Hearts and Swords: Four Original Stories of Celta

by Robin D. Owens

  “Ready,” Arbusca said.

  Dri was more ready for loving than for taking care of his G’Uncle Bonar. He linked hands as they walked to the front door. “I’ve spoken with my father. If we find and return the Paris Family heirloom, he’ll release the inheritance.”

  Blush frowned. “You said your father doesn’t know what the item is.” She hesitated, then went on. “If after many years no one’s missed the object, why is it important?”

  Good question and one he’d asked his father. “It’s supposedly a Family heirloom, and is definitely a bone of contention, the basis for an estrangement. I was told that the piece was unmistakably marked Paris.”

  “Hmm.” She nodded. “We can find it.”

  He swung their clasped hands, feeling as giddy as a child. “We can do anything together.” They’d reached the stoop, and he dropped her hand to grasp her around the waist and swing her up the three steps. She laughed and the world around them sharpened into a beauty that dazzled his senses, and at the center of that world was Blush.

  They stood, once again lost in the moment and each other. Her eyes were a little dreamy, her cheeks as pink as the rose he’d given her. She needed more smiles and roses in her life. He’d make sure she’d have them.

  Mel hopped around them. Let’s go. Let’s go.

  The last thing Dri wanted was to go inside. He wished to spend a carefree day with his HeartMate; was that too much to ask?

  The FamDog whined pitifully.

  Dri bit a sigh short. G’Uncle Bonar had no one but him. He said a phrase to drop the security spellshields, then stopped Blush’s hand before she thumbed the door latch as misgivings swarmed inside him. “Wait. Maybe we shouldn’t do this. No, we should definitely not do this. Especially not you. Just recommend a good housekeeping service and I’ll—”

  Her back straightened. “You think I can’t handle whatever lies behind that door?”

  “You can handle anything. You shouldn’t have to deal with G’Uncle Bonar and—”

  “He’s your Family.”

  “Yes, and my responsibility, not yours,” he said.

  “You want me to be Family.” That sounded tentative from her.

  “You’re my HeartMate; I want you to be my wife, to HeartBond with me during loving so we’re so tied together so intimately that one can’t survive a year without the other.” His voice came out harsher than he liked. “That’s the consequence of a HeartBond, and one I’m willing to make.

  But it’s a heavy decision.”

  She lifted her chin in a stubborn manner that he thought he’d come to know well. “The FirstFamilies promote HeartMate marriages—they are more solid, more fertile. Such bonds lead to better Families. I’ve seen many people make such a decision, including my son. I wish for a more fulfilling life, want a partner linked to me emotionally, spiritually. My mother had no fated love, no HeartMate. If she had, perhaps my Family would not have suffered as we did.”

  HeartMates usually resonated with each other, characters matching. Dri shuddered inwardly at the idea of her mother marrying someone else just as cruel, the two heading a great NobleHouse. But wouldn’t conflicting selfishness prevent that? He didn’t know and it didn’t damn matter.

  Blush was pressing on, “Didn’t you just say that we could do anything together? Do you doubt now?”

  “But you shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Are you afraid of me going in there?”

  Heat crawled up his neck. “Maybe.”

  “You’ve been living here. Is there any rotting food?”

  “No.”

  “Dead animals?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  When I find them, I chase and eat the mice, Mel added.

  Blush winced, stared at Dri. “No dead-mouse smell?”

  He considered it. Plenty of odd smells, but not that one. “No dead-mouse smell.”

  “Let’s go.” She put her hand on the door latch.

  He covered it with his own. “Last chance for a trip to Maroon Beach.”

  She gave him a steely look. “I am not a coward.”

  Not resisting the temptation of her pursed lips, he stole a quick kiss. “Never,” he said, though he felt self-condemnation from her through their link.

  Putting his finger under her chin to pull her gaze back to him after it had slid away, he said quietly, “This isn’t the time to speak of the past, but you haven’t been a coward.”

  She shook her head. “I have been, and more than once, and deep down you’re angry with me.” A false twitch-of-the-lips smile. “I can still feel that, and feel my anger with you, too.”

  Let’s GO! Mel whined.

  The latch clicked and she pushed open the door. She stood just within the threshold, in the two-meter-square spot that Dri had cleared, staring at the towering stacks of stuff, appearing appalled. Pressing her hand above her breasts, she whispered. “A hoarder.”

  All his defensiveness rose, maybe some of that lingering anger she’d tweaked. “There are more of them out there than you who live in intelligent Residences are aware of.”

  Blush gave him that greater-noble-to-lesser look. After a quick clench of his jaw, he spit more words out. “You FirstFamilies and great nobles have castles and plenty of storage space.”

  “No one in Druida City need live like this. Our ancestors constructed plenty of buildings for a multitude of descendants who did not materialize.

  There are many good, solid, empty places.”

  He forced his temper down, regretting his words. He was supposed to be old enough to learn from his mistakes. He raised his brows, infused a note of humor in his voice. “Be glad he chose a cottage. Otherwise he’d have filled a mansion.”

  She relaxed, but her gaze continued to scan the piles and the narrow walkway between them. “I suppose you’re right.” She shook her head. “It’s a sickness.”

  He resisted running his hands through his hair. “I can’t find the damn heirloom and haven’t wanted to clean the place out in case I missed it.”

  “Unsurprising,” she said.

  I can’t sniff it out, Mel said. Everything smells like Bonar.

  Setting her hands on her hips, she turned in place, surveying the stacks, many of the same thing, like folded trous and tunics, towers of papyrus, even tottering old-fashioned books.

  “Well, this should take a couple of days.”

  “What! It would take me months.”

  Again that greater-noble-to-lesser look, but this time he caught the glint in her eye, the faint quiver around her lips. “Yes. It would. But it will take me no more than two days. I’m that good.”

  “I bow to you.” He did. And knocked over one of the framed pieces of art.

  “Light!” Blush ordered, and a large spell-light flickered into existence.

  Dri grimaced at how much worse the place looked. He’d been careful to leave it dim. “I’ve only been here a couple of days. I’ve concentrated on G’Uncle Bonar and his bedroom.”

  She ignored his weak words as she picked up a large work. “This is wonderful.” It was a summer meadow, full of flowers and grasses. In the foreground the plants were graceful, detailed botanical studies. All the paintings were signed by Bonar.

  “This should be hanging in a gallery.” She handed Dri the picture, went over to others leaning against a wall, and flipped through them. “All of these are lovely. I can get them in a gallery.”

  Dri grunted. “Good luck to you on convincing G’Uncle Bonar.” Dri knocked his knuckles against a small free space of the stone wall. “It’s been like me beating my head against this, trying to get him to part with one. He won’t do it. ‘Art isn’t for money; creation must be for its own sake only, otherwise art is tainted.’ ”

  They shared a disbelieving look. Then, Blush shook her head and placed the piece carefully with the others. She dusted her hands, lifted her nose, sniffed. Frowned again. “There’s some odor I can’t quite place . . .”
r />   Lots of good smells. Mel inhaled lustily.

  Mel, FamDog? Dri, boy? The mental call was quavery, but Dri knew Blush had heard it.

  Here, Dri answered his G’Uncle.

  “Where is he?” Blush asked.

  Dri stretched his arms out. “This is the mainspace and dining room. It runs the full width of the house.”

  Blush’s eyes widened. There were no paths other than straight ahead.

  Mel? A weaker call from Bonar.

  The dog vanished, teleporting.

  Dri continued, “There are openings leading to a kitchen on the right and a waterfall room on the left, then G’Uncle’s straight back to the right, with his own waterfall room; guest room to the left—mine. No heirlooms of importance in my room.”

  Mel barked.

  “Still think only a couple of days?”

  Blush’s lips firmed, then she said, “Two. Full days using a lot of powerful spells, but two.”

  “You’re incredible.” He kissed her again, withdrew reluctantly. He still wanted to learn Blush through play instead of work.

  She said a Word and her trous tucked against her lovely legs so she could walk through the stacks. He appreciated the view.

  Arbusca stopped at the small bulb of space at the end of the path. Weak light from a window or two off the back wall of the house filtered through the piles. There was a slightly more open space around the old man’s bedroom entrance.

  Dri stepped beside her, swung open the door, and she glimpsed a thin, bony man with pale skin and sweat-damp, straw-colored hair before the smell hit her. A strange, musty smell. Clamping her lips shut, refusing to breathe, she yanked Dri from the threshold, back into the small space, knocked over piles.

  Stay! she ordered Mel.

  “What?” Dri asked.

  Breathe shallowly. No wonder your G’Uncle is ill. There’s marwol mold in there.

  Dri stepped back, stared at the door in horror. The mold was insidious, fatal.

  How often have you been in there?

  He clasped her arms. Get out, get out now!

  She wrenched away. No. A few hours won’t hurt, and I don’t think you’ve been much affected. I would have known. Her nose twitched. Not much smell of marwol on him, just clean man.

  But we need to get Bonar to a HealingHall. And, fire mage, you need to incinerate everything in there to cleanse it. She closed her eyes, tilted her head, sent her senses, her own psi magic Flair, questing for the smell-taste-emanation of the mold. On a soft breath, she said, “There’s very little outside of that room. It likes to layer thickly in one place before spreading. I think we’ve caught it in time.” She opened her eyes, found Dri was pale. “Whatever is in the rest of the house came from your clothing or Mel.”

  “Mel!” Dri lunged for the door.

  “Wait!” She seized his tunic. “Animals aren’t affected by marwol mold.”

  “You’re sure?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “I haven’t ever had to deal with marwol personally, but I am an expert and sure. Use fire just short of burning the stone. I trust you can do that?”

  “I can do it,” he said tightly. “The door will go, but I can keep the fire at the threshold.”

  There were a couple of beats of silence.

  “We have to get G’Uncle out of there,” Dri said, seemed to brace himself.

  She said, “I’ll grab him, teleport with him to Primary HealingHall. They’ll care for him, and check me. You can come for an examination after you fire the room.”

  Distress showed in Dri’s eyes: love for his G’Uncle, caring for her?

  “His favorite paintings are in there.”

  Arbusca thought of the beautiful renderings of flowers and herbs, the summer meadow she’d have enjoyed on her own walls. “I’m sorry, but that can’t be helped. Nothing in there can be cleaned sufficiently to prevent the mold, and the mold is deadly. Fire’s the only way.”

  Dri’s expression hardened until she saw the tough mage ready to handle a demolition project. His amber gaze, darker now, met hers. “And if the Paris Family heirloom is in that room?”

  “Then it will be gone,” Arbusca said, accepting how that would affect them, too. Bonar Conyza was Dri’s responsibility and she already knew enough of the man to understand that he wouldn’t shirk his duty. Even if it meant living with a demanding elder for the rest of his life. She’d had enough of that with her mother and now she was facing it again. The notion made her want to weep, but fate had spun things out of her control.

  “Throw open the door on three. I’ll take your G’Uncle and Mel. When you see we’re gone, shut the door—don’t slam it.” She took a breath, continued. “And then practice your Flair talent. Incinerate everything in there.”

  He nodded, then said, “One minute.”

  “What?”

  “Link with me mentally and show me how to recognize the marwol spores.” He glanced around. “If there aren’t that many and they’re susceptible to heat, I can clear them from the house.”

  “Good idea.” She reached out and his fingers were there, twining with hers. Their connection was open enough that they probably didn’t need touch, but she wanted the physical bond, liked the cradling of her hands in his calloused ones, the intimacy.

  Once again she opened her senses, quested with her Flair to locate and identify a small cluster of spores that appeared greenish black to her.

  Showed them to him and waited as he fumbled to recognize them with his own Flair.

  He grunted, and in the next instant the spores heated to red, shriveled, and vanished. She noted a slight scent of his sweat and the heat of a summer’s day with the sun burning down on earth.

  “Well done,” she said.

  His brows lowered and she realized that trying to be casual had made her use a tone she would have with a new person training under her.

  “Thank you.” He let a breath out through his nose. His jaw flexed.

  Following instinct, she kissed his chin. “We’re both old enough to be set in our ways and too touchy. I do appreciate your Flair and skill, Dri.”

  “I’d rather show you other skills.” His leer was exaggerated and belied the anxiety in his eyes.

  Why are you out there? called the FamDog.

  Tightening his grip on Blush’s hand, Dri directed his telepathic reply to only her and Mel. Can you teleport to the animal Healer?

  An excited yip. I get to go there? Yes!

  Then I want you to go there when Blush comes in for Bonar. She will be taking him to a HealingHall, and we want to make sure you are fine, too. He barked. What is wrong!

  Blush said, There’s a bad mold in that room, one that hurts people but not dogs. Still, you need to tell the animal Healer that you’ve been exposed to marwol. You should keep away from other humans there and NOT shake yourself at all.

  Oh. The funny smell is mold?

  Yes. I will be in on three. Dri will stay here to kill all the mold.

  Will FamMan be all right?

  Those at Primary HealingHall will examine him—and Dri and me.

  On three! Mel said.

  Wait, Blush said. She stepped close to Dri and her arms slipped around his neck. Every thought in his head disappeared when her soft body leaned against his—and her mouth on his was amazingly hungry. He grabbed her, held her close.

  ONE! Mel shouted mentally with a roar that shook them apart.

  “Blush,” Dri panted.

  TWO! Mel continued.

  Their eyes connected. She’d kissed him. Why? Because this was the most dangerous thing she’d done? Nothing like his job.

  THREE!

  Blush jerked, pushed the door open, and rushed to the old man.

  He squawked as she grabbed him, then they were gone.

  Mel gave Dri a big-eyed look, then vanished. Dri pulled the door shut slowly, trying to minimize the escape of mold spores.

  He stood outside the old man’s door, anger at himself blasting through him. Why hadn’t he
taken his G’Uncle to a HealingHall despite the man’s ranting at Healers? Despite Dri’s father and older brother assuring Dri that Bonar just suffered from old age? Dri hadn’t been in Druida a full week, but surely he should have been more concerned with Bonar’s needs instead of his own. Dri had failed.

  But he wouldn’t fail at destroying the mold inside Bonar’s bedroom and waterfall room beyond. Nor would Dri fail at caring for Bonar—or Blush.

  He’d never fail Blush again.

  Setting his palms against the door, he sent his Flair psi power into his G’Uncle’s space until Dri was certain of the exact dimensions down to the tint on the stone walls. Everything inside would burn. The door, hardened wood, would burn, too. He set a shield in the space where the door was.

  It would be a challenge to turn the contents of the rooms to ashes, sear the stone enough to rid it of mold and spores yet not damage the structure. But he could do it.

  The use of his Flair talent and release of such fire energy could be used to scourge himself of some anger, too.

  Sinking into his balance, he focused all his psi power for fire into the chambers . . . and heated the air, molecule by molecule until fire flashed and ate all. The bedroom appeared behind the shield where the door had been and he lowered the temperature of the air incrementally until it was normal. Before he dropped the shield, he tested for mold inside. Nothing.

  If the Paris Family object had been in the chambers, it was gone forever, and Dri and Blush were stuck with Bonar Conyza. Would Blush accept that?

  Dri strode into the room and opened the windows to the spring breeze, made sure the air whisked around the waterfall room, too. Then he studied the threshold, translocated an old door he’d seen in storage on his father’s estate, and installed it. Good enough for now.