II
Padi had asked Lina if she might return to her own quarters. She had asked very politely, and without any ill temper.
Of course, demonstrating a sweet and reasonable temper was not at all the same as moderating one’s so-called gift, but it did show good intent, especially as it was control which Lina was at such pains to teach her.
Despite it being a skill Padi needed to perfect quickly, for the safety of ship and crew, Lina was not happy to be teaching her control. Even Padi could see that. It had, so she thought, to do with Padi having confined her gift for so very long. Lina feared the damage that might have been done, and did not care to do more. So, Lina was cautious, and conflicted, and if they had been engaged in trade, Padi flattered herself that she could have used that to her own advantage.
Sadly, she and Lina were not at trade. Lina was a Healer, and it was her current task to give Padi a grounding in basic dramliz practice.
Padi had applied herself to her lessons. The result, so she was told, was a steady, implacable…brightness, which she understood was much to be preferred over the random sparking and flickering which had been the shape of her gift when it had first manifested. Lina had even said that she was managing nicely.
Which was when Padi had asked if she might be allowed to return to her own cabin, and to sleep in her own bed…
And, to say truth, Lina had considered the request, though she had at last denied it.
“I regret,” she had said gently. “Given the manner in which your gift manifested at last, it is to the ship’s best benefit, that we proceed conservatively.”
The manner in which her gift manifested—that meant that Padi had not only destroyed her beautiful unbreakable bowl, but flying shards from its destruction had killed two people.
Even worse, all that had happened while the bowl was in her cabin on the Passage, and Padi herself, and her intended assassins, had been on the planet surface.
That had been, as even Padi understood, something quite out of the ordinary. Grudgingly, she admitted that Lina was right to be conservative—even very conservative. She foresaw a lengthy course in the dramliz arts in her future, to which she must apply herself diligently if she ever had any hope of returning to her proper work as a trader.
That thought had fretted her, too, though she had been careful not to allow Lina to suspect, as they said their dream-wells.
Father—the Passage’s master trader…Father had been hurt—severely hurt—by a dramliza—by an enemy dramliza, if one could find a proper way to think of such a thing. But there, the Department of the Interior, who had taken Korval for its enemy, and whose operatives were not uniformly stupid, though that was hard to recall—the Department of the Interior had subverted to their cause not only pilots or Scouts, like Uncle Val Con; or anyone else they felt might be useful to them, but they had stolen dramliz and that…was something Padi didn’t want to think about…much…just yet.
In any wise, Father had been wounded; he was the master trader, she was his apprentice; he not only required her assistance, it was her duty to give it. Certainly, that was plain to the dullest of intelligences—and no one could count Lina or Priscilla dull. They were intelligent, resourceful, and accomplished persons, and yet—
And yet—here she was, in sickbay, taking lessons to control a gift she did not want, instead of supporting the master trader and the ship.
Padi sighed, and folded back the blankets on her bed.
Priscilla—Father’s lifemate and a powerful dramliza in her own right—Priscilla had come to see her, just as Lina was leaving for her rest period.
At Padi’s invitation, she had taken the chair. Padi perched on the edge of the bed. Father, Priscilla said, was as well as possible. Not only had he been physically wounded, but he had spent far too much of his own energy Healing—Healing!—the DOI’s dramliza. Priscilla had read her outrage and commented that it had been a complicated situation, but after all, the DOI’s dramliza had behaved with honor, and had Healed Father of the wounds which would certainly have killed him, so Balance was served, leaving only consequences to be dealt with.
Padi did not offer her opinion of consequences, but inclined her head so that Priscilla went on.
It would be some time—how much time, neither she nor Lina could foretell—before Father regained the full use of his gifts. He was likely to regain his physical strength very quickly, Priscilla said, thanks to the intervention of the DOI’s dramliza. He had taken one session in the autodoc, to stabilize him, with another session scheduled in twenty-four hours. If that second session failed to bring him fully up to his template, other therapies would be employed, in consultation with Keriana, their chief med tech.
That was all very well, Padi thought. Of course Priscilla would take care of Father, that was beyond questioning. It was only that she, Padi, could have—would have!—returned his gift completely, but Lina and Priscilla had broken the link she’d made.
She quite understood that it wasn’t the prettiest or the best-crafted link; she had no training in such things. But she had so much energy, and she didn’t want any of it. And Father—Father was a Healer; his talent was like breath to him; he cared about it—a sense that was as useful and as natural to him as his eyes—whereas her talent was—an intruder; at best an unwelcome guest.
“We understand,” Priscilla murmured just then, as if she had read Padi’s thoughts—which was not impossible. “You wanted to help. Your instincts do you honor. Unfortunately, neither Lina nor I could properly See what you had done or how the construct was made, or could understand how to regulate the flow. It was—in our opinions—all too possible that you would deplete yourself as Shan had depleted himself, giving us the same problem to solve, in unknown terrain. Lina and I know what Shan’s gift is, what it looks like, its texture; its weight. You—we haven’t even Seen your full pattern yet; you’re so very bright. We might have hurt you—hurt you badly—if we were to attempt a Healing.”
“You decided to be conservative,” Padi said, not meaning it, perhaps, to sound quite that sour. Priscilla gave her a wry smile.
“I’m afraid so, yes.”
“Lina says that I’m to stay here, because that’s conservative.”
“That was not Lina’s decision alone,” Priscilla told her. “We all three talked about it, and decided that a day or two of isolation would best serve the ship, the crew, the Healers—”
She smiled again.
“And you.”
“Me,” Padi repeated, thinking of her usual schedule, her studies, the reading—
“Yes, you,” Priscilla said. “A few days to allow your gift to—settle—will help you settle. There’s always a period of dislocation after a talent arrives—even a small and well-behaved talent.”
Padi grinned, half unwilling.
“And I have not got a small and well-behaved talent.”
“No,” Priscilla admitted, and then, very Father-like, really, “though that can hardly surprise anyone.”
“Now,” she said briskly. “The master trader is concerned that you’ll fall behind in your studies, which he won’t allow. Tomorrow, you will resume your work—he has, I believe, sent a reading list to your screen. While he expects that you will complete the list, he cautions that you must not stint the exercises Lina brings to you.”
Padi caught her breath.
A reading list. She had scarcely looked for such a gift!
She inclined her head.
“I swear that Lina’s lessons will come first,” she said earnestly. Perhaps too earnestly.
In any case, Priscilla laughed and rose, bade her dream well—and left the cubicle.
So, that was that. Priscilla was gone, and Lina was sleeping in the next cubicle—and that was an inconvenience for Lina, too, who had her own quarters and bed-friends, which she would surely prefer to a cubicle in sickbay, while she kept close watch over a surly newborn dramliza.
Padi sighed and stretched out on the cot. The lights dimmed obligingly, and the music she’d chosen from the library wafted softly on the cooling air. She pulled the blanket up over her shoulder, tried to settle her head on the pillow—and sat bolt upright, staring at the man in the dark, much-patched cloak and breeches, who was leaning very much at his ease against the wall, moving a worn red gaming token over the back of his hand.
Her eye was drawn, and for a long moment, she could not look away.
Father played this game, with a marker very like. Across the back of his right hand, the red token would walk until it reached the end of its path, whereupon it would—vanish, only to appear again, walking along the back of the left hand.
The token vanished. Padi drew a breath and looked up into the stranger’s face—
But he was not a stranger, or not entirely so. No matter his hair was black, and long enough to braid, instead of crisp and white; nor that his eyes were black, rather than silver blue; and his clothing tattered, when Father was never anything but impeccably groomed—the face, the stance, the way the token marched across his hand—one received the impression that the man before her could have been Father in only slightly different circumstances, and besides—
She had seen him before.
“You,” she said quietly, aware of Lina in the next cubicle, and the monitors, which would pick up her voice and also supply news of a third person in the unit.
“You never told me your name.”
He looked to her, one eyebrow raised, a shade more sardonic than Father might be, as if, for this one, there had been too much strife, and too little food, too often in his life, which hardships had worn away a layer of gentleness, exposing a lean edginess.
“There was scarcely time for introductions,” he said now, and his voice was precisely Father’s, smooth and beautiful, like being wrapt in velvet silk.
“There’s time now,” she pointed out, when he said nothing further.
“Agreed. I am called Lute. What is your name?”
She considered him.
“I think you must know my name,” she said carefully.
“Ah, do you? Have they taught you yet that names are to conjure by?”
Padi frowned. “That may be the case with the…tradition in which Priscilla came to terms with her gifts. Liaden dramliz receive their gifts from a different source.”
There was an arrested pause.
“A different source,” Lute mused, his eyes on the game token, which walked to the edge of his hand, tumbled off—and vanished. Almost, Padi saw where it went—felt, perhaps, a tiny flash of power as it displaced itself.
“That is an interesting question of philosophy, child. Do you argue that the source of talent, of energy, of magic…limits itself to the rules of culture?”
Padi bit her lip.
“I would argue that the dramliza shapes the power, according to her character and her need,” she said slowly. “You’ll understand that I am…unschooled. But the lessons I have thus far received suggest that there is no single rule set.”
Lute nodded gravely. “There is something in what you say.”
Padi sighed. “I did say I was unschooled.”
He bowed his head.
“I was fairly warned. Heed me though, child, you are already past pretty games of philosophy. Yours was a wakening heard ’round infinity. You shattered the meditations of saints, brought senior practitioners to their knees, and felled novices like so many skittles. Possibly, you woke the dead. Surely, the Living Names, and others of their sort, heard you. We are all fortunate that the Iloheen failed the crossing to this universe, else that world would have been engulfed and every soul living there unmade.”
She stared at him, stomach suddenly cramped, and fingers icy. She had endangered a world? Simply by doing what all of her elders assured her was the correct and responsible thing to have done?
“The Iloheen?” she whispered. “Who are they?”
He shook his head.
“No one who will vex you here, and I am a brute to bring that threat before you.” He extended a long, supple hand. “Shall I take it away?”
“No.” She took a deep breath. “Thank you. I think I’d better remember everything I can.”
“Wise, as well as bold. To return to the point—you have given the entire waking universe notice of your power. Will you give them your true-name as well, or will you invest in another, as your shield and armor?”
“As I understand it, I erred greatly in hiding myself away,” she said slowly. “If the…whole universe has already heard me, then I am identified, am I not?”
“You erred in hiding yourself from yourself,” Lute said sternly. “That is never wise. Misdirecting an enemy is merely self-defense.”
He tipped his head. “What is your name, child?”
She blinked at him thoughtfully. “Are you an enemy?”
“Would your father have sent an enemy to protect you in his absence, even in extremity?”
“He might have,” Padi said seriously. “If he felt you would adhere to the terms.”
Lute laughed.
“True enough. I strive not to be an enemy, and I take the task which was laid upon me seriously—to protect Shan yos’Galan’s daughter.”
He had, Padi admitted, helped her when she had been under attack by agents of the DOI. And Father had said he had asked him to go to her and do what he could to protect her.
She looked up to find him watching her out of night-black eyes.
“My name is Padi yos’Galan.”
“Thank you,” he said solemnly. “Will you allow me to give you a gift? I swear on my name that it will be entirely benign.”
“What is my benefit?” she asked, trader-wise.
“You will sleep as sound and safe tonight as I may arrange, which will, in turn, allow me to pursue the task your father laid upon me.” He put his hand over his heart and bowed slightly. “Heart’s ease is my benefit.”
“Surely, he can’t have meant for you to guard me—forever,” Padi objected.
“Very possibly he did not, but we cannot be completely certain. You will ask him as soon as may be, and we will make adjustments.”
Padi weighed her ignorance, the past actions of this man, and the fact that Father had trusted him.
“Done,” she said.
“Excellent. Lie down, please, close your eyes, and take three deep breaths.”
She curled back under the blanket, closed her eyes, and opened them again to find him leaning close.
“Why hasn’t Lina come in to find why you are here?” she asked.
He smiled slightly.
“Because I’m not here, of course. Close your eyes.”
That was easy to do, when her lids were so heavy. Padi sighed, took a breath; another—
And slipped over into sleep.