The Gate to Futures Past (5 page)

A puzzle of no concern to me. Who or what had gobbled up the pendants' data was a moot point, in my opinion, the experiment being over. To be sure, I'd ordered the revolting devices left behind on Cersi.

They had been, except for mine, snapped up by Morgan in case of some unforeseen eventuality. It sat deep in his pack, wrapped, he'd assured me, to mute any detection. I hadn't tried to dissuade him; my Human's curiosity was boundless.

I forced my mind to the present, watching Ruis. Lightly, with the tip of her smallest finger, the Healer-of-minds stroked Nyso's forehead, then Luek's. Each closed their eyes and slumped in one another's arms. I eased the part of my Power I'd held ready to stop a futile 'port, relieved.

“They're no danger to anyone but themselves,” the Rayna Adept pronounced, getting to her feet. “They should be brought to the Core and kept as they are. From what I sensed, they haven't slept for too long. Such confusion can be the result.” Calm. Convincing.

Liar, I thought with some admiration.

Destin and I concur.
Aryl's sending was subdued.
A scout posted too many nights in a row might give a false alarm—we've never known one to forget where she was or fall.

“I can take them,” I told Ruis. Two could play at confidence.

The First Scout's eyes flashed to me, but she offered no other objection. Odon's frown deepened. “I don't like the idea of having them close to anyone else.”

Ruis drew herself up. “Are you a Healer-of-minds?” She didn't wait for an answer. “Sira. If you could take me as well? Remarkable,” she murmured at my nod.

I'll meet you there,
Morgan offered.

No need,
I replied.
Ruis plans to keep them asleep for some time. She thinks that may be all they need.

The Om'ray Healer could be right, I told myself as I concentrated . . . gathering Nyso and Luek with Ruis . . .

I wasn't inclined to bet on
it.

B
ETWEEN, it was called, the
darkness
that separated NothingReal from the living vastness of AllThereIs.
Touching
it, ever aware
,
were Those Who Watched. Theirs was willing sacrifice, for to dip into Between brought memory, with its attendant confusion. Some went mad rather than bear it. Others, overwhelmed, became lost, Between. A few, more powerful, held intact; could be
heard
at need or by desire by those able.

All Watched for what didn't belong, for
instability
. Vigilance had failed once, long ago. Through the resulting breach had come such destruction, AllThereIs had reeled.

Never again.

One such Watcher
stirred.
Not alarmed, not yet. Watchers were beings of patience and caution, when there was no need to act. This one
reached
outward, seeking what had caught her attention. Was it here? A hint of
changespice
, perhaps, escaped its bed
.
A forgotten song, or new one, let roam free. Such things and any could happen, in AllThereIs.

Such things and any, here, weren't the worry.

Between, was. To be certain, she'd need to be closer. To move within AllThereIs required
purpose
as well as
direction,
and claim the attention of others in turn. Unkind.

Unwise.

She would wait, here.

And Watch.

I
WASN'T SURE what caught my attention. This wasn't the
Silver Fox,
prone to mechanical muttering just when I'd settled to sleep.

The
Fox
was gone, reduced to a mound of slag in a shipcity an unfathomable distance away from here and now, and the great starship we'd continued to call
Sona
for lack of a better name made no perceptible sound as it traveled.

Maybe that was it, I told myself, closing my eyes. The silence.

If I didn't count the deep, slow breathing of the multitude sharing the Core, the loudest of which was right beside my ear. Normally, I quite liked to hear my Chosen, not to mention feel the beat of his pulse against my skin; depending on the moment, such sensations were as apt to arouse as soothe or, as now, reassure me he was here and no longer roaming the ship.

From the current pace of his breaths, and to my inner sense, Morgan slept soundly. If he hadn't wakened me, I thought with a smidge of disappointment, what had? I resisted the impulse to sit up and look around. The faintest possible glow outlined the bases of the beds, to prevent stubbed toes during visits to the accommodation, and I was unwilling to disturb Morgan or anyone else. It was, after all, the middle of shipnight.

Were lights on in the rest of the ship?

Morgan, who'd again missed the evening meal in order to continue exploring, thought it likely the ship reacted to his presence, illuminating wherever he wandered, corridors going dark behind his back. There were lights on, I'd checked, whenever a door opened. Except if that door opened into here, during ship-imposed night.

I could ask
Sona,
I supposed, but then it made the whole question of lights seem overly important. I refused to guess what the ship might do then.

Our tenth shipnight, lying here together, speeding through subspace. Already a challenge to tell one shipday from the next. How many more before they blurred into a sameness? Until more of my people lost themselves like Nyso and Luek?

Not thoughts to help me fall back to sleep, I scolded myself, pushing them aside. We'd get there—all of us, including the di Kessa'ats, who'd be back to being a nuisance—when we did.

Wherever “there” was.

That did it. Like an itch impossible to scratch, thinking about our destination. I'd ordered the ship to take us home. In hindsight, that may have been—

. . . 
what was that?

My right hand rested on my belly, not yet round with the life inside.
I'm sorry I woke you, Aryl.

It wasn't you.
With a hint of
consternation. Something's not right—look here.

She'd felt it, too, whatever had wakened me.
Where?

Come.

I let her
draw
my mind after hers, into the M'hir. With no outward sign, Morgan came awake, instantly alert. Just as well, I thought, glad of his warm golden presence as I entered the dark.

The M'hir. Aryl had named it after the violent mountain winds that swept across her home on Cersi each year. The wind brought the Harvest.

The M'hir I knew was nothing so benign.

Its darkness
moved
, to Clan senses. Sometimes with a
snap
of pressure or unpredictable and crushing weight; sometimes, as
now, a
heave
as if it sought to rid itself of me and mine. I didn't take it personally. Not a good place to linger, the M'hir; it was, however, part of us.

For a portion of each Clan mind was rooted in that darkness; it claimed the rest upon death, consciousness become ghost, to dissolve and disappear.

Enough of us, surely, to fill it, those past terrible days.

I let myself
reach
for the living. Their resting minds showed as fragile, distant lights; I took great care not to draw them deeper.

I felt—
Aryl's mindvoice trailed away.
But where?

Morgan's, strong and familiar,
Here.
As if he'd taken my hand to guide me, I found myself near one light in particular as it
sputtered,
about to fail. Nyso? Luek?

Heedless where I was, I cried out in furious protest,
NO!

The M'hir reacted to my emotion, as of course it would, darkness whipping to maelstrom. Before it could get worse, I
yanked
the three of us to safety.

Morgan rolled to his feet, snapping on the tiny handlight he'd packed in anticipation of an uncertain future. Practical, my Human. I freed myself from blankets to pad after him between the beds.

The Core was more a village than dormitory. Yes, everyone slept together, finishing their day by changing into the sleeveless white shifts the ship provided, but where there'd been simple rows of beds, enough for twice our number, now stood organized clusters, with space between.

To create that space, about a third of the beds had been removed and stored. Others, stripped of their padding, became low tables. The modest reorganization helped us deal with the reality of our forced confinement here. If there was a hint of getting back at
Sona,
I was the last to argue.

Family groups took up the middle, male unChosen and the Choosers who might find them irresistible on opposite ends of the long chamber. Although there'd been no incidents, no one wanted a repeat of Ermu sud Friesnen's blatant ambush of her Candidate in the shower; the success of their Joining had owed more to blissful ignorance on both sides than sense. Since, to the
simmering disgust of at least one M'hiray Chooser, I'd put Eand di Yode and her Chosen, Moyla—Om'ray Adepts and former Councilors of Sona—in charge of future matches. Tle could rail at them until exhausted, but she wouldn't. The elderly pair were among the few she respected.

Most importantly, Eand, however minimal her Talents as Sona Clan's remaining Healer, had the strength to help Tle, should we ever have a Candidate who could survive her. Time was on Tle's side, a Chooser's physiological age unchanging until Choice, or not. It depended on how frustrated she became.

I followed Morgan between the M'hiray families to the section housing the various Om'ray Clans. They kept themselves apart; I suspected they found us, though kin, at times as alien as Morgan.

His dot of light came to rest on a lump of blankets, a lump shivering as if cold. I hesitated, filled with new dismay; this wasn't where Ruis had left her patients.

Morgan moved forward, passing me the light as he knelt by the bed. “Easy—”

Blankets flew off. The figure beneath scrambled back, limbs flailing, to crouch against the wall at the head of the bed. Eloe di Serona, once of Tuana Clan. I lowered the beam to avoid the young Om'ray's face. She lunged forward, snatching the light. Holding it close, she rocked back and forth.

Her arms were striped in deep angry gashes; similar wounds marred the smooth skin of her cheeks and neck. Her hands were stained, nails dark with blood. Shields tight, sick to my stomach, I whispered. “I'll get a Healer.”

A second incident in mere hours couldn't be coincidence. What was happening?

“Leave me alone.” The Om'ray bent her head, hair sticking to the blood, and drew the blanket to her chin. The light bleached her skin, emphasized the damage. “Go 'way.”

Instinct kept me from
reaching
for her mind. I bit back my protest when Morgan laid his open hand on the bed, inviting her to touch his. He knew what he was doing.

Hopefully.

A sullen shrug. “Wouldn't if I were you. It's dark. Always dark. That's what they do. Drag you under. Bury you deep. Till there's nothing but dark.”

As the Oud had done to Tuana. To the multitude of Om'ray we hadn't reached in time. The flat calm of her voice chilled me more than any scream.

Morgan didn't move. “Sira, brighten us a bit, please.”

The control for this bed's light was behind Eloe. Sona, I sent,
minimal light,
having learned that lesson. I was answered by a gentle glow where the wall met the bed.

With a relieved shudder, Eloe curled into a ball around the handlight.

I'll stay with her as long as it takes,
my Chosen sent, not hiding his
concern.
I felt a
stir
as others, beginning to wake around us, expressed their own.

Morgan's here,
I assured them. With the Talent to heal damaged minds. With the risk inherent in its use.

Not, I'd noticed, that my Human cared about risk when a life hung in the balance.

Heart heavy, I gazed down at the young unChosen. The Clan way, to consider the unChosen, lacking a bond to mother or mate, expendable.

It was no longer mine.

“How can I help?”

My help, it turned out, involved granting Morgan and his patient privacy, easier asked than accomplished in a chamber full of disturbed and worried Clan. More and more sat up in bed, beginning to rise to their feet despite the lack of light.

Sona, I sent.

>
What is your wish, Keeper?<

Start the daycycle now.
While I didn't hold my breath, I felt a certain relief when light flooded the Core. I'd feel more when I could be sure the ship's compliance extended to warming the areas without.
And I want to make an announcement.

>
At your convenience, Keeper.<

“Good morning,” I said cheerfully, the ship carrying my voice to every corner of the immense room. Adults blinked, startled, but looked to me as I'd hoped, not Morgan. “Sorry to cut the night short, but we need an early start today.”

Dozens spoke at once. “Are we there?” “Have we arrived?” “Is it the Homeworld?” Frustrated, they fell outwardly silent, sendings darting through the M'hir.
Is it true? Sira, are we home?
Until that space began to roil and I realized my mistake.

I'd distracted them, all right. Swallowing a curse I'd learned from another species, I raised my arms, asking for peace. They subsided, waiting for answers.

So was I. Morgan, the only one of us capable of interpreting a starship's controls, had yet to find any. A preset course implied a destination, yes, but to what? No guarantee “home” meant the world where we'd evolved. Many starfaring species, Humans among them, had left their birth systems so far behind they couldn't retrace their steps.

Even if
Sona
took us to that world, what then? Morgan refused to say too much time might have passed, leaving us with a destination surely changed and possibly gone. Wouldn't say our belief Cersi had been an experiment, succeeding with the return of the M'hiray, was built from supposition and the slimmest of evidence, that if we were wrong, the Om'ray might have been abandoned or exiled or fled from worse—

Not kindness, that forbearance, to keep us full of hope. Morgan knew what this voyage could become if we had none.

Tell them the ship's asked for maintenance, chit.
With familiar wry humor.

I latched on the idea as if drowning. “Maintenance,” I blurted. “Don't forget, nine—ten days ago, this ship was Sona's Cloisters.” There'd been one, housing Adepts and sheltering survivors through changes in their neighbors, per Om'ray Clan. We didn't know if any others had lifted from the planet. If they had, only the Vyna's would have had life inside.

The Om'ray didn't care for the reminder; the M'hiray exchanged glum looks.

>
I do not require maintenance, Keeper.<

I need to keep them busy,
I replied, perhaps a little too honestly.

>
Understood, Keeper.
<

I had an instant to appreciate how unlikely that was before the lights pulsed an alarming orange and something below went
BANGBANGBANG!
The vibration reverberated through the floor.

Those Clan who hadn't looked frightened before, looked terrified now.

Oh, dear.

Luck, or the Makers responsible for the ship and its programming, was on our side, something I doubted I'd dare count on again, though it was hard not to grin as Holl di Licor made her report. The Healer and scientist, having guessed the likeliest source of
Sona
's alarming “bang,” had 'ported there herself to confirm it.