Millsapport
I
Millsap was not a beautiful port.
It was understood that not all ports were beautiful, Padi thought. But it might at least have made a push to be interesting.
But, no. Millsapport was merely a semicircular monotone of samples houses along the outer edge, through which the port omnibus moved at a fair speed, slowing somewhat as it entered the second ring—agent offices, each exactly the same as all the others, with only the names—centered precisely over each door—different.
In fairness, the research she and the master trader had hurriedly completed had not promised anything else. Millsapport and its numerous outyards—which had made the Passage’s approach to its docking orbit more of a challenge than it strictly needed to be—Millsapport was about safe storage and the orderly transfer of cargo. The samples houses existed in case there should be a question regarding the quality of the contents of a particular pod awaiting pickup by its contracted ship. The agent offices were there to make certain the paperwork was in order, and that the port received its just and proper fees.
There was no need to catch the eye of newcomers, or entice fresh traders into a deal, and no effort was made to do so.
Millsapport, in a word, was bound, caught tight and trapped by its own system, which functioned well, as it had done for dozens and dozens of years. Padi had wondered aloud to the master trader, during their analysis session, what might happen to the port, to the agents if a new trader arrived, offering a fresh trade.
“Possibly, they would turn it away,” Master Trader yos’Galan said. “After all, they don’t need new custom. What they need most is to not disturb the custom they have.”
The port omnibus paused to take on a passenger—another agent, Padi supposed—dressed in grey business robes that matched the grey façades of the offices.
This one spared them a glance as he passed to a seat in the back. He looked tired, Padi thought, and felt something flicker along a set of nerves she hadn’t known she’d had until this second.
Not just tired, but anxious, even—
“Your pardon, Trader,” Father said from the seat beside her. “I wonder if you would honor me with your opinion of that structure?”
Padi turned toward the window, following the angle of his chin, but truly, the line of offices they were passing, now that the omnibus was moving once more, looked precisely the same as—
She felt her cheeks heat, and looked up to meet Father’s eyes.
“It just . . . happened,” she said softly.
“One may catch a glimpse,” he replied, “and that is an accident. To continue to stare, however . . . ”
“Yes, sir.”
Determinedly, she turned her attention to the window.
* * *
Shan gazed out the window as the omnibus lumbered on. He was not deploring the view, though it was certainly deplorable, but rather considering those other things he and Padi had discovered in the course of researching the port, and the systems which supported it.
Millsap lived—and lived well—because of the balance between its two Loops. One might argue their methods, but one could not argue that those methods failed of producing profit. Millsap had been profitable for a long time, and would continue to be so just exactly as long as its client Loops profited.
And there lay the rub.
The Terran Loop was, to his eye, beginning to falter, though he could, as he had several times reminded himself, be wrong. The data he had was too sparse to support an in-depth analysis. He could buy more data and study the matter in the fullness it deserved. After all, he was a master trader; process and the ongoing health of ports were his legitimate concerns. Indeed, it might well be his duty to file a notice with the Guild, but he hesitated to do so on the basis of such flimsy evidence as was now in his hand. Master traders were, after all, held to a certain standard.
And a Liaden master trader bringing a Terran trade enterprise to the attention of the Guild—there would be politics to cope with, no question, and his taste for politics was even less acute than usual. But, after all, politics could be finessed, when necessary. The question therefore became—Was it necessary?
He took a breath, seeking to clarify his thoughts and settle his stomach, as the omnibus turned right down a thoroughfare that seemed to be lined with—could it be shops? Good gods, so they were.
He glanced at the seat just ahead of them, where Lina sat next to Karna Tivit of ship’s security. Hands folded on her knee, face serene, shoulders loose and level, she made a pretty picture of modest patience, quintessentially Liaden.
It had been decided by the ship’s three Healers that there was nothing to be gained by startling the Healers of Millsap. From there, it had been a very short step to deciding that Lina should act as their Healer-escort while Priscilla remained with the ship. Lina was a good, solid Healer trained in the Liaden style. There was nothing about her to raise eyebrows.
Priscilla, on the other hand, would have had the eyebrows of the entire Hall arcing into hairlines before they were ever admitted.
Even presented as dramliza, rather than Healer, there were too many odd energies roiling about Priscilla and her methods—especially if one were a Healer trained in the Liaden style.
It had therefore seemed best, after discussion, not to tax the Healers of Millsap with questions when what was wanted—were answers.
So, Priscilla had stayed with the ship—their reserve force, as she styled it, in the unlikely event that the Healers of Millsap proved to be pirates or brigands—while Lina accompanied the wounded Healer and the Emergent in need of Sorting.
It was perfectly straightforward, he told himself, not for the first, or even the sixth, time. Nonetheless, his stomach, foolish organ, remained unsettled.
As if she had heard his ruminations, Lina turned her head and smiled at him briefly. It might have reassured him, if he hadn’t known her for so long that her smiles hid no secrets from him.
Lina was worried, too.
Shan sighed.
* * *
Padi kept her attention on the window as the omnibus made its awkward way down the track and the boring port moved past.
Really, she thought, how could they put up with all this . . . greyness? Would it have done any harm to have painted the occasional building red, or even pale blue?
She bit her lip. Ordinarily, she liked to explore ports, though she preferred walking to port transport. Ordinarily, she would have dismissed the grey-on-grey color scheme as local custom, but today . . .
Today, she wished she were back on the Passage, even if the only thing she had to occupy herself with were exercises to help her become better acquainted with her gift.
She was not at all certain that she wanted strange Healers . . . looking at her. She had expressed this to Lina, who had agreed that it was very natural to feel uneasy. She had also said that no one would hurt her, and if someone did hurt her, she was to say so, immediately, for nothing the Healers would be doing during their examinations ought to be in the least uncomfortable.
Which did not . . . precisely . . . address Padi’s unease. One could not See oneself—not in that way. At least, she hadn’t yet discovered in her private explorations any sort of interior mirror where she might regard this . . . brightness that was her talent.
She had received the impression, however, that it was not . . . quite . . . pleasing. That it was too bright—that had been said, though followed with a hasty reassurance that new talent often arrived in a burst of energy that might dazzle Healer eyes.
Unfortunately, she had begun to receive the impression that her brightness ought to have started to subside by now—and that this was not the case.
Aside all that, she had glimpsed in Lina’s reticence to answer certain questions regarding Padi’s specific gift, that it had become . . . misshapen, perhaps, as a result of her mistaken attempt to keep it locked away.
So, she wished—she very much wished—that she might dispense with the Healers altogether. Father, of course, must have an examination to be certain, among other things, that his heir had not hurt him in what she now knew to have been a foolhardy attempt to help him.
“I believe I see our stop,” Father said.
Padi blinked out of her thoughts, and leaned closer to the window.
This section of the port boasted perhaps half-a-dozen dormitories, grab-a-bites, bars, restaurants, what might have been a house of pleasure, and another half-dozen general supply houses. And here, Padi saw, someone among the shopkeepers or the hosts had heard of paint, though they might have done well to coordinate the colors. Still, that was a small thing, and after the tedium of the journey through the warehousing and office districts, to come upon this small area was rather like stumbling into a meadow of wildflowers after wandering the desert.
The Healer Hall—she saw it immediately, situated on the corner of a small street between the hospitality and retail areas, as if no one could quite decide on its function. It was a modest ’crete square surrounded by a fence. Both the building and the fence were painted a soft, pleasing shade of pink, and the front yard, which at ho— on Liad would have been a modest garden, was here artfully decorated with bright mosaic sculptures, many with wind-catchers at the apex.
The wind-catchers, Padi thought, might have been an exercise in wishcraft, which might or not be an actual dramliz craft. It was sometimes difficult for her to know when Priscilla was having a joke.
In any case, the wind-catchers were catching no wind today, their blades as still as the petals of the flowers they were perhaps meant to counterfeit.
The omnibus groaned to a halt. Two seats ahead, Third Mate Dil Nem Tiazan, who made one of their security pair today, rose and moved toward the hatch.
Lina followed him, Padi following her, then Father, and Karna Tivit, the second of their security pair, bringing up the rear.
Karna’s feet had scarcely touched the pavement when the door shut, and the omnibus rolled off, groaning loudly. The five of them stood for a moment, orienting themselves to the bright, windless day, before confronting the glittering front garden.
“Well,” Lina said briskly after a long moment had passed and no one of them had made a move toward the gate. “We are well arrived. Let us allow the Hall to know that we are here.”
* * *
The door was opened by a plump boy with curly yellow hair and soft grey eyes. He was dressed in an emerald green tunic and bright red pants, which was, Padi thought, certainly understandable, given the larger port environment, but perhaps a trifle too bold in terms of the House he served.
“Good-day to you,” Lina said, from her position at the front of their group—the order being Lina at center, Father a step behind and to her right; Padi to his left, looking over Lina’s shoulder.
“I am Lina Faaldom, Healer on Dutiful Passage, come with my clients to confer with the elders.”
The boy . . . said nothing. His eyes narrowed slightly, as if he were looking into a very bright light.
“I had sent a message ahead,” Lina said, and Padi had the impression that she had subtly done . . . something, which had the happy effect of bringing the doorkeeper’s attention back to her.
“Yes, Healer!” he said, suddenly brisk. “We have been looking for you, and for your clients. May the House know the identity of these two persons below you?”
That was not as rude as it sounded. Dil Nem and Karna were standing on the path at the bottom of the short stairs so as not to crowd the door, while at the same time bearing witness to all that was said and done.
“Those are our security team,” Lina said calmly.
The doorkeeper frowned somewhat.
“Those who do not seek Healing are not admitted to the House,” he said.
Which, Padi thought, was rude.
Father shifted slightly, drawing the boy’s eyes to him.
“At Solcintra Hall, where Healer Faaldom and I trained, kin, colleagues, and comrades of those come to seek Healing were allowed to wait in the inner garden, where they did not disturb the House.”
He paused. The boy inclined his head.
“Sir,” he said hastily. “I—of course, your oathsworn may enjoy the comfort of our garden. It is the House from which . . . the work . . . ”
“I understand entirely,” Father assured him gently, and added, “At Solcintra Hall, light refreshment is provided to those who wait. If that is not the custom here, perhaps you will advise us on the proper way to have a tray sent over from one of the restaurants nearby?”
The boy . . . blinked.
“Sir,” he said, after a moment. “I am at a loss. The seniors await, and we ought not tarry longer. If you will permit, I will call my second to show your oathsworn to the garden, while I guide you to my elders. Once that is done, I will find from the Hall manager what the custom is in the matter of guests in the garden, and I myself will see that everything proper is done.”
Father inclined his head, and produced a quarter-cantra, which he held out to the doorkeeper.
“If it should be that the Hall’s custom does not permit of light refreshment, please do send for a tray from the restaurant you favor most, of those just there.”
He used his chin to point down the street.
The boy hesitated a moment before he took the coin with a small bow.
“A moment, Gentles, if you please,” he murmured, and stepped back from the door. Padi heard him speak, very briefly—the name of his second, perhaps, for a shadow moved in the hallway, and a girl some years younger than the doorkeeper, also yellow-haired but wearing pale blue tunic and pants, came forward to bow.
Father stepped closer to Padi and the girl padded lightly past them, down the stairs to where Dil Nem and Karna waited. Padi turned her head slightly and saw the girl bow again, everything that was polite, from a younger to elders.
Her voice was soft and pretty, somehow seeming to match the light blue of her garments.
“I am Yissi, an apprentice in the House. I will be pleased to take you to the garden, Gentles. It is a very nice garden, quite the best on Millsapport. Everyone says so.”
It was not, Padi thought, a very high bar, but she hoped their security would be tolerably comfortable.
“Thank you, young Healer,” Dil Nem said in his punctilious way. “My comrade and I will be very pleased to enjoy the comforts of the garden.”
“Please,” she said, “follow me.”
She stepped ’round them, toward the side of the house, Karna following. Dil Nem paused a moment to look up the stairs, catching Father’s eye.
“Sir?” he murmured.
“As ever, Dil Nem,” Father murmured, and Padi saw the dour Third Mate smile slightly before he turned to follow the others.
“If the Healer and her clients will follow me, please,” the doorkeeper said. “The elders are waiting.”
II
They were guided down a short hall to a room that erred on the side of austerity. Shan would have preferred a more parlorlike setting, if only to soothe Padi’s sensibilities, but a glance at her face gave him to understand that she had expected an examination room, and found this austere little area worthy of an appreciative lift of eyebrows.
Shan sighed. Padi, he recalled, had never before been in a Healer Hall. She had not expected a consultation parlor holding comfortable chairs and small comforts, or anything other than a room set up to host the business negotiations of traders.
The Healers of Millsap had met those very modest expectations, and Shan supposed he ought to be grateful.
“Master Healer Ferin, Healer Osit, here is Healer Lina Faaldom of the Dutiful Passage, with her clients, Healer Shan yos’Galan, and Emergent Padi yos’Galan.”
Master Healer Ferin was female and grey-haired; her eyes were stern blue. Healer Osit was some years younger than Shan, male, and possessed of a pair of merry brown eyes. Both rose and bowed welcome. Shan bowed, and Lina did, and Padi. Healer Ferin dismissed their escort.
“Please, sit,” she said coolly, “and let us become acquainted with your situations.”
There was a small but important concession to the traditional comfort of the consultation parlor—a tea service sat in the center of the table. Healer Osit poured for them all—Healer Ferin’s cup first, his own, then Lina’s, Shan’s, and Padi’s. Apparently, the Healers of Millsapport did not honor those in need as guests of the House, but as petitioners for favor.
That, Shan thought, was interesting.
He accepted his cup with a small bow of the head. A moment later, Padi accepted hers with a murmured word of thanks.
Comfort dispensed, Healer Osit sat down. Healer Ferin raised her cup to sip, all doing the same. Teacups returned to the tabletop, and the elder Healer looked to Lina.
“We understand from your correspondence that you bring us two clients for assessment, with a request that we consult with you in their proper treatment.”
She moved a hand, indicating Shan and Padi without actually looking at them.
“Is there a reason, Healer, that you chose not to shield the Emergent?”
“There is,” Lina said composedly. “She resisted the arrival of her gift to the point of building a wall to separate herself from its fullness. I hesitate to subject her to another walling away until she is Sorted.”
“One doubts that there can be a Sorting,” Healer Ferin said. “She is altogether too chaotic. For the sake of those who are less overbearing, but more orderly of mind, she should be shielded.”
Shan felt Padi shift beside him, and dared a look at the side of her face, which was entirely without expression.
Oh, dear, he thought.
“If I am discommoding the Healers,” she said, stringently calm, “I will happily remove myself from the meeting, and wait with our oathsworn in the garden.”
“If that is the best you are able to do, in respect of your elders,” Healer Ferin began—and Healer Osit spoke quickly.
“If I might make the attempt, Master Healer? She is very bright and—disparate—but I believe I discern a line which may be worked upon. I will attempt to demonstrate a simple shield, which she may be able to reproduce. It will naturally fall to Healer Faaldom to instruct her in best practice.”
“Very well,” Healer Ferin said, sharply dismissive of both Padi and her colleague. “Take her down the hall. If I am to examine this wounded Healer with any amount of understanding, I must have my Sight clear.”
“Yes.” Healer Osit stood. “Emergent yos’Galan. Pray attend me. We may at the very least show you how to properly care for your colleagues.”
Padi looked to Lina.
Lina, who had access to all of her talent, and presumably had taken the full measure of these, their colleagues, nodded at Padi.
“We had discussed how bright you seem to me, when I look at you with my Eyes wide open. Healer Ferin must make a detailed examination of Healer yos’Galan, which will require her to be most fully open.”
“And I will distract her, if I remain,” Padi finished, low-voiced. “I understand. I in no way wish to impede the Healer’s examination.” She rose and inclined her head. “Master Osit, I am at your command.”
Shan let his breath out, and extended a hand to touch hers reassuringly, he hoped. She looked into his eyes and smiled slightly, then moved away from the table to follow the Healer from the room.
* * *
The door closed. Healer Ferin sighed.
“Now,” she said, “let us consider what we have here, Healer yos’Galan. I See that you have forensic shielding in place. That is very wise. However, in order to observe the damage you have taken, and form a diagnosis, I must be allowed inside your shields.
“Open to me, if you please.”
Ice ran Shan’s veins; his breath stopped in his chest, while his heart slammed into overdrive.
Open to me!
The sound of Tarona Rusk’s voice in Command mode, the lash of her will, slicing open his forearm.
“What have we here?” He heard the question at a distance, beyond the pounding of his heart. “Panic? Healer Faaldom, is this a usual response?”
“It is atypical.” Lina’s voice was clear, calm. “I believe it may be associated with his other wounds. There was an attempt at forceful entry, using physical torture as an incentive.”
“You have examined him since this episode?”
“I have, but we are long known to each other. You, on the other hand—”
“Yes, I see. Another stranger demanding entry—the horror surfaces once more.”
Shan’s breath broke free in a gasp that was nearly a sob. Instinctively, he reached for Healspace—and found that he was . . . not blocked. Not quite blocked. But met.
And held.
Warmth flowed between that soft connection; warmth, and an offer of assistance.
“I think you know, Healer,” the voice that was not Lina’s said, “that to attempt Healspace at this moment is likely not in your best interest. We have here myself, Ferin, a master in our craft. I have pledged my assistance to your colleague, whom you trust; so much I may See, though you hold your shields close. I also See that you are exhausted in spirit, which is in turn trying you physically. If you will open your shields, I may learn what you have endured, and how we might ease you.”
“Shan,” Lina said, from quite nearby. “I am here; I am watching. This our colleague is none such as she who harmed you.”
No, of course, she wasn’t. They had spoken about this at length, he and Priscilla, and Lina. The spike of terror had surprised him as much as it had surprised the others. Having such horror hidden even from himself—it would not do, if he intended to resume as a Healer, once his strength was returned. No. He had worked with past-trauma victims, who had no idea that panic still lived in their souls. Left unHealed, such lurking horror had the power to warp a soul, bend honor, break kindness . . .
He breathed in, carefully, accepting the warmth offered by Healer Ferin, using it to calm the last of the panic. He considered the labor of his lungs, the beat of his heart . . . and finding all within normal ranges, he formed the thought and deliberately opened his shields.
There was a long, long moment of profound silence. With his shields down, Shan could see the other Healer’s dismay, taste her shock.
“Healer yos’Galan,” said Healer Ferin at last, her voice rough. “You have endured much. Primary linkages were cut—cut much too close to the fabric of your soul! I see rebound lacerations, bruising, and . . . the scorch marks of another will . . . ”
She sat back, and Shan tasted her disgust.
“Healer yos’Galan, I must know: What did you do, to deserve this—this carnage?”
He took a hard breath, forcing himself to answer evenly.
“I Healed a dramliza of considerable power of the damage which had perverted her gift and made her the willing puppet of evil.”
“She fought your intervention.”
“She did, yes. As I had fought against her attempted rape.” He sighed, suddenly weary. “I tricked her. But I Healed her. And when I was done, I was spent unto death. In her turn, she Healed me, thus proving my treatment effective.”
Another silence, then Healer Ferin’s voice again, controlled and tasting of steel.
“That the severed links have reestablished themselves is well. The lacerations have been slower to heal, and the bruising is still livid—indicative, perhaps, of your general state of low energy. I may do something for you there, Healer, if you permit.”
She looked to Lina.
“Unless there is a reason that Healer Faaldom does not wish them Healed?”
“Truth told, Healer, I was not certain that I might not exacerbate the situation. Healer yos’Galan and I are entangled on many levels. This is why I wished the assessment of another Healer.”
“Prudent,” murmured Healer Ferin. “Of course, you would wish to be certain that you did no harm.”
“Do you,” Lina said, “feel that these may be addressed, without risk?”
Healer Ferin pursed her lips.
“I think,” she said slowly, “that they may be addressed with minimal risk. Healer yos’Galan is perhaps not as robust as you would like, but there is a strong possibility that these minor wounds are leaching energy needed for a full recovery.”
“Shan?” Lina said. “What would you?”
“I am willing to accept a Healing of those injuries which Healer Ferin mentions as obstacles to my return to full function.”
“Understand me,” Healer Ferin said, her disgust of him entirely obvious. “You still look to a long convalescence before your full Sight is returned.”
“I understand,” he assured her.
There was a small silence while the Healer collected herself, and managed to ask her next, necessary question.
“May I give you relief, Healer yos’Galan?” she said, coldly formal.
It would have been prudent to agree, but he shivered, the toothy beginnings of panic clawing at his throat . . .
“Softly,” murmured Lina, and he felt her hand on his, warm and pressing gently.
“I will not insist,” Healer Ferin said, her tone austere. “There are two Healers present, after all. Perhaps, Healer Faaldom, he will allow your touch.”
“Shan?” she murmured.
Gritting his teeth, he managed to step aside from the panic, and looked into Lina’s eyes.
“Of your goodness, old friend.”
There was a swirl, as of mist; the merest glimpse of Healspace. He breathed in, tasting cedar and vanilla, felt a brief bright pain—and the welcome chill of relief.
The room solidified around him, and Healer Ferin, too, her eyes hard.
“It is done,” said Lina.
“And done well,” Healer Ferin said, sounding neither pleased nor impressed.
“Healer yos’Galan, may I continue my inspection?”
He took a breath and met her hard gaze with what frankness he could muster.
“Of your goodness, Healer. Allow me to express my gratitude for your keen Sight and your patience.”
That failed to win her, though it did demonstrate that he had some passing acquaintance with proper behavior. She inclined her head and said coldly, “We continue.”
Shan relaxed, deliberately, and turned his eyes aside, looking over the Healer’s shoulders and focusing on the artwork framed on the wall behind her.
The painting was well-suited for his purpose, so well-suited that it must have been placed there precisely to distract those under examination. Yet the Healer had not directed his attention to it.
Possibly, she had been put off her stride; she had complained of being half-blinded by the rather extravagant display that was Padi. She might simply have for—
“Ah!”
An electric thrill focused his attention inward to a new scar, the area around it showing classic signs of emotional bruising.
“What is this?” demanded Healer Ferin. “A link forcefully removed?”
She was pressing on the bruise. He had no idea if she was doing it deliberately, to focus his attention, or if her own astonishment had again rendered her forgetful.
Shan took a breath, and brushed her will with his, moving her off of the bruised area.
“What!” she cried, and Shan met her eyes.
“You were hurting me,” he said coolly, even as Lina began to speak.
“The arrival of Emergent yos’Galan’s talent coincided with the event during which Healer yos’Galan was damaged. The first thing that met the Emergent’s full Sight was her father, depleted and bleeding energy. She instinctively reached out and created a conduit so that she might transfer some of her plentiful energies to him, for support and healing.”
Healer Ferin’s shock and outrage sizzled across abused nerves. Shan thrust her back and slammed his shields shut. Beside him, Lina gasped, and he felt a spike of guilt that he had hurt her.
Healer Ferin, however, seemed not to have felt the pain of his rejection, so exalted was her outrage.
“She only reached out and smashed a hole in the wall of someone’s psyche—without asking permission, I apprehend!—and forced herself onto a wounded person? Has no one taught this girl anything? She might have done irreparable damage! She might have killed this Healer—her own father! In such a diminished state, without protection—”
“I hardly needed protection from my own daughter,” Shan snapped. “She acted from the heart; there was no ill intent, nor—”
Someone screamed.
III
“Now, Emergent yos’Galan, one has seen quite clearly that you are the bearer of a large and, forgive me, unruly talent.
“Of course, we may none of us take credit for the nature or strength of our gifts. These things are as the gods, and genetics, will have them. We may, however, discipline ourselves, and show respect to our fellows. That is why the very first lesson taught an Emergent, no matter her strength or her station, is control.”
“I had controlled my gift,” Padi said, as one would who was merely imparting information. She was reasonably certain that she did not sound sullen. “That technique very nearly proved fatal.”
Actually, it had proved fatal, to two persons who had been trying to kill her, but that was surely a fact that Healer Osit did not need.
Indeed, it may have been well not to have spoken at all. Healer Osit positively frowned at her.
“If I have understood your attending Healer correctly, you had not controlled your gift so much as you had confined—even denied!—it. Our talents may not be denied, and they cannot be confined. They are, however, subject to discipline. Your gift is not your master; it is an additional aspect of yourself. As such, it is your responsibility to act with discipline, integrity, and respect with regard to your gift, as with all other aspects of your nature. Which brings us to the core of your problem, Emergent yos’Galan.”
Padi arranged her face into the expression of faint good humor which, as a trader, she had found suited her character and her talents far better than Father’s look of affable stupidity. She said nothing, merely leaned forward slightly, as if breathless to hear what Healer Osit had to say . . .
. . . which was not quite a sham. She did want to learn what this stranger thought the core of her problem was, with regard to her stupid so-called gift. While it seemed unlikely to her that this mediocre person was capable of insight beyond that available to Father, Lina, and Priscilla, it was true that she was new to his eyes. An irregularity familiar to, and passed over by, her intimates might be obvious to him.
She waited.
Healer Osit’s mouth pinched and he drew himself up, straight and stiff, directing a hard glance directly into her eyes.
“You, Emergent yos’Galan, are spoilt.”
She did not laugh. She was . . . reasonably certain that her face did not betray her.
Healer Osit, however, had access to other senses, and he was impolite enough to use them.
“You’re amused?” he asked icily.
“Healer, I am,” she answered politely. There was clearly no point in lying.
“And yet you have been much indulged. We will leave aside that you are a member of what was until very recently the Highest of the High Houses seated upon the homeworld. Not even the fall into clanless outcast has diminished your pride or your expectations that everything will go as you wish.”
“I am not,” Padi said, when the Healer paused to take a breath, “clanless. Only the delm may dissolve a clan, and Korval has not done so. We are—” She held up a hand, forestalling the Healer when he would speak again—
“We are banished from Liad, forbidden to trade or to settle any of our business or our blood there, but we remain Clan Korval.”
The Healer’s eyes were angry, and his face was somewhat pale. He took a moment, and a visible breath.
“We wander from our topic,” he said. “Which is that you have not learned to master yourself, or to regard the circumstances—or the persons—of those who are exposed to you.
“Even in this matter of the arrival of your gift, you have been indulged. You have not been taught the most rudimentary lessons, nor have you been schooled in the respect that is owed your elders. You will be found much more pleasing to those elders who are constrained by their own gifts and oaths to train you, when you have mastered shielding. Why this was not taught you immediately, I cannot venture to say. I suppose it is possible that you are inept. But, in the case, Healer Faaldom ought to have shielded you.
“Now, attend me. Open your Inner Eyes. Tell me what you See.”
Padi bit her lip.
Using her Inner Eyes made her dizzy, at best, and most of the time she didn’t know what she was looking at. Father—she had seen Father’s wounds clearly, and had known exactly what he had needed. But the patterns and other subtleties that Lina had several times asked her to view with her Inner Eyes might as well have been meaningless smears of spinning colors. She did not, however, explain this to Healer Osit, who, she felt certain, would merely have sneered at her for providing yet more proof that she was too spoilt to put her hand to hard work.
“Well?”
She closed her . . . well, her Outer Eyes, she supposed they were, and opened those Others.
“I see an expanse of hull plate,” she said, and her heart quailed in her chest, recalling the room in which she had imprisoned the tentative beginnings of her gift. A room that she had, in her naivete, thought imaginary, and which she now was beginning to understand had existed in some reality available only to the new senses that had been forced upon her.
“Very good. Observe it closely. This is what a shield looks like from the outside. I will now demonstrate what a shield feels like from the inside.”
The hull plate ran, widened, and curved. Padi started back, but it followed her; a panicked glance showed that it was sweeping around, about to seal her inside, and—
Padi pushed.
Shields wide open, Shan threw himself against the closed door. What he might have done, had it been locked—but it opened, and he was through, into and past a wall of bitter cold, the air tasting of hull plate. He paused, rapidly Sorting through terror, anger, dismay—
“Padi!”
“Father!”
She was there, she was safe. Dismayed and determined, but unharmed. He put a hand on her shoulder—
The screaming had not abated.
“Osit!” cried Healer Ferin, clearing the door belatedly. She stopped on the threshold, her hand clutching the front of her robe.
Shan followed her horrified stare, found the younger Healer, his eyes wide and not so merry as previously, back flat against the wall directly across from Padi, arms and legs wide, all of him seemingly pinned firmly to the wall.
He was, Shan calculated, about a meter off of the floor. Screaming. Well, and who could say that it was an overreaction, though he seemed in no imminent danger of falling.
“You are,” Shan said sternly, “upsetting my daughter.”
Healer Osit stopped screaming.
“Thank you. Padi, what has happened here?”
“Father, he was—it was a trap. He was going to, to enclose me, and I—” She swallowed and looked slightly shamefaced. “I pushed.”
“And held, or so it appears.”
“I don’t want him near me.”
“Perfectly understandable. I wonder, are you able to release the Healer, if he will grant your safety, and promises not to attempt to entrap you again?”
“I—” She hesitated, which was perhaps not as comforting to the Healer as one might wish, and whispered. “Yes. I—think so.”
“Very well, then. Healer Osit!”
“Sir?” the Healer answered faintly.
“My daughter desires your good word as a Healer that you will not attempt to imprison her, should she release you to the floor and your own will.”
“I give my word, Healers. I will attempt nothing.”
“Excellent. Healer Ferin?”
“Healer yos’Galan?” Her voice was ice cold. Shan felt the tremor of her fury in his bones.
“My party and I are leaving. Pray grant us safe passage to the garden so that we may gather up our security and be gone.”
“The House grants safe passage. The House, in fact, insists that you leave and never return.”
“I believe that we have an accord. Lina?”
“I am here, Shan, unthreatened and ready to leave as soon as our arrangements are fixed.”
“Excellent. Padi, please release Healer Osit from your displeasure. Do try to release him gently.”
She swallowed, and nodded, and he saw her hands, which were fisted at her sides, begin to relax. Across the room, Healer Osit slid slowly down the wall.
The fact that he did not land on his feet was due entirely to his own lack of coordination, in Shan’s estimation. That was understandable, as his nerves appeared to be entirely in disarray. He sat on the floor, tears running down his cheeks. His colleague went to him and knelt at his side.
“We go,” Shan said, and took Padi’s hand, pulling her with him toward the hallway.
Lina led the way to the front door, which was opened by a wide-eyed doorkeeper, and out into the front yard. Dil Nem and Karna were just rounding the corner of the building, and the five of them exited via the gate, Karna hurrying ahead to the curb, to wave down the approaching omnibus.