Heart Thief (27 page)

“Ship, transparent window, please.” The Captain's Quarters had a huge window, fully four meters square, in the sitting room. Ruis glanced out. Bel, the small blue-white sun, was beginning to light the sky. Many of the brightest stars still shone, as well as both moons. An unusual number of people dotted the large Landing Park. Small campfires still burned, and couples lay entwined. It looked more like Beltane, which the Ship called May Day, instead of the Mabon harvest.

When he reached the den, he found that Samba had played one of her tricks, and activated the Prophecy Program. His body interrupted the light beam and a swirling column of cards appeared. Two cards fell, to be fixed and magnified by the holo.

The first card stunned him. A man dressed in gray, with scuffed boots and enveloped by a cloak, pulled a hood to shadow his unshaven face. As Ruis watched, he slunk from the background of tents with pennants flying, to scale a wall. Tucked under both arms, he carried a wealth of swords with various shaped pommels studded with jewels. The bright sky behind him turned gray with black edges of an oncoming storm.

“Seven of Swords,” the program's throaty female voice said. Ruis translated the “swords” of the Earth cards into Celtan “blasers.” In a contemporary deck, the sneaky bastard—a thief!—would be carrying a basket of seven rich, noble-crested blasers. Ruis grit his teeth, remembering what he had been. Even as he watched, the thief slipped from the holo.

The program continued, “This symbol indicates unreliability, betrayal, spying, the failure of a plan. An undesirable action. Beware.”

Ruis stopped in his tracks as he saw the next card. “Where did you get that image?” he croaked. A blond maiden with a heart-shaped face sat with a unicorn's head in her lap. Ailim D'SilverFir, shown in the vision as the GreatSuite card, Lady and Unicorn.

Ship answered him. “We obtained it by holos of yesterday's Mabon festival and OathTaking. We must comment that the ceremony has changed—”

“Stop,” Ruis said.

“Lady and Unicorn, a good omen. She brings blessings, power that guards, nourishes, empowers. Your constructive creativity develops, especially at home, in orderly, serene surroundings. Healing and recovery.”

Mmmrrroww? Are you coming
? Samba asked. The saucer settled gently to the floor. Samba was wearing a huge cat grin. She pressed a round green paw-sized button.
I stick good inside saucer
.
And the bigger I am, the better I stick.

She raised her nose smugly.

Ruis smiled halfheartedly. “End program.” He was glad when the holos vanished. “We have to hurry.” He stepped over Samba, left his quarters with her trotting beside him, and took an omnivator to the northeast portal, thinking of the divination.

Uneasiness filled Ruis on the way to FirstGrove; he thought he'd seen the flash of the first sunlight on a silver-gilt head, a Holly head, either Holm or Tinne.

He waited until he was sure he and Samba were alone, then continued. Bel was just sending blue-white rays over the tops of the trees surrounding him when he entered the Grove.

The Ship had discovered some interesting information on Nightshade. As the boy stated, his triad brothers were dead—after tangling with T'Ash. Shade was nearly as “wanted” by the guards as Ruis. Shade had escaped AllClass HealingHall before answering criminal charges. At the time he'd had a “DepressFlair” bracelet melded permanently around his wrist by T'Ash. Shade had severed his own hand to remove the DepressFlair cuff and regain his psi power.

Ruis shivered from the chill of the morning, the idea of crossing T'Ash, and Shade's desperation. No doubt Shade believed that T'Ash was Ruis's number-one enemy, since Ruis's stealing of T'Ash's HeartGift necklace had led to the Council taking notice of Ruis and Ruis's subsequent imprisonment and banishment.

Ruis had automatically followed Samba, who now sat at the bottom of an oak, looking up and lashing her tail. He was unsurprised to see Shade stretched out on a huge limb a meter or so above his head.

Shade scowled down at them. “Send Fam away. Don't like fliggerin' cats.”

Ruis noticed thin scars of cat scratches on Shade's face, and Ruis gestured to Samba to go.

Samba whipped her tail back and forth and lifted her muzzle in disdain.
I never “fliggered” in My life
.

Ruis believed her. She was neutered.

Boy is Downwind scruff. He's fliggered plenty. Probably with Triad brothers
.

“Go,” Ruis said to Samba.

She let out a nasty little chuckle.
I go. I talk better than him. Only young Fams of Zanth breeding, or stupid puppies, talk in Downwind shortspeech
. She tilted her head.
puppy might learn. This scruff, never
. With tail high and curved haughtily, she strolled away.

Shade narrowed her eyes. “She talks? You understand.”

“She's my Fam.”

“You're Null.”

Ruis bared his teeth in a grin. “That's right, Flaired boy. I'm a Null. Can't you feel it?” Knowing Shade could, Ruis saw tiny beads of sweat at the youngster's hairline.

Shade scrambled down the tree. He might have had the genetic potential to equal Ruis's height, but a Downwind childhood of poor nutrition made him several centimeters shorter. He cradled his injured wrist with his other hand, and Ruis was glad to see all Shade's fingers occupied. No doubt the youth had a concealed knife, throwing star, or razorslit.

“I'm not a boy. You think I can't plan, can't fight, can't follow vengeance stalk?”

“No. I think you can do all of that.” Ruis had to ensure Shade didn't betray him. Perhaps he could somehow rehabilitate the youth. Ruis stared at him, wondering if there was anything below Shade's driving need for revenge that could make him into a decent human being. All Ruis could see was the power of Shade's rage, a wrath that had once mirrored his own.

He, too, had been considered unredeemable.

Ruis nodded to the moss-encased poultice around Shade's wrist. “Is that fresh?”

“Within the septhour.”

“Better stay a little distance from me, or your Healing Waters, poultice, and spells won't work.” Ruis walked a meter to a stone bench and sat. “Now. Tell me about your plan.”

“You Null. You can get in anywhere, anytime. Like the FirstFamilies Council Meeting, even Ritual in Guildhall or GreatCircle Temple.”

Ruis stiffened, but kept his voice mild. “That's right. After a few moments the spells in my immediate area falter, then fail. I can forge a path anywhere, but only my body-width. If the spellshields are automatically renewed, they'll regenerate behind me. Anything around me is affected until I leave.”

“Gossip says when you were locked up in Guildhall gaol all spells failed. All.”

“I was there two eightdays.” He grinned with real amusement. “They had to move the record-keeping to a building across the street.”

Shade grinned back and almost looked his young age.

Ruis frowned. “So, you're thinking of confronting the nobles in the Guildhall. A full Noble Council? FirstFamilies Council? Or GreatLords and Ladies Council only?”

Shade made an awkward movement with his hurt arm. “FirstFamilies most important.”

“FirstFamilies, then.” Ruis watched as the boy unwrapped his arm. The reattached hand appeared much better than it had the night before, but Ruis doubted if it would ever be right. “Don't bother to try and renew the Healing Spells on yourself until I'm gone. What's your Flair?” If the young man was a Healer, there might be hope for him yet.

“Fire.”

Ruis sucked in a breath. He tried to gauge how powerful Shade might be, but had no way to measure it. “I like the architecture of Guildhall, and would hate to see it burn.”

Shade scowled.

Ruis rose and strode away.

“Wait,” Shade said.

Ruis leveled a stare at the youth. “I've business and no time to play games. Get to the point. I won't be a party to burning the Guildhall down around a FirstFamilies Council.”

Shade met his gaze with a deceptive innocence. “Only want to play a trick. Set off one little firework, make big stink. And you remember, you walking deadman if any catch here in Druida.”

Ruis narrowed his eyes. “I know that the guards want you, too. You left the HealingHall while under charges of assault.”

Shade snorted. “Assault. Fights called assault when winners whine on losers. Fights, noble duels, noble melees, all legal.”

That hit a nerve. “The strong win, the weak lose.”

“We work together,” Shade pressed. “Teach fliggerin' nobles they not safe, not even in NobleCouncil Hall, not even at Council.” He shot Ruis a sly look. “Council tried and judged you.”

Another good hit by Shade. Anger flashed at the memory. Ruis beat it back. He set his teeth to keep from responding to the bait. They could trade histories of noble insults for hours.

Ruis had already talked to the Ship and Samba about his life and the way he had scrambled to survive. He stared at Shade. Who could the youngster talk to? It was a sure bet that he'd never be welcome in one of the youth centers T'Ash had founded for Downwind boys. His triad brothers, closer than friends, closer than brothers, boys who had often shared the same thoughts, melded into one unit, were dead.

Perhaps Shade could be retaught. Perhaps listening would lance his pain and lead to the acceptance of his grief. Perhaps.

Since Ruis had never been given a second chance by anyone, he was willing to give this lost boy one.

“Don't blackmail me,” Ruis warned. “Don't try and set me up. I have proof that you've been mugging noble-bloods—the young GrandSir Lotus, the brothers Chicory, and old Sassafras.” Ship had provided records.

Shade jolted, then mustered bravado. “My plan. You get me into NobleCouncil, I hu-mil-I-ate all nobles, BroadcastScry the scene. Much laughter by commoners.” His narrow face contracted in a blissful grin. “Oh, yeah. Fab.”

For a moment Ruis indulged in the fantasy. It would be very interesting to see how the nobles would handle the incident—who would carry on with grace, who would fall apart. With luck, Bucus could actually die of sheer outrage.

Even as Ruis smiled, he knew he'd come too far along his own path of recovery to do such a thing.

Ruis considered Shade. How dangerous was he? Could he be redeemed? Still, it would be better to keep an eye on him. “Don't trap me, or betray me. Samba and all the Fams and feral cats can keep an eye on you. A short, anonymous note to the guards will take care of you. If I don't get you, the Guards will. If they don't get you, Samba and her friends will.”

Will eat your balls from your live body,
Samba purred, loudly and distinctly, plunking down from a tree branch.

Shade staggered back. The cat scars turned red against his sallow skin. “I understand.”

“Good,” Ruis said.

“Send it away,” said Shade.

Ruis jerked his head. Samba deigned to acquiesce. Tail flaunting, she strolled into the underbrush.

Ruis studied the boy. The desperate, friendless boy. “This afternoon is full twinmoons. There's an altar in a ritual grove in the southwest corner of this property. We can celebrate the Sabbat there at dawn. Merry meet.”

Shade's mouth fell open. Ruis knew then that the young man had never been given the courtesy or respect of the most minor Celtan greeting. Had he ever been to a true Ritual, ever participated and felt the inspiration? Could giving him these very important and intangible things instill a sense of honor in him?

“Merry part,” Shade croaked.

“And merry meet again.” Ruis grinned. “When you wish to contact me, just say so to a feral cat.”

Samba crawled out from the brush.
We are very smart,
she said smugly.
Ferals playing Hide from Zanth
.

“Cats not obey well,” Shade said.

“Which of us here does?” Ruis said. “But the cats know they'll get a good reward for bringing a message to Samba.” Prime earth catnip from the Ship. News of the excellent drug was already making the feline rounds.

“Goodbye, GentleSir Nightshade.” Ruis bowed, keeping his eyes on Shade, then left.

 
 
Ailim's last case before noonbell at JudgmentGrove was allocating
the Residence, funds and possessions of the late, last member of the GraceHouse Asphodel. The whole business was conducted with a note of melancholy. The Asphodel Family had been one of the first GraceHouses founded, by one of the technicians of the starship
Arianrhod's Wheel
. The Family had never proliferated. The HealingHall diagnosis was that some gene which was dominant and essential on Earth did not allow the Family to adapt well to Celta.

As the last bong echoed through the ancient grove, Ailim stood. “I have an announcement to make. Most people celebrated both Mabon and full twinmoons yesterday; however, the exact time of the full moons is in two septhours. As is standard practice, JudgmentGrove is ended today at noonbell and will recommence tomorrow morning at work-bell.” She said the closing prayer and Yeldoc ended the weathershield and cut the sacred circle.

Ailim watched her kinswoman, Caltha of Woodpine, stride through the center of the Grove.

The moment crystallized. Time seemed to stretch. Every action moved with infinite slowness around Ailim while her senses sharpened preternaturally. Her Flair coalesced in an oppressive bubble indicating a moment of great decision.

She studied Caltha, the head of a cadet branch who ran one of the outlying Family farms. She was the reason for the odd atmosphere. A tangle of light-brown hair curled about Caltha's round face, her eyes were the same blue-gray as Ailim's. The long tabard Caltha wore over her blue gown emphasized the ripe breasts and hips of a thirty-seven-year-old woman. She looked the epitome of the Lady in her aspect of Matron. But Caltha's physical characteristics dimmed before her personal qualities. Ailim saw generosity, shrewdness, and integrity. In that moment Ailim saw more. She saw her Heir.