“Don’t believe the stereotype.” Lanaril was a little startled at herself for allowing such a presumptuous act. “Not all templars abhor the thought of joining without Sharing. What I wanted, you gave me. I hope I did the same for you.”
“That and more. I hope you’re still in a giving mood.”
She watched the woman who had stood naked before her a few ticks ago, who still had not raised her front, and wondered how far she would let that openness take her. Joining with a lover who kept up no blocks? It would be halfway to a Sharing, without any personal vulnerability.
“I will not drop my front,” she said.
“Right.” Fianna’s front snapped into place, though not before Lanaril caught the shard of her disappointment.
“But as for the giving mood,” she continued, hoping to smooth over this bump in their previously easy exchange, “I didn’t walk all this way just to watch you fight.”
Fianna’s smile was as open as her emotions had been a moment ago. “That was an added bonus for you, then.”
With a huff of laughter, Lanaril accepted the hand she held out. She could ask about Ekatya and the warrior culture later. For now, there were more urgent issues to be resolved.
Half a hantick before evenmeal, Lanaril dragged her tired legs up the steps to her cabin. She should have realized how much stamina would come with Fianna’s youth and athletic body. It was a good thing she had returned early enough to take a quick nap, or she might fall asleep in her chair during the family storytelling tonight.
The late afternoon sun slanted through the open side of her cabin, setting the floor tiles aglow and sending a beam of reflected light to the wooden table where she had left her reader card. She looked more closely, then groaned. The rolled edge of the card was glowing green, indicating at least one message. She had left strict instructions with Warnic to forget she even had a reader card with her, unless the Voloth invaded again. “And even then, I’ll learn of it from Lancer Tal,” she had told him. Whatever this was, it had better be critically important.
“If you haven’t personally seen Fahla in my study, I will have you filling oil racks for the next two moons,” she grumbled, pulling the reader card from its pouch and giving it a tap. It unrolled, stiffened into a sheet, and activated, showing a single message. She called it up and began reading.
Two ticks later she was sprinting across the clearing, all tiredness forgotten.
CHAPTER 19:
Brainstorm
“Are you certain there’s no mistake?” Micah asked.
“Quite,” Lanaril snapped. She lowered her head and held up a hand. “I’m sorry. I’m a little…defensive, I suppose. Of course disbelief will be everyone’s first reaction, but we cannot close our eyes to this. This is a miracle, not a mistake. As all of us here know, it’s rather difficult to misinterpret a molwyn tree catching fire.”
Tal tapped her finger against the glass of fruit juice she had been drinking before Lanaril burst into the main cabin. She had been fortunate not to drop it, given the drama of Lanaril’s entrance and her unprecedented lack of a front. She may not have known Lanaril for long, but it was certainly long enough to know that only the greatest shock could have knocked down her front. It was back up now, and for that Tal was grateful. It brought some much-needed normality to a decidedly abnormal situation.
“I understand, but we still have to verify,” she said. “Is there no chance that Warnic didn’t get a little too deep into the celebratory bottle before his fourth bonding ceremony of the day?”
Lanaril let out a huff of laughter. “Warnic? No chance at all. He believes spirits cloud the mind. I’ve never seen him drink, not even at the Feast of the Wandering King.” She dropped into the armchair next to Micah with none of her usual grace. “I know how it sounds, and I’ll be speaking to the tyrees myself, but I think we have to accept that we’ve just had our second miracle in four days. It’s—” She laughed again, a sound of incredulous joy, and looked at Tal with brilliant eyes. “We are living in a new age. Fahla is here. After a thousand cycles of silence, she is giving the divine gift again.”
“But I thought…” Jaros stopped as all of the adults looked at him.
“What, Jaros?” Salomen had moved up beside Tal’s chair. Grateful for her proximity, Tal reached out to tangle their fingers together.
Jaros stared at their joined hands, then at Salomen. “I thought you were the only ones.”
“We thought so, too.” With her free hand, Salomen tugged a chair next to Tal’s. “But I’m not sorry if Fahla wants to give her gift to others,” she added as she sat down. “We’ll just be the first ones rather than the only ones.”
“This hasn’t happened in a thousand cycles?” Ekatya asked. “Do you know why not?”
Lanaril shook her head. “It’s one of our greatest mysteries. Though a rather esoteric one. Most Alseans aren’t aware that divine tyrees ever existed.”
“I wasn’t,” Tal interjected. “Not until Lanaril told me.”
“I never even imagined it until Tal told me,” Micah said. Shikal and Nikin murmured their agreement. Chief Kameha, who had joined them for evenmeal, remained silent.
Lhyn leaned forward, intrigue showing in every line of her body as she focused on Lanaril. “How often did it happen before it stopped?”
“I don’t know. Based on my research, it was a regular if rare occurrence. Then at some point, the gift began to manifest less often, until it finally ceased altogether.”
“A thousand cycles without and then twice in four days… What are the odds of that?” Kameha wondered.
“They didn’t teach statistical analysis in my templar studies, Chief. Perhaps the same odds as having aliens drop out of our skies and crash a ship in Blacksun Basin?”
“You can’t calculate probability with a data set of two,” Lhyn said.
“No, but you can make some assumptions just for the fun of it.” Kameha waggled his eyebrows. “I’ve heard how you love to grind your numbers.”
“I’d be grinding these into a powder.” But Lhyn was already tugging a pad from the ever-present sleeve pocket in Gaian clothing, her enthusiasm belying her words. “And pulling those assumptions right out of my—” She stopped, glancing guiltily at Jaros. “Um. So, just to have something to work with, what percentage of tyrees do you think were divine in the old days? Half a percent? Point zero five percent?” She looked expectantly at Lanaril.
“The latter, if anything. Though that’s entirely conjectural.”
“Speedy.” Lhyn didn’t seem to notice that she used Jaros’s slang, but he grinned. “And I know your population has been relatively static, so that works out to…” Her fingers began dancing over the pad, while she muttered things like “independent events” and “that won’t work; maybe if I…” After a few moments, her fingers stopped and she tilted her head at the screen. “No matter how I shift around the numbers, I get ridiculous outcomes. I mean, this is all an exercise in statistical nonsense anyway, but these numbers are decimal points followed by a lot of zeroes and I don’t see how that would change even if we had a bigger data set—” She looked up when Ekatya put a hand on her arm.
“I think it’s safe to say that this is not a coincidence,” Ekatya said.
“That’s what I just said.” Lhyn frowned at her.
Micah choked back a laugh and disguised it as a cough. “I agree.”
“Of course it’s not a coincidence!” Lanaril looked at them as if they all had grown third eyes. “Do you think it was random chance that the first divine tyree bonds appeared after Fahla’s covenant was broken? Or that the first pair to bear this bond included the woman who broke that covenant and saved us as a result? This is a blessing. This is Fahla telling us that in making the hard choice and thinking for ourselves, rather than letting our entire culture die, we have proven ourselves worthy to bear her gift once more.”
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“Aldirk is going to lose sleep tonight,” Tal said. “When Salomen and I were the only ones, it made a perfect story. Now that the gift has been given elsewhere—and to mid empaths, no less—that story is altered beyond recognition.”
“Andira Shaldone Tal,” Micah said in a voice she hadn’t heard for many cycles. “You’re looking a miracle in the face and thinking of political optics?”
“If you don’t think miracles are political, you need to read more history.”
“I’m lost,” Lhyn said as Micah scowled. “Why are you surprised that mid empaths would have this kind of bond? Your original divine tyrees were a producer and a crafter.”
“Yes, but they were high empaths,” Lanaril told her.
Lhyn’s bafflement rattled against Tal’s senses, along with an odd shiver of alarm. “What? Then there’s a very large hole in my understanding of your castes.”
“In the ancient times,” Tal said, “before our written history, high empaths were in all castes. It was only later that they were shunted into the scholar and warrior castes.”
“Are you kidding me? I wrote a book on your culture and I didn’t know this tiny little fact with huge, enormous ramifications? I thought high empaths were always pushed into the scholar and warrior castes.”
“No, they were not.” Salomen’s voice cut through the heightened emotions in the room. “And I for one do not think it’s a coincidence that for her second divine tyree bond, Fahla chose two of the so-called lesser castes. Perhaps she is telling us to right an ancient wrong.”
“Speaking of politicizing a miracle,” Tal muttered. Salomen shot her a sharp glance, but Tal barely had time to notice before the fear exploded across her mind, a shuddering, despairing plunge that was only just being held back from full panic.
The source was Lhyn, who was staring at Ekatya. “I got it wrong,” she whispered. “I made a mistake.”
Ekatya was also emanating fear, though it was far more controlled and held an entirely different flavor. While Lhyn’s was deeply rooted and instinctual, Ekatya’s was focused on her tyree. Leaning forward, she grasped Lhyn’s hands and looked into her eyes. “You didn’t make a mistake. You just didn’t have the data. There’s a difference.”
“What difference? It’s foundational! Everything is built on this and I made a mistake!” She was tilting over the edge into panic, and Tal could not understand why.
“Lhyn, you’re still the expert. You’re better than anyone I know at putting together patterns. And not knowing something is not the same thing as making a mistake. It’s part of learning. That’s why you’re here, right? Because you want to keep learning.”
Lhyn nodded, but her breathing was growing rapid. The effort she was making to hold back the panic set Tal’s teeth on edge.
“You’re on Alsea, you’re safe,” Ekatya said urgently. “And I’m here with you. I’m here.” She let go with one hand and rested it over Lhyn’s heart. “I’m here.”
Lhyn held on to that hand with a death grip, pressing it tightly against her chest. She stared into Ekatya’s eyes, her breathing now labored.
“Just breathe with me, all right? Slow it down, breathe with me. You can feel my hand. It’s real, and so am I. Breathe with me.” Ekatya took exaggerated breaths, never breaking their eye contact.
“I’m trying…” Lhyn’s breaths were not as deep, and she was struggling for every one of them.
Tal felt sick as she watched, remembering the one time in her life when she had been swamped by a similar terror. It had overwhelmed her in an instant. That Lhyn was able to fight it this way spoke of both an indomitable will and far too much practice.
Lanaril was suddenly kneeling beside them. “Lhyn, it’s Lanaril. Can you hear me?”
Lhyn nodded without taking her eyes off Ekatya.
“Good. I can help you, if you’ll allow my touch. May I touch your arm?”
Another nod.
Lanaril rested her hand on Lhyn’s bare arm. The projection of calm floated into Tal’s senses a moment later.
“Ekatya is here with you,” Lanaril said softly. “So am I, so are your friends and family. You’re surrounded by people who can protect you. You can feel Ekatya’s touch; you can feel mine. These touches are real.”
Lhyn’s breathing was still too rapid, but the escalation had stopped. She had gained enough strength to fight it to a standstill.
“This fear is in a different room,” Lanaril said. “You’re looking at it from the outside. It is not anywhere near you. It cannot reach you.”
It was an incremental change, but Tal thought Lhyn’s breathing had grown easier.
“Look at that fear, Lhyn. You know it can’t hurt you now. It’s safe to look at it. Tell me what you see. Describe it to me.”
“It’s…” Lhyn licked her lips. “Silver. And big. Bigger than me. There are…lightning bolts.”
Ekatya did not move a muscle, but her pain at the phrase lightning bolts made Tal’s own chest hurt. She felt Salomen’s hand slip into her own, clutching it tightly.
“Those bolts cannot touch you.” Lanaril’s voice was soothing as she increased her projection of calm. “You’re in a doorway, looking at that fear inside the room, and there’s something else in the doorway as well. Something for you to use. How would you make that lightning go away?”
“I don’t…” Lhyn shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s too big.”
“An EM cage,” Ekatya said. “Lhyn, you’ve seen one on the Phoenix. Remember? You were asking about it. Put the lightning in an EM cage, and it’s completely contained.”
Though Lhyn did not lose eye contact with Ekatya, her head lifted as she straightened her spine. “An EM cage,” she whispered. “It’s here. I can see it. But I…can’t go in there.”
“Has she seen a grounded grip?” Kameha asked from across the room.
Ekatya gave a slight shake of her head. “You don’t have to go in. There’s something leaning against the doorway, next to the EM cage. A long pole with a handle on one end and a clamp on the other. You can push the EM cage in the room with it, then use it to clamp on to the lightning and put it in the cage.”
Tal was not familiar with the equipment being described, but she had never heard of any way to simply hold lightning. Attract it, conduct it, ground it, yes, but hold it?
Then again, she thought as she sensed Lhyn’s fear receding, perhaps practicality was not the point here.
“It’s in the cage,” Lhyn said breathlessly. “But it’s angry.”
Lanaril took over, boosting her projection yet again. “It’s angry because you’re taking control. It can only be big outside the cage, but you’ve contained it. It’s shrinking now, getting smaller and smaller while you watch. Smaller and smaller. Do you see it?”
The silence seemed too large for the room, until a pulse of triumph broke it apart. “Yes. It is.”
“Good. It’s still shrinking, because you put it in a cage and it can’t survive there. It’s so small now that it’s falling apart. It cannot maintain its shape. It’s breaking up into tiny pieces. Can you see it?”
Lhyn was breathing normally now, and though she still did not look away from Ekatya, her panic had receded with Lanaril’s words. “I see it.”
“Now those tiny pieces are shrinking, too, until they just…disappear. Like ground mist when the sun comes out.”
“This is amazing,” Lhyn whispered. The last vestiges of her fear were evaporating, yet she was not entirely in the room with them.
“Are they gone?” Lanaril asked.
Lhyn nodded.
“Do you remember what happens when a storm clears up? The air smells fresh and clean. You destroyed a storm, Lhyn. The air is wonderful. Take a deep breath of it.”
Lhyn’s chest expanded, Ekatya’s hand moving with it, and her eyes finally slid shut. She breathed ag
ain, letting her head fall back, and released a soft laugh. After several more breaths, she lifted her head and grinned at Ekatya. “Incredible.”
Ekatya’s relief showed in her dropped shoulders. “You’re here.”
“I’m here. Because you are. Thank you, tyrina.” Lhyn leaned in for a quick kiss, then turned to Lanaril. “And thank you. That was—I don’t even have words to describe how marvelous that was. It’s never been that easy before. I had control of it. I could just put it in the cage and get rid of it, and stars, the fresh air after! You were projecting, weren’t you?”
Lanaril nodded.
“You were in her mind?” Ekatya’s sudden suspicion made Tal wince.
Looking dismayed, Lanaril said, “It’s the approved method for—”
“It’s fine, Ekatya. She asked permission, and I gave it to her.”
“When did she do that?”
“When she asked if she could touch me.”
“And that’s the same thing as invading your mind?”
Tal thought it was time to intervene. “It’s not an invasion if it’s done with consent.” She did not budge when Ekatya glared at her. “And yes, when we ask permission to make a physical bridge, that usually means we’re requesting consent for a deeper empathic connection.”
“Good to know,” Ekatya said shortly, and Lanaril flinched.
Tal could only imagine what she was feeling in such close proximity; even over here the waves of suspicion and protective anger were raising the hair on the back of her neck.
“Ekatya, what—” Lhyn began, but Ekatya held up a hand and shook her head.
“Nothing, it’s nothing. It’s just…” She took a breath. “Different from how we usually deal with it.” Turning to Lanaril, she added, “Thank you. I appreciate anything you can do to help Lhyn.”
Lanaril nodded graciously and returned to her seat, showing no outward sign of distress despite the continuing power of Ekatya’s negative emotions toward her.