Heart Fate (5 page)

“Yes.” T'Heather grimaced.

Three

At first the pain was small—a tugging and pulling at him inside,
like someone had gotten his guts in their hands. He endured. Then he thought cold hands poked at his very heart, and he could barely breathe through the hurt. When they finally snagged his nerves and zinged his whole system with lightning, he arched and fell out of the chair and onto the floor. He welcomed the bruise on his cheek because that was hurt he understood.

He panted to catch his breath. He
hated
falling. Gritting his teeth, he rocked to his hands and knees and flung himself back into the chair. T'Heather leaned over him. Gentle fingers skimmed Tinne's cheek, and it mended.

“Sorry,” T'Heather said. His expression went from concern to pity.

Tinne couldn't face that and looked aside. His gut tightened as he flashed back to the time when he was in the starship
Nuada's Sword
and had a kidney removed.

This had been worse.

And it was only the first test of seven.

D'Sea wasn't there.

“That's one of the worst,” T'Heather said. His shaggy gray brows lowered. “Can you go on?”

“Of course.” Tinne forced words from a dry throat.

The brows went up enough to wrinkle T'Heather's forehead. “Get up and walk for me.”

Feeling like an old man, stretching muscle by muscle, Tinne stood. He wanted to hobble hunched around the room, but couldn't show such weakness. He rolled his shoulders, shook out his legs and arms, then walked around the room. This close, he could see that the creamy pink walls had a faint pattern of pale purple heather sprigs. He might have liked it, once.

“Well enough,” T'Heather said gruffly. “We've scheduled three today and three tomorrow, with the last and the physical on the third day.”

Swallowing, Tinne said, “Couldn't we get it down to two days?”

T'Heather shook his head. “I wouldn't recommend four tests today.” His smile was an upward twitch of his lips. “One tests your ‘heart energy,' and that's bound to be rough.” He hesitated. “The lady took five full days for the tests, moving as quickly as possible. It's a rugged examination schedule. Divorce testing is supposed to be grueling.” He eyed Tinne consideringly. “But if you want it in two . . . I've never known a tougher group than the Holly men.” T'Heather shrugged. “What say we do three tests today and the physical? Then we'll attempt to finish four tests tomorrow.”

He glanced at the timer. “This first examination lasted a septhour and a half, but D'Sea and I believe that the spiritual energy is the one most affected by the curse.”

D'Sea walked in, looking pale, strained, and serene. “I don't know why you and Genista never consulted me,” D'Sea said. “I could have helped.”

“Genista doesn't care to talk about our loss.” He didn't either. “We did go through some marriage counseling.” Short and spectacularly unsuccessful.

“She didn't say much to us during the examinations, either,” T'Heather said.

“I want to finish this testing in two days,” Tinne repeated.

D'Sea raised her eyebrows and glanced at T'Heather.

He nodded soberly. “Three energy examinations and the physical today. The last four tests tomorrow.”

D'Sea searched Tinne's face, her gaze probing. “Very well.” Tinne said, “What's next?”

“Examination of your Flair,” T'Heather said.

Scrutinizing another very important aspect of his life. “Right.” D'Sea went to a worktable and messed with herbs and pouches. Tinne settled into his fighting stance and practiced a basic pattern. His body moved better, getting back to normal.

“Please resume your seat,” T'Heather said.

Tinne checked the state of his clothes. Dry. Wrinkled. Didn't smell too bad. He wished he wore fighting garb. He went back to the chair, sat, breathed, and pretended to relax.

“Regarding the last test results, since it doesn't seem as if you want to have individual consultations with me as a mind Healer . . .” She waited, but Tinne said nothing, so she went on. “The best way to Heal your spiritual energy flow is to participate in meaningful Family rituals, meditate every day, and schedule time each week in the Holly HouseHeart. I will send the last recommendation to your father, so he is aware of your needs.”

Tinne's breath left him noisily. “If you insist.”

“I do.”

He liked the HouseHeart, wouldn't mind spending time there, but being in the rest of the Residence would be difficult, especially if his entire Family—including the entire staff—would be watching him after this. Which, of course, they would.

A divorce.

A major scandal.

A major hurt.

“Some communion with nature would be good,” D'Sea said.

“It is winter,” T'Heather said drily.

“A mild one so far,” D'Sea said.

“Snowstorm's coming today,” T'Heather said, nose twitching.

“Oh. The Hollys have a plant room and pool, that should suffice.” D'Sea filled an indigo blue pouch with herbs.

T'Heather gestured, and the lights dimmed. Tinne's chair tilted back.

“The pack will go on your brow. Get comfortable. Close your eyes. Visualize a starry sky,” T'Heather said.

Like mountaintops, the words
starry sky
brought terrible memories of shooting unwillingly through space. Tinne let himself say a mental curse word, figured all of these tests would slice him to the very marrow. Then he steadied his breathing and went back to his hill. This time he was lying on his back, looking at the intersecting galaxies, the bright stars, the twinmoons. His hand was in Gen—No. He was alone.
Lonely.

Jasmine and mint comforted him, as a velvet pouch was set on his forehead. It helped him fight the loneliness and prepare for the worst. Which would come.

 
 
Lahsin hurried through the streets of Druida as inconspicuously
as possible. There were too many people who could notice her.

As soon as she'd left the big estates of Noble Country and wended her way into the city, the streets became more crowded. She kept zigzagging into shadows whenever she saw someone. Middle- and low-class folk were going to work. How she wished she was one of them! But she trusted no one.

Her plans were wrecked. Every gate of the walled city would have been notified she was missing. She couldn't leave Druida anytime soon. Tears leaked from her eyes, made her cheeks cold.

Soon she was hopelessly lost. All she knew was that she was going north. Her only comfort was that if she didn't know where she was, no one might be able to find her.

Not much reasoning, but her ties with her Family were small— T'Yew had seen to that. Her connection to him was broken, and no one else of the Yew Household had wanted to know her well enough to have any Family links to her.

She couldn't be found that way.

She prayed that what she'd heard a couple of days ago was true and the FirstFamily GrandLord who was the best tracker was out of town on a mission.

She snuffled, dug in her coat pocket for the small mound of softleaves, drew one out, and wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

A while later she stopped in the deep alcove of a door of a deserted building. Feeling foolish, she sniffed. Old brick, dust. She turned west and inhaled again—the sea. She moved back to check the north—cold, wind, a storm coming. She shivered and took a step outside the door and looked northeast. One last large breath . . . at the edges of the mixture of humanity, stridebeasts, food, gliders . . . the scent of growing things. Green. She drew in a shallow breath, and as she did, a low thump came into her mind associated with the green smell. She strained her ears and her mind, but it didn't repeat.

So she pulled her cloak around her and went back out onto the streets, keeping her pace to the brisk walk of those around her. Going northeast to the smell of green. The streets turned smaller and older, but busier because many people lived over their shops. It was a part of the city she'd never been in and didn't recognize. Both interesting and scary.

Then she caught it again—the low thump. She waited again. Nothing.

Someone called to her, trying to sell her something, she thought, and she turned—again northward—into the first alley she came to, then she took turns at random. A third time the thump came to her mind, and she finally realized what it was, the heartbeat—living, growing beat—of a garden.

Finally she came to the end of a small corridor between buildings, into a little hollow tangled with plant stalks. The brown stems were thick enough to be impassable on each side, and there was a six-meter wall in front of her. Beyond it branches of even taller trees thrust into the sky.

She shivered, thinking it was a good thing this winter was milder than last year, or she'd have been forced to find shelter by now. Even so, her Flair weathershield was spotty, sometimes warming her hands but leaving her face open to the chill, sometimes making her feet clumsy, cold blocks. But her energy and Flair were waning. Too much lack of sleep. Too much fear. Too much unknown.

“Who's there?” asked someone, sounding nervous.

Lahsin sidled with silent feet along the wall, saw a low opening in the thick brush, and dropped to her hands and knees to shove her sack before her and move inside the low animal path.

Heavy feet crunched dried, dead leaves, then came low mutters, then receding footfalls and silence.

She huddled against the wall. It was warm. It had appeared to be of the excessive height and armored brick that ringed an estate, but could it possibly be the side of a building? Carefully, she sent her mind probing for others.

She found an abundance of plant rhythms, but no other minds. A small sigh trickled from her. She was getting stiff. It wouldn't do to linger in this little, scruffy nest. And she was hungry. She had to find a safe and private place to eat and plan how she was going to escape from the city, from her husband—her former husband.

He would be very, very angry.

Just the thought of him and the hunt for her had her moving again, continuing to crawl through the underbrush next to the warm wall along the animal path. It was larger than cat-sized, and there weren't that many feral cats, and even fewer dogs, as dogs were prized as pets.

As soon as she realized she heard little rustlings in the back of her mind, she stopped, listening. Verdant plant life. Not the barely pulsing beat of the bushes she was pushing through, but plants on the other side of the wall. Huge old trees, some Earth trees, some Celtan, some hybrid. Their life signatures nearly mesmerized her. FirstGrove?

She strove to recall what she'd learned in grovestudy as a child. The place had been the first grove planted and tended by the colonists. The site had contained the first HealingHall, natural Healing springs that had been augmented by a hundred years of Healers. That HealingHall had become so exclusive to the highest Healers and Nobles that those visiting it had dwindled, then the secret had been lost.

Lahsin snorted and began moving on hands and knees again. Whether this place was the lost garden or not, she didn't know, but the wall was warm, and the wind outside the bushes had risen, cold and cutting. She'd had enough of cold and cutting.

After a while of crawling, the bushes arched high enough for her to stand and hurry down the path, spending more Flair to keep her movements quiet. Soon the weak sun shot blue white rays through the gray clouds that added a smidgeon of warmth. She was more aware that she could use her Flair to keep quiet or keep her warm, but not both. She'd expended too much energy and Flair this morning, shattering the T'Yew Residence's spellshields and windows and running away.

The wall curved gently, and she followed and finally saw an indentation ahead. A door?

She heard the stomping of feet and crunching of branches ahead of her.

She scuttled, then stopped at the sound of voices and put her hand over her mouth to quiet her ragged breathing. “That pidyn-suckin' fliggerin' sonofa-blerk Winterberry. Swaggerin' inta our gatehouse an' tellin' us to walk—walk!—to Northgate lookin' for some stup of a lil' girl who got herself lost. I was just ready to sink my teeth into a cinnamon glazed doughround.”

“Sloegin, he said ‘patrol' between here and Northgate.”

Lahsin was caught in an awkward crouch. The door in the wall was just two meters from her. She could see it now, a small, square door. If only she were there! Branches had formed a thicket around the door, but were much thinner beyond it. She could see the colors of the Eastgate guardsmen's uniforms. If she could see them, they could see her . . .

“Patrol,” Sloegin snorted. “That's walkin' our asses off this whole quarter a' the city! Ya think Winterberry went ta Southgate an' Northgate? No. He only came ta us and we're the only ones doin' this search.”

“I heard that on ancient Earthan, the guards patrolled in gliders,” the second man said.

The first smacked the second on the head, snorted, “Gliders? My ass. Gliders are for more important things than findin' a little girl-wife.” He smacked his lips. “The old man liked 'em young 'n' tender.”

“Those FirstFamilies are weird. Always said so.”

They were coming closer. Lahsin used precious Flair to fashion a no-see-me spellshield around herself and wondered if it worked. She'd only heard of the new no-see-me spells and had practiced crafting this one by herself. It demanded considerable Flair, so she slowly straightened and leaned against the wall.

“Did you hear somethin'?” the second guard asked.