by Lou Hoffmann
But, then I wouldn’t have met the Wraith Queen and heard her story. I wouldn’t have gone to Morrow’s farm. I wouldn’t have K’ormahk. I wouldn’t have met Rio! And I wouldn’t have learned to trust myself.
A chill passed through him as he realized how important that last bit had turned out to be. It broke his reverie but put no lasting dent in his happiness. His headache and nausea had left him the minute he’d walked out of the manor house and into the gold of a slow sunset, but he was still tired, sore, and weak. It just didn’t seem to matter as much as it would if he were anywhere else.
He was also filthy and smelly, though, and he didn’t like being that in Thurlock’s house any more than he would like it anywhere else. After letting Henry know he was going to bathe, with Maizie at his heels, he stepped into the bathroom, which did not look like the one in Earth. No shower, no pipes. A commode, but Lucky didn’t care to think about what happened to his deposit there. The tub was round and wooden, and up to that point it resembled other tubs he’d experienced since coming to Ethra, but it also had three levers attached to it. Not sure what to think, Lucky hesitantly tried pulling the first one. The tub began to fill with water from no visible source—from the bottom up.
“O-o-ka-a-a-y,” he said quietly.
Maizie whined a little in response, so he scratched behind her ears. Then he tried the second handle. He couldn’t figure out by watching what change occurred, so he flipped it back. The water in the tub reached a certain point and stopped filling and the first lever switched itself back. Curious, and only a little apprehensive, Lucky tried the third lever. Instant bubble bath!
After he stripped down, he stuck a foot in the water, but immediately snatched it back. It was far too hot. Struck by a brainstorm, he switched the second lever again and—this time more carefully—checked the temperature again. Quite cold. He moved the lever to the middle, tried again, adjusted the handle a little more toward the hot side and found the temperature perfect.
He climbed into the tub and sank down all the way, dunking his head completely under. While there he caught himself thinking, Magic is such a wonderful thing, which shocked him so completely he almost forgot to bob back up before breathing. Since when had he started liking magic?
When he thought about it, though, the answer was simple. Yes, magic had brought him trouble, but it had also been responsible for leading him to K’ormahk and Rio and Ciarrah. It had let him use the Key of Behliseth to save his uncle, and it had brought the same uncle to him as a red dragon, to save him. Yes, magic truly was a wonderful thing.
And it’s time for me to make friends with it, I think.
Right. Because that’s normal, for sure.
His stomach growled. Maizie thumped her tail and whined.
“Get out of the tub, Lucky,” he told himself, feeling wearily grown-up. “It must be time for supper.”
THINKING MOSTLY about food, Han stepped up onto the front porch of his small house and nearly knocked out the healer, Tahlina, when she popped out of the shadows.
He recognized her in the same instant that she squealed, “Han! Stop, it’s just me!”
“You shouldn’t surprise people like that! You could end up getting hurt!”
“I’m sorry! I never knew it was possible to surprise the famously mind-reading Han Shieth!”
“Well,” Han said after taking a third deep breath and calming down. “I see your point. For the record, as you’ve seen, I’m not always cruising Thoughtwave Boulevard trying to pick up strays to recruit to my sick lifestyle. What do you want, anyway?” He pushed his door open and motioned for her to precede him. “You might as well come in, but I’m only here for a few minutes.”
She did walk in but gave him a perplexed look. “Cruising Thoughtwave…?”
“Never mind. Just my twist on some slang I picked up in Earth. Have a seat.” Han walked past her on the way to his bedroom as she sat on the edge of one of the straight-backed chairs at his little table. The distance wasn’t far and the walls were thin, so while he was in there pulling out the clothes he’d change into, he asked, “How can I help you?”
“Uh, well. I saw you walking across the green a while ago, and you weren’t limping at all. The last time I looked at that wound in your thigh, I thought it would take at least a week to even fully close. I guess you could say I’m mystified. When…? How…?”
Han came out of the bedroom drying his face on a small towel. After lighting a lamp with a metal-and-flint striker, he looked Tahlina in the eye and said, “I’m mystified too. The wound—it’s a little tender still, but pretty much healed. It happened… I was… helping Luccan, and when it was done… well, this.” He pulled up the longer khalta he’d changed into so Tahlina could see the injury she’d been treating.
She examined the scar briefly, then looked up to meet Han’s gaze again. “It’s quite wondrous, Han. I’m glad of course.”
“Of course,” Han repeated, but he’d lived with the knowledge of her distaste for him for so long, he didn’t put too much store in the words. She’d take care of him if he was injured, he knew that. But he wasn’t sure she was all that happy to see him skip the painful process. He was about to politely dismiss her, but she’d seen his eyes in the lamplight.
“Han,” she started but hesitated before asking in a timid voice, “uh, your eyes too?”
Han fought the urge to look away to hide his dragon-red irises, refusing to be ashamed of what he couldn’t help being. “Well, it’s complicated, but yes. My eyes too. Now is there anything else? I need to finish changing and head over to Thurlock’s.”
“No,” she said, getting to her feet. “Nothing else, Han. Thank you.”
She stepped toward the door and he went around her to open it and hold it, being flawlessly polite.
“Thank you, Tahlina,” he said. “I appreciate that you provided your very best care for me, and I’m sorry I was far from a model patient.”
“You are very welcome, Han.”
She stepped out the door as she was speaking, but turned quickly and held her hand against it, an appeal for him to wait before closing it. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes as if for courage. When she opened them again, she met his gaze frankly. Han couldn’t quite get the gist of her thoughts, but she wasn’t very good at shielding, and whatever was on her mind, it was directed toward him.
“You have something you want to say to me, Tahlina?”
“Yes, I do. I’ve been meaning to talk to you for some time now.”
The sun was sinking, almost gone, and Han heard the sundown hush of animal whispers from the land around his house. It had always seemed a thing of wonder, the way they did that, almost worshipful, but without any notion that their lives were separate from that to which they paid homage. It was a good time of day for serious things to be said.
“Please, feel free to speak your mind,” Han said, but instead of stepping back into the house, he stepped out onto the porch, which was bathed for the last few minutes of the day in red and gold reminiscent of his dragon’s fire. It was the sort of moment Han could get lost in, but with a little effort, he gave Tahlina his full attention.
“I… truly do wish you well—not only when you’re my patient.” She went quiet, continued to hold his gaze.
Though it seemed like she wanted to say more, she didn’t, so Han said, “Well… thank you again, Tahlina,” and waited for whatever was coming next. Was it a true olive branch, he wondered, or a back road to an insult?
But then she smiled, and it was the gentlest expression he’d ever seen on her face.
“You might not believe this, but when I was a young girl, I had a great big crush on you. When I found out you didn’t care for girls much, I was shocked, but in a way it was comforting to know I never would have stood a chance with you.” She chuckled. “And then my younger son, Jahn—when he was little he practically worshipped your name. Oh, it wasn’t unusual,” she assured. “Lots of little boys and girls wanted to be just lik
e the great Warrior Han Shieth, and Jahn, like the others, grew out of it. But then….”
This time when she paused, her eyes grew faraway, and a shadow of her usual anger settled over her. Han braced himself for disappointment, but she surprised him again.
“My oldest son died, you know. An accident, and I, the celebrated healer, could do nothing for him at all—he breathed his last within minutes after it happened. And the, oh….” She looked away and after a moment reached up to swipe at her cheek. “I try hard not to think about these things, but I want to tell you.”
Han said, “Tahlina, I never knew. I don’t have children, but believe me I know that losing family hurts. I’m sorry you lost your son.”
“Thank you for that,” she said, looking back at him again. “It was a long time ago…. But yes, I believe you do understand—the pain doesn’t really go away, right? Anyway, I know you’re in a hurry, but bear with me a little longer. I’m getting to the point, I promise.” Her smile flashed out again, then quickly faded. “You see, soon after Tam’s accident, Jahn told me he was in love with a man, and that he’d never be in love with a woman, would never take a wife. All my hopes for my old age—being a happy, helpful grandma with a passel of small versions of my sons and their wives to spend my time and lavish my love on—it was gone.”
“He could still have children, though. Some people make arrangements—alliances.”
“I know… yes. Not my point, though. You see, when he told me that, I immediately remembered how he’d idolized you, and… well, it was convenient to blame you. The analyzer in me—the part that makes me a good healer, I suppose—is unquestioningly certain it’s not your fault. I admit, though, even after all these years, I’m still working on convincing my heart. As bad as your wound was, or seemed to be anyway, it made me think of how it would be around here without you. For the Sunlands. And for everyone, myself included. Honestly, I do know you’re a good man, Han. I… I thought it was time I told you so.”
Han felt a most unwelcome lump in his throat, but he reined in the emotion, allowed himself only the compassion he would feel for anyone. Confession or not, Tahlina was, by her choice, practically a stranger—perhaps not such a hateful stranger as he’d thought, but nonetheless….
“I appreciate you telling me, Tahlina,” he said, honestly meaning it.
She nodded, obviously reading his polite dismissal, then turned and with a surprisingly girlish wave over her shoulder, went on her way.
“So,” a man’s voice said from the darkness at the side of the house. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I didn’t think I should interrupt, either.”
Han wasn’t startled this time. He’d sensed Henry there as soon as he’d stepped outside. He reflected that he didn’t think he really needed his telepathic abilities to sense Henry’s presence. Every time the man was in his vicinity, Han’s heart rate seemed to perk right up and say Henry! At the moment, with Henry standing at the bottom of the stairs looking up at him, Han felt slightly breathless.
“It’s a little disappointing,” Henry was saying, “to find out that even though I’ve come to a whole new world, there are still people who might hate me because they disapprove of whom I might love.”
Han held Henry’s gaze. Oddly, he couldn’t hear his thoughts at all, though he was pretty sure they were about him, and he’d heard them clearly when Henry was in condor form.
“Thurlock sent me to fetch you for dinner,” Henry said. “You ready?”
Han nodded. “Almost. Let me grab a shirt.”
Henry’s eyebrows went up and he gave Han an obvious once-over. “You look fine without it.”
An uncharacteristic blush heated Han’s neck and climbed onto his face. He was grateful it was likely too dark out for Henry to see it. “Thank you. Uh… I see someone provided you with some new clothes.”
“Yeah! Thurlock sort of conjured them up for me.” He struck a pose. “Whaddaya think? Not quite what I’m used to. This skirt… kilt—”
“We call it a khalta, here.”
“Okay. Anyway, it’s a little breezy, if you know what I mean.”
Han chuckled and gave a slight nod. “You wear it well,” he said and turned to go inside. Though not long ago, morose would have been a good word to describe his mood, when he left Henry waiting on his porch, he felt like smiling. Whistling a tune maybe. Even skipping. He did smile a little, but let the urge to do anything ridiculous pass, and stuck to business. He put on a shirt and tunic and gathered his hair in a tight braid, then checked the box on his desk where copies of reports his staff sergeant left in his headquarters office would appear by magic. He didn’t understand the magic, of course—it had been set up by Thurlock years ago—but he didn’t think it any stranger than the fax machines he’d seen in Earth, and the function was pretty much identical. He glanced through them, separated out the two he knew Thurlock would want to see as soon as possible, folded them, and stuck them in the pocket of his tunic.
He let the gentle smile settle back onto his face as he walked back out onto the porch. Henry was leaning against the rail at the bottom of the steps, looking away toward the manor where the last traces of daylight scattered like gold dust over the ground.
Han stepped down, took Henry’s arm without fanfare, and steered him toward the darkling path. “For the record,” he said, his voice low and his lips not all that far from Henry’s ear, “there’s no chance I’ll hate you for whom you might love.” After a few more steps he added, “Though I’ll admit, under certain circumstances, I could get a little jealous.”
THE CHANDELIER over the dining room table in Thurlock’s house, the one that had seemed mysterious and spooky to Lucky back in Valley City, glowed here at the Sisterhold with a friendly, subdued yellow light. The wall held a huge, orange-peel type map of Ethra where a device called a M.E.R.L.I.N—Magic for the Evocation and Relocation of the Ley-lines Interweaving Naught—had been before. Since he’d been back in Ethra, Lucky hadn’t been in this part of Thurlock’s house—he’d only visited the tower, where Thurlock tried in vain to teach him some ordinary magic skills and shared contraband hot chocolate and Hostess Ding Dongs from Earth.
As he stood studying the map—miniature ships crossing oceans, caravans traveling long roads that Lucky imagined as wide and dusty, rivers with barges, cities and towns and castles, plains marked with horses and mountains topped with dragons—Thurlock walked into the room.
“I sent Henry to hurry Han along, so they should be here shortly. It’s going to be just the four of us for dinner, though I’m sure Lemon will wheedle a few bits of meat from Han, and I imagine Maizie will do likewise with you. You’re just like your uncle in some ways, my boy. I’ll just pretend I don’t see the food being smuggled, because that’s easier than pretending it doesn’t bother me or arguing with Han about it.”
But Lucky was still engrossed in the map, and without turning away from the wall, he asked, “Why don’t you have a M.E.R.L.I.N here, Thurlock?”
“Hm. I find it amazing that you look so well after your recent ordeal. Are you tired?”
“Uh… yes. But it’s normal tired. I figured the bathwater was magic or something.”
“Possibly. As far as why I don’t have a M.E.R.L.I.N., are you certain that I don’t?”
Lucky turned around then and shot a quizzical look at the wizard. “This map—?”
“It could be, couldn’t it? But I’ll answer your question as if your assumption was infallible. The Portals of Naught are not working well. The magical technology that makes the M.E.R.L.I.N. work doesn’t improve on the natural processes of Naught, only draws on them, so they’re just as untrustworthy as the Portals. That seems to me a very good reason not to use one.”
For some reason Lucky didn’t get, Thurlock’s tone seemed to hold a challenge. Lucky’s surprise at that had him gaping while he tried to think of a response. He was rescued from the task by a small bevy of kitchen staff from the manor traipsing in laden with platters, bowls, and pit
chers full of far more food and drink than four people should ever be able to eat.
“Why don’t you sit down, Luccan? Despite your improved look, I’m quite sure you’re still a little sick and a lot tired. I’m not feeling my most spry either, but I think I’d like to set the places at the table myself. Makes me feel young, you see—it was always my job at home when I was a boy.”
Thurlock buzzed around smiling at himself, and Lucky watched, wondering if all very old men occasionally went a little batty. He also thought that yes, the wizard was right. He truly did feel tired, although strangely not very hungry. Leastwise, none of the food on the table interested him. He thought he could chow down on some sweets, though. Candy, cake, ice cream—he didn’t care. Plain and simple, he had a craving. Unusual, really, as he’d never had a screaming sweet tooth, so he decided it was a reaction to his recent experiences with cold, dark, ugly things. Also odd, he still couldn’t remember much about all that nastiness. He knew the things he’d experienced weren’t dreams, but he seemed to have forgotten most of them in the same way dreams often vanish from memory upon awakening.
Just as Thurlock straightened the last of the four settings at the table and adjusted the chairs, Han came in with Henry, the two of them looking, Lucky thought, like they were made for each other.
“Maybe, nephew, but MYOB! And start remembering to shield your thoughts.”
