Hearts and Stones (Celta HeartMate)

by Robin D. Owens

  They had no clue how to stop his blindness.

  Or the diminishment of his Flair.

  And he couldn’t just stay sitting on his ass and contemplating a very bad future.

  So he called for a hot toddy to go--and exited the warm social club by the main door into the snowy night instead of calling for a glider to take him home.

  The wind cut into him, despite cloak over jacket and tunic. He didn’t have enough Flair, psi magic, to bend a weathershield over himself. He barely had enough power to activate the warmth spells on his clothing.

  As he walked through the streets no more than a half kilometer from his own home neighborhood, he acknowledged that he’d made a mistake in not summoning a vehicle. Even his clothes and the false warmth of the alcohol in his blood didn’t keep him from shivering.

  Unless that was just another symptom of the damage he’d gotten in the underwater accident.

  Still, when he reached the crossroads where he should turn left, instead he angled right, tripped over the curb of the sidewalk, then slid his foot to test the height and stepped onto it. Because he heard the faint wispy notes of a melody that called to the heart of him, to what had once been his primary Flair. A whiff of an odd but compelling tang curled into his nostrils ... the scent of treasure.

  He plodded on through the blue-gray evening, ignoring the warm yellow or white blurry rectangles of lit windows as he passed still open businesses and apartments above them. He should go home, to GraceLady Aster’s Residence, his MotherDam, mother’s mother.

  Where he’d be fussed over and nagged, and he’d hate every minute.

  But he could not ignore this final opportunity to hunt for this last treasure before his talent failed.

  Time to accept that the large and drifting flakes of snow in the evening light weren’t what dimmed his sight. That deteriorated all on its own. And the sensation of his Flair for finding a prize should have been a lot stronger, sizzling through his nerves, buzzing along his skin, especially since FirstFamily GreatLord Ivy’s recently stolen bauble was more than a brooch, some sort of magical Family artifact.

  Zane simply continued to put one foot in front of the other, following the whiff of energy and magic of that power-imbued treasure, calling himself foolish with every step. And he traveled from an upper noble class part of town to an area of deserted streets devoid of inhabited houses.

  The colonists from Earth had built Druida City, sure their descendants would populate it and the world beyond the walls.

  But Celta was a tough planet for the humans. Though individuals lived longer, the sterility rate was high and the birth rate was low. The colonists’ grasp on life still slippery.

  So the city had never been full, and this part echoed with emptiness.

  Finally, he stopped in front of a tall, narrow house in a row of tall, narrow houses. His vision cleared for a few instants and he saw protruding rounded bowed windows on both the first and second floors, a balcony on the third, and the whole façade embellished with elongated designs.

  A very elegant and beautiful building. And if his eyes and back and feet didn’t throb with aching, he might have been able to call up from memory the Earthan architectural style this row of homes had been modeled after.

  But his sight did flicker from the dim evening of reality to gray fuzz to a blank darkness, and he couldn’t quite make out the exterior sculpture.

  He could see that the tall and narrow door with a half-round top showed a large, and recent, gaping split. Zane sniffed, flexed his fingers, stomped his feet to move his sluggish blood a little faster and stimulate his Flair, used his talent. Yes, the treasure awaited inside.

  The icy wet of the iron door latch nearly seared his hand, and with a grunt and a shove of his whole body, he forced the thickly paneled door open. It scraped across the floor--a not-wood floor, unusual.

  A spurt of anger zipped through him that someone had damaged the door, and he used his tiny amount of energy left to mend the wood fibers, by feel, not by sight. Made the door whole, straightened it on its hinges.

  His balance failed and he windmilled and managed to set his shoulder, not his bad back, against the wall as he panted. Probably shouldn’t have fixed the door, though he’d locked out the wind and weather.

  He blessed the Lady and Lord for being out of the spitting sleet, if not out of the cold. He breathed and felt the warmth of his breath against his face as he moved forward through the entry hall, extending his senses. He passed doors on his right and left, he thought, then tripped on a low threshold from one room to another and stopped. A touch of sweat filmed his armpits.

  His breath came ragged and harsh, sounding too loud. Did the material of the walls cause sound to echo? Or did he strain more to hear since his sight faded?

  The drips from his clothing plopped around his feet and since standing in a puddle didn’t appeal, he scuffed his toe around and found even and solid ground.

  Dark filled the interior of the abandoned house and he hesitated. On one hand he could pretend his sight didn’t decline in a night-black room. But he cherished even the slightest haze of pale gray that he could see. Which might vanish during the night.

  Find the treasure and go.

  So he stood tall, and probed the room with his senses and pushed at his psi power to work.

  Oddly enough, the room felt circular, with a bank of colder, tall glass windows curving some meters ahead, looking out on the back. Not that he could see.

  He tilted his head, noticing that the reverberations of the small noises he made sounded unusual. Slowly stretching out an arm, he touched a smooth pillar. Ah, more small columns must grace the room. Probably marble. He sniffed. Smelled like marble.

  And, yes, something not of the house, new to this environment, throbbed in slow and heavy pulses. A great magical artifact indeed. After inhaling through his open mouth, he tried to taste the essential magic of the artifact, thought he got a tang of bitter ivy. More overwhelming was the flavor of the house--sweet like golden honey, another peculiarity.

  Blinking, he peered into the darkness, saw nothing, no glow from the brooch which should blaze to his Flair-sight. He swallowed the despair coating his throat, shuffled a couple of steps in and past the pillar. Turned in the direction of the ivy taste, the whiff of Flair, the tiny hum of a magical artifact out of place. The jewel that needed to be returned to the Ivy Family where it belonged and would be cherished.

  “Just get the brooch and go,” he muttered.

  So he ignored his blindness and strode to the right into the room. A chill breeze whisked through the place, his foot came down on a piece of thin papyrus and he slipped, toppling backward. His head hit the column, definitely stone. His mind spun dizzily as he fell, then his wits got swallowed up by a more gentle darkness than that of blindness.

  The mobile being with male genitalia--a man--lay too still on Debris and Detritus’ floor. An unfamiliar feeling, a rising sting, pulsed through his walls. He did not know the name of the emotion and did not like it. His windows on the third floor shivered as his air pressure increased due to the emotion.

  No, he did not know this feeling and needed this man, his new Family, to explain it. Explain a lot.

  The empty time before the man had come had stretched into an infinity of quiet moments and Debris and Detritus began to realize how much he did not know. Did not understand concepts he should be able to grasp but made no sense.

  Debris and Detritus did know of time intervals. The small brick area with a sundial behind his not-street-facing walls measured time. The previous mobile beings had told him of time and the sundial when it had been built. That instruction, and the bit of Flair they’d sent him at the time, had made a strong enough impression that he could access it.

  But when the man had come and moved so quickly, Debris and Detritus had not been prepared. Especially since the man wanted to take away the powerful sparkling thing the last person had left. Debris and Detritus had swept a piece of flat stuff unde
r his foot to slow him down.

  Now the house had two sparks on the floor and it appeared the one from the worked minerals--the brooch!--was stronger. That did not seem right.

  He did not know what to do and he let out distressful creaks until the man made a terrible sound.

  Lady and Lord, his back ached! Worse than his head. Bad enough that Zane couldn’t deny that he’d awakened from the chill of pain tears on his cheeks. Taking stock, he thought he’d be able to move, he hadn’t torn any muscles or broken any bones. Just wrenched the damn thing.

  Concentrating on keeping his breathing even and gentle, he let input lap at him, and sensed the Flair of the Ivy brooch. The last treasure he could ever hunt and find.

  It lay on the floor to his right about two arm-lengths away.

  When the pain faded a bit, he rolled and that didn’t seem to tweak his back as badly as he’d anticipated. He came up against a slight ledge. The odor of old smoke and soot filled his nostrils. Extending his fingers, he touched cold metal. He traced it, discovered a fancy pattern, realized he touched a fire grate.

  His fingertips tingled this close to a great artifact. He refused to recall other times when his hands had nearly burned at the proximity of power.

  Stretching over the grate and into the fireplace he tried to reach the brooch, failed, and felt the sweat of pain coat him. That would chill him fast in this cold house, better to keep his exertions normal.

  Rest again and wait. Don’t hurry and use energy he didn’t have.

  Greet. You, said a mature male voice.

  Zane jerked in surprise, let himself subside. “Who’s there?” But his own words echoed through the chamber, so he felt foolish. “Anyone?” The harsh grating of that word emphasized that the salutation had been telepathic, mind-to-mind.

  A Fam! His heart thumped hard. An intelligent animal companion. Lord and Lady, what a blessing, a being to help him get home.

  “Fam?” he croaked. “FamCat? FamFox?” He called out the most common Fam species.

  What is Fam? came the question, along with a long creak as punctuation, and his hopes plummeted. The building. This place had become intelligent, as happened to some after a couple of centuries.

  Lady and Lord. He couldn’t send the House to get help. And it sure wasn’t hooked into the network of intelligent dwellings, Houses and Residences, or it would know of Fams.

  Hope left him and the chill pain of his body returned. He closed his blind eyes, let dampness ease the aching dry.

  Greet you. Hello. Debris and detritus. Please respond, mobile being ... man.

  The odd phrase rang through his head, debris and detritus, usually leftover stuff after he’d finished a treasure hunt. Usually swept out to sea ... or claimed by small ocean beings as dwellings. Odd bits that floated away.

  Couldn’t stay helpless on his back, he scooted to a pillar a few centimeters beyond the fireplace, propped himself against the column. Not an ungodly amount of pain, though his back did crackle during movement.

  The sound of rustling surrounded him.

  Finally, he croaked aloud, “Debris and Detritus?”

  YES! That is me!

  Definitely a telepathic voice, maybe not a hallucination, since he would never have imagined that phrase. Eh, he could talk until the last of the pain subsided, take the brooch and leave.

  “Debris and detritus is you?” His voice sounded harsh and with an edge.

  Yes! Another creak punctuated the word.

  “Why Debris and Detritus?” Everyone else on the planet had botanical names, following the lead of the FirstFamily colonists who’d paid for the starships and the trip. Those colonists had formed the culture after what they knew of the Celts--and the twenty-five sacred trees.

  But the House replied, My former person ... people ... one, two, three, four ... no, only three, I think. One, then two. They were scholars and studied ... studied legends. Ancient legends of the foreland. The place not here.

  “Ancient Earth?”

  Yes! That place, and a place of that planet, Greece.

  Zane grunted. He knew a multitude of legends, but barely recalled those.

  This notion of planets is odd.

  His throat tickled as Zane began to answer and he coughed. His chest hurt, felt a little soggy. Not good. “The humans, ah, mobile sentient beings like myself, originated on the planet Earth and came through space from there to here, this planet we named Celta.”

  The atmosphere around him thickened with heavy silence.

  What am I?

  “You are a House. Capital ‘h’ because you are becoming intelligent--that is, self-aware and able to communicate in a rational manner with other sentient beings.”

  Oh. A House. Long pause. What IS a House? Or a house?

  “A house is a building made by we mobile creatures to protect us. A dwelling.”

  I have a purpose! To protect a Family.

  “That’s right. From what I know of houses becoming Residences," he cleared his throat where the damp fog had congealed, "HeartStones are placed when people--ah--mobile beings, want their homes to become sentient. The stones are blessed and, ah, given energy during rituals and such," he pulled a hand out of a warm pocket to wave vaguely, though he didn't know whether the House could sense the gesture, unless by a ruffling of his atmosphere. "And after a time a critical mass of energy or knowledge or spirit or something, sparks, and you, ah, become conscious and intelligent." Sounded good to him.

  So I was WANTED.

  "So I believe."

  And as Debris and Detritus contemplated that in silence, Zane understood, he, too, had been blessed. His chill lips curved in a self-mocking smile. He’d been more than blessed. He’d been arrogant. Had considered all the blessings of his life--his Flair, his career, his sight as his due as a member of a Family who’d become noble within the first three decades of landing on Celta.

  What is a Fam?

  “A Fam is an intelligent animal companion who bonds with a person. Cats. Foxes. Dogs. Raccoons, I think, a couple of birds.”

  Animals.

  “Yes.”

  I know of this. A pause. Not humans and usually smaller and not bipedal.

  “Usually smaller. Think a horse or two has become a Fam.” Gradually, he began to stretch his muscles, test them, especially his back as he sat up straight, shoulders over hips. Easy does it.

  I am Debris and Detritus, the House said with a note of confidence not formerly in its tones.

  “Greet you.” If he licked his lips, the cold would crack them, but his mouth was dry. He rubbed a hand across it. “I am Zane Aster, of the GraceLady Aster Family.” Though the lowest of the noble ranks, ‘Grace,’ the early founding of his Family gave them better status. “And Debris and Detritus is a mouthful of a name, I’ll call you D and D.”

  That sounds ... acceptable. A pause, Greet you, Zane of the Aster Family. Now the House sounded wistful. Another pause. We have exchanged names. What comes next?

  Suppressing a grunt, Zane began moving in increments. He pushed himself to a squat, crab walked back to the empty space he sensed of fireplace instead of wall.

  Extending a hand trembling with cold--had to be cold causing the shivering, not more futile despair--and his fingers touched a stone, rounded, no doubt a fabulous gemstone, for some reason the facets under his fingers, and the way it ... resonated ... made him believe the gem was a great round ruby. It pulsed like heart’s blood.

  Yes, now that he relaxed a little, analyzed the input from his senses--undistracted by Flair--he felt glimmerings of the treasure that had brought him here.

  Zane Aster? What comes next?

  “Next I take this nice little bauble and hand it back to T’Ivy and collect the reward.”

  No!

  The whole house shuddered with a force that knocked Zane back on his ass, jarring his damn spine again so he sucked breaths through his teeth.

  You can’t go. You MUST stay! the House insisted.

  “Why?” he
asked.

  I need a person. A Family. We belong TOGETHER.

  Zane paused. “You’re lonely.” He had a big, nosy, and noisy Family, all ready to mend him though he couldn’t be fixed.

  I will think on that word and concept.

  Creaking to his squat again, Zane reached for the brooch.

  NO! Static electricity snapped through the room. Zane’s fingers curled reflexively, protectively.

  “Give me the brooch.” Gritting his teeth, he stretched, nabbed it. No electric jolt of pain that his Aster Family Residence would have shocked him with. Guess the House didn’t know it could do that.

  Or know that it could drop a brick or a ceiling on Zane.

  Good.

  Bit by bit, Zane straightened to stand--hunched but upright. Soon he’d uncurl from that posture.

  Eyes open, he saw nothing but black, but recalled the door opening. He glided one step toward it, then the next.

  You can’t go!

  Impatient with being told, once more this month what he could and couldn’t do, he barked, “You can’t make me stay.” Naturally, he didn’t have the strength to teleport. “I can kick in that door I mended.” He didn’t want to, and his physical strength felt subpar, his back ached.

  If you go you will-- Debris and Detritus broke off.

  But Zane listened hard, knew the immobile being had nearly said something it might regret.

  I can tell you a secret.

  “Yes?”

  A long pause.

  The secret may make you stay.

  More quiet, until Zane broke it. “All right, I’m a treasure hunter, so I’m a curious man, tell me.”

  When the answer came, it was a feathery whisper in his mind. All who leave me, leave something behind. It is the nature of ... me. My being. My ... Flair.

  That had Zane straightening to his full height, barely aware of his aching back. His mind played with such a scenario a dozen ways, then he insisted, “That’s not all of your secret, is it?”