’t just gone erratic, they’d collapsed; and the reason they’d collapsed was that they’d never been properly based in the first place.
“All right,” he said quietly. “Now you’re properly set up. Can you see now why it’s important?”
“Because,” she answered slowly, “you have to have something to use as a base to build on?”
“Right,” he agreed. “Now come out of there.”
“But—”
“You’re going to find it yourself, this time. Without my help. Ground and center, greenie.”
Heralds of Valdemar (A Valdemar Omnibus) Page 47
