Damia (28 page)

“Rats aren’t very ghoulie!” Lark complained.

“Of course they’re not. I said ‘rats’ because I lost my marshmallow.”

“I’ll tell you a story,” Larak declared, and launched into the telling of the Headless Horseman, which had scared him the first time he’d seen the tape. Larak was a good storyteller, so Damia didn’t mind hearing it again. Towards the end of his recitation, her attention wandered and her eyes darted to the edge of the dark. A light night breeze had come up and there was an odd scraping sound: a dim memory tugged at her.

“Now, you tell me one!” Larak demanded when he had finished.

“Soul-eaters,” Damia muttered to herself, for the scraping noise reminded her of her nightmare terror.

“Soul-eaters? What are they?” Larak’s eyes grew round.

“Nothing.” Damia gave a convulsive shudder. She really didn’t want to remember that awful dream.

“No, tell me!”

“That’s too scary and it’s not a story. I’ll think of another one, a better one.”

“No, I want to know about soul-eaters,” Larak insisted. “Where did you hear about them?”

Damia shook her head. “I didn’t hear. They came after me.”

“Sure!” Larak snorted derisively.

“When I was hit on the head,” Damia continued, more to herself. She sat on her haunches, not really wanting to, but nevertheless reconstructing her recollection. “It was dark. They were darker. They chittered like beetles on the outskirts and they tried to drag me away.” Her voice went shrill and she gripped her arms about her knees. “They were going to get me, to eat my soul! Chittering, chittering!” She had dropped her voice, not as part of a storyteller’s effect, but because she was succeeding in scaring herself with the memory.

“Damia! Stop it! You’re scaring me!” Larak threw his arms around her, his mouth trembling, his eyes watering with nervous tears. “Damia? Tell me this is a story. Tell me there aren’t any soul-eaters out here!”

But Damia had triggered the recollection and was trapped in it, talking her own way out as she had struggled in the dream. “They got me by the foot, then slithered up my leg, and always making this awful chittering. I could just make out a light. I knew that if I could only reach the light, I’d be safe. But they kept holding me back; they got my other foot and then I saw the light—”

“Light?”

She didn’t register the pure panic in Larak’s voice, didn’t see what he was doing. “Then, I reached the light
and Afra had it! He turned them away! Turned them back! He scared them with his light and then he touched me with it and—” Her eyes refocused and she shook her head, shielded her eyes. There was much too much light, illuminating the cave behind her, the clearing around her. “Larak?”

Larak was at the edge of the clearing, a burning faggot in one hand, spreading the flame to every dry branch and root he could find. To make enough light to keep the soul-eaters at bay.

Larak!

*   *   *

More scared than singed, Angharad
, Isthia assured her daughter-in-law when the situation was finally under control. Overhead a water-carrying ’copter made another pass at the remains of the forest fire.
We pulled them out as soon as Damia’s scream woke us. She was too disoriented to ’port.

What caused the fire?
Jeff wanted to know.

Larak. He used a firebrand to light the forest. Said something about soul-eaters and light. He was scared witless
, Isthia replied.
He’s sleeping now.

And Damia?
Another voice, which Isthia placed as Afra’s, asked with some strain.

She’s all right
, Isthia quickly reassured him.
What time is it on Callisto?

Early
, Jeff said with some acerbity.

I was awake. Couldn’t sleep
, Afra replied, and a mental yawn followed.
I’ll turn in now. Rowan, Jeff, Isthia.
Isthia felt Afra’s touch fade out.

Well!
the Rowan declared tetchily.
When is that child going to stop playing her “tricks”? I really don’t want Ezro learning from that sort of example.

I think she’s been well and truly frightened, luv
, was Jeff’s verdict.

I would remind you, Angharad
, Isthia said, her tone stern,
that Damia didn’t start the fire: Larak did. She has always looked out for her younger brother and protected him. Or have you forgotten the incident with the stone?

Anyway
, Jeff interposed quickly,
she’s due to start Tower training, so she’ll be too tired for nighttime treks. How far did you say she hiked?
Isthia detected a note of admiration in her son’s tone.

Once she learns how to ’port over distance
, the Rowan said thoughtfully,
she could actually commute from here to Earth every day. Just as you do, Jeff.

I’m not sure the galaxy is safe once Damia learns how to ’port distances.

The Rowan mulled that over.
Well, I do feel that now is the time for Damia to return to Callisto and start using some of the skills she’s learned. Isthia, we’ve impinged on your good nature far too long
 . . .

Nonsense, Angharad. It’s been—educational
, Isthia responded with a chuckle.
Because of Damia, and Jeran and Cera and Larak, I got the Special School I wanted and Deneb is now actively looking for Talents to train.

Was that your reason for offering to take my children?
the Rowan asked. She’d always known that Isthia had had some devious reason.

Not the main one, Angharad. There was Ian to be considered, too, you know.

Jeff guffawed.
And he’s tested out a T-4. You did well by the brother!

What do you test out these days, Isthia?
the Rowan asked.

I’ve never really wanted to know
, Isthia replied smoothly.

Best leave with honors even, luv
, Jeff said.

But I think it is time for us to give Damia the benefit of working in a busy Tower environment. Know that I—we—are deeply grateful to you, Isthia.
And the Rowan was entirely sincere in that.

Isthia gracefully accepted the thanks, for she was as fond of the mother as she was of the daughter.

She’s starting to sprout since you were last here
, Isthia told them.

So soon?
Jeff mentally counted on his fingers.

Let’s say that she’s germinated, then, and should shortly sprout
, Isthia amended her original statement.

Are there any suitable candidates there?
Jeff wondered.

T-1’s?
The Rowan’s tone was frankly contemptuous.

Love, when a woman’s fancy turns to men, she does not always stop to check their pedigree
, Jeff remarked carefully. Isthia could feel the Rowan’s cheeks redden across the light years.

There are no candidates here, Jeff
, Isthia said in response to the original question.
In fact, with Larak here it’s as well you consider bringing Damia home.

Both parents were shocked.

Goodness!
Isthia chuckled.
You two think the
worst
things! I meant that Damia would be ambivalent about dating a boy if it might compromise the special relationship she and Larak have for each other. Tsk! Tsk!

I take your point
, Jeff said, somewhat abashed.
It would be easier for her first romance if she did not have to worry about the jealousy of her little brother.

Exactly
, Isthia replied.

Jeff made his mind up.
Very well, send her back when term is over. I’ll arrange for her continued education here. Not that it will be as good as what she could get on Deneb, of course
, he added with a wink in his “voice.”

Of course!

It was only after contact was broken that Isthia recalled what she had wanted to ask Jeff. Or rather Afra. To intercede on her behalf with Capella to find a high T-rating who would teach on Deneb. There was something positive to be said for a methody upbringing. She hoped that a little more methody might rub off Afra onto Damia when she returned to Callisto. Isthia was rather sure that he’d have a hand in her education. From comments that Jeff had dropped and her own observations of Angharad, Afra was likely to have taught her the self-control she’d needed to run Callisto Tower as efficiently as she did. Jeff had provided the emotional security Angharad required.

Isthia sighed, remembering his father and wishing, as
she often did, that Jerry was still alive. But he wasn’t and she was. And this wasn’t furthering the aims she had set herself for next year: delving more deeply into metamorphic manipulation. Unfortunately, Capellans didn’t believe in that.

T
HE hands which were thrust into Afra’s view were no longer those of a small child but were still slender, graceful just like their owner.

“What do you think?” Damia asked, turning her hands palms up and palms down for his inspection. Afra looked up from where he had been kneeling, into the intense blue eyes in an oval face framed by long, raven black hair. Damia had let her hair go long in the four years since she had returned from Deneb.

“Think of what, witch?” he asked, flicking to her back the one strand of white that emphasized the blackness and lustre of her hair.

“This!” Damia stretched to her full height, running hands alongside her body. It was only then, with the girl standing boldly upright, one leg slightly before the other, that Afra realized she was not wearing her swimsuit. She quirked an eyebrow at him provocatively, daring him to look away. Afra responded by scrutinizing her body carefully from graceful neck, to firm breasts, to graceful hips, sculpted legs and finally to delicately boned long toes.

“You’re maturing nicely, Damia,” Afra told her when his inspection brought him back up to her eyes. He patted the water beside him. “Water’s warm.”

Clothing in the gymnasium at Callisto Station was strictly optional and decorative rather than veiling.

Damia stamped a foot and squealed. “No! The tan! Afra, the tan!”

Afra looked back at her body. He cocked his head: it was
slightly
darkened. He put a green arm up next to hers and shook his head. “Not my shade, I think.”

Damia let out a screech of indignation. “Afffrrrra!” She stamped her foot so hard that her breasts shook.

Afra gave her a teasing smile. “Yes?”

She pulled a bottle off the nearby deck chair and handed it to him. “Will you put this on me?” she asked, her tone turning sweet. “I don’t want to lose what little tan I’ve got.”

Afra took the bottle of before-swim tan lotion and eyed the adolescent carefully. He sniffed the bottle, put a little on one finger and rubbed with his thumb. “How much and where?”

“Just enough to get me oily and everywhere, of course.” Her tone was just short of patronizing.

Afra obliged, starting with her backside. “Your hair will get oily.”

“I don’t care! I’ll wash it later.” She lifted it out of his way with a hand. She twisted her head back slightly to watch his expression. It annoyed her that he merely laved her down gently, working from shoulder to buttocks to ankles with no change of expression. Her eyes twinkled in anticipation when it was time to do her front, but Afra was just as careful and just as nonchalant when he lathered her breasts as when he lathered her nose.

Still, he did avoid one area. Damia coughed discreetly. “You missed a spot.”

Without batting an eye, Afra oiled up his hands and dutifully went over the indicated zone. “I guess you’ll wash that, too.”

To her intense pique, Damia blushed.

Afra avoided her face until she had recovered, spending the time ostensibly fumbling with the bottle’s top. He hefted the closed bottle and with a gesture asked, “Put it back over there?”

“Oh, sure,” she replied absently. She patted her firm belly for attention. “Do you think Amr will like it?”

“Your belly? I can’t see particularly why,” Afra said, peering wistfully to the empty pool beside him.

“Afra! Not my belly! The muscles! Look!” And she tensed, revealing an exceedingly well-muscled body, with abdominal muscles showing clearly under soft tan skin.

“Nice,” Afra replied absently. “Let’s swim!”

“Oooh! I should know better than to try to compete against a pool with you!” And with that she dived in.

Hours later she appeared in his apartment. “What do you think?” she asked, twirling around to let the skirts of a diaphanous purple evening dress swirl about her. She had done her hair up in a bun, with her witch’s streak spyraling around the outside. Long, dark lashes accentuated piercing blue eyes. Dimples formed around her mouth as it curved gently in a smile.

“I think,” Afra said as he strode into the living room with his dinner, “that you were taught to knock.”

Damia pouted but her eyes twinkled mischievously.

Afra knew that look. “You know how your parents feel about you ’porting around the Station.”

“Are you going to tell?”

Afra shook his head immediately. “I told you when you returned that you were welcome any time, anyhow. The door is even keyed to your retinal pattern.” He gave her a measuring glance. “But it is good manners to knock.” He put his plate down on the coffee table and gestured at her dress. “I
do
like it, you know.”