Heart Quest

by Robin D. Owens

  The low, malicious voice penetrated the drugged fog in Trif ’s mind, followed by a spurt of fear. Her senses sharpened. She lay naked on a soft cloth over hard stone. The dangling fingertips of her right hand twitched enough to contact the dias beneath her and trace the symbols. Bad symbols. Black magic.

  Ritual Murder.

  Inside her head, a little voice began to scream—and stayed inside her mind. The cry didn’t connect to the silky-furred form curled above the curve of her right hip—Greyku! She actually felt her heart thump hard in her chest. Greyku hadn’t heard her. She tested her bond with Ilex. A tiny thread. Inert. No Flair or emotion flowing through it. He wouldn’t come.

  She didn’t feel the warm stone of her amulet on her skin. Had they taken it? Why hadn’t she ever asked if it was bespelled to stay with her? If it was near, could she get it? Order it to ’port them out of here?

  Greyku breathed evenly; the faint trace of her mind that Trif could sense echoed a sleep pattern. Drugged, as she was.

  Movement came around her; she struggled to open her eyes and her lashes lifted a crack. Her head was turned to the left and she faced a wall. A straight wall. She was in no round Temple of her faith. The place was nowhere she knew, smelled of incense, echoed like a warehouse. Fear bubbled through her brain, wiping thought away, fighting the drug. When she yanked the terror under control, forced its paralysis away, she was slightly able to think. In this instance, fear was a good thing.

  “Shouldn’t the rest of us be here?” asked a man.

  Another evil chuckle, followed by a melodious voice that Trif strained to hear. “Not yet. I told them to arrive just after sunset, about twenty minutes from now.” There was a delicate snort. “I didn’t call the whole kurchucx. This sacrifice is not much, a Commoner and a kitten. Look at them—the girl’s features can’t be called Noble by any standards, and certainly not mine. And a pastel, parti-colored Fam. How preposterous! No, this is just a little tidbit for the most devoted of us. The four.”

  Now fury sizzled through Trif, and she managed to move her head a few centimeters until she could see the line where a grimy black plaster wall met an even darker black ceiling. Greyku stirred. Trif wanted to spare the kitten, but sensed she’d need all her resources, including her Fam, to escape this horror.

  She sent a spurt of energy to Greyku, and the little cat soaked it up like a sponge. The effort exhausted Trif. How could she possibly gather enough Flair to free herself? Drugs weren’t the only thing that held her. A spellbond ran below her, immobilizing her wherever her body touched the cloth—back of the head, shoulders, back, butt, legs. Her left arm was imprisoned. But her right was free from the elbow down. And she’d moved her head—that must be the weakest point.

  A little hope.

  Quiet footsteps came closer and much as she wanted to keep her mind focused and fighting the drugs, she had to shut her eyes. All too easily her lashes drifted down.

  A finger traced her torso from the hollow of her throat to her navel. She could imagine a knife following the same path, and her body jerked.

  “See that?” The second voice, a man’s, pitched high with excitement. “The drug is wearing off. Can we do this sacrifice with the victim conscious? It would be so much more rewarding, I tell you, to feed off the terror. I’ve studied the texts and I’m sure her Flair would rise stronger, be more powerful if the sacrifice is awake.”

  “You doubt my scholarship?” The first person was close enough for Trif to discover the voice belonged to a woman.

  “Let’s just try a little experiment. What could it hurt? She’s nothing, nobody, a Commoner,” the man wheedled.

  “All the more reason to follow standard procedure, so we can discover what difference Commoner blood makes in our occult investigations.”

  The man continued. “Yes, but if the Flair we raise from her, drain from her and the Fam through the Fam’s link with her, is greater than usual, we might actually harvest enough for one of us to Acsend.” There was a short pause. “Especially if we sacrifice the Fam this time too.”

  The doze Trif had been sinking into evaporated as the words rang and echoed in her mind. Especially if we sacrifice the Fam…. Her brain cleared, though her muscles still felt heavy, unresponsive.

  Not only she would die. Greyku would die because she was Fam to a woman with unstable Flair. Trif didn’t know why the fact that her Flair wasn’t under control mattered…easier to harvest? Yes! That felt right.

  Greyku would die because of her. She couldn’t bear the thought. Pretty, lively, kitten Greyku.

  Finally, Trif felt exactly like Ilex had.

  Trif felt the shift in air as if the man bowed. “We all agreed that you, as our leader, should Ascend first. Think of it. And perhaps we might not just drain them of Flair, of energy, but of…blood. Blood rites have so much power.” The man made the same line on Trif as he had before, this time firm enough that his fingernail scratched her. “Instead of separating the heart into molecules and drawing it through the body, slash her and we can eat it with blood gushing as well as warm and pumping. The kitten is small; there’s hardly a good area to slice for us to pull the Flair from the woman through the cat and to ourselves—yourself. Gut the kitten.”

  The musical voice laughed quietly, raising gooseflesh. “I hadn’t thought to play with blood rites so soon. But she is a Commoner, and the kitten trash. I’ll consider it as we await the other two. We can compare bloodrites on a Commoner with our bloodless procedure on a Noble.

  “And you may be right. With the Flair I receive tonight, I could deceive the great T’Ash and his Testing Stones. I’ll be a GrandLady, found my own house.”

  Shock stabbed Trif. This is what all these murders were about? Despite the unnatural “experiments” and “investigations” the deadly two spoke of, rationalizing their actions, all they wanted was worldly power. Nothing more than wealth and status.

  They’d trade her blood and body, and Greyku’s, for riches and a higher level of Nobility. Her gorge rose. They were stupid. Gilt mattered little, position even less.

  What mattered was love and life. She was cold. The air was warm enough around her—but the fear in her blood chilled her from the inside out. She and Greyku were bonded closely. Even if she managed to save Greyku and not herself—find the amulet and twine it around her Fam maybe—how would her death scar Greyku? None of the other Fams who’d suffered the loss of their companions had been so young. She was so young, so precious. So beloved.

  Like Trif herself was to Ilex.

  She had no choice. She had to save them both.

  She couldn’t teleport—the spell connecting her to the cloth, then through the cloth to the massive altar, would prevent it. But she could send Greyku away perhaps. If Trif could touch her. Her right hand was free. Greyku was on her right side.

  More hope.

  More.

  Her throat tightened. That was what Greyku was always saying. More.

  Today Trif would try everything. She’d rarely raised her Flair—the only time she used it was in her music and ’porting. She never sought her visions.

  Her mouth was dry, tongue coated with a nasty tang. She doubted she could whistle, let alone croak a song, not that her voice was special. She wanted her flute. Again, a slight sting came behind her eyes; again, tears failed to liquefy.

  The two people strode away and Trif noted a darkening in the light beyond her eyelids. Carefully she opened her lashes. Saw nothing but the dark ceiling. She’d moved her head! Straightened it so she could see directly above her. Excitement fizzed inside her, made her breath ragged.

  That was the key.

  Breathing.

  If she could find the right pattern of breathing, she could summon her Flair. Let it rage out of control—yes! A glimmer of an idea flickered in her mind.

  FamWoman! Greyku’s shrill cry battered Trif. Her pulse increased fractionally.

  Calm, beloved kitten, Trif said.

  Fur and muscle quivered beside her.
I can’t move.

  We were drugged. Breathe with me. I will gather Flair and send it to you. It will be dark soon, and I want you out of here.

  You must come too!

  You will save me, be a hero.

  Sire Zanth is a hero. He has told us kits often. Fairyfoot saved her FamWoman. I can be a hero too.

  Yes. Breathe with me a moment.

  Instead of forcing her mind and her breath down certain paths, Trif endeavored to relax, to put herself in a mild trance state. Let her Flair collect and pool inside her. Breathe. Keep alert. Breathe. Strengthen the bond with Greyku. Breathe.

  The drug’s hold seemed to lessen. Though her limbs were weighty, her mind floated, and formed an image.

  She was walking the Great Labyrinth.

  Ilex.

  For a moment, the emotional pain was so sharp, it overpowered all thought, all other feelings, even her love for Greyku. Once again, she willed her love for him, disregarded but never vanquished, through their bond. Nothing happened. Weariness dimmed her vision.

  Greyku whimpered. A tiny sound.

  It strained Trif ’s nerves, hardened her resolve. I love you, FamCat.

  The kitten exhaled in a sigh. I love You, FamWoman.

  I am gathering Flair for you. I think I will have enough for a minor spell and one big burst.

  What minor spell? Greyku sounded more curious than afraid. Good.

  The evil ones are waiting for night. I will take the fur-dim spell from you.

  A kitten chuckle rolled through Trif, comforting her. My fur eyes!

  Yes.

  That will scare them.

  Yes. Let me conserve my energy now.

  I will collect My Flair too. We will show them!

  In her mind, Trif walked the Great Labyrinth remembering the steps and turns, the offerings of the Nobles beside the path. She’d been there for her friend’s wedding, and with Ilex. A little spurt of extra Flair came with his name, so she tried it again. Ilex. A bit more Flair flowed in her, as if her Flair itself recognized the name of her HeartMate. So she walked and she thought of him, and she trod the path of the Great Labyrinth up the crater walls and let her psi energy rise.

  Absently, she heard the door open again, more voices added to the original man’s and woman’s.

  As they talked, an unholy excitement ran around the room, coated her skin, raising gooseflesh.

  Focus on the Great Labyrinth.

  I will. I see it in your mind, and I looked down from the rim when you were there with FamMan, Greyku replied. Trif had been speaking to herself, but a smidgeon more inner tension relaxed.

  People moved around her and she turned her head a few more centimeters, and she saw four naked people holding knives. She recognized Piana Juniper and Cyperus Sedge. The other woman seemed familiar, but the knives gleamed huge and sharp. Her pulse picked up its beat and all calming images vanished. Her small trance burst like a bubble.

  The slow pace of the afternoon gnawed at Ilex, though it was all necessary procedure. Two septhours were spent dealing with a FirstFamilies Council, which finally authorized a public manhunt—and issued statements regarding the killings to the newssheets.

  Then all the Druida guards met in the main station and Ilex briefed the men and women. The Head of the Guardsmen sent those with enough tracking, hunting, or investigative Flair out to find the people on Lobelia’s list. He and Chief Sawyr had already ascertained that two had left Druida, two had died, and several were mysteriously missing.

  Finally, Ilex returned to the guardhouse and prepared to hunt the leader down. That one had more Flair than he, and much more viciousness. He donned magical battle gear and protection amulets.

  And in the heightened tension of the hunt, thoughts of Trif pummeled him.

  She’d been right all along, and he’d been wrong. He had thought that the worst fate that could befall them was death. So wrong. What was the worst was not living life to the fullest. Not embracing each moment joyfully, not sharing it with your beloved.

  The days without her had been excruciating. He cared for nothing, had no passion. Even with battle-readiness flooding his veins, he felt empty, not alive, but as if he was one of his own poppets, filled with a certain energy but no emotion. Time and again throughout the day, he checked on the tiny fiber that was their bond.

  Until late in the afternoon he noticed it was gone.

  Sheer panic struck, blinding him, freezing him to the spot in the door to the guardhouse outer office.

  One of his poppets flew toward him, the face transforming into Cyperus Sedge’s.

  One of his trip wires fell. An inner wire. He shuddered. He might be too late.

  She took one slow, deep breath, exhaled equally gradually, then sucked in air fast and deep and grabbed her Flair and screamed, dismissing the dim spell on Greyku’s fur.

  Other screams as Greyku moved. I find amulet!

  No—But the kitten ignored her. Trif sensed her speeding around the room. Flexing and leaping so that the painted eyes rippled with horrific strangeness. Trif didn’t know how long that would stop the cult.

  Only one thing to do. Trif gathered her Flair, flung everything she had into envisioning the past, and as the wave of psi power rushed outward, others were caught in her vision.

  The vision of the past—the ancient past of Earth.

  The bloodiest one that had haunted her childhood, lingered through her Passages. For once she was glad to see it.

  Long lines of men wearing different-colored uniforms, faces twisted in fury and fear, ran at each other, waving swords and holding tubes that shot projectiles—guns. Two armies of soldiers. Huge booms shattered the quiet. Artillery. A clump of men burst into bloody pieces, limbs and heads flying, leaving long arcs of spurting blood.

  The scent of death infused the air.

  Screams in the here and now ripped from the cultists’ throats. A rising screech of horror.

  Sounds of people colliding—with each other and bumping against furniture and walls. They gibbered, they swore. Among the cascade of words were some that freed Trif ’s head.

  Ahuge wave of Flair exploded through Ilex’s link with Trif. He was caught in an awful vision of bloody fighting. Men screaming, clashing, stabbing with bayonets attached to guns. Then the guns erupted with sound and men jerked and fell and died. He groaned and fell himself.

  “Guardsman Winterberry, attention!” snapped Sawyr, and the vision loosed its hold on him.

  Cold water dashed against his face and broke the spell. He staggered to his feet, shaking his head and flinging the droplets away from face and hair. “My HeartMate is on the black altar!” he shouted.

  Sawyr’s strong finger tightened over Ilex’s biceps. “Trace her to the link. We go!” He glanced around, saw the guard who’d dumped water on Ilex. “Come with us, Bluegum.” The woman stalked to Ilex, grabbed his arm. Her face was pale, lips compressed.

  “One of my trip wires…which?” He had to think! “Dark,” he rasped.

  FamMan, here, here, here! A strange perspective tilted in his mind, some visual, but a knowing, completely controlled and grounded location. That corner. Hurry!

  He knew the place a small warehouse near the docks. “One, we transport. Two teleport. Now!”

  They landed in a corner. Both Sawyr and Bluegum toppled. Both were steadied by corner walls.

  The room was painted black. Flickering candles illuminated three people curled on themselves, whimpering.

  The door banged open so hard, it ripped off its hinges and toppled to the floor, trapping one of the females. Piana Juniper moaned.

  “Guards!” gasped a man—Cyperus Sedge then: “I will not be taken!” His eyes were more mad than sane. He plunged a dagger into his own chest. Died.

  Screams from the other two.

  A black velvet hooded robe draped the only one standing, the leader. The cowl shadowed her face. She flung out an arm and sent a sizzling stream of Flair toward Trif.

  Thirty

&nbs
p; Ilex flung himself in front of the black altar and took the Flair against his bespelled chestplate. He swept his blazer from his holster, but the room was full of moving people.

  The leader hissed an impotent scream. “I’m not finished with you, Trif Clover,” and ran out the door.

  Sawyr boomed a powerful chant that vanquished the dark spells shrouding the room.

  “Go!” Trif ordered. It was more of a mental cry, a mere whisper from her voice, but Ilex heard, saw her arm jerk and point at the door opening. “Catch…”

  He drank in the sight of her, hesitated.

  Go, she repeated.

  “You were right,” he said. He had to tell her. “Right about everything.”

  Her eyes went wide.

  Guardswoman Bluegum held up Trif ’s amulet. “We’ll activate this transnow!” She place a panting Greyku in Trif ’s arms, wrapped an arm around Trif, flicked her thumbnail against the stone, and they vanished.

  Sawyr spellbound the remaining two. “There should be two more.”

  Fury shook Ilex. He burned to find the person who’d harmed his HeartMate. A red haze rose before his eyes and he shot from the room and onto the street.

  Behind him he heard Sawyr demanding names of the missing.

  No one to be seen. He longed for T’Blackthorn’s tracking ability, then dismissed the futile wish. The leader would not escape. Ilex extended all his senses, used his own Flair and some from Vertic, to sense the murderer.

  And he did. The faint stench of incense had him turning to his left, running down the street to a maze of narrow streets near the docks. His feet pounded the cobblestones, and soon scent was the least of his senses in hunting the leader. He should have lost the trail, but his Flair was greater than he’d ever known, preternatural for him. The effect of loving his HeartMate? Would it diminish?

  He brushed the stray notion aside as the blood pumped through him, his Flair sang of the hunt. There! A dark movement against the night—a last swirl of robe as the wearer whisked around a corner…bolting.

  Why didn’t the murderer teleport?