This Gulf of Time and Stars

by Julie E. Czerneda

  I sensed shock racing mind-to-mind and gestured a sincere apology. “Those who survive are in hiding and at risk, their resources contaminated.” It covered the point. “I’ve come to you, to my mother—” I’d no shame using our connection; the rest looked less upset. “—to ask your help.”

  Another shock, their unease more subtle. They’d worked in secret; that I could guess. It made sense they’d come to believe themselves separate.

  No longer.

  Nik di Prendolat looked around at the rest, then to me. She was a tall Clanswoman, with an air of gentle dignity. “We’ve room for you, Speaker. You’ll be safe with us.”

  A round of now-cheerful nods. “And welcome. Most welcome. Please. Stay until everything’s back to normal.”

  “‘Back to—’” I swallowed the word, unable to credit what I’d heard. This was no fortress. Mirim bribed their gatekeeper with what—scraps of supper? It was only a matter of time until the Assemblers—or some other enemy—found this pocket of Clan. Clan who wouldn’t ’port, perhaps couldn’t.

  Clan with children.

  “We’re safe here,” Tle insisted, giving me a defiant look.

  She knew better. Knew better and hadn’t told them. Why? What’s here that matters more than their lives? I kept the sending tight and private.

  Her eyes widened, then narrowed. The truth.

  The truth. Words that haunted; words that held out—was it hope? I couldn’t feel it, consumed by anger.

  Secrets. Tle loved them. These people, so dangerously naive, could well die for them. What was I to do? Squander what time I had trying to save them?

  Delay to unravel yet another puzzle?

  All that, from the closet?

  Morgan was smiling. I could tell, even if he was careful to keep amusement from his sending.

  It’s not a closet.

  I’d walked away before losing my temper in what I’d feared would be an unforgettable and unforgivable fashion, choosing the leftmost of the two doors at the end of the big room. Look for yourself. I sent him what I could see. It wasn’t exactly a closet, being a crowded storeroom no larger than our cabin on the Fox. Closing the door behind myself without slamming had seemed, at the time, dignified.

  Barac says they’re harmless.

  He didn’t accuse me of running away, of being unwilling to confront Tle in front of what was, in a real sense, her family. Harmless or not.

  They don’t accept using the M’hir. As we were doing now, our link through the darkness as sure and strong as sunshine. Better in a closet, I thought glumly, than in front of them.

  Your cousin doesn’t accept engines move the ship. His tone grew serious. Talk to them, Witchling. You’re their Speaker, too.

  I want to be crew.

  Our link strengthened until I might have been within his arms and he in mine. When Morgan withdrew, ever-so-gently, I resisted the urge to keep him with me.

  It not being dignified to stay in a closet, however tempting.

  No one commented when I came out, though they must have shared the PUZZLEMENT Andi broadcast. Nik put an arm around her daughter. There was the faintest trace of embarrassment, then polite silence. Josa drew close, both parents looking at me as though expecting criticism.

  Meant to reassure, my smile froze on my face.

  These children.

  >Here<

  At their age, they should have been fostered to other homes, each stretched and tenuous link to a mother used, while it lasted, to reinforce a desired passage through the M’hir. But these links were here and intact; I could see them, like tightly woven braids. These were families who’d stayed together, in certain defiance of Council, their units closer to a Human culture like that of Stonerim III. Like Morgan’s.

  I’d imagined a colony. I hadn’t been wrong.

  “While you were away, Josa brought out some wine. This is an occasion.” The way Mirim said the word wasn’t like Morgan, yet was. These were her family, as I wasn’t, but the realization held no sting. I’d my own, now.

  What struck me more was how calmly they accepted the decimation of our kind, as if it were an interesting fact but little more. The Clan had rejected them and their ideas; I supposed it made sense for them to do the same. But it meant what I wanted and cared about wasn’t going to be the same for them.

  And that could be a problem.

  I nodded graciously. “An occasion it is.” I gazed around at their faces. “Thank you.” With the words, I sent gratitude and approval and a smidge of thirst.

  Andi giggled.

  With impressive speed, stools were arranged around the now-cleared end of the table, a cloth placed, and a selection of glasses unusual in no two being the same filled with wine. The cloth looked more like a tarp and, after a sip, I suspected the wine of having been made in someone’s kitchen, but there was no doubting the warmth in this room.

  Warmth Tle protected. I could feel her bristle of worry.

  She wasn’t alone. When I opened my senses, emotions roiled and snapped at me from an unexpected source. My mother. Having borne Jarad’s disapproval her adult life, I would have thought it unlikely she’d cared about my opinion.

  Then again, these two, of all the rest, understood what had happened to the Clan, what could happen here.

  If they were afraid, so was I. I could feel the hours slipping by, hours our enemies wouldn’t waste, but instilling panic wouldn’t help. There were times, Captain Morgan would tell me, when you went with the hand you were dealt.

  “As my mother’s said, I’ve a question for you. For all of you,” I expanded, seeing their eyes light up. “Where’s the Clan Homeworld?”

  Eyes dropped. I could hear everyone breathing; nothing more. Mirim took a slow sip of wine, the only one to move.

  What had I said? “Where we, the M’hiray, came from,” I explained. “What can you tell me about it?”

  “The Origin?” Andi smiled happily and turned to her parents. “We haven’t reached it yet, have we, Father? But we’re very very close—”

  HUSH!

  Was this promising or not? “Please explain.” I did my best to speak quietly, but my hair lashed my shoulders. “Mother?”

  She gave me a considering look, then nodded. “There’s no more need for secrecy. Show Sira the orbs.”

  Mirim’s command sent the young brothers rushing to a cupboard. They removed a box as long as my arm, a costly thing of wood and precious inlay, and brought it to the table. Others made room for it in front of me.

  I might have been sitting at a trader table, trying to make sense of another species. Which I’d done before, I reminded myself. I went to open it.

  “Don’t touch it. You’re pregnant!” Having frozen me in place with that sharp rebuke, Deni carefully undid the closures, one requiring the press of his thumb, and lifted the lid.

  The inside of the box was divided into lined compartments. Slightly more than half of those were filled with oval crystals. Very familiar crystals. A couple were chipped, but most were in as fine a shape as the one in my pocket.

  I bent to look closer. They were empty—or solid, I thought suddenly.

  “We’ve had no way to test them,” Mirim told me. She picked one up, holding it in the palm of her hand.

  About to ask “What do you think they are?” I hesitated. Their serious expressions implied these were anything but simple hunks of rock; they’d the tech to know. “What are they?”

  “They are repositories,” Holl di Licor answered. “Meant to keep dying minds safe from the Great Darkness.” Her strong dappled fingers rested on the lid. “We don’t know if they’ve been used—if there are minds inside. The technique’s been lost.”

  To their plain disappointment and my relief. I’d been in stasis, trapped within my body. To be trapped forever in stone? In no sense was that better than flowing
away into the M’hir.

  “We do know—I mean, we’ve postulated,” Holl corrected at Deni’s cautioning look “—that such minds could be retrieved.”

  And would be insane, I told myself, none too sure at the moment about the state of my hosts’ minds. “Why would you want to?”

  The others looked startled. My mother merely nodded. “These are pre-Stratification.”

  Staggered by the implications, as she’d intended, I let out a slow breath. “You think you—you want to talk to our Ancestors.”

  “They’ll tell us how to reach the Origin,” Andi said happily. “The best place in the universe!”

  If this was how they’d been searching for our home planet all these years, I’d be better off trying for sense out of the Watchers.

  >here<

  Staying wasn’t going to—I stopped, holding my breath, trying to listen. But it wasn’t in my ears. It wasn’t me.

  “What is it?” Mirim sat, her eyes searching my face.

  “I don’t know,” I said, suddenly terrified I did.

  Not looking away from my mother, taking strength from my sense of her, of what was real and believable, I pulled out the crystal from the Hall of Ancestors and set it on the table.

  All but my mother rose to their feet. Parents gathered their children close. The Chosen held onto one another, Orry moved back, and Tle di Parth . . .

  . . . had disappeared.

  Mirim’s gaze dropped to the crystal. Reluctantly, I let mine follow.

  The precious scrap of fabric had vanished. In its place, filling the crystal, was white smoke.

  I’d ’ported with it before. It had been fine on the Fox. As if the thing might bring me badly needed luck, I’d slipped it in my pocket the way Auordians braided beads in their hair. I hadn’t looked at it till now.

  My hair drifted down. Curious. Attracted.

  >Here<

  Interlude

  HARD WORK, evading that questing, nosy mind in the M’hir. Almost as difficult as avoiding those foul creatures. It took Power.

  Power she had. That the di Caraats had always had. So much, those jealous fools had ruled to excise her family’s name.

  Fools now dead or running, while she, Wys di Caraat, First Chosen of that potent House, remained. The future was bright indeed.

  If she could find those she sought. Wys gave up, pulling free. The Watchers’ continued din helped and hindered. Hiding her, yes, but also her quarry.

  The opening of her eyes brought forward servants, one to offer a steaming cup, the other to kneel and rub the cramps from her feet. The Clanswoman accepted their ministrations without thought, her attention on what she hadn’t expected to see. “What are you doing in my cabin?”

  The Scat dipped its snout, regarding her out of one eye. They didn’t like her or her kind.

  She didn’t care. “Well?”

  “Your mate is-sss less-ss than content. He makes-ss noissse.”

  As if others among the pirate’s less willing passengers didn’t scream.

  Wys dismissed her servants with an irritated gesture. “Put him in stasis if he’s a nuisance.” Would her Chosen ever stop being a burden? He’d protested their settlement on Acranam, protested leaving that overheated excuse for a world.

  And would be dead now, if she’d listened.

  Even now, Erad pushed at her shield. Doubtless wanting to complain about his treatment. He gave her nightmares when he could.

  She’d tolerated his nonsense for the glorious child they’d produced, only to have Sira di Sarc destroy her son at the cusp of his ascension over all other Clan. The very cusp!

  “S—stasssis-ss comes-ss with ris-ssk.”

  Wys glared at the Scat, the greedy creature well aware its final, and larger, payment required both Clan being alive and whole.

  Was nothing easy? A shame she hadn’t had Yihtor erase his father’s mind and make him something useful. “Deal with him. Without damage—” she cautioned.

  It chittered with pleasure, thin black tongue collecting foam from between its fangs, and left.

  Wys snapped her fingers and the mindless Chosen pair who served her resumed their duties.

  She’d lost a son and been disgraced. Things were different now. Opportunity unfolded like blossoms with every death of those who’d once opposed her.

  She closed her eyes, going back to her careful, cautious search.

  Acranam’s Clan had believed they would one day rule over all their kind. That they themselves determined their own fate.

  They never had been free—

  And never would be.

  Those who’d been offworld, who’d survived?

  Were hers.

  Chapter 19

  >HERE<

  I stood and stumbled away as my hair went mad, stretching out longing tendrils, snapping those back at my face. I fought it with both hands.

  Others joined mine, strong and sure. Together we twisted the locks into a heaving mass at the back of my head, holding it there, until, suddenly, it subsided. Warily, I let go, feeling the other hands do the same. As if it had never been anything but mannerly, my hair fell limp down my back.

  I looked around, wiping tears from my eyes and not a little blood from my cheeks, to find Mirim there. “I don’t suppose you have another of those nets, do you?” My hair gave a last little quiver, as if to apologize. I wasn’t ready to forgive it.

  “What happened?” my mother demanded.

  About to ask her the same question, I gave a helpless shrug. “I don’t know.” The crystal, white and mysterious, sat on the table. The rest of the Clan kept their distance, their eyes shifting from it to me and back. “It didn’t look like this before.” I shared the crystal’s original appearance with them all, impatient with words. “And it’s talking.”

  “‘Talking’?” She said it in wonder, not disbelief. “Can it be? Leesems?”

  “We supposed a Presence would make itself known at the—ah—appropriate moment,” he answered promptly, though his face had gone sickly pale. I sympathized. “How was a mystery. There is the other—ah—requirement.”

  “For what?” I asked, doing my best to sound reasonable. “What ‘Presence’?” Though that there was one, I no longer doubted.

  >Here<

  “It’s true. I know it is.” Andi tugged her hand from her father’s and ran to me. She looked up, her gray-green eyes as serious as any adult’s, and said what chilled my blood. “You carry a Vessel.”

  Vessel. What did it say, that this cold, hard word satisfied something in me, when “baby” did not?

  I slammed tight my link to Morgan.

  Her parents followed, putting protective hands on Andi’s shoulders but not moving her away. “Our daughter has several Talents.” The mother, with pride.

  Birth Watcher among them. On impulse, I offered the child my hand. Little fingertips rested on my palm for an instant, their touch light and cool. A delighted smile dimpled her soft cheeks. “I feel her.” Her eyes rose to mine. “She’s strong.”

  As if they’d waited for the news, the others crowded close, reaching out to brush their fingers against mine, smiling. I made myself endure it, sensing nothing but goodwill and happiness.

  Or else I was afraid of moving. Both, I thought stupidly, applied. A Presence, clearly aware. A Vessel, empty.

  Waiting.

  >Here<

  Stay away from me, I told it, horrified. Stay away from mine.

  My revulsion wasn’t shared by my mother’s group, busy murmuring with joy. “I never thought to see this day.” “We’re saved.” “At last.”

  None of which eased my mind or helped me understand what was happening or stop it, but I nodded to keep them happy.

  My mother, of course, stayed apart.

  While that thing’s >Here . . . here<
crawled under my skin.

  Deni sud Kessa’at put the crystal in a plas box, handling it with a pair of wooden spoons. Irrational, to be relieved to have the thing out of sight—

  Especially as the >here . . . here< continued unabated, scratching, digging—

  But it was an improvement.

  More, the group lost their reticence, treating me as though I’d been part of them all along. Or belonged to them. The distinction was unimportant.

  Tle had reappeared, tactfully walking in through the one door I hadn’t. She gestured apology and sat, quiet and subdued, at the opposite end of the table. Her contrition wouldn’t last; that she bothered at all made me wonder again about this “truth” of hers.

  “Friends.” Mirim rose to her feet. “In this terrible time for the M’hiray, it is tempting to believe we’ve found what we’ve searched for these many years. To believe my daughter’s arrival and her condition are for our benefit and we have but to act, to succeed for all.”

  And didn’t that sound unsettling? I prepared the locate for the Fox, just in case.

  She glanced at me, a glint in her eyes as though she’d read thoughts I kept private. “It is, in fact, the other way around. Sira, we offer you our help. We are the only Clan who understand what you carry. We can help you survive its birth.”

  I focused on the key phrase—ignoring the highly alarming rest. An “offer” implied they wanted something in return. From me. “What do you want?”

  The others stilled.

  My mother smiled. “That you ask the Presence our questions. Chief among them, yours. Where did we come from?”

  “The Origin,” the others said in eerie synchrony. As if they said it often.

  As if it were a prayer.

  Interlude

  YOU ARE MINE. Obey!

  Morgan woke with a start, heart pounding in his throat, skin slick with sweat. Gods. He hadn’t had that nightmare for months, hadn’t relived that oily mind voice crawling around his thoughts, threatening, promising, full of lies and pain . . .