Mindtouch

by M. C. A. Hogarth

“And you don’t do that with Eldritch!” he exclaimed. “And I’ve done it three times!”

  “Was he offended?” she wondered.

  “He said he’s not,” Vasiht’h said. “But what if he’s just trying to be polite?”

  “Well, does it seem like he is?” she asked. “Is he avoiding you?”

  “No,” he said slowly. “At least… I don’t think so?” He dragged his hands over his face and said, “Sehvi? I thought I saw… I thought…” He took a deep breath. “For a moment, I thought I felt a mindline.”

  She sat back. Then, after a moment: “Are you sure?”

  “No!” he said. “I’m not! That’s part of the problem!”

  “I think it would be more of a problem if you were sure.” She frowned. “Mindlines… they’re supposed to be raveled on purpose. It’s rare for them to form on their own. Usually it’s only between suitable people.”

  “I know!”

  “Are you sure?” she said again. “I mean… that’s like love at first sight. We don’t do love at first sight.”

  “Sehviiiii!” Vasiht’h said, putting his head down on his desk. Muffled, “Would I joke about something like that?”

  “Does he know?” she asked. “Do Eldritch have mindlines?”

  “How should I know!” he exclaimed. “I haven’t exactly asked. ‘Say, do you people have the rare habit of bonding mentally to people either by accident because it’s your destiny, or on purpose to serve some grand ideal, thought to thought, heart to heart, forever until death?’ Ugh!” He covered his face and sighed. “I doubt it anyway. They don’t seem to hold with using their abilities at all. They find it distasteful.”

  “So he probably doesn’t know about it,” she said. “No harm done, then, right? If you saw it, it dissipated. A mindline might show in response to something, ariihir, but it doesn’t stick unless you consciously support it.”

  “I know,” Vasiht’h said, pained. “But if it was trying to… what am I missing, Sehvi? What if… what if there’s something there? Something worth exploring?”

  “I don’t know. What if there is?”

  “But it’s ridiculous,” Vasiht’h said. “I’m Glaseah and he’s Eldritch, and he’s going to go become some sort of healer-assist and I’m going to end up in a classroom, and where would it ever go? Nowhere.”

  “Right,” she said.

  “And even if it did, how ridiculous would it be, for him to be yoked to someone who’ll die probably before he’s middle-aged?”

  “Right.”

  “And with someone whose people don’t even use their abilities—”

  “Mm-hmm—”

  “Even if he was the one who initiated the touch the last time, after we fixed Luci’s dream problem—” He stopped and looked up at her. “Stop that!”

  “What?” she said.

  “Stop being so… so…” He threw up his hands. “Smug!”

  “I’m not being smug,” she said. “I’m indulging your hysterics, because I’m a good sister and I love you. Now tell me more about this dream problem? You fixed someone’s dreams?”

  “Oh,” Vasiht’h said. “Yes. We discovered at the hospital that if we wish good dreams on the children, they sleep better. And I calmed one of Jahir’s nightmares with my mental touch—that was the first time I overstepped myself—and Luci came by the other day and was having trouble, and the two of us together, we smoothed her nightmare away. She told me today she felt much better.” He frowned. “She looked much better too.”

  “Hmm.” Sehvi tapped her fingers on her cheek, thinking. “I’ve never heard of an esper using mental touch to fix dreams like that. I mean, not on purpose, or formally. Do you suppose it helps them with other things, like their mental state?”

  “I… don’t know…” Vasiht’h said. “Huh.”

  “Not a bad research topic?” she offered brightly.

  “You’re being smug again,” he said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “It’s nice being inside now,” Amaranth said, peering out the window.

  “But we could be making snow angels!” Persy said with a sigh from her bed, where she was confined by a halo-arch that occasionally chirped.

  “Not in that snow, I fear,” Jahir said. “It is wet and soggy, and not at all a proper snow for enjoying.”

  “It’s more mud than snow,” Vasiht’h agreed. “It’s been a warm winter. More gray and brown than white.”

  “I guess I don’t miss wet snow, then,” Persy said.

  Meekie and Kayla were sitting at the table, drawing; Nieve was on the window-seat again, looking out with Amaranth. Kuriel, like Persy, was on her bed by healer-assist’s orders, and Jahir was sitting between them. Too aware, perhaps, of their exhaustion and their drawn faces, and that several of Kuriel’s toes and fingers were again wrapped against the cuts she accidentally gave herself when she couldn’t feel them. But they were glad of him, that he could tell too. And sitting across from him at the table, Vasiht’h’s presence was warm and steadying, and he wondered now that he had the sense of it how he hadn’t realized that his roommate was projecting an aura. It was simply so gentle a projection that he’d taken it for… what? His imagination?

  “At least the holidays are coming soon,” Meekie said. “Maybe we’ll have cookies, like last year.”

  “Cookies sound good,” Vasiht’h said.

  “And presents!” Kayla added. She glanced at Vasiht’h. “I know Glaseah give presents. What about you, Prince Jahir?”

  He had long since stopped fighting the sobriquet, since it was such a durable pleasure for them to use it. “Our customs are very different, perhaps. I have heard that there is a grand holiday for the entire Alliance, and that we shall be celebrating it, and that of course we have the Seersa’s end of winter observance… but I don’t know the human or Tam-illee customs. Or, come to that, the Glaseahn ones.” He glanced at his roommate with lifted brow.

  “Oh, well,” Vasiht’h said, with embarrassment Jahir could read despite the fur on his cheeks hiding any blush. “We do, but only at the end of the year. At home we don’t have winter like this. We have two dry seasons instead, and a wet season in the middle.” At the evidence of the children’s curiosity, he said, “Most of the Pelted celebrate midwinter, because winter is cold and harsh, and because the days get shorter and the dark lasts longer. So at the solstice, the shortest day of the year, they celebrate that from then on, winter’s on its way out. But since we have no cold like this, we never came up with any holiday to celebrate it. So we wait until the new year, and then have a big party then, and it’s the Maker’s Day. Every new year is something newly made, you see? So we ‘make’ the new year during the Maker’s Day, and then on the first day of the new year we have a feast. Because we’re all tired, having done all that making.”

  “But there are presents, right?” Kayla said. “I heard that.”

  “Oh yes,” Vasiht’h said. “On the Maker’s Day, we give presents to people, symbols of what we’d like them to have in the new year. And we receive them as symbols that those people want to be part of our lives for the year.” He grinned. “A lot of people get engaged on Maker’s Day. It’s considered very romantic, to pledge to make a new life together on the day when everyone’s making their lives for the year.”

  “Wow,” Persy said, eyes wide. “That sounds like a lot more fun than just giving people things you think they’d like! That’s how we do it.” She pursed her lips. “At least, for Christmas, which is what my family celebrates, and we had it before the Hinichi did.”

  Kayla said, “And we have solstice parties, and a big, big dinner on New Year’s Day. Or we did, anyway. It’s quieter now that my parents moved here. All our family’s back on Tam-ley.”

  “But Miss Jill has a party for us here,” Meekie hastened to add. “And it’s a really nice party.”

  “With cookies,” Jahir murmured.

  “With cookies,” Meekie agreed. “I don’t think there’s anything better tha
n a warm cookie.”

  “Now I want to draw cookies,” Kayla said.

  “Ooh, me too,” Amaranth said, and abandoned the window to Nieve. The latter looked out of it a little while longer and then carefully slid off it, pausing to seek her balance. As the other children reminded each other of the variety of cookies they’d had last year, Jahir went to her side and asked, voice low, “Shall I carry you?”

  She looked up at him, then back out the window. Then she smiled at him. “That would be nice.”

  She was so thin in his arms, and not warm enough. He placed her on her bed and drew the blanket up around her shoulders. “You have been at the window too long, and allowed the cold to leech from it into you, Nieve-arii. You are no winter maiden to withstand such things.”

  “A winter maiden,” she said with a sigh. “That sounds like a story. Will you tell me?”

  There was nothing for it but to pull his chair over so that she could hear better, and to tell her one of the stories of the winter maidens, so popular among his kind… because the winters were long, and tragedies far too common among the Eldritch. If he omitted the genesis of the winter maidens—who were formed by dying untimely—they made pleasing tales, if the children’s reactions were any indication. And it settled them, and kept them from fretting at their enforced bed-rest.

  After he and Vasiht’h had seen them to their naps, Berquist stopped them outside and said, “We’ve got the end of year coming up soon. You’re welcome to come to the party… I’m sure they’ve told you all about it, the scamps.”

  “They have, and we’d be glad to,” Jahir said. “Hea Berquist—Kuriel’s hands…”

  “The cerrmoniah’s having a bad flare-up,” she said. “But we’re on top of it. It’s not unexpected, they all get a little worse when it gets damp out.”

  “I see,” Jahir said. “We’ll hope for better, then.”

  “As long as it’s not colder-better,” Berquist said, and smiled at them. “I’ll send you the party invitation. It’ll come in the mail… the girls like to make them.”

  “We look forward to it,” Jahir said.

  Outside it was still and gray, with a damp wind blowing cold on his face and his throat above the scarf he tucked into his coat. He hid his gloved hands in his pockets and walked alongside Vasiht’h, glad of the Glaseah’s radiant warmth and unable to sense whether it was physical or mental. He was quite involved with his own thoughts, but his roommate’s question scattered them handily.

  “Jahir? Do your people ever willingly touch minds?”

  “Ah?” he said, startled. And then, shaking his clinging hair from his face, “No. There are stories of people whose minds have touched by accident, and become entwined, but they are…” He looked for a good word. “They’re like myths. Fairy tales, maybe you would say?”

  “Humans would, anyway, and we’re all human-descended no matter how odd we look,” Vasiht’h said. “So you spend your lives… locked in your own minds, even though you could reach past them.”

  “Of course,” Jahir said. “We all are born with abilities we choose not to exercise, for one reason or another.”

  “Because the mindtouch is always unpleasant,” Vasiht’h said.

  Jahir glanced down at him, and the Glaseah didn’t meet his gaze. After a moment, he said, “You’re concerned still that you have trespassed on me.”

  Vasiht’h grimaced. “No—well. Yes.”

  “Though I have told you it was no cause for offense?”

  “I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Vasiht’h said, lowering his head, shoulders hunching.

  “You have not!” Jahir said. “I will not blame you for not being Eldritch, Vasiht’h. And I’m rather glad you aren’t, at that.”

  Startled, Vasiht’h looked up at him. “You mean that.”

  “Of course,” Jahir answered, drawing in a slow breath. Too quick, and the cold seemed to burn down to his bones. “Would I be here if I did not want congress with aliens?”

  “There’s congress, and then there’s congress,” Vasiht’h said, and Jahir could taste his chagrin like something peppery. It stayed with him, lingering in his mouth like something real.

  “I assure you,” Jahir said, “I am not at all offended, and I still stand on my request that you come to my aid do you believe I need it. And I hope I am still permitted to come to yours.”

  “Of course!” Vasiht’h said. “I… yes. Of course.”

  “Vasiht’h,” Jahir said. “Truly, I am not distressed.” He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, baffled at the pepper echo. “Though now I want ice cream. Shall we ruin our supper? I have the oddest impression of having tasted something spiced. It wants vanilla. Or chocolate.”

  The look Vasiht’h gave him was far more intense than Jahir was expecting, but the Glaseah finally looked away and said, “Let’s have your ice cream, and then eat dinner.” He grinned. “You only live once.”

  “Vasiht’h!” Palland said, and subsided, so stunned his ears were pointing straight up, and trembling. Vasiht’h had never seen him quite so excited about something… at least, not something he was responsible for. “You’re saying that you believe espers can effect a positive change in the state of someone’s mind by changing their dreams?”

  “That’s my premise,” Vasiht’h said. “I’ve never changed anyone’s normal dreams once they were already asleep, just their nightmares, but that seemed to have a good effect. I thought that since dreams are one of the ways we process things, being able to see someone’s and maybe nudge them might be an interesting way of conducting therapy? I haven’t tried it, though.”

  “What an astonishing idea,” Palland said, tapping his cheek with a finger. “Of course, we have very few espers come through the program… it’s almost as if being able to read people’s minds easily makes people not really want to.” He chuckled. “Well. You’ve certainly surprised me. I didn’t think you’d have a topic so soon.”

  “Why?” Vasiht’h said. “Because you think I’m not suited for it?”

  Palland glanced at him over his stack of books. “And now are you fishing, alet?”

  “No,” Vasiht’h said. “I honestly want to know.”

  “Then… yes,” Palland said. “I think you’ll find the lab stifling. But if you go on to prove me wrong, I’ll be pleased to eat my words.”

  Vasiht’h watched his professor unbury his data tablet, frowning. There was something to the way the Seersa had said that. “But you don’t think you’ll have to.”

  Palland cocked his head, setting his data tablet down on top of his desk. Then he said, “Tell me, alet. You do this research. You discover it works. Then what?”

  “Then… I don’t know,” Vasiht’h said, startled. “I guess people can use it.”

  “What people?” Palland asked. “As I said, we don’t get many espers through here. I can’t remember the last one, in fact. So you go and pioneer a therapeutic method that can only be used by espers, and then don’t use it? When you’re one of the few people who’s able to do so?”

  “You think I’ll be more interested in using the method than researching it,” Vasiht’h said.

  “Won’t you be?” Palland said.

  Vasiht’h frowned, looking away.

  “Here is my guess,” Palland said—not without kindness, given he was predicting that Vasiht’h was going to be gloriously wrong in all his intentions—”you will embark onto the research track with this brilliant topic. You’ll prove that it works. And then you’ll leave research to go into practice using it.”

  “That seems like a very ambitious course,” Vasiht’h said.

  “Who said Glaseah can’t have ambition?” Palland said, discomfiting him anew. “Now. If you’re serious about this, and you are…?” He trailed off, and Vasiht’h nodded emphatically. “All right. Then let’s talk about the permissions you’ll have to get to run a trial on people, and get you into some directed study hours next term.”

  “So how are yo
u feeling?” KindlesFlame said, putting his sensor and data tablet away and clearing their table for their drinks. “If I’m to take my readings here at face value, I’d say the regimen’s worked. Any more bouts of fatigue?”

  “No physical ones, at least,” Jahir said. “I’m not fond of cold, however, and I am so deeply involved with my studies that I’m surprised by such novelties as food and sunlight.”

  KindlesFlame chuckled. “Well, another two weeks and you’ll be done with it, and you can rest between terms. How are you feeling about the material now?”

  “Fairly confident,” Jahir said. “Though God and Lady know I may be deluded as to my competence on the matter. The subject remains alien to me—if you’ll pardon the expression.”

  “It’s apt,” KindlesFlame said. He leaned back in his chair, hands resting on his knee and his cider cup steaming between them on the table. “And it’ll get easier, the deeper you go into it.”

  “That’s encouraging,” Jahir began.

  “Unless it doesn’t, and then you’ll drown,” the Tam-illee finished, and laughed at his expression. “Oh, rest easy, alet. I’m teasing. Once you get to be my age you’ve seen so many mournful faces near finals that they all blur together and you stop being able to take any of them seriously. ‘This too shall pass.’ “

  “Yes,” Jahir said, thinking of all too many things here that would. He glanced up. “Do you know, Healer, that I still have not a notion what to do with what I’m learning?”

  “Is this about the decision on what track to take?”

  “Only inasmuch as my lack of imagination gives me no guidance,” Jahir said. He cupped his gloved hands on the walls of the mug. “I have to imagine, though, that one does not enter into a degree at this level without some idea of how to employ it.”

  “You’d be surprised,” KindlesFlame said dryly. “But here now. Let’s assume that you came here for a psychology degree so that you could use it in some way. Is there something you could do at home with it?”

  The thought was risible. A license to practice therapy among people who were riddled with secrets and vicious fears. He would never be done with the work, were he allowed to begin it at all, and he wouldn’t. No one would talk to an heir to a seat in the royal House, unless they wanted to manipulate the situation somehow. “I’m afraid not.”