Heart Fortune (Celta)

by Robin D. Owens

  And what passion! He shook out his limbs, still energized from the dream sex. The cleaning spells were easy now, taking minimal Flair, he did them so often and knew them so well. He wrapped on another loincloth.

  Zem, you want some food? Jace eyed the no-time. He could do with some fancy tasting vittles. Maybe even eat some holiday food, though no ritual time was near. The new twinmoons had passed, he wasn’t quite sure when first-quarters or half-moons was, and Mabon, the autumnal equinox, was two weeks away.

  But he felt good, and surely the everyday should be celebrated . . . or just get the food in your belly when you could, before the no-time got taken away or the food disappeared for any other reason.

  Click-click-click-click of claws, Zem slowly turned around on his perch. His eyes gleamed in the night. He sniffed.

  Jace frowned, stamped his foot on the floor tarp and said a Flair spell that took a little more energy out of him, but sent the fragrance of herbs—thyme, sage, manly type stuff—through the area. He didn’t mind the smell of sex, but now he had a picky roommate.

  Zem lifted his head, opened and closed his beak. Thank you, FamMan, smells nice.

  Jace nodded.

  I think you should add some bayrum scent to that mixture.

  “Maybe,” Jace said.

  I would like some food, thank you, Zem said.

  Jace took the pace to the no-time and opened it, examined Zem’s menu. “You have skirl, mouse, and portions of rat and mocyn.”

  Zem snapped his beak and replied with greed, All instants after death.

  “Yeah.” That depressed Jace’s appetite a bit.

  I will have the skirl. The fox did not mangle it as much.

  “Okay.”

  I feel like eating guts.

  “Great.”

  Zem glided down to the top of the no-time, beyond his plate, tilted his head with gleaming anticipatory eye.

  “Right.” It would be cowardly to put on a glove to handle the thing. Jace drew in an unobtrusive breath, opened Zem’s drawer, and pulled out the bloody skirl. He set it on the plate and pretended not to notice the ripping and gurgling sounds as he looked at his own menu. He decided to go with a spinach, cheese, and egg pastry pocket, yanked it from the no-time still steaming and tossed it around to cool it.

  Zem’s slurping stopped. You should have a plate and fork to save your fingers.

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  A few minutes later, they’d eaten and he put the now-cool remains of the skirl back into Zem’s drawer.

  The pastry had been excellent. He’d had three. He subsided onto the newly made bedsponge, didn’t get under the top sheet. Too hot and humid for that. Stacking his hands behind his head, he breathed deeply of the air that no longer held just day heat and night coolness, but the slightest hint of autumn scent.

  Zem flew out of the tent to do his business, then back in and to his stand. Jace thought he looked healthier, chipper, even.

  Glyssa was most kind to give us the no-time, Zem said, grooming his feathers and not looking at Jace.

  “Yes.”

  You should be nice to her. Zem hesitated delicately. She gives you pleasure.

  Jace’s whole body twitched. He’d been trying not to think of that and keep from getting hard. Too late now.

  * * *

  The next morning, Glyssa participated in the short ritual for good hunting and blessing the animal to be found and used for food. Then Del, Raz, and Maxima Elecampane and their Fams went out on the bissert hunt along with Sanicle and some others—and Lepid. When they returned with the dead thing, Glyssa took one look and stayed away from the butchering and rendering . . . or whatever.

  In this particular instance, she liked being citified. Hunting and killing animals for food would only happen if she were starving.

  That afternoon Del and Raz surprised the staff again by stating that they would accept volunteers to go down into Lugh’s Spear, if any wished. Every person—being—since Lepid had surged forward—would be fitted with a live viz recording that would send video back to someone monitoring the expedition in the communications tent.

  Jace and Sanicle volunteered, and though Sanicle looked askance at Jace, he said nothing.

  Lepid had reported that gossip about Jace had turned favorable since he’d humbled himself to ask Glyssa for help in saving Zem. People might be reconsidering recent events and believe he was the easy-going guy they’d always known and not some villain hiding behind a smiling mask.

  So, once more, the hole to the breach in the starship was opened and a team of four men and one FamFox went down.

  Glyssa watched the live feed with Maxima, pulse racing at her first real glimpse of the place. So very dark! Just snips and slices of a view.

  Then the team was back up with another crate and a sack that some colonist had left in the corridor—it was littered with personal sacks and boxes—Maxima left to check out and record what was in the sack. And Glyssa spoke with Camellia and Tiana by scry in the communication tent about the fiction project.

  The conversation went well, despite her previous dread. It was great to see her friends and hear their laughter. When Glyssa thought about missing them, it was more than she could bear. They’d gotten together at least once every week, usually more often.

  But she knew they could “see” some of the images she had through their bond with her . . . and Camellia had her HeartMate and her businesses to run and probably wouldn’t come here, not even for a visit . . . not this year.

  Tiana was focused on working her way up the ladder of priestesses, determined to wipe away the smear on her Family’s name by attaining the highest rank in the highest Temple, Lady of RoundCircle Temple in Druida City. Tiana wouldn’t be visiting, either.

  Glyssa sucked in her breath. Of course the lives of her friends wouldn’t stay static. And hadn’t she been the one to leave? She could have stayed in Druida City, done her “field” study and research there. And let Jace go, frittering away their lives. No, that had been no option.

  Her friends loved her. Didn’t feel abandoned by her leaving, following her own path. She sensed curiosity from them, a trace of envy of her, but they’d always shared the bad and tough emotions with the good.

  They’d laughed when she’d told them she’d failed at creative writing, hummed in pleasure when she said her HeartMate was helping her, since he was a natural storyteller.

  Camellia gave her “official” approval of the partnership—anything for a good, popular book.

  They finally all had to say good-bye and cut the transmission.

  The glow of good camaraderie enhanced the deliciousness of a bissert ham steak at dinner.

  Jace worked with her a little bit, reveling in the fact that he was allowed in the back of the ship. She recorded his observations, and they did another chapter on the book about Hoku. Zem had accompanied him and looked very well.

  Then Jace and Zem went out to bask in renewed popularity and take their place by the fire.

  Jace had actually asked her to come and sit next to him, and how she’d wanted to! But bitter as it was, she knew her duty. She had to tell her Family about the change of plans with regard to the book.

  Her Family would not approve of her failure. A Licorice should be able to turn her or his hand to anything and succeed.

  She had to do it. So she walked back to the communications tent, scanned the schedule and, doing the time change arithmetic in her head, chose the closest time, in three-quarters of a half septhour.

  To wait, she crossed to a nearby bench that looked out on the forest and sent a mental call to her Family. FirstLevel Librarians of Celta, from SecondLevel Librarian Glyssa Licorice.

  Her sister contacted her first. FirstLevel Librarian Enata Licorice here. The thought seemed to echo as if in an open space or room—the image Glyssa always got when waiting to speak with more than one of her Family.

  She nerved herself as her mother stated, Here, Rhiza D’Licorice, then her father’s warm mental
joined them, Here, Fasic Almond T’Licorice.

  I request a viz communication with you in half a septhour for a formal update of my fieldwork.

  Surprise fireworks showed in their thoughts.

  Twenty

  We will have to go to the Ship! her mother grumbled. That’s the only terminal for the new viz tech. You did not give us much time!

  Wonderful! her father enthused.

  I suppose I can do that, her sister said.

  Yes, Glyssa was overwhelmed by love at their response. May I expect to see and hear you, then? Not that she really wanted to see and hear them, well, except her father, and even he would be disappointed with her, shake his head. She hated the expression of disappointment on his face.

  We will be there, her mother confirmed. We are leaving now by glider since we don’t know either Nuada’s Sword or Landing Park Teleportation Pad well enough to ’port there. She dropped out of the conversation.

  Her sister said nothing as she left, either.

  Greetyou, dear daughter, her father said, even as Glyssa felt him exploring the surface images of the camp and everything in her mind. She “heard” him sigh. Wish I could go there . . .

  How is your own project proceeding?

  I was allowed to continue your former HouseHeart project. Another, larger sigh. The Families who have HouseHearts—mostly the FirstFamilies, the descendants of the colonists who paid for the ships and crew to make the journey—are very wary and slow to grant my request to see them. They will NOT let me record the inner sanctums. For the couple that I have had success in entering, I have had to take a mind Healer with me so she could immediately wipe the knowledge of the location and how to access the HouseHeart as soon as I left the chamber.

  Glyssa felt the weighing of his considerations, and he continued with a little lighter tone, Perhaps I will report the intransigence of the Residences and the Families and recommend that we shelve the project for the time being.

  Not quite saying that he had failed, and it wouldn’t be held against him, like it would her, because the issue was out of his control.

  Just as stringing words into images and stories was out of Glyssa’s control, but the Family wouldn’t understand that. It would be a rationalization and an excuse. The Licorices had low tolerances for those.

  I think I will be able to convince the other FirstLevel Librarians that this project should be set aside in a couple of months. His mind voice went upbeat. Then maybe I could join you, or at least visit!

  Having her father watch as she wooed her HeartMate. How fun. I am not sure how long the Elecampanes will keep the excavation going this year. She frowned, understood her father felt that. I hadn’t planned on staying during the winter, and the owners haven’t continued the project during the winter months. And Jace was recalcitrant to her wooing, barely accepted friendship, though he liked their dream lovemaking just fine.

  Time to move on him in the flesh . . . and she hid those thoughts deep from her father.

  She said, But the project hasn’t progressed to breaching the full ship and exploring it, either. They MUST have some sort of permanent team here, for security, if nothing else.

  Her father’s default thinking sound, a low and simple melody, rumbled through Glyssa’s mind. Yes, she missed him, too!

  I love you, Glyssa, he responded to her stab of homesickness for him.

  I love you, too, Father.

  We will see if I can come there. Longing infused his tone, more for the excitement and adventure than to simply see her.

  But he didn’t know, now, that she would have to report failure. She kept that dread from infusing her mind, too. I’ll talk to you shortly, she said.

  Merry meet, he offered.

  And merry part, she replied.

  And merry meet again!

  She closed the telepathic link between them and rose from the bench and stepped into the evening-shadowed paths between the tents, dread slithering through her as she walked until it was time to scry her Family.

  She’d been right. It did not go well. The legitimacy of her whole project was called into question. Her mother beat questions upon her as to why she was determined to stay since the Lugh’s Spear venture was in jeopardy. Glyssa edged around the truth of wanting to be with her HeartMate.

  Her sister picked and picked and picked.

  The excavation was not proceeding in an orderly manner.

  The project had such problems that workers were leaving.

  The venture might be shut down, and what was Glyssa doing with all her time when the project was stalled?

  Glyssa could not handle the work of popular fiction by herself.

  And the last point that had Glyssa’s mother frowning in worry—dangerous explosions had occurred.

  Finally, the FirstLevel Librarians ordered her to present herself back in Druida City for another formal hearing within an eightday to defend her field study.

  And, yes, when her father lingered to softly sign off, disappointment limned his features.

  Glyssa held back tears until she’d crept to the edge of the gathering by the fire, then let them come. Lepid sprang over to her and curled on her lap, licking her face, but he didn’t make her smile.

  Her career hung by a thread over a terrible cliff. But if she left now, she might never see Jace again. Her stomach tightened.

  * * *

  Jace wrapped up his story—went for a shortened version—when a deep cloud of depression infused him. It didn’t take more than an instant and the bolting of Lepid from dancing around the fire to understand Glyssa hurt. The ache radiated to him through their bond in throbbing waves. He realized their bond had grown just from being in the same place at the same time, and maybe even, contrarily, because he’d put effort in avoiding her during the time he’d been angry with her for wanting more than he wanted to give.

  Yeah, he could tighten the bond to a thread again, but why would he when the idea of comforting her in person stirred him up? Murmuring his good nights to his companions as they applauded, he rose, then headed to the back of the circle and some of the tall bushes where he felt Glyssa.

  Zem, who’d been sitting on his shoulder, soared to the top of a tent pole. There is a nice scent to the fire and the wind and even the people tonight. I will stay for a while. My wing is almost Healed, and I feel very good.

  I’m glad, Jace said. He figured the scent from the people Zem liked was the relief of the cowards who actually believed in the curse stuff and were ready to leave on the airship back to Druida City when the shuttle came in four days. Or for those who waited for the noble ladies to tell them whether the ship was safe or not. Or thought having guards might solve all their problems. Who knew? Maybe it would. All he really knew was that the “bad luck” thing had divided the camp.

  And here was Glyssa. Even in the twinmoonslight he could see the silver paths of drying tears on her face.

  Hello, FamMan! Lepid hopped to his feet. You will stay with FamWoman? I want to check my caches for a nibble or two. Without waiting for a response, Lepid zipped off.

  The glow of Glyssa’s hair, the fragrance of her, seeing her vulnerable and feeling their open bond fired his blood. He couldn’t ignore the attraction between them anymore. And in this night of starshine and moonslight, he didn’t want to. Holding out his hand, he said, “What’s wrong?”

  She just shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it now.”

  He hesitated. He could push, but that was her way, not his . . . and the night and the woman moved him. If he couldn’t comfort her with words, he could do so with actions.

  Share with her. “Come on, I’ll walk you to your pavilion.”

  Her breath caught, and he felt her gentle touch on their bond which pulsed with desire. Pretty color darkened her cheeks and he wanted to see the pink of them, the fire of her hair, drive himself to a hotter bonfire than the one he’d just left.

  “Come, Glyssa,” his own voice was darker, richer, than the tones he’d used in
his storytelling.

  She took his hand and he pulled her up, then went further and slid his arm around her waist. This close he could smell more of her natural scent and his heart picked up beat and his sex thickened. No walking away tonight. Not even if she was his doom.

  Soon they were in her tent, in her bedroom, a bedsponge more than a meter thick, with a soft top, nice linens, a couple of fluffy pillows. Vaguely noticed as background to Glyssa.

  She whispered a Word and a dim yellow spellglobe appeared, brightening and turning her hair to copper. Yes, pink still showed on her cheeks, but her darker lips beckoned and he turned and drew her even closer.

  His hands plunged into her hair to touch it, finally, after so many years. Fool, he! And he pressed his lips to hers and they were soft and her mouth opened and his tongue tasted her once more.

  Perfect. So perfect he groaned . . . too perfect to walk away from, and fear gibbered from the back of his mind and he kicked the negative emotion out. And missed her stripping his tunic down from his shoulders and away so her hands against his chest surprised him and he had to groan again.

  Heated lust surged so high, so fast, it exploded all thought. He yanked at her clothes and they fell away under his hands and he should step back and look at her, her hair that about seared his eyes, so untamed out of its coil and her shining brown eyes, but her skin was smooth under his palms.

  And she smelled of desire, too, and her tongue dueled with his. Yesss! This was his Glyssa, his lover who he’d never forgotten and he had his hands on her and her clothes fell away.

  She said another Word and his clothes and even his boots were gone and he needed her. He’d be destroyed if he wasn’t burning in her heat, exploding into fiery fragments in the next instant.

  So he lifted her and tossed her on the bed. Her legs opened and he saw completion. He flung himself on her. Thrust inside. Better than anything, ever. Sweet. Hot.