“Thank you.”
“I will keep in contact with T’Elder Residence. It is a haughty House, like its owners, but it will share minimal information.”
“I didn’t know that Residences shared information.”
“It is a relatively new process. We did not have the means or know how to communicate until taught by Nuada’s Sword.”
The notion stunned Ailim. “The starship?”
“Yes. It approached us and set up a network. Despite the fact that our basic energy and fuel is the psi-Flair of our Families, and the technology built on that, we still have ancient systems that correspond to the Ship’s science.”
Ailim tried to bend her thoughts around this news and what it might mean, but didn’t have enough information.
Primrose distracted Ailim. Love YOU.
“I love you, too.” And she came dangerously close to loving Ruis Elder—a futile love, bound to break both their hearts if he cared as much as she.
Just the thought of his long fingers caressing her heated her blood. She should make him go, stay far from her and her life, but she couldn’t. If her Family had been even a little supportive . . .
She had been a good, dutiful, responsible person. Now she struggled with all her might to save the Family, to reform the finances, to lead them into a better future. Was she never going to have something for herself? Was she never going to have one shining, reckless moment in her life? And she knew, with all the Flair that had been bred into her genes through the centuries, that she would never meet another man who would affect her like Ruis, who would encourage her to be free, who would look at Ailim and see Ailim, not D’SilverFir. Who would treat her like a desirable woman for herself alone.
Primrose flopped over so Ailim could rub her tummy. She opened her big, brown eyes wide and made them mournful. Sick today. No more Catfood. D’Ash told Canadena .
“Poor puppy, you need a treat.” Ailim got a brush from her bottom desk drawer.
Brush me! Yes, yes, yes. Me be beau-ti-ful. She sat, then moved for Ailim to groom her. She tried a small rumble, then a series of yips.
Ailim finished one last sweep of the golden coat and shook her brush at Primrose. “Stop that.”
Me purring.
“You’ve been spending too much time with cats.”
D’Ash has many Cats. Samba comes to play. Samba is big, beau-ti-ful, smart, won-der-ful Cat. Me will learn to purr.
Ailim smiled, until an insinuating feeling crept over her. Loud thoughts rapped at her mindshields, thoughts that attempted to hide themselves. She caught a tinge of danger, a broad flash of greed, and glanced at the holo above the desk, showing the hallway outside Donax’s rooms. His door opened. Bucus and Donax stepped out, wearing identical smirks. A few minutes later they were at her door.
Ailim rose to her feet, shook out her dress and adjusted the long sleeves. She glanced down at Primrose. “You can hide or not as you please.”
The puppy cocked her head, letting her tongue loll. me not hide. me be Fam, good companion.
Ailim clenched her hands and opened them, saying a Word to release her disquiet.
When Donax knocked, she bade them enter. Bucus T’Elder’s eyes gleamed with calculation as he scanned the ResidenceDen, tallying the value of every stick of furniture. His sharp stare narrowed as he looked through the windows at the moat and the large, rolling green lawns of the estate.
Ailim curtsied. T’Elder sucked in his gut. She made the formal gesture simply because she didn’t want to offer her hand.
He nodded. “I thought it was time to review the D’SilverFir estate. It has been some years since I’ve had a tour, and now with the loan . . .”
“Of course.” She smiled politely, seething that Bucus took advantage of her absence. “I didn’t know the FirstFamilies Council wanted a tour. Are you the sole representative?”
“Yes.”
Ailim gestured to Primrose. “My Fam, Primrose.”
His gaze lingered on Primrose. He smiled and the puppy shrank into the folds of Ailim’s skirts.
“A Fam,” he said smoothly. “I hadn’t thought of a Fam for my own before.”
Ailim kept a smile on her face as she picked Primrose up. “Telepathically bonded animals can be a comfort. I’m sure D’Ash would be pleased to find a good Fam for you,” Ailim lied.
His fleshy features solidified into a rigid expression. “Fams. From D’Ash, of course.”
“GreatSir Reed must have reported on our financial progress. We are all very pleased to be ahead of schedule in our recovery,” Ailim said.
“Hmmph,” grunted T’Elder. “I saw the latest reports of the other four D’SilverFir estates.”
“They’re very good. I’m sure you approve of our progress. Was your tour satisfactory?”
“I saw enough.”
Enough to estimate their assets, their finances, their standard of living, and the current inhabitants of the Residence.
She squared her shoulders. One last thing to do. She mentally contacted Caltha. Ready?
As I’ll ever be, came the reply and the feel of Caltha straightening her spine.
Ailim smiled. Get used to it. I’ll meet you in the GreatHall in two minutes.
Thirteen
Ailim had the image of Caltha swishing through her bedroom door in her most elegant gown—the one purchased for the D’SilverFir Loyalty Ceremony. Caltha hoped T’Elder would be man enough not to notice she’d worn it before.
May you live a long, long life, grumbled Caltha.
At the loud voices of the men, signifying the private meeting was over, the rest of the Residence inhabitants converged on Bucus T’Elder and Donax. Canadena, holding her kitten, hovered on the edge of the group. All were dressed in their best—this year’s costly fashions.
“I hope you found everything to your liking,” Aunt Menzie simpered. “It isn’t easy making do on a strict budget.” Her smile might have been meant to be indulgent. It looked sour.
Donax stiffened at insult to his financial cunning.
T’Elder grumbled, “The way this household ran through gilt a year ago was criminal. No thought to the future. Only interested in present gratification.”
Cona batted her eyelashes at T’Elder and Donax. “A woman feels better when luxuries surround her—more loving. We are a FirstFamily, after all. We have tastes and standards Commoners can’t appreciate.”
Ailim grit her teeth. She replied only to T’Elder’s remark. “Our gains are heartening. Thank you for sending us Donax.”
Steps echoed from the marble stairway. Ailim crossed to the end of the GreatHall and held out a hand to Caltha. Caltha joined hands and they returned to the others.
“I want to make known to all of you, my choice of Heir Caltha of Woodpine, former Lady of Woodpine estate on the Huckleberry Finn River.”
For an instant there was stunned shock.
“Heir!” Cona shrieked. “I’m your heir!”
Caltha ignored the outburst, curtsying to T’Elder.
“Ailim, you must be—” Aunt Menzie started.
Quiet! commanded Ailim telepathically, following it with a disciplinary mind-shock.
Menzie’s words strangled in her throat; her eyes bulged. The SilverFir men stirred uneasily and Canadena faded up the stairs.
T’Elder bowed jerkily to Caltha. He eyed her bountiful charms with approval, then looked at Cona. “The Council, too, was under the impression that GrandMistrys Cona SilverFir was your heir, Ailim.”
She met his eyes limpidly. “You know yourself, T’Elder, that people don’t always choose Heirs. Oracles do at birth, Flair does at other times.”
“I’ve seen enough,” Bucus T’Elder said and left.
Ailim was listening to SpaceMusic, petting Primrose and dozing in the waning day when the Residence spoke. “Menzie SilverFir has left the building.”
Ailim hopped off her bed. “Does she have the amulet?”
“Yes, the great evil energy of the bane travel
s with her.”
“Has she crossed the drawbridge yet?”
“No.”
“Follow her progress by scry as long as possible.” Ailim ran to her closet and pulled on her old riding trous and heavy travel tunic. It fell to her knees but was cut up the sides for easy movement. Swearing, she hunted for her battered walking boots in the messy tumble of shoes Primrose had made of the bottom of her closet.
Primrose darted into the closet and began tugging out footwear. Ailim swore under her breath.
“Most of the far-scry stones in the estate and linked to the Residence are not in working order. The spells were not renewed,” Residence said.
Every second counted. “Boots!” she cried, holding out her hands. The tough furraleather footwear smacked into her palms. With each little use of Flair, her energy diminished.
“I thought the various far-scrys were set for renewal in a cyclical manner.” She grunted as she tugged on her boots.
“They have not been renewed for the last three years. Therefore three sets are out of commission.”
“Cave of the Dark Goddess!” Ailim stomped until the worn leather cupped her feet. She let out a little moan, they felt so much better than the fancy shoes she’d been wearing.
Primrose panted, tongue hanging, before Ailim. me go too!
Ailim closed her eyes, sought the simple puppy mind. Sleep. She sent the order low and soothing. Primrose yawned and circled herself, dropping into sleep. Ailim put her on the bed.
Glancing at the windows, Ailim asked, “Where’s Menzie?”
“She proceeds northwest. She stumbles often.”
Toward the small fir forest, the boundary with T’Elder.
“Project a grid so I can ’port close, extrapolate her path and destination.”
“It is noted that your energy levels are low.”
“Project the grid!” She darted back to the closet and belted her emergency pouch around her waist. Digging out a knit hat, she jammed it on her head and swirled a travel cape around her. The layers and her fear made her sweat.
A topographical map of the grounds shimmered before her, along with blue gridlines that she could use to mind-fix a place for teleportation. A red, weaving dot denoting Menzie wavered northwest. Toward the big black jagged line.
“She’s heading toward the fault in the earth.” Ailim’s hands shook as she pressed the fastening tabs down the front of her cloak. “Residence and ResidenceLibrary link, I have a question.”
“Here,” said the deeper voice of the combined entities.
“Does Menzie’s amulet have the power to affect the earth fault?”
“Unknown.”
“Hypothesize, please, the worst case scenario if the amulet was dropped into the weakest part of the fault.”
“Difficult to determine.”
Ailim closed her eyes and grit her teeth. This was worse than dragging answers out of culprits in JudgmentGrove.
“Could—the—power—of—the—amulet—trigger—a—breakage—in—the—fault.”
“Probable.”
“Could the fault cause the earth to slip and endanger the passage to the HouseHeart?”
“Probable.”
Fear sliced coldly down her spine. Her eyes blurred as she watched the staggering red dot of Menzie.
“Also a probability that the Residence island would be undermined and compromised,” the Residence said.
“How compromised? Is there danger to the Family?”
“The Residence would be damaged but the interior structure would hold, as designed, until help could come.”
For an instant Ailim mulled over evacuating the Family, wincing as she thought of the ensuing scandal. There would be no way to stop the rumors, or the loss of face and even the estate itself if the FirstFamilies Council decided to consider this mad act of Menzie’s as proof the SilverFir Family should die.
“Show the weakest point of the earth fault.”
A white starburst appeared on the black line. “She’s not quite on-target. I’m going,” Ailim croaked, pulling on thin, worn, riding gloves, wishing they were gauntlets. “Discreetly notify Caltha as soon as possible. If I don’t send word or return by third-bell, Caltha is in charge of the Family.” Though if the amulet caused land to slip, they’d know soon enough.
With that, she inhaled deeply to subdue her fears and quiet her mind. It had never been so difficult. A second breath, exhale; a third breath, release. She checked the status of the Menzie-dot, dangerously close to the fault now, and the gridlines in her mind. Gnawing her bottom lip, she thought of the best landmarks she could envision completely near that point—the ones she recalled were too far from Menzie for her liking, but she shook her head, sucked in one more breath, and ported.
Are we going to that place Ship said? asked Samba as she trotted beside Ruis.
“Yes.” A trip he dreaded, but which the Ship had convinced Ruis to make for his mental health. Ruis was to visit the T’Elder estate, the small cottage where he was raised, and even infiltrate the Residence itself. Ship postulated that if Ruis saw the place of his tormented childhood through adult eyes, it would help free him of past anger. Ruis sincerely doubted it.
The wind whipped up and blew dark clouds over the evening sunset, drenching the world in gloom. The cottage was on the edge of T’Elder land, a few meters from a cliff facing the GreatPlatte Ocean. Though directly south of the Ship a few kilometers, in memory, age, and tradition the cottage was light-years from the great Earth artifact.
The little house wore an air of decrepitude, looking as if it had been abandoned far longer than the twenty-one years since he’d run away. Ruis blinked. It was much smaller than his earliest memories, even shabbier and tinier than the last time he’d seen it, at fourteen.
A spurt of anger blew the depression from his veins. He tugged a little at the stylish silver torque circling his neck that held the Ship’s communicator.
The appearance of the cottage spurred the realization that Bucus had never put a sliver of gilt into maintaining the structure, not through all the years Ruis had been living there with a caretaker, and not since.
Thud. Thud. Thud. His blood thumped in his temple with the cadence of memory—the roof leaking in several spots, dropping into strategically placed pots when spring rains thundered over Druida. A minor spell could have weath-ershielded the building. Ruis’s Nullness hadn’t been strong enough to negate the benefit. It had never been done.
Ruis knew now that Bucus must have hoped the defective Ruis-child might die of a chill, or the condition of the building would somehow harm him fatally.
He drew in a shaky breath. Dead and dried weeds surrounded the cottage, the door planking had buckled and gaped widely. He didn’t want to go in, but he’d promised the Ship. Ruis strode up to the door and yanked at it. It stuck. He took a small multitool sphere from his belt and pressed the red button. The lazer sliced through rotted wood and the door fell apart in his hands.
Samba minced to the threshold and sniffed at the dim mustiness and some other awful, choking odor. She wrinkled her nose. Nasty. With fastidious steps, she entered. Ruis followed, flicking the blue switch on his multitool for the lightbeam. He swept the light around the rooms. The few sticks of furniture were as he remembered. The first room held a table, a stove, two chairs.
“Rrrowwww!” Samba jumped back from the partially open bedroom door to the left. She hissed and spat. Her calico hair stood on end. She rocketed from the cottage.
His own hair rising on the back of his neck, Ruis went to the door. The smell was stronger here. He gulped, then forced the door wider, screeching it across warped floor-boards.
His lightbeam pierced the suffocating darkness and pinpointed the face of a horror. Ruis gasped.
Ailim stumbled and fell to her knees, jarring her bones and snapping her teeth together. The night was darker than she’d expected. Clouds covered the last of the sunset, draping over the moons and swathing star-bright sky. The wind whisked aro
und her and she gave thanks for her heavy cloak.
She jumped up and visualized the path to Menzie. Ailim ran faster than ever before in her life to burst from the trees and half-fall, half-slide into the ravine that marked the fault-line in the earth.
Blinking, she swiped dust from her eyes and peered ahead. Menzie shambled along the rift, dressed in a thin indoor dayrobe. Ailim blinked again and swore. Menzie walked as if under a spell. The evil amulet controlled her aunt.
Ailim caught up to Menzie and grabbed her arm so fiercely the older woman spun around. Her wide eyes showed the whites, her mouth was slack. One hand clutched the baneful charm.
“Stop this madness!” cried Ailim.
Awkwardly the bespelled woman battled Ailim. She ducked the blows, slapped her aunt across the face to wake her, a futile action. Menzie hit her hard on her ear and Ailim winced, dizziness engulfing her, ringing shooting through her head. A hard blow to her chest pushed her back down on her bottom.
Ailim strove to sense the spell consuming her aunt but failed, unskilled in such Flair. As she scrambled to her feet, she searched her memory for counter-spells but gave up, knowing the spell enveloping Menzie was too devious for an easy answer.
Menzie turned and lurched toward the weakest point in the fault. Ailim’s only choice was to grab the amulet. She muttered defensive spells, hoping they’d be sufficient against the evil.
Three strides and Ailim joined Menzie. One more stride put her in front of the woman. This time Ailim went for the leather thong that suspended the amulet. “Break!” she cried, sending the Wordspell with all her might and yanking hard.
The necklace broke. Menzie’s head jerked back and the red, blistered line around her throat bled. Ailim grappled with the heavier woman, forcing her fingers from the little bag.
Pounding shock sizzled up Ailim’s arm as she touched the charm. Menzie fell on her and the bane slipped from Ailim’s grasp. They rolled a meter.
“No!” screamed Menzie. “No!” She crawled back toward the amulet. Menzie’s old, white fingers reached for it. Ailim jumped and scooped it up. Even with a corner of the cloak wrapped around her gloved hand, pain shot up her arm.
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