Necessity's Child (Liaden Universe®) Read online

Their gadje, since coming among them, had kept to his coma. Silain said that he healed, and it did seem to Kezzi that his fires burned a little brighter. He had many breaths now, between him and the World Unseen, like markers in a game of chance. Still, Jin said that he was frail, and that he must wake soon, for the well-being of his heart and his mind.

  To that, Silain the luthia said again that he healed, and that he would wake when he could bear it.

  Kezzi took her turn sitting at the gadje’s side, watching the lines that fed water and virtue directly into his veins. Now that it was less swollen, she could see that his face was comely. His hair, brushed free of blood by Jin’s patient hand, was as black as her own, though it curled like a baby’s, all over his head. Sometimes, it seemed that dreams took him; he would mutter, his muscles jerk, and the dark lashes flicker along his cheeks.

  He never opened his eyes, though.

  Kezzi wondered what would happen, when at last he did.

  * * *

  Syl Vor checked his bag once more. He had a positioner, in case he should become lost, and a portcomm; extra gloves; his hat; a sweater; a cereal bar; and a bottle of water. On top, where he could find it easily, was a tin of his mother’s favorite tea, because one did not go on an afternoon call without bearing a gift—he had checked the forms, to be certain.

  He was a little concerned, that the gift would be found insufficient, since he had simply taken it out of the pantry—which, he reminded himself firmly, was not stealing from kin, because the tea was for the use of the House.

  In his pockets he had money, identification, and his folding knife. His gun was clipped to his belt, hidden beneath his jacket. Biting his lip, he tried to think if there was any other vital thing that he should have with him for this visit, until the chime of the hall clock recalled him to the passage of time.

  Quickly, he sealed his jacket, put on his gloves and hat, slung the bag over his shoulder and headed for the door. The taxi would be here soon.

  It would perhaps have been more seemly to have asked kin to drive him, but, once again, everyone was busy with this, or that, or another very important task, and he was reasonably certain that he had quite enough local money to pay for the taxi to and from.

  He had recorded his absence and his destination in the house base, as he had promised Aunt Miri that he would do, so no one need worry that he had been lost.

  He had just gained the main entrance hall when he heard the sound of rapid steps behind him.

  “Syl Vor!” came the greeting, light-voiced and pleasant. “Where to in such a haste, Nephew?”

  The voice belonged to Uncle Ren Zel, Aunt Anthora’s lifemate. Syl Vor liked Uncle Ren Zel; he was quiet and kind and sometimes came ’round to ask Syl Vor if he would indulge him with a game of catch. Because he liked Uncle Ren Zel, Syl Vor paused, and turned—though he would have been obliged to do so in any case, he told himself sternly. He smiled, and waited, which was hard, because surely the taxi had arrived by now!

  “Good afternoon, Uncle,” he said. “I am going to town.”

  “Are you indeed?” Ren Zel said, with a smile. “Shall I drive you?”

  “Thank you,” he said politely. “I had seen on the schedule that you were with Weather Tech Brunner and did not wish to disturb you. I have called a taxi.”

  “Mr. Brunner can spare me for an hour, at need. But I wonder where you are bound, in the city?”

  “I am going to see my mother,” Syl Vor said. “I am quite well prepared. I have my gun, and my little knife, and extra warm clothes, and fare both ways.”

  “I would call that well prepared, indeed. Does Nova expect you?”

  “I’m certain that she must.” Syl Vor looked at the door. “If you please, Uncle—the taxi.”

  “The taxi has been canceled,” Aunt Anthora said, stepping out of the service hall. “Jeeves heard your call and alerted us.” She gave Uncle Ren Zel a smile. “Good afternoon, love.”

  “Good afternoon,” he answered, taking her hand. “I see that he does need to go to town,” he murmured.

  “Do you? Then go he shall.”

  Uncle Ren Zel laughed his soft, pretty laugh. “As simple as that? But, you know, I have no notion why.”

  “I have to see my mother,” Syl Vor said sternly, “on a matter of importance to us both.”

  Aunt Anthora looked down at him, her face perfectly serious, though there were smile-crinkles at the sides of her silver eyes.

  “There you are,” she said. “What could be more compelling?”

  “If you have a moment for Tech Brunner, I will drive Syl Vor,” said Uncle Ren Zel.

  “To Nova?” asked Aunt Anthora. “Given the mood in which she is likely to receive you? No, better that I go, I think, and you to return to our weatherman.” She leaned over and kissed him on the mouth. “I will be very careful,” she murmured, “and pay close attention to everything.”

  Uncle Ren Zel laughed again, and turned to Syl Vor.

  “It is decided, then, you see, Nephew? Your aunt will drive you to the city and wait upon your return. Please give your mother my wish that I may see her again—soon.”

  “I will,” said Syl Vor, while Aunt Anthora danced over to the console and pressed the button, asking that Jeeves send a car around, because she and Syl Vor were driving into the city.

  * * *

  The air was cool, here on the mountain, among the vines; his breath frosted against the dangling shoots. Time, now, to cut the old wood back, to make room for the fruits of the coming season.

  He had his clippers in one hand, the other feeling among the tendrils for the hard bark. That hand ached, but, then, he had been at work since the first ray of daylight had threaded the gap between the twin hills.

  It was quiet on the mountain. He had come out, shears in hand, early and alone, to the row that had been his to tend. One more time, before he was set a new duty. The season was too early for insects—those would come with the heat—and the few birds that graced the sky were predators, on the hunt for mouse and vole.

  That’s what he thought they were, the shadow of a predator’s wings flickering over the vines—so common a thing that he never bothered to raise his head.

  Fwump!

  The sound brought him ’round in the instant before the blast rocked the mountain, and a burst of wind and debris slammed him back into the trellis. He fell, rolled, scrambled to his feet—and stood staring down the mountain, at the billow of greasy smoke from the crater where his clanhouse had been.

  * * *

  The gadje screamed, muscles spasming. He jerked again, with intent—trying to sit up, endangering himself and the lines into his veins. Kezzi snatched his shoulders and bore down.

  “Peace!” she gasped. “Gadje, be still!”

  He screamed again, shrill and hopeless, twisting in her grasp. Small as he was, he was bigger than her, though made weak by his wounds, and whatever terrible thing held him in his dream. Kezzi was able to put his shoulders against the bed and hold him there. He sobbed now, moving his head from side to side.

  “Peace, peace, gadje,” she said again. “You will break yourself!”

  “Let him sit up, small sister, if he wishes.” Silain the luthia slid next to the bed, slipping her arm beneath the gadje’s shoulders. Kezzi leaned back, slowly releasing him, but he made no move to twist away. He lay in Silain’s arms, chest heaving with his sobs.

  “Peace, peace, small one,” the luthia murmured in the language they spoke in the City Above, and as if the gadje were Smaller, even, than Kezzi. “It is well. Only open your eyes, foolish boy, and see that it’s true.”

  Her words seemed to calm him, so that he rested, his face wet, shivering now, as if his terror had burned out his poor reserves of energy. Then, his chest lifted. He gave a great, shuddering sigh.

  And the gadje opened his eyes.

  They were as black as his hair—as black as Bedel eyes. His gaze was wide and soft, as if he stared into the World Not-Yet.

  He turned his head slightly, so that he might look upon Silain’s face.

  “That is well,” she said, even as his breath caught again.

  His shattered hand twitched, but the board it was strapped to was too heavy for him to lift.

  “Thawlana?” he whispered, which was not a word that Kezzi knew.

  Silain smiled and answered gently in what might be the same strange tongue. She lifted her free hand and stroked the tumbled curls from his forehead.

  The gadje closed his eyes, relaxing so completely that Kezzi cried out, thinking that he had left them for the World Unseen.

  “Peace,” the luthia told her. “He only sleeps again. Fetch another blanket, small sister—he shivers. When that is done, you and Malda may go for a run. I will watch here.”

  Kezzi rose, fetched the blanket and tucked it ’round the gadje. On the edge of snapping her fingers for Malda, however, she hesitated.

  “Luthia?”

  “Yes, my sister?”

  “What passed between you?”

  “Ah.” Silain smiled and extended a hand again to stroke the gadje’s hair. “He recognized me as grandmother—thawlana, that is, in one of the gadje tongues.”

  It was true, Kezzi thought, that the luthia was the grandmother of the Bedel, who kept the stories and the dreams and who cared for them all. Even a gadje must know that much.

  “To him I said that I was indeed the grandmother, and that he might leave his safety in my hands.”

  And thus assured, Kezzi thought, the gadje slept easy. As would anyone.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Is this tongue a thing that I might dream?”

  The luthia moved her hand, not quite a full denial. “Not yet, I think, little sister. It is a large dream, and must wait until you have dreamed o
thers, to hold it in place.”

  She had, Kezzi admitted, thought that might be so. Though she spoke the language of the Bedel and the gadje tongue—she had spoken both from her first words, learning from Vylet and Droi. To dream a language—that she had not done, and well she could believe that it was a big dream.

  “Would you like a cup of tea before Malda and I go?” she asked.

  “That is a kindly thought, little sister. I believe I am well enough for this time. Go, now—you have not run in days!”

  That was true enough.

  Kezzi snapped her fingers for Malda and ran off across the common.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The doorbell rang while Nova was with Boss Schroeder.

  She had been with Boss Shroeder for some time, and heartily wished him at the devil, though of course it would never do to let him know that. Tedious as he was, they—which was to say, Surebleak and Korval—needed his willing support of both the consolidated school and the increased levels of patrol on the streets.

  His complaint today was the consolidated school. One gathered that he had visited Penn Kalhoon, the second ranking Boss on the Council, at breakfast, on the subject of the patrols. Nova supposed she should be grateful for small favors; at least she had enjoyed a pleasantly solitary breakfast.

  The security arrangements, in particular, were the object of Boss Schroeder’s concern today. The Big Boss, he said, with, unfortunately, perfect justice, hadn’t had much luck keeping the building from getting holes in it. How did he intend to protect the children from eight different territories?

  There was of course the plan that had always been in place, that the school accept a security perimeter, in order to discourage those who saw opportunity in the gathering of children from those eight different territories. Within the school, it would fall to the teachers to plant the seeds of collegiality. Happily, they were well supplied with teachers in the form of the ubiquitous Scouts, who were also well suited to protecting those placed under their care.

  Nova said these things to Boss Shroeder, who found it amusing to be kittenish, though he had previously signed a contract guaranteeing support of the school, and the security perimeter—and also to send those on his street who were in need or want of a basic education to the school.

  “Well, I guess you got it all thought out, then. I’ll be wanting a look at that perimeter an’ those ’rangemints of yours.”

  At last! Nova thought. The point was hers.

  She inclined her head gravely.

  “Of course. We welcome such inspections from all the Bosses, and hope that you will not hold shy of giving us advice, or pointing out any inadequacy in the arrangements. It is the goal to provide a place of safety where all may learn together.”

  He took a breath and her heart sank. Had he found another objection?

  But no. He merely sighed, and put his hands on the arms of the chair, pushing himself unceremoniously to his feet.

  “Right, then. You keep me posted. An’ remember! You ain’t getting one kid from my turf in that place ’til I’m satisfied with the security.”

  “I understand completely,” she said, rising and holding out her hand.

  He stared down at it for a moment, as if perhaps considering the consequences of refusing to shake her hand. Nova experienced a flash of empathy. She would herself prefer that they exchange cordial bows and have done, but to shake hands was Surebleak’s custom.

  Custom won, as it so often did. Schroeder gripped her hand tightly, jerked it up and down, and turned away.

  Nova touched the button on her desk, then stepped ’round it, wondering if she should attempt to gain the Boss’s side, or if it would be seen as something other than a courtesy.

  She hesitated, and the door opened to admit Veeno, who took charge of showing the Boss out.

  At last, she sighed, and allowed her shoulders to sag while she reviewed the mental exercise known as Pilot’s Peace, which returned emotional balance and relaxed one who had been sorely tried.

  Refreshed, she continued across the room to the table, and pressed the back of her hand against the teapot—cold, of course. She sighed and went back to her desk.

  Scarcely was she seated than the door opened again, admitting Veeno, looking, Nova thought, rather more amused than one might expect of a woman who had just escorted Boss Shroeder to the door.

  “Couple here to see you, Boss,” she said.

  Nova eyed her sternly. Yes, definitely amused. How delightful that one’s staff was happy in their work.

  “Has the couple a name or two between them, I wonder? Did they state their business?”

  Veeno actually grinned.

  “I was told to say ‘the demands of kin must be honored.’”

  Nova closed her eyes, briefly. Such a message held the tang of Kareen yos’Phelium, whose manners were high, even on Liad. On Surebleak . . .

  . . . and yet, it was true, whether on Liad, Surebleak or on Dutiful Passage, Jumping between the stars—the demands of kin must be honored. That one statement was the very basis of clan. If they lost that, they would lose Korval—which was to say that they would lose themselves.

  She waved a hand wearily.

  “Please, show the couple in, Ms. Veeno. And ask the kitchen to send a fresh pot of tea.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Veeno stepped over to the table, picked up the tray bearing teapot and cups and swooped out of the room.

  Nova closed her eyes again, deliberately emptied her mind, and drew three deep, calming breaths.

  She heard the latch work, opened her eyes and stood, turning toward the door with her face properly composed, determined to meet her kinswoman cordially.

  “Good-day, Sister! I hope I find you well?”

  Only the exercise of the very sternest control kept Nova’s jaw from dropping. Of all possible authors of that stiff reminder of duty, she had never supposed that it might be—

  “Anthora!”

  Her sister smiled sweetly. “Exactly—Anthora. And I am very pleased to see you after so long a separation.” She tipped her head, silver eyes unwontedly serious. “You ought to come home for a day or two, Nova. You’re tired.”

  “Is that an official diagnosis, dramliza?” That was said too sharply, and only proved Anthora’s point for her.

  “At the moment,” her sister said, allowing her lack of return heat to say all, “it is merely sisterly concern.”

  Nova sighed and waved toward the table.

  “Sit, do. Veeno is bringing—stay.”

  Anthora froze in mid-step—a foolishness Nova did not dignify with either a smile or a frown.

  “Veeno had said that a couple had stopped to see me. Is your lifemate with you? By all means, bid him enter—I engage not to eat him.”

  “Alas, as much as he wished to come himself, Ren Zel was occupied with Mr. Brunner and the weather satellites.” Anthora completed her step and continued to the desk.

  “We are all of us busy, Sister,” she said, slipping into the seat lately occupied by Boss Shroeder.

  “Busy.” Nova shook her head. “One might say, busy.” Indeed, they were all of them exhausted in the face of Surebleak’s many necessities. Her office owed its existence to the rise of tasks facing Pat Rin and his staff. Overflow control.

  “At some point the tide must turn,” she said, taking her chair. “The committees and the patrols and the offices of this and that will begin to take up their functions—”

  “—freeing the Bosses to be busy, but not so busy that they forget the care of clan and kin.”

  “Which brings us full circle. What does kin demand of me?”

  “I will allow Syl Vor the honor of explaining that himself—in a moment. First—and I speak now as dramliza, as aunt, and as sister—Syl Vor is not, let us say, a little boy.”

  Nova inclined her head. “Runig’s Rock has taken a toll—that, yes, I had seen. I had thought, perhaps, a fostering, but I cannot find it eligible, Sister! Korval has always been risky to know. To be an ally of the Dragon in these times is to be in active danger.”

  “That is so. And, yet, he desires—I will say, he needs others of his own temper about him. The loss of his cousins to their duty—that was a blow. He takes refuge in proper behavior, which is . . . exemplary, of course . . .”

  “But a child,” Nova said, echoing Michael Golden, “needs to play.”

  “Just so. Now, I will tell you one more thing, and then I will exchange places with my nephew in the parlor. Ren Zel has said that Syl Vor must come to town.”