Read A Working of Stars Online
Authors: Debra Doyle,James D. Macdonald
A Working of Stars (15 page)
“He
could
have been good at it, if he’d wanted to be. But all he really wanted, from the time he could talk about it, was the Circles.” She stopped before her voice could get shaky, and forced herself back to the original subject. “In any case, I have a line of research ongoing which needs the assistance of a high-level Mage-Circle during its final stages. And as you’ve just said, all of Demaizen’s Mages were on that level.”
could
have been good at it, if he’d wanted to be. But all he really wanted, from the time he could talk about it, was the Circles.” She stopped before her voice could get shaky, and forced herself back to the original subject. “In any case, I have a line of research ongoing which needs the assistance of a high-level Mage-Circle during its final stages. And as you’ve just said, all of Demaizen’s Mages were on that level.”
Kief looked at her closely. “This is a distinctly irregular conversation we’re having, my lady. Which makes me wonder: How does Lord Natelth feel about your new line of research?”
“This is a private inquiry,” she said. “Na’e is all for moving the sus-Peledaen outward, making us independent of Eraasi—he thinks it’s the only way to keep the family safe, and he may be right about that. But this is still our homeworld, and if all the star-lords follow our lead there won’t be anybody left who’s strong enough to look after it. Not unless some new faction rises up that can take the star-lords’ place.”
“Politics,” he said. He made the word sound as if it tasted bad in his mouth, and she wondered what had happened to make him dislike it so. “You’re working against your own family.”
“I’m working for the benefit of Eraasi,” she said. “The sus-Peledaen are part of Eraasi, no matter what my brother thinks.”
“Ah.” Kief turned away from her and began pacing the length of the small room. “And you want me to work with you behind Lord Natelth’s back?”
“You aren’t even syn-Peledaen,” she said. “Nobody at Demaizen was tied to the family that way—even ’Rekhe had himself removed from the formal line—so if you weren’t working for the benefit of all Eraasi then, who were you working for?”
“For the benefit of the whole galaxy, if you believed Lord Garrod—which we did. He pulled all of us into his great working, the one that was supposed to end the sundering and heal the galaxy, and those of us it didn’t kill are still caught up in it.”
“I see. I’m sorry you feel that you can’t—”
“I didn’t say that.” Once again he fixed her with his clear, half-mad eyes. “As you say, I’m not family; and just because I’m First of a sus-Peledaen Circle doesn’t mean I agree with everything Lord Natelth says or does. I have to meditate on this. I’ll give you my answer by tomorrow evening.”
Elaeli’s bedroom at Rosselin Cottage was high-ceilinged and cool even in high summer, with tall windows along one side to catch the night breeze, and the other side open to the screened-in porch. When Arekhon came to the door that evening, Elaeli let him in and tapped the catchpad shut behind him. She wasn’t in the mood, he suspected, for interruptions. Her long fingers twisted the front of her lounging-dress, and the lightweight fabric slid off her shoulders and down past her hips. She stepped out of the puddle of cloth, fingers already working at the fastenings of her undergarments. By the time she reached the bed, she was naked.
“’Rekhe,” she said, and the sound of his name stroked across his skin like a caress.
He was shedding clothing himself by now, casting aside the sober white shirt and black tunic—not untidily, it wasn’t in his nature; but loose and unfolded. The boots took longer; he had to sit on the side of the bed to pull them off. Elaeli knelt in front of him to help, and the moonlight and shadows coming in from the screened porch made dappled patterns against her bare skin.
“Remember when we used to do this for each other?” she asked. They had been fleet-apprentices together aboard the sus-Peledaen guardship
Ribbon-of-Starlight
—and more than just shipmates to each other, even then. She had been ’Rekhe’s first, and he hers, and that was a bond that went deeper than any politics.
Ribbon-of-Starlight
—and more than just shipmates to each other, even then. She had been ’Rekhe’s first, and he hers, and that was a bond that went deeper than any politics.
“I don’t remember having this much room in those days,” he said.
“No.” She pulled off first one of his boots and then the other, her small breasts bobbing with each movement. Her nipples were erect; when he reached out and rubbed his thumb across the sensitive flesh, she shivered all over. “You’re overdressed, I think.” Her hands came up to unfasten the waistband of his trousers, and it was his turn to draw a sudden gasping breath. Her fingers were long and nimble, and completely without mercy. She worked his trousers down over his hips and onto the floor. “And we certainly didn’t have enough privacy on shipboard to do
this.”
this.”
She bent her head and took him in her mouth.
He clenched his fists in the bedsheets and tried to draw in enough air for speech. “Not without locking ourselves in a storeroom first. Ela—wait.”
She flicked her tongue against him, hard, then drew back enough to say, “What for? I like this.”
“You need me to—” he gasped again as her mouth covered him “—work the
eiran
. I need time. Not so soon.”
eiran
. I need time. Not so soon.”
She pulled away and sat back on her heels. In this room of shadows and moonlight, she seemed to be glowing, as though her bare body had been molded out of some luminescent material. “The
eiran.
Are they here? Can you see them?”
eiran.
Are they here? Can you see them?”
“They’re everywhere,” he said. “Always.”
He could see them even now, if he tried, thin lines and wisps of silver tracing across the skin of Elaeli’s breasts and flanks and belly like erotic verses in an unknown script. He traced out their shapes and patterns—lightly, lightly, more with thoughts than with hands—and the silver lines shone brighter under his touch, coiling into new designs while Elaeli shivered with pleasure.
He took her hands and lifted her up from her knees, rising to stand with her, embracing her, bare skin against bare skin. He felt the curves and coils of the
eiran
encircling them both, making him burn, making her press against him. The scent of her arousal was like perfume; his own readiness was sharp and salty by contrast.
eiran
encircling them both, making him burn, making her press against him. The scent of her arousal was like perfume; his own readiness was sharp and salty by contrast.
We are doing this. We are doing this now. Because she needs it; because I will it.
He turned with her, still holding her, still wrapped together in the silvery web of the
eiran,
and laid her down on the bed. He kissed her gently on the arches of her feet, and she moaned;
good,
he thought, and began working his way upward, past her knees—she moaned again—to her thighs and from there to the warm sweet confluence of her sex.
eiran,
and laid her down on the bed. He kissed her gently on the arches of her feet, and she moaned;
good,
he thought, and began working his way upward, past her knees—she moaned again—to her thighs and from there to the warm sweet confluence of her sex.
Whatever was denied,
he thought,
whatever was circumvented, whatever was put off with lies, it will be manifest.
he thought,
whatever was circumvented, whatever was put off with lies, it will be manifest.
He parted her legs and slid inside her. She wrapped her legs around him, keening in her throat and bucking her hips up to meet his repeated thrusts. All around them the air was glowing, full of changing silver patterns that shone with a light brighter even than the moon.
This, too, is part of the great working,
he thought;
this is the shape of our desire.
he thought;
this is the shape of our desire.
Then mind and flesh exploded together in an ecstasy of light, and as he spilled himself into her he heard her call out his name.
Kiefen Diasul lived alone in the caretaker’s apartment of the meeting hall where his primary Circle convened for its workings. The drab, worn-out rooms had neither the utilitarian comfort of his student lodgings at the Hanilat Institute, nor the faded elegance of Demaizen Old Hall, but they gave him a place to eat and sleep and take shelter from the weather. The apartment’s only luxury was one he had added himself: a small room, closed off from the rest of the space by heavy black curtains. The floor and walls were also black, with the exception of a white circle painted in the center of the floor.
He returned from his meeting with Natelth sus-Peledaen and his disturbing encounter with Natelth’s sister knowing that he would have to settle the questions in his mind before he slept. He cooked himself a quick supper of canned flatpeas and sausage heated up in a saucepan, and ate it standing at the counter in the apartment’s tiny kitchen. When he was done, he washed the few dishes in the sink and set them out to dry, then went to the meditation chamber.
There was a smoked-plastic hardmask hanging on a peg outside the curtained door. He took the mask and put it on. He’d discovered, over the years since leaving Demaizen, that wearing the mask helped him to see the
eiran
more clearly, cutting out some of the distractions in his visual field.
eiran
more clearly, cutting out some of the distractions in his visual field.
Mask in place, he stepped into the chamber and let the curtain fall closed behind him. Dim light from the single overhead fixture illuminated the white circle on the floor below. He knelt in the center of the white circle and inhaled deeply, then let the air out again in a long, controlled breath.
Either Isayana sus-Khalgath had an information-gathering apparatus that exceeded her brother’s, or she was capable of insight on a level that would have done pride to a Magelord. She had offered Kief, unerringly, the one thing on Eraasi besides the power of the Circles that he wanted for its own sake: a chance to thwart Natelth sus-Peledaen.
He told himself that he shouldn’t be surprised. She was Arekhon’s sister as well as Natelth’s, after all, and the gifts that had made ’Rekhe into one of the great Magelords would not have passed her by completely.
That doesn’t mean I should accept her offer.
He was already doing something new with the Circles in Hanilat—maybe the first new thing in living memory. When it was all accomplished, he would be in a position to deal with Natelth however he wished, without needing Isayana’s help at all.
That doesn’t mean I should refuse her offer, either.
He saw himself, then, balanced on the knife’s edge. Acceptance or refusal … he let himself visualize his goal, picturing Natelth discomfited, cast down from his unassailable position and justly requited for sending one member of a Circle to betray another. The intent rose up before him like a mountain against the dark grey of the Void, and he saw the lines of the
eiran
trailing and twisting around it. There was great disorder in them, as though they had not been tended properly for years and years; he would have taken the time to untangle them and arrange them properly if he hadn’t promised to give Isayana her answer.
eiran
trailing and twisting around it. There was great disorder in them, as though they had not been tended properly for years and years; he would have taken the time to untangle them and arrange them properly if he hadn’t promised to give Isayana her answer.
One of the silver threads would be his own, stretching out from the here and now into the indeterminate future. He searched among the threads until he found it, a thicker and brighter line of silver that glinted with flashes of colored light, and laid his hands on it. It was warm under his touch, like something alive. Still touching the thread with one hand, he began following it forward into the Void, toward the dark and formidable mountain of his intent.
It wasn’t a mountain after all, but something man-made, a looming ziggurat of black stone with a gaping entrance like a mouth at its base. The silver thread beneath his hand stretched out into the opening.
The answer is in there.
Steeling himself, he followed the thread downward into darkness. For a long time, there was nothing in the dark but the feel of the silver cord and its faint, luminous glow. At last, however, the light around him increased, and he saw that he was standing near the center of a vast, echoing room. He was waiting for someone, apparently; he had his mask on, and his staff hung loosely from his hand.
A figure appeared out of the darkness facing him.
“’Rekhe,” he said, although the newcomer both was and wasn’t Arekhon sus-Khalgath sus-Peledaen as Kief had known him before. His onetime Circle-mate had never been that old, and couldn’t possibly be that old even now. The man’s eyes were the same, though, and the unconscious arrogance of his posture—’Rekhe had always thought of himself as the least prideful of men, and Kief had always found his friend’s lack of self-knowledge amusing. “Arekhon.”
The other man inclined his head in greeting. “Kief.”
“It’s been a long time. I always suspected that you’d come back if I waited long enough.”
“Well, now I’m there.” The man who was and wasn’t Arekhon smiled a little. “Or you are here. All times and places are the same in the Void, so I don’t think it matters in the end.”
Kief said, “I followed the
eiran.
Garrod left his working unfinished, and the path of damage leads straight to this place, wherever it is.”
eiran.
Garrod left his working unfinished, and the path of damage leads straight to this place, wherever it is.”
“Or wherever it will be. We’re both caught in the working, and there’s no way out but to finish it.”
Kief looked around himself then, and saw that the single thread of silver that he’d followed into this place had become a dazzling, tangled network of glowing lines … a broken, half-completed pattern that he had seen in full only once before, when he and ’Rekhe fought in the Demaizen garden while Lord Natelth’s killers watched them from the shadows.
He knew it, though. This was the pattern of the great working. It didn’t matter that from day to day he saw it only in part; he didn’t need to see the pattern to feel it binding and constraining him.
He raised his staff. “Then guard yourself,” he said, and they took up the struggle again where they had left it.
The combat was brief but grueling. Arekhon, or his vision-shadow, had lost none of his strength and had only gained in cunning. Kief’s blows landed on air, or on the interposed wood of the other’s staff, while the shadow-Arekhon’s attacks came in with punishing force. Then ’Rekhe’s last blow came, and struck Kief down so hard it first drove him to his knees, then sent him sprawling.
Other books
Coffee Scoop by Kathleen Y'Barbo
The Scroll of the Dead by David Stuart Davies
Wanted (Addicted Trilogy Book 3) by S. Nelson
Sunny Sweet Is So Not Scary by Jennifer Ann Mann
The Tay Is Wet by Ben Ryan
The Pleasure Quartet by Vina Jackson
Bloody Crimes by James L. Swanson
Say Her Name by Francisco Goldman
Juliet by Anne Fortier