HM02 House of Moons (12 page)

Haemas twisted around to look at the door again. “That’s—Axia’s room?” Axia’s manic laugh bubbled up inside her head, echoing and painful until she concentrated to shut her out. The rasping laughter faded.

Shaken, she let him guide her back through the maze of hallways to what was apparently her own room. She felt sickened by Axia’s mental touch, violated and used. The hallways and people they passed did not seem quite real, and a dull ache was spreading behind her eyes. She massaged her temples as he opened the door.

“We’ve provided some fresh clothing for you, although I’m afraid we had nothing suitable for a lady. I know it’s rather early, but why don’t you change and then breakfast with us? The brothers would like to discuss a few things with you.”

Haemas hesitated, but then he smiled at her, the same mild, encouraging smile that she had seen a thousand times over the years, the one that always said nothing was as bad as she thought and everything would come around all right in the end. She lowered her gaze, not knowing how to respond. He was her Master Ellirt all over again, sensible, warm, and comforting, and yet he was not and never would be. She could not allow herself to be lulled into a sense of false security by his likeness to her old friend and teacher.

Seeming to sense her confusion, he backed out of the sunshine-filled room and left her alone. Still trembling, she poured water from a blue-glazed pitcher into a matching basin and stared down at her wavering reflection. Axia must have projected all her memories of that terrible night; even though she had been woken before the dream played itself out, the ending was seared into her mind. Brann Chee had dragged his wife to the edge of the cliff just below the grove of pines and cast her struggling body into the rocky abyss. Haemas blanched at the thought of a child witnessing such a thing.

After washing her face, she braided her hair, then changed into the garments that had been left on the bed for her: a hooded tunic of soft white cotton that fell all the way to her ankles, worn over long, loose, matching trousers. Opening the door, she found Ellirt waiting.

“Why, you look much better,” he said before she could speak, then firmly tucked her arm over his. “Come along.”

Towed down the hall at his side, she wondered what the brothers wanted to talk about.

Why, the same as I, my dear.
His eyes crinkled merrily at the corners.
To know where you came by that monstrously sized crystal and what you mean to do with it.

* * *

Sitting before the meager spread of his breakfast in the vast kitchen that had once fed fifty chierra servants at a sitting, Diren drained a lukewarm mug of tea, then tipped his rickety chair back against the wall, thinking. For months now, he had used his seat on the Council of Twelve to block funding for the House of Moons, calling in every favor owed to his father and incurring new debts of patronage himself, all to keep the other High Houses from learning of Chee’ayn’s inability to pay its share. The school was a ridiculous idea anyway. No Lord wanted a wife with more mindtraining than he possessed himself, especially one who could access the timeways. Who knew what foolishness that might engender? It was not only stupid, but impractical. Girls overeducated in that fashion would be worthless as wives and mothers, and a Kashi Lord had to make the best use of all his resources.

But somehow Haemas Tal had still convinced them, putting Chee’ayn in a bind. And now ... there was no sign of her or Axia. Diren finally admitted to himself that his grand plan might have failed. Though he didn’t see how, it was possible that, once she’d entered the timeways, the Tal woman had somehow escaped Axia and the latteh. Well, he was certain she would eventually return to her precious school, the only thing besides Monmart about which she seemed to care anything at all. Sooner or later he would catch up with her there and regain control of the situation.

In the meantime, more latteh crystals lay submerged in the pool in the forest, just waiting for someone to make use of them. At the moment, there was only one Kashi living at Lenhe’ayn—one of the Rald cousins who had been sent down to look after things, if he remembered correctly. If he hurried, it was unlikely anyone would be up and about to see him come through the Lenhe portal.

He snatched his heavy traveling cloak from a peg. Sanna, one of the few remaining Chee’ayn retainers, flinched out of his way as he passed. Outside, the sky stretched overhead, a pale, washed-out green streaked with rose, heralding the rising sun. His breath steamed in the chill air as he crossed the unkempt grounds to his own portal. He stepped inside and aligned his mind with the Chee’ayn pattern, then altered it to take him to Lenhe’ayn. A second later, after passing through a chill that was beyond mere ice or snow, he was breathing the warmer Lowlands air, staring out across the burned fields.

Having those chierra torch the grain had been a brilliant move, he told himself as he stepped down from the platform. Lenhe’ayn workers would now have no reason to work on this side of the estate for the remainder of the winter. It was just bad luck that both Myriel and her fool son had gotten a clear look at his face. He had considered blurring or even trying to erase their memories, but such methods were crude and untrustworthy, all too often unraveling in the hands of a truly adept Master—like Kniel Ellirt or Kevisson Monmart.

Well, he had already taken care of Ellirt—the man had been a constant threat, sensing something unusual whenever Diren carried the latteh in his presence—a nd Monmart couldn’t expose him since he had now eliminated all the witnesses. On the other hand, Monmart did still threaten Diren’s long-range plans for Haemas Tal, and she was far too attached to him. He scowled, remembering how she’d tried to call out to Monmart just before he’d forced her to take Axia into the nexus.

If Riklin Senn didn’t succeed in ruining Monmart’s name and reputation, he would finish Monmart himself as soon as he acquired another latteh. He’d done well enough unaided, meddling with Monmart’s injured mind the other day. That little show he had put on before the Council had worked quite nicely, and it would be a long time before anyone gave any weight to Master Monmart’s credibility.

No field hands were in sight yet, probably all still eating in the main kitchen. Closing his eyes, Diren skimmed for the Rald overseer’s mind. If the chierra servants saw him, he could adjust their memories, but he didn’t want to encounter a Kashi down here where he would be hard put to explain his presence. A faint glimmer in the main house seemed to indicate Rald, but then he detected another—and another—and then finally one more. Dumbfounded, he opened his eyes again. Four Kashi here at Lenhe’ayn when there was only supposed to be one? Did someone suspect what he had done?

He compressed his lips. The pool in the forest would have to wait an hour or two longer, until he could slip into the main house and read one of the servants to find out exactly what was going on here.

* * *

Kisa shuddered as she walked like a stranger through the vast house she had known her whole life. The tapestries, the furniture, the paintings, even the smell of baking bread down in the kitchen—everything was the same, but something vibrant and alive had fled. Even though she sensed servants in the rooms she passed, going about their duties as always, the house felt empty and hollow. The muffled pad of her boots as she climbed the carpeted steps seemed loud enough to be heard all the way back in the Highlands.

At her mother’s door, she paused with her hand on the painted-china latch, trying to nerve herself to go in. Myriel had been everything to the three children—mother, playmate, tutor, friend. Knowing that she was not behind this door, and never would be again, was almost more than Kisa could bear, and yet she felt something of her mother might linger here and she might in some way derive comfort from going inside.

Then she remembered her mother speaking to her in that familiar no-nonsense tone. “Tears buy no bread, Kisa Castillan Lenhe. Never forget that. Tears bring back nothing in this world worth having.”

Trembling, Kisa pressed her cheek against the dark satiny wood, then heard low voices from within. She stiffened, extending her mind senses just enough to detect two people, one Kashi, the other chierra. What were they doing in her mother’s chambers? She lifted the latch and slipped into the sitting room. The voices, both female, drifted to her from the bedchamber directly adjacent.

“Now, Dorria, there’s nothing to be afraid of. I just want to glance at your memories of that night and see if something unusual occurred, something you may have forgotten.”

It was the healer from the Highlands, talking to her old chierra nurse. Kisa crept behind the floor-length green drapes to listen.

“I tell you, there weren’t no one come past me into that room. My poor Lady were in there, resting, and then you come back with his Lordship and she were dead! That’s all I know.” Kisa heard the tears in Dorria’s strained voice.

“Just relax.” The healer’s voice was calm, soothing. “Think back on that night.”

Kisa wished she could view Dorria’s memories, too, but she’d never been taught how, and if she tried to eavesdrop mentally now, she was sure to give herself away. Once Healer Saxbury discovered her, she would be sent straight back to the House of Moons.

She heard the sound of their breathing, then “Yes ... that’s it ... and after Lord Monmart left, then what?”

Silence again, endless and boring. Kisa’s leg went numb and she rubbed it furiously. Just a few more minutes, she told herself, and then after the healer left, she would find Dorria and—

The hall door opened softly and snicked shut again. She pressed back against the wall, holding her shields as tightly as she could and praying that would be enough to conceal her. She and Lat had played Barret-in-the-Woodpile often enough after she’d learned to shield and he’d hardly ever found her. Thinking of her older brother brought a hard knot to her throat.

The intruder was Kashi, not one of the chierra servants; even through her shields, she could feel that much. She held her breath and squeezed her eyes shut as if that would make her harder to find.

The healer’s voice continued, unaware of the intruder. “Yes, I thought so, there was someone else ... Lord of Light, what was
he
doing here? I—”

Mental energy flared, a searing orange-red, so intense that Kisa gasped. Something thumped to the floor like a sackful of feed.

“Thought you were so clever, didn’t you, Healer?” a man’s voice asked. Muffled sobbing was the only answer. “Stop that sniveling!” the man ordered sharply, and the crying broke off.

A bead of perspiration trickled down Kisa’s temple. Had she ever shielded for so long before?

“Now, then.” The man spoke in a low murmur, obviously talking to himself. “Shall we just leave this meddlesome baggage here? After all, she is old—and fat. No one would be surprised if she died of natural causes.”

Kisa shivered. Was he talking about Dorria or the healer? In the face of all she had lost, the prospect of another death was frighteningly real. A tear trailed hotly down her cheek.

“What ...?” Footsteps walked away, halted, then came back again, chillingly close. A hand snatched the drapes open, revealing a tall, thin-faced man with receding golden hair and eyes that burned down at her like a funeral pyre. “Well, well.” She flinched as he trapped her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “What sort of tidbit do we have here?”

THE CROWDED DINING
hall was filled with the rumbling, good-natured voices of men, overlaid by the raucous higher-pitched tones of the boy students. Sunlight poured through the open windows, rich and golden, and the entire room smelled of freshly baked bread and hot porridge.

It could have been any of a thousand similar mornings in her own When, Haemas thought as Master Ellirt escorted her past a sea of white-robed Andiine Masters to several empty places at the far end of the hall. He gestured for her to sit on the long wooden bench, but then she saw the latteh crystal, dull and ugly, lying beside a bowl of fresh fruit in the middle of the table. The remembered feeling of agonized helplessness swept back over her, along with the pain and the fear. The breath caught in her throat and she backed away.

“What is it, my dear?” Ellirt turned to her with a puzzled expression.

“Nothing,” she said quickly, but, unbidden, her eyes darted toward the crystal.

“That? But we deactivated it yesterday.” He touched her shoulder and the sunlight-and-lemons warmth of his mindpresence was reassuring. “I thought you would remember.”

“I do—remember.” She detected no warning buzz, or any other indication that it was still active, but found herself unable to go nearer. The hum of conversation in the dining hall died away and a hundred pairs of golden eyes turned to stare at her.

“Even if it had been reset in the controlling mode, which would never happen here in Shael’donn, it wouldn’t affect you unless you touched it again. See?” Ellirt picked up the oblong crystal and held it out to her. “I’d almost think you’d never seen a latteh before yesterday.”

Haemas tore her gaze from the proffered crystal and slid onto the bench. “A week ago, I had no idea such things really existed.”

“They exist.” His tone was grim as he replaced the latteh on the table, then sat beside her. “Although the crystals harvested lately grow smaller and smaller until I think that perhaps someday we will find none at all.”

A sandy-headed young boy, no more than seven or eight, hurried in from the kitchen with his brow furrowed in concentration, bearing a tall mug of purple nasai juice and a steaming bowl of zeli porridge studded with a golden pat of butter. Haemas put the mug to her lips and swallowed. The sweet juice ran down her parched throat, cool and refreshing. She realized she was hungry for the first time in days.

Ellirt nodded approvingly as she took up the spoon and began to eat the grainy porridge. “That’s better. You’re far too pale.”

The man directly across the table from her cleared his throat. “May we ask how you’re called?”

Glancing up, she looked into familiar blue-flecked golden eyes.

“I’m Brother Alidale.” He smiled at her, then jerked his chin at the younger man on his left. “And this is Brother Benl.”

“My name is Haemas,” she said slowly, trying to keep the shock out of her voice. It was strange to sit here with them: skinny, dependable Alidale, shy Benl, and over at the end of the table, burly, gruff-voiced Tillan. She had known each of them during the years she had studied at Shael’donn. But in this When, Haemas Tal had apparently never come to the Brothers at Shael’donn for refuge and training, nor founded the House of Moons.

“Lady Haemas.” Alidale nodded. “Could you tell—”

“No,” she broke in. “Please, just—Haemas.”

Alidale hesitated, looking to Ellirt, and she caught the murmur of a shielded mental exchange between them.

“Yes, I’m sorry—Haemas. Could you tell us where this crystal was found? Legends tell of large ones like this, but none of us have ever seen one of such size.”

“I don’t know where it came from.” She stirred the lumpy porridge without really seeing it. “But what difference does it make? I can’t imagine why you don’t just smash it before it hurts someone else.”

Alidale blinked at her in surprise. “For the healing, of course. Why else? A crystal of that size is bound to be potent.”

“Healing?” It was her turn to be surprised.

“For all that she arrived on our doorstep in the thrall of a latteh, our guest knows little of these matters.” Ellirt spoke quietly at her elbow. “You must remember that very few things under the sun are good or evil in and of themselves, my dear. Although the latteh has great capacity for both, the outcome depends on the one who wields it.”

“Are you from the Lowlands, then?” The Benl of this When, as freckle-faced and snub-nosed as the one she had known, glanced up shyly at her over his bowl.

“No.” She thought of the timelines. “I have come from much farther away than that.”

“And the woman with you?” Ellirt reached for a loaf of dark-brown bread and sawed off a thick slice.

“Axia?” She accepted a still-warm slab of bread from him. “She comes from the same place.”

Ellirt gave her a measuring look. “And you can’t tell us where that is?”

“It would be better for you if you don’t know.” She thought how much safer her own When would be if the Council had not discovered the temporal possibilities of the ilsera crystals and begun experimenting. Years ago, many lives had been lost and the disaster of disrupted time had been brought searingly close before the Council had been stopped. And, once known, such secrets were unlikely to be forgotten. The danger remained, despite anything that she might do.

“You may be right.” Ellirt sighed. “Some things are better left unsaid, although I must admit to my curiosity.”

Remembering his wisdom and common sense, Haemas found herself tempted to lay her problems at his feet as she had done often enough with her own Ellirt, but knowledge of the timeways would only burden these people. This When already had to cope with the latteh; that was problem enough.

Alidale pushed back his half-finished bowl of porridge. “But what are we to do, then, with this woman who nearly killed you? In Shael’donn, at least, no one is allowed to force his will upon another, and yet, if we can’t send her back to her people, we can’t just keep her locked up here. We don’t even know who she is or why she hurt you. And what about the latteh? It has to belong to someone.”

Haemas felt her face flush as she considered his unanswerable questions.

“Do you wish refuge?” Ellirt asked her. “You could stay on with us and learn the art of healing with the latteh. We can always use more help when casualties come in, and I know you are powerfully Talented, or the latteh would have overruled your will.”

“I can’t stay.” The words burst from her without thought, but she knew they were true, even as she spoke. “But, before I go, could you teach me how to deactivate a latteh? If I could learn even that much, it might mean the difference between life and death when I return.”

Ellirt nodded. “I think we can do that. But what about the woman?”

Haemas folded her hands on the plank table and met his concerned gaze. “When I leave, she must go with me.”

* * *

Kevisson awoke with a start, disoriented, in a strange bedchamber with fussy floral pictures that he could have sworn he’d never seen before, his head ringing with some sound that he couldn’t quite remember. Then the devastating past week swept back over him. Master Ellirt’s sudden illness, Haemas’s disappearance, Myriel’s inexplicable death and the disastrous Search that had nearly taken his life.

Throwing off the quilts, he stood up, then seized the bedpost as his vision grayed at the edges. That damned injury! Enissa had told him that he would be more sensitive to sensory extremes of light and sound, as well as to stress and exhaustion. He eased back down on the canopied bed and held his spinning head with both hands while he tried to recall what had woken him so suddenly. He couldn’t remember dreaming anything in particular. One moment he had been asleep, and then someone had seemed to shout in his ear, but he was alone and the house was still now.

Perhaps Enissa had tried to mindspeak him, not realizing he was asleep. He reached for the shirt and breeches he had draped over an armchair, then pulled aside the heavy velvet drapes. The sun was rising in a cloud-cluttered green sky, painting the clouds orange-red; it must be Eighth Hour or later. He had not meant to sleep past dawn.

They had arrived too late the night before to question the servants without frightening them, so Leric Rald, the Council-appointed caretaker for Lenhe’ayn, had agreed to put them up in guest chambers. But Eighth Hour! Why in blazes had Enissa let him sleep so late? They could have questioned half the staff of this sprawling estate and returned to the Highlands by now. Was this her way of trying to make him rest?

Pouring unheated water into a basin, he washed his face hastily and, shivering, decided to put off shaving until later. Enissa had no doubt seen scruffier-looking specimens than himself in her time. He dried his face and hands.
Enissa? Where are you? I’m up and ready to start.

He waited a moment, but she didn’t answer. He pulled his shirt over his head, then closed his eyes and concentrated, reaching for the specific pattern of the older woman’s personality. He heard the faint skitterings of chierra thought-traces, some in the house, more outside, but nothing of the healer. Finally he called to Leric Rald instead.

What do you want, Monmart?
An unshielded tinge of irritation permeated Rald’s tone, as if he had been interrupted at something important.

Kevisson glimpsed a vague image of piles of papers and account books through Rald’s eyes.
I can’t seem to find Healer Saxbury. Do you know if she left the house?

Why would she do that? I thought you wanted to question the staff.

I have no idea.
Kevisson grimaced at the ungracious timbre of the other’s thoughts; the old man had been noticeably more civil with Enissa last night. No doubt that had been because of her deceased husband’s Highland connections rather than any real sympathy with their errand.
Would you ask the servants to keep an eye out for her? I’m going to search the grounds.

He didn’t answer, but Kevisson supposed that Rald would do as he asked. It was probably just a miscommunication anyway.

* * *

Diren Chee glanced over his shoulder. The old servant woman and the girl followed him, staring ahead with dull, half-closed eyes, riding double on a slack-jawed ummit he had filched from a Lenhe’ayn corral. For himself, he had appropriated one of the coveted black Lenhe horses that had survived the raid, a sleek gelding with a finely molded head and an arching neck. But the girl and the old chierra servant were just going deep enough into the forest to prevent their bodies from ever being found, so even a rank-smelling humped draft animal would do for them.

Since it was plausible that the Saxbury woman had died of natural causes, he had left her body behind to be discovered by the servants. Two more bodies though, especially the girl’s, would have raised suspicion, and he couldn’t afford more attention focused on Lenhe’ayn before he acquired another latteh.

He ducked a low-hanging branch; the forest was becoming denser, the shadows dank and cold. Damn Haemas Tal anyway. If not for her, he would still have his original crystal and know everything necessary by now to employ it fully against the Council.

Behind him, Diren felt the Kashi girl struggling against the stupor he had induced to keep her from crying out. He glanced back; her face was pale, her fingers knotted into the ummit’s shaggy hair. Irritated, he increased his control another level, but maintaining it was wearing upon him. The wind gusted, drawing a chorus of clacks and clatters from the stiff tree limbs and scattering papery blue-gray leaves across his path.

Then he caught another sound, a crackling off to his right, as if something paralleled him through the dead vriddis bushes and whip-willows, something big and stealthy. The hair on the back of his neck prickled, and he skimmed the immediate area with his mind; forest predators like silshas could be large, but usually didn’t range this close to civilization. He caught the primitive thought-tracings of a few tree barrets, half somnolent at this time of year, and a den of silver-furred burrowing stinrats, but nothing bigger.

After swinging down from the saddle, he led the gelding by its headstall so he could examine the ground more closely. The pool might be hidden at this season by the dead leaves and tangled thickets. When he had last been down here, the forest had been at the height of summer, everything lush and growing, the strange stone-walled pool cool and inviting.

Then, just out of sight, something thumped. Diren listened with his mind again, but sensed nothing bigger than a fist-size bavval crawling hastily out of their path.

Suddenly the gelding tossed its head and neighed, straining at the reins. “What is it?” Diren squinted into the shadows, but could make nothing out in the miserable gray half-light. Sidling, the gelding flared its nostrils and Diren picked up fear from its mind. He studied the twitching, laid-back ears. Did it smell a predator? He led the leggy horse through the trees and brambles, away from whatever had frightened it, until he broke into a stand of particularly tall imposing trees that did seem familiar. He glimpsed white stone and the shimmer of water half obscured under a drift of fallen leaves.