Skyfall (11 page)

Jarac cocked his eyebrow at Lahaylia. “You and our grandson are plotting to overthrow the galaxy, eh?”

She frowned at him. “We vote to protect ourselves.”

“Less drastic ways exist.”

“And less effective.”

“A war will destroy us,” Jarac said.

Kurj wished he knew a way he could add fire to Jarac’s heart. How could they look so alike and have such similar minds, yet come to such different conclusions? “We must fight them, Grandfather. If not today, then tomorrow.”

“Perhaps tomorrow we will be ready.” Jarac remained calm. “Or perhaps tomorrow we will find peace with them.”

“Never will they make peace with us,” Lahaylia said.

Kurj thought of the horrors he had lived and what his grandmother must have endured. “No peace is worth what we would give up. They will take us only as slaves. Nothing else.”

“Not if we have enough strength.” Jarac pushed his hand through his graying hair. “But if we engage them before we are ready, they will break us.”

Kurj’s voice rumbled. “I will never break.”

“That which cannot bend, breaks,” Jarac said.

“I would die first.”

Lahaylia laid her hand on Kurj’s forearm. “Do not speak so. You will live a long and full life.” Her features gentled. “The stars may be your heritage, but it is
you
who are our legacy.”

Kurj smiled slightly. “A strange legacy, that.”

Both she and Jarac smiled, a rare moment with his formidable grandparents, one when he felt accepted for himself, without evoking apprehension or alarm. He had known few such times as an adult.

Yet nothing eased his worry. Roca had outwitted him, but in doing so, she had risked herself. He claimed he would never break, but he had lied. If he was responsible for injury to Roca, it would destroy him. He had wanted her kept from the Assembly, but not at risk to her person. Never that.

If anyone harmed her, he would annihilate them.

E
ldri drifted in a pleasant dreamlike state between sleep and waking. Eventually reality intruded and hazy memories came to him. He didn’t recall much of his attack, but he knew he had spoken to both Garlin and Roca.

Roca.

His contentment vanished. She knew. Misery swept through him. He must repulse her now. She would never wish to look upon his face or endure his company again.

In Eldri’s childhood, Garlin had striven to keep his seizures a secret, but they had happened too often to conceal. Eldri’s attacks terrified people, made them want to flee. He had been forced to make a choice: live as a recluse or accept that people would dread him. He chose a life of partial seclusion. Garlin spread rumors that he was chosen by the gods, that he convulsed because they touched him. Eldri knew perfectly well no such thing happened. More likely, demons possessed him. He usually awoke feeling sore, often with a headache. Sometimes he bit his tongue during the attack and it hurt for days afterward.

And yet…Eldri recalled no shock from Roca, only concern. It seemed impossible. She had even named the demons that plagued his life. He didn’t recall the word. Epsily? Was it possible that his miraculous guest, this person from the sky, could help him? She came into his life so unexpectedly, like a gift. She was gold like the suns; perhaps they had sent her. He had never really believed all those deities existed, but perhaps he should pay more attention, especially to the sun gods, Valdor and his younger brother Aldan. He didn’t want them taking her away because he had neglected the proper rituals.

His smile curved as he remembered the “spells” Roca wove with her incomparable body. She was the tallest woman he had ever met, with legs that went on forever. Thinking of her, he opened his eyes. No light leaked around the shutters on the windows; either the suns had yet to rise or else the snow had become thick and stolen the day’s illumination.

As his eyes adjusted, he saw Roca snuggled under the quilts near him, fast asleep, her lashes sparkling against her cheeks even in the dim light. It startled him; if he repulsed her now, surely she would have chosen other sleeping arrangements. He marveled to find such a woman in his bed. He could tell she didn’t like praises to her beauty. Maybe she had heard such words too many times and no longer believed the sincerity of those who spoke them. Or perhaps her appearance had brought her injury. But if she would have let him, he would have composed a thousand ballads and sung his elation to the brother suns.

She was smart, too. In fact, he didn’t understand much of what she told him. No matter. He liked to surround himself with intelligent people. It helped make up for his own deficiencies.

A familiar sorrow threatened him. How long would he have with Roca? He had become resigned to having his life curtailed, but every time he adjusted to the severity of his attacks, they worsened. If they became much more frequent, he didn’t see how he could go on. At times, he wondered if it might be easier to end his life by his own choice, in his own way, rather than waiting for the day he didn’t recover from an attack.

It frightened him, even more now because he had Roca. She had been here for such a short time, and she needed to leave. But surely she would come back. He felt how much she wanted him. And she was like him. Incredibly, he and Garlin weren’t the only ones with such strange, sensitive minds. But Roca wasn’t like Garlin. Her icy emotional armor hid a luminous sun. She glowed, as gold inside as without. Next to her brilliance, Garlin was an ember. Eldri hoped it didn’t always cause his cousin this great pain, knowing Roca could be so much closer to Dalvador’s Bard in her mind. He wanted Garlin and Roca to like each other.

Roca stirred under the covers and his body immediately reacted. He didn’t know how she worked this magic, but he felt dizzy with needing her. It was quite pleasant, though nowhere near as good as the actual consummation. If she had no longer wanted him, he couldn’t imagine that she would have undressed and joined him in bed. He drew her into his arms and folded his hand around her breast. Amazing that a woman could be so well endowed and not fall forward when she stood up.

Roca laughed softly, her eyes closed. “What a romantic thought.”

“A fine morn to you,” he murmured.

“And to you.” She curled closer, her hands wandering on him. “Dancers shouldn’t really be that big.”

“You are a dancer?”

“Hmmm…” She had no trouble reaching the places she wanted to touch; someone had undressed him while he slept. “Never asked me to make ’em smaller, though. Sells tickets…”

“Ah.” He had no idea what she meant. His mind was blurring into a sensuous haze.

Then Roca pulled away.

He tried to tug her back. “Come here, beautiful lady.”

She braced her palms against his chest. “I don’t want to overdo it.”

He brushed a kiss over her ear. “Why not?”

Her lips parted, tempting, but she kept pushing him back.

“Come on,” he murmured. “What is wrong?”

“I…well, I don’t want you to have another seizure.”

“You mean like yesterday?”

“Yes.” She sounded subdued.

“Making love never caused them before.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.” He went back to kissing her. He could tell she liked it, especially when she started to move against him.

So they greeted each other, moving together under the soft, warm quilts. He savored the warmth of her body against his, their limbs entangled.

Sometime later, as they drowsed, she said, “Morning is coming.”

“Hmmm.” Eldri stretched, half asleep. Belatedly, he realized what she had said. “How do you know? It is dark in here.”

“My spinal node has an atomic clock. It keeps time.”

He wondered if he would ever understand the things she said. “What is ‘spinal node’?”

She was quiet for a while, and he sensed she was thinking of how to respond.

“It is part of my memory,” she finally said.

“Ah.” Now he understood. “Where you store what you learn.”

“Well, yes.” She sounded surprised. “Exactly.”

Eldri pressed his lips to her temple, this time in respect for her duties as a Memory. “We should begin our preparations to go down the mountain.”

Her mood brightened. “Do you think we can make it today?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I haven’t much experience with travel in such weather. It never snows in the plains.”

“Well, we can try.”

They climbed out of bed, shivering in the icy air, and dug garments out of the tube-narrows against the wall. For some reason, Roca seemed surprised he stored his clothes by stacking them in a vertical tube. She exclaimed over the blue glasswood and its gilded mosaics, though it all looked quite ordinary to Eldri.

“And this!” She pointed to a design of a blue and green sphere circling two larger gold ones. “What does it represent?”

“The gold orbs are the two sun gods.” Eldri rubbed his arms to warm them. The fire had died to embers, and it was too early for the maid to have built a new one. “The green is Lyshriol.”

She seemed to expect his answer. “The star system.”

He wasn’t sure what she meant, but her recognition implied her familiarity with the sun gods, supporting his theory of how she had come to him. He had no clue why Valdor and Aldan would send him such a treasure when he had been so remiss in attending them, but he would remedy that from this day forward, performing any expected rituals. He didn’t actually remember what most of them were, but he could ask the Memory.

They returned to the warmth of bed and dressed under the quilts, laughing and kissing. Eldri thought of it as a dream. Then they tumbled back out and put on jackets. Roca went to the alcove and opened the tall shutters. As soon as snow blew inside, Eldri knew the storm had returned. Saddened, he stood with her, gazing outside while powder blew over them. Falling snow blurred the world. It must have been coming down all night; the drifts were so deep now, they buried the bottom of the castle. Everywhere, in every direction, he saw nothing but snow.

For a long time Roca gazed at the silent snowfall. Eldri stood behind her, his arms around her waist, watching the storm that had gifted him more time with her, but was breaking her heart. He couldn’t imagine the great war she described. He had only one enemy, Lord Avaril, and his men had fought only skirmishes with Avaril’s small army. This pain in Roca went much, much deeper.

“I am sorry,” he said. “I wish I could make it stop.”

She said nothing, just turned and put her arms around him, burying her face against his neck. “Fate is capricious, that it offers me so great a treasure, but exacts such a terrible price.”

He went very still. “What treasure would that be?”

She drew back to look at him. “You are a miracle, Eldrinson Valdoria.”

He touched her cheek. “It is you.”

“How many people will die because of it? Thousands? Millions?
Billions?
”

“Don’t,” he murmured.

“No one knows where I am. I hid my trail.” She shook her head. “Another ship may not put in here for months, maybe even longer. The port has no link to my people.”

“I will take care of you.”

“And who will protect you when my son finds us?”

“What do you mean?”

She spoke dryly. “He avenges first and asks questions later.”

That didn’t sound promising. “I will make offerings to Valdor and Aldan.”

She sighed. “I wish it were that easy.”

“Roca, we will make it work out.”

She cupped his cheeks with her strange hands, her fingers so slender and delicate, her “thumb” to the side. Her palms felt warm against his cold skin. “You are a wonder.”

“It does not trouble you, what you saw yesterday?” He made himself ask the question he had been avoiding. “The attack?”

“It troubles me greatly. The longer your condition goes untreated the worse it could become.” She considered him. “Do you know what triggers the seizures?”

“I am unsure what you mean.”

“What causes an attack?”

That was easy. “Stress. Tension.”

Mischief flickered in her face. “Then we must make sure you are happy, hmmm?”

Eldri grinned. “I like your healing advice.” He brought his lips to hers and showed her just how much.

But as much as he rejoiced at having her with him, foreboding plagued him. His time with Roca was a fragile dream that could soon shatter.

The web shimmered.

Humanity knew it by many names: Kyle web, psiberweb, Kyle space network, other ever more abstruse designations. Kurj experienced it as a lattice extending in all directions, awesome in its central regions, where its nodes reached their greatest numbers and concentration, but fragmented near its edges.

His command chair on the Orbiter served as a portal into Kyle space. His body remained in the chair, but his mind occupied another universe, one defined by thought rather than position or time. The vertices of the lattice provided doorways to and from real space. Their proximity to one another had little correspondence to the location of the telepathic operators, or telops, using them; instead, the more similar the thoughts of the telops, the closer their vertices in Kyle space.

Any telepath with sufficient training could become a telop. They could use the web, but they could neither build nor maintain it; such functions required a more powerful mind than almost any telops could claim. As a Ruby psion, Kurj did have the strength, but he had no access to the power link that created the web. He chafed at its denial: control the web and he would control an empire. The Assembly claimed it ruled Skolia, but he knew better.

His grandmother, Lahaylia, had created the web using an ancient Lock, her mind acting as its Key. She had maintained the web on her own for decades, struggling as it grew larger and more unwieldy. No other choice existed; without the web, her fledgling empire would have fallen before it ever had a chance to rise.

Then she had found Jarac. No one had known what would happen if he became a second Key. What little they had deciphered of the ancient glyphs in the Locks suggested that joining two Ruby psions into a power link would overload it and kill them both. But Lahaylia had reached her limit. She needed help or her empire would collapse. So Jarac joined her—

And so he survived. Together they formed the link that powered the web. The Dyad.

Jarac had taken command of the military, becoming Imperator. The job could only be done well, to its full extent, by someone with access to the power link that allowed communication across the stars; as Imperator, Jarac could spread his mind throughout the far-flung reaches of his interstellar military forces. Thus two Keys ruled the Skolian Imperialate: Pharaoh and Imperator.

Lahaylia and Jarac had very different minds. They existed together in the Dyad without interfering. Kurj desired to become a third mind in that link, but he feared the consequences to his grandparents. He and Jarac were too alike. That Jarac fit well with Lahaylia could mean Kurj would, too, but it might also be that minds as similar as his and Jarac’s couldn’t occupy the link at the same time. Or the power surge from adding a third Ruby psion might overload the link and short-circuit the web. At times like this, when Kurj was deep within the lattice, becoming part of it, his drive to harness its power tormented him. He struggled to rein in his ambition, aware that it could endanger his grandparents, two of the very few people he could admit he loved.

Now he searched, haunted by knowing that his resolve to control his mother’s votes in the Assembly had made her vanish. He skimmed the lattice, looking for a sign. Any sign. Echoes of her visit to Irendela bounced everywhere, but then her trail became strange. Every time his spy network found a lead, it faded away. She had disguised her escape too well.

Today he repeated procedures he and his people had tried many times before. He hunted for back doors she might have used to slip through his spy network. He traced her finances, but found no record of her travel. A search on Cya Liessa produced millions of references to her dancing. Too many people adored her. He couldn’t wade through it all. He sent thought-spiders to collate the data, attaching them to an outer shell of his mind as he browsed Kyle space. His node sifted through the data and listed references in order of their relevance to her recent activities. It all looked useless, but Kurj tagged a few comments for review later.