Core Values
by
Sharon Lee and Steve Miller
On-Grid
Haven City
“Yes, this will do,” said Evaluator dakPorder in her unpleasantly high voice. She snapped her fingers.
Obediently, Geritsi stopped walking, and stood, as meekly as she could manage, waiting for the Evaluator’s next order.
In truth, while her voice was unpleasant, it was not the most distressing thing about Evaluator dakPorder. There was, for instance, her tendency to treat Geritsi as if she were a grizur, trained to start dancing, and to stop, on a finger-snap.
There was also the fact that she was the third Evaluator Geritsi had seen in as many days, which meant that two prior evaluations had revealed certain . . . irregularities.
Not that anyone had told her what those irregularities were, Geritsi thought, with a spurt of irritation—and sneezed. The hallway stank of antiseptic, and reeked of sorrow, anger, and fear.
“Attend me, Student slentAlin,” snapped Evaluator dakPorder.
“Yes, Evaluator.”
“We will enter this room together. You will stand at my side, and no matter what you may see or sense, you will do nothing. Am I very clear, Student slentAlin?”
“I’m to stand at your side and do nothing,” Geritsi said calmly, suddenly very much missing Solly. What a comfort it would be to lean against the solid, endlessly comforting warmth of her equid. But, no. One was allowed no comforts, no friends, no aid during one’s Evaluation. One was found to be sound and one’s Talent orderly, or one – was not.
Geritsi swallowed, the word three echoing in her head.
“I wish to give you every opportunity to succeed, Student slentAlin,” said Evaulator dakPorder. “When I say do nothing, I am not only speaking of any physical act you might perform, but also any action at all touching upon your Talent. You are to merely stand with me, until I remove us from the room.” There was a pause, then the Evaluator spoke again, her voice somewhat softer.
“It might be wise to think of the white wall,” she said.
Geritsi blinked, but only said, “Yes, Evaluator.”
“Now,” said Evaluator dakPorder, her voice sharp again. “With me, please.”
#
The room on the other side of the door was a dismal place, not only because it had no windows, and no art or entertainment screens on the dull gray walls, or rug on the dull gray floor, but also because of the sadness that permeated the very air; almost a physical weight settling on Geritsi’s shoulders.
There was a single, straight-backed wooden chair in the room, in which a woman sat indifferently erect, her hands resting, palms up, on her thighs, and tears silently running her cheeks.
Her hair was very short, and she was wearing a robe that wasn’t quite gray, but a dispirited shade of green.
Evaluator dakPorder stopped three steps into the room, and merely stood, her hands folded before her, gazing at the woman in the chair. She said nothing, and in truth, the sad lady did not seem to notice them.
Geritsi, mindful of the Evaluator’s hint, brought the white wall before her Inner Eyes, as if a teacher were about to evaluate her progress.
Her attention on maintaining the wall, she could not have said how long they stood there before a tentative voice said, “Who are you? Are you Healers?”
“No,” said Evaluator dakPorder, sharply, and snatched Geritsi’s wrist in a grip that hurt enough to shatter her concentration on the white wall.
“We are leaving,” she said, and stepped back, out into the hallway, dragging Geritsi with her.
Geritsi took a breath—
“Be still!” snapped Evaluator dakPorder.
White walls suddenly surrounded her, stinging—Geritsi cried out in surprise and pain.
“Be silent!” Evaluator dakPorder snarled, and Geritsi tried to say—”But it burns!” —but the words went to ash in her mouth.
#
They hadn’t let her say goodbye to Solly. They hadn’t let her pack, or so much as grab a book.
There had been a tumultuous conversation between her aunt and her grandmother about whether the Healer might be called, with her grandmother insisting that it should be done, her aunt against, while her mother stood apart, face averted, weeping.
The discussion was cut short by Evaluator dakPorder, her dry, sharp voice slicing through the soft, damp exclamations of her kin.
“The Healer can do nothing in this instance. There is no discrete Talent that may be sequestered from the rest of the pattern. Rather, the Talent is dispersed—not so much a Talent as an . . . infection. It cannot be separated; it has poisoned the entirety of Student slentAlin’s pattern.” She turned to address Geritsi’s mother, quietly, if not gently. “Your daughter is Haosa, Luzant slentAlin. You know what must be done.”
#
It was Evaluator dakPorder who took Geritsi to the warehouse district, where the trucks were being loaded for the nightly delivery run to Peck’s Market at the edge of the Wilderness. Evaluator dakPorder spoke to the dock supervisor, while Geritsi, silent still inside what she now understood to be restraints set and held in place by the Evaluator’s will, stood by, and watched. She no longer burned, unless she pushed against the restraints, which she tried not to do, though everything and everyone looked—very pale, as if they had all been left out too long under a strong light. The worst was that she couldn’t See—and thinking about it made her twitch, which prompted the restraints to deliver a spark.
The dock supervisor inclined his head, and stepped aside to wave a hand and shout, “Hey! Vrom!”
Another man joined them, his lean face hard as his eyes flicked over Evaluator dakPorder and Geritsi, too.
“This is Vrom, our lead driver,” said the supervisor. “He’ll transport her.”
Vrom said nothing, only turned and waved for them to follow him to the first truck in line. He stopped, reached up, and opened a door behind the driver’s cabin.
“Get in,” Evaluator dakPorder snapped, and Geritsi climbed up onto the high step attached to the side of the truck; made an equally high step into a very thin space where she collapsed awkwardly onto a cold metal bench.
“Close it,” snapped the Evaluator, and the door snicked shut, leaving Geritsi in the dark.
Geritsi swallowed. She wouldn’t cry. She would not, because once she started, she feared she wouldn’t be able to stop.
She knew, of course, what happened to students who failed three Evaluations, and were declared unCivilized. Most of them were separated from their Talents, as her grandmother had wanted for her. But, then, most of them had Talents, only they couldn’t learn to use them correctly. Geritsi had a few small Talents, but no very large one, as most people did. At least, so it had always been thought.
Now, it appeared that she had an uncontrolled Talent. The Evaluator had found her for a Influencer, which was not, in Geritsi opinion, a very good thing to be. Worse than that, though, was the fact that her Talent appeared to exert itself—and that was very bad. Civilized people were in control of their Talents.
Those who could not control themselves were Wild Talents—Haosa—and they were forced to leave the city—to leave Civilization—and live in the Wilderness.
There had been a poem they had studied in school, Geritsi remembered, tucking her hands into her armpits to warm her fingers. “The Last Embrace,” had been its title. Most of the class had thought it romantic. Geritsi had thought it insipid, and been all out of sorts with the hero of the piece, who stood uselessly weeping in the arms of his love, until they were torn apart, never to embrace again.
Why hadn’t the stupid boy run? She’d asked herself.
Now, she knew why.
Where, exactly, would he have run to?
Running, in fact, would have been futile, or worse. It might be that there were punishments sterner than mere banishment.
Taking her own case, assuming she could have slipped away from Evaluator dakPorder—where would she have gone? Her kin were hers no longer; they had
signed a paper, stating that she was released into the custody of the Department of Gifts and Talents. Evaluator dakPorder had signed another paper, certifying Geritsi slentAlin as irredeemable and Haosa. Of all the things she had not been allowed to bring with her, she had copies of both of those papers folded carefully into her jacket pocket, along with the few coins Aunt Arolyn had slipped into it, when they shared their last embrace.
So, to run away—where? To Solly, at the stables where she was so very well known? Into the depths of the city, where she knew no one? It was difficult to see that as a better choice than being sent out from under the Grid, into the Wilderness, where she knew no one.
Geritsi swallowed against a sudden lump in her throat.
Solly. What would happen to her equid?
Surely – surely, her family would care for Solly, who was blameless, whatever his rider’s shortcomings. He would—Geritsi took a deep breath—very likely, Solly would be given into the care of her cousin. Lindy was too young for the responsibility, but she truly loved Solly, and Geritsi had taught her how to care for him, and shown her, a little, how to ride him. Surely, Rafis or Pent, at the stables, would help her; they loved Solly, too.
Geritsi sniffled, rubbing at a face wet with tears—and jumped when the door popped open, revealing the thin face of Vrom, the driver. Behind him, she could see the day, bright with color. Vrom’s face was revealed to be a rich brown, rather than beige, and his eyes dark brown.
Also, Geritsi Saw now, he was Deaf
He cast a glance around the tiny compartment, his annoyance melting into something that Felt like pity.
“Luzant Cheerful never left anything to see you through the ride, I’m guessing,” he said, his voice surprisingly deep.
Geritsi reached into her pocket, pulled out the coins Aunt Arolyn had given her, and held them toward him across her palm.
Pity spiked, and he reached to fold her fingers gently over the coins, and pushed the soft fist thus made back toward her chest.
“I don’t want your money, lovey. Just you wait a beat; I’ll get you fixed up all right.”
He retired, closing the door.
Geritsi put the coins back in her pocket, and sat, shivering, wondering what—
The door opened. Vrom put a bright orange blanket on her lap, a covered cup into the holder by her knee, and put a packet of cookies on top of the blanket.
Geritsi’s stomach rumbled, but she picked up the packet and held it out to him.
“I don’t want to leave you in need,” she said. “I’ll be fine, only sitting here, doing nothing.”
Vrom snorted. “Doing nothing but worrying yourself to flinders, wondering what’s coming next,” he said. “That’s hungry work, if you ask me.” He patted her knee.
“You’re not shorting me, lovey. I always keep etra up front, ’cause Luzant Cheerful and her like, they never leave anything—and don’t I know that, as long as I been driving this route?” He stepped back and gave her a smile that Felt genuine.
“Have your snack, and be easy. Take a nap. I’ll wake you when we get to Peck’s. Your friends’ll be waiting for you, and it’ll be all right. Like I said, I been on this route a long time. I’ve seen ’em get out of my truck, frightened for the future—as who wouldn’t be?—and, later, I see ’em at Peck’s, come to meet somebody new, and ease their way—laughing, strong, and nobody’s nonsense.” He reached aside and took hold of the door.
“Just you rest. I’ll wake you when we’re there.”
He closed the door, leaving Geritsi in darkness.
Off-Grid
Peck’s Market
She ate the cake hungrily, and gulped the hot, sweet tea. Calmer, she wrapped the blanket around her as best as she could, squirmed on the hard seat until she found a position that was . . . a little less uncomfortable, and closed her eyes.
Honestly, she hadn’t thought it possible that she would sleep, but the next thing she knew, the door clicked open, admitting a cool breeze and a pale flickering light, by which she could see Vrom, smiling, and holding out a hand.
“We’re arrived, and your friends are here, waiting to take you home. Just you grab hold of my hand, and I’ll help you down. The ground’s a little rough.”
Geritsi folded the blanket and put it on the bench before she took the offered hand and slid out of the tiny compartment.
The ground was uneven, and her legs were stiff, making her glad of Vrom’s support.
“Here she is, all right and tight,” he said as she found her feet, apparently speaking to the two shadows standing just beyond the pool of light cast by the truck’s side panel. “I fed her a bite, but I’m thinking she could use some more.”
He tugged gently on her hand, pulling her toward the shadows, even as one leapt forward into the bright rectangle—a girl not much older than herself, dressed in a thick sweater, rugged pants, and boots. Her eyes gleamed in a gamine face; her smile was broad and pleased.
“Good morning, Cousin!” she called, holding out both hands. “I’m Arbour poginGeist, from Ribbon Dance Village.”
Geritsi took the offered hands, barely registering that Vrom had stepped back.
“I’m Geritsi,” she said, hesitantly. Then, more firmly, “Geritsi slentAlin. Did—
Evaluator dakPorder call ahead?”
She heard a snort behind her, and Arbour outright laughed, throwing a glance over her shoulder.
“Tekelia, did the Evaluator call ahead?”
The second shadow stepped into the light, resolving into a person dressed like Arbour in sweater, tough pants, and boots—but there the similarity ended. Tekelia was tall and wiry, with rough dark hair pulled back from a brown, wary face, and caught into an indifferent tail. Both hands were stuffed into pockets and—possibly it was an effect of the truck’s unsteady light, but it seemed that one eye was light, and the other dark.
“No Evaluator called that I’m aware of,” Tekelia said in a low, rich voice. “Though the ambient was very pleased to let us know that a cousin was on her way.” Tekelia turned slightly, “Hello, Vrom.”
“Tekelia—you get taller and tougher every time I put eyes on you.”
Tekelia laughed. “In fact, I’m a weed!”
“Worse things to be,” Vrom said easily. “Weeds know how to thrive, so my wife tells me.” He turned to Geritsi. “You’ll be all right from here, lovey. Your cousins’ll teach you how to go on, and just a bit down the road, you’ll be meeting my truck to see a new ‘un home and settled.”
“Maybe I will,” Geritsi said, doubting it. She forced a smile. “Thank you, Vrom.”
“Nothing to thank me for, just common care,” Vrom said.
A radio crackled somewhere nearby; he turned his head slightly, and sighed. “I’m wanted at the dock,” he said. “Good meeting, all.”
He stepped out of the light, heading for the front of the truck, shouting, “Coming, coming! What’s to do?”
“We left our packs at the market,” Arbour said. “Just down this path here.” She began to walk, and as she still held Geritsi’s hand, Geritsi began to walk, too. Tekelia came behind, boots crunching.
“We’ll get something to eat, and see you into some warmer clothes,” Arbour was saying, as they skirted the trucks and the loading dock. “Then we can plan how to—”
Something glittered at the edge of Geritsi’s vision. She followed the glitter upward, where the sky was paling with dawn.
She stopped.
Above, ribbons of light flashed and danced, as if in a contest with the rising sun for dominion of the sky. Geritsi caught her breath, staring upward, captured by the wonder of the dance. She was aware of Arbour, beside her, and Tekelia, just behind, and a faint sense of amused fondness.
“They’re . . . beautiful,” she said when at last she could find her voice. Eyes on the display above, she didn’t see the glance that passed between her escorts.
“Yes,” Arbour said, tugging lightly on her hand. “They are very beautiful. You’ll be able to see them every night, and sometimes during the day. But right now, Cousin Geritsi, you need to eat something.”
“All right,” Geritsi said, reluctantly lowering her face, and walking beside Arbour. “Only tell me—what are they?”
“Those are the Ribbons,” said Tekelia.
“Why haven’t I seen them before?”
“Well, the Grid,” Tekelia sounded apologetic. “It hides them,”
“But—why?”
“That,” Arbour said firmly, “is for later. Now—”
“Yes,” Tekelia said. “We all of us need to eat.”
#
The door Arbour led them to opened into a kitchen. Tekelia melted away into the work area, dodging busy workers, while Arbour tugged Geritsi in the opposite direction, through another door, down a short hallway, and up a flight of stairs.
At the end of the upper hall was another door, opening into a large room. A table and chairs sat on rag rug at the center; there was a large window to the left, and three doors, apparently leading to still other rooms.
“This is the village’s apartment,” Arbour said. “It’s shielded, a little, so we can get to know each other without the ambient distracting us. Tekelia’s bespeaking food from the kitchen. We didn’t know that you were coming until quite late, and we knew we’d have to bring clothes—”
She crossed the room and opened a door. “In here, if you will, Cousin Geritsi. I hope we got the sizes right. At worst, they’ll be too big, but you’ll be warm. Isn’t it winter in the city?”
Geritsi took a breath against all this wordiness, and looked down at herself.
“Well,” she said slowly. “I was going for my third Evaluation. My grandmother made sure I was dressed respectfully. I left my coat in the Evaluator’s office, and after—” To her horror, tears spilled over and she gasped, bowing her head.
“Oh, dear,” Arbour said, and Geritsi felt strong arms go ’round her waist, pulling her tight. “I’m flutterbrained and no mistake,” Arbour murmured into Geritsi’s ear. “Here, come in and let’s get you dressed in something less respectful and more appropriate to conditions. Tekelia will bring the food soon. You’ll feel much better after you’ve eaten.”
#
The clothes were a remarkably good fit, including a sweater in her favorite shade of blue. The boots were a little large, but thick socks solved that minor problem.
Geritsi finger-combed her wispy short hair, and stepped out into the main room, to find that Tekelia had returned, and the center of the table was taken up by a covered tray, and a pair of hot-bottles.
Tekelia and Arbour were at the window, overlooking a day that was now considerably brighter.
Geritsi hesitated, not wishing to disturb them, but at that moment, Tekelia turned with a smile that transformed their face from wary to warm, and waved at the table.
“There you are! Please, Cousin, sit and share food with us. Because I don’t hide from you that I am starving.”
“As I am, and you ought to be,” Arbour said, stepping to the table and pulling out a chair. Geritsi took the one across, and Tekelia sat at Arbour’s right, first moving the chair slightly further away.
Arbour uncovered the tray. Tekelia poured from a hot-bottle into three cups, but did not hand them around.
Arbour took a cup and a sandwich. Geritsi followed her cue, taking a cup, and the sandwich that was closest to her.
#
A very little while later, Geritsi stared at the empty tray in some consternation. How had they three accounted for so much food, so quickly? Her companions—her cousins—were sitting back in their chairs, fairly radiating contentment.
“So, the clothes did fit,” Arbour said, with a certain amount of satisfaction. “The ambient isn’t always exact about such things.”
“The . . . ambient did a fine job,” Geritsi said, and asked, “Did the ambient also tell you what my favorite color was?”
“There may have been a whisper in my ear,” Tekelia said, lightly. “I had my hand on a yellow sweater, when I suddenly thought that blue was better.”
“Thank you,” Geritsi said, sincerely.
Tekelia lifted a shoulder. “It was no trouble, Cousin. I’m glad it pleases you.”
Arbour leaned forward to take one of the remaining cookies. Geritsi felt her face heat, recalling how much food she had herself eaten.
She did know that effort had to be balanced with fuel. No one, after all, wanted an incident. Cake or cookies were the most usual food on offer, providing as they did a fast recovery from effort. The tray Tekelia had brought up from the kitchen had included sweet and savory—fast burning and slow—in equal amounts, and the hot-bottles had been filled with a strong brew of morning wake-up.
She had no idea of the exertions Arbour and Tekelia had made to arrive at Peck’s Market to meet her, but all she had done was sit, and eventually, sleep.
“The Grid shields people from some of the effects of the ambient,” Arbour said, as if her private wonderings had been part of an ongoing conversation.
“Effort needs to be balanced with fuel, but at a reduced rate.” Tekelia waved a hand toward the ceiling, perhaps at the sky beyond. “Here, as you saw, there is no shield. We are, truly and in fact, off-Grid.”
Geritsi frowned. “Does effort cost more, off-Grid?”
Tekelia smiled.
“Effort must be balanced at the going rate. But what you need to remember, Cousin Geritsi, is that, off-Grid, the ambient acts on us always. Sitting and reading, talking with friends—even sleeping.”
“The Haosa,” Arbour said in a nasal voice that was, perhaps, supposed to ape the city accent, “are always eating.”
“That’s not untrue,” Tekelia said, to Geritsi’s Sight amused.
“Yes, but there’s a reason,” Arbour retorted. “It’s not only that we like food.”
“Though that does weigh,” Tekelia murmured.
“Well—”
Tekelia laughed, and turned to Geritsi. “All that aside—remember, Cousin Geritsi—that what’s prudent under-Grid is likely too little, out here in the Wild.”
“Also,” said Arbour, “the ambient interacts directly with our Gifts, so don’t be surprised if you seem—stronger, more capable, than you’ve been under-Grid.” She paused as if hearing Geritsi’s mental gasp, and said, “We’ll teach you, Cousin, never fear.”
“But I do fear,” Geritsi said, more sharply than she had intended. “Evaluator dakPorder certifies me an Influencer—an out of control Influencer—and, to be honest, I would rather have been separated from such a Gift, for it seems very dangerous.”
“And so it would be, if it were possible,” Tekelia said, matching her for sharpness, so that she turned to look into a fierce face now dominated by one blue eye and one amber.
“Tekelia means to say that Influence is not a Haosa Gift,” Arbour said, pushing the plate with the last few cookies on it toward Geritsi. “And, really, Cousin, I don’t See it in you.”
Frowning, Geritsi pulled the papers from the commodious pocket of her new pants, and thrust them at Tekelia, who pulled back somewhat and said, softly, “Only put them on the table, Cousin.”
She did as she was asked, Tekelia’s withdrawal not being lost on her.
So, this infection, she thought; it’s so bad that Tekelia won’t risk touching me.
“That,” Arbour said, in a slightly dreamy voice as she picked up one of the papers and unfolded it, “is not the reason, Geritsi. Do have a cookie.”
“It says here,” said Tekelia, frowning at the paper held open between long brown fingers, “that your kin refused remediation on your behalf. Why was that?”
“Because the Evaluator said that, not only am I an out-of-control Influencer, but that this—error has spread throughout my pattern. An infection, she said, that can’t be isolated and sealed away.”
“Then it isn’t Influence,” Arbour said, and met Geritsi’s eyes. “Influence is dense; isolated by nature, and very easy to seal away from the rest of your Gifts and your pattern.”
“Are you a Healer?” Geritsi asked.
Arbour lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “Not as it’s recognized under the Grid. I couldn’t work with the protocols. My strongest Gift is telepathy, but, again, I couldn’t build the proper tools.”
She put the paper she’d been reading on the table, and picked up the paper Tekelia had put down.
Tekelia scanned the paper Arbour had put down. “Your kin gave you into the custody of the Department of Gifts and Talents, who certified you irredeemable, and sent you to us.” Tekelia dropped the paper to the table.
“Nothing that we haven’t seen before,” Arbour agreed, “bearing our names or others.”
Geritsi leaned forward and caught Arbour’s eyes.
“What do you See in me?” she asked urgently. “If I’m infected—”
“No,” Tekelia interrupted. “You’re not infected, Cousin. It’s only that your Gift is rooted in your core; inseparable from who you are. Which is extremely Haosa of you. My own Gift is very like.”
“What is your Gift?” Geritsi asked, then took a sharp breath, in case she had been rude.
Tekelia, however, merely smiled. “I’m what’s called a Child of Chaos, of which more, later. I’m also a teleporter, and what Civilization might have allowed to be a ‘strong multi-Talent,’ if they hadn’t been so busy being disappointed in my lack of tool-building skills.”
“Teleporter being the aspect of yourself that we need to discuss now,” Arbour said briskly. She folded the letters along their creases and handed them back to Geritsi.
“I told you that we’d received word of your arrival late. Tekelia ‘ported us, so we’d be sure to be in time for the trucks. Normally, we would have a wagon, but our choice today is teleport or walk.”
Geritsi looked to Tekelia, whose eyes were now green and brown. “Can you take three of us?”
“If we leave the pack,” Tekelia said, and glanced at Arbour. “That won’t be a problem, will it, Cousin?”
“No problem,” she said. “We’ll just hang things away so it’s tidy for whoever comes next.” She paused, frowning. “Actually, we ought to keep the closet here stocked, in case someone arrives in need. I’ll mention it to Iver.”
“How far,” Geritsi asked, “is the walk?”
“It’s a good stretch of the legs,” Arbour said, and Tekelia laughed.
“Two hours, if we don’t plan to run.”
“It’s mild enough this morning,” Arbour said. “We can ask the kitchen for walking food. There are packs in the back closet here. If we each take our own—”
“That sound agreeable to me,” Tekelia said. “In fairness, though, the decision falls to Cousin Geritsi.”
But Geritsi had already been thinking, especially in terms of a sudden transition into an even stranger situation, as opposed to a slower approach, that might help settle her mind.
“I’d like to walk,” she said.
“Fair enough,” Tekelia said, rising and picking up the tray. “I’ll take this down to the kitchen and ask for walking food.” Mist swirled around Tekelia’s lanky form, obscuring it for a moment—and dissipating.
Tekelia was gone.
Geritsi breathed out, hard. Arbour laughed.
“Never seen a ‘port before?”
“No, never.”
“It is something to see,” Arbour said. “As for going with—it feels almost exactly like it looks—fog, a blink, and there you are, wherever you were going.” She pushed her chair back.
“You hang the extra clothes away. I’ll get the backpacks.”
#
Geritsi had tried to pay her share of the cost of the meal, but Arbour, like Vrom before her, only told her to keep her money.
“Ribbon Dance Village has an account with Peck’s Market, not only for the room, but for cousins who chance by and need something to eat. You’re covered, Cousin Geritsi.”
They settled their packs, and left through the market, waving at staff on the counter, who cheerfully called out that they should come back soon.
Once outside, they walked uphill, past an open-sided pavilion with a few tables beneath it. At the edge of the trees, Geritsi stopped, and looked around.
“Is there a problem, Cousin?” Arbour asked.
“I don’t think so?” Geritsi said slowly. “Only, I feel as if I’m hearing someone—singing.”
“That’s the ambient,” Tekelia said. “Is it very loud?”
“No, quite soft, and not—unpleasant. Only, I wondered what it was.”
“The ambient’s trying to make friends,” Arbour said. “If it gets too loud for your comfort, let us know, all right?”
“All right,” Geritsi said, and followed Arbour into the trees.
#
The path was broad enough that they could have all three walked abreast, except Tekelia hung back, letting Arbour and Geritsi take the lead.
“You could—teleport ahead, couldn’t you?” Geritsi asked over her shoulder, only realizing after she’d asked that it could be heard as a wish for Tekelia to go away.
“I could,” Tekelia answered, sounding amused, rather than irritated, or hurt, “but where would be the fun in that?”
“Because Haosa,” Arbour said, again in that nasal voice so unlike her own, “are always playing.”
“Which is not true,” Tekelia said promptly. “We do sleep, and of course there’s all that eating to fit in . . . “
Arbour gave a shout of laughter. “Very true! Put that way, it’s a wonder we’re able to accomplish any frivolity in the course of a day.”
“So, it’s a good thing that we dance all night?” Tekelia asked.
“Indeed it is. Do you dance, Cousin Geritsi?”
“I—don’t often get the chance,” Geritsi said, a little breathless with all these high spirits. She suspected that her new cousins were trying to put her at ease by making light of her situation—whatever, she thought suddenly, her situation was. How was she to get on, with the few coins in her pocket? She took a deep breath. Surely, there would be work in the village. She was used to working.
“No chance to dance?” Tekelia asked from behind her. “What keeps you so busy?”
“Well—school. After, I work in my family’s flowerhouse—we grow heirlooms—vegetables and flowers. The rest of my time, I spend with Solly—”
And here were the tears again. Geritsi took a deep breath, trying to cram them back into her chest, and only succeeded in producing a soggy hiccup.
“Who’s Solly?” Arbour asked, rocking sideways between one step and the next, deliberately bumping her shoulder against Geritsi’s. “A friend?”
“My best and truest friend,” Geritsi said, giving up and just letting the tears come. “Solith the Fleet of Sekura.” She took a deep breath. “I did stable work there in my free time, to be near the equids. His owner was going to have him put down; she said he was ungovernable, but—well, he was no such thing. He was one of my usual assignments, when I was working, and he was never anything but gentle and attentive. He did need a light touch, and a soft voice, but—ungovernable? No. I showed her—his owner—I saddled him and rode him, put him through his paces, and over obstacles, and he never once balked or tried to throw me. When I brought him back to her, she was sad. I think she understood that she had not been kind to him. She told me to keep him, and walked away.”
Geritsi smiled. “Of course, I couldn’t afford his stabling, but Rafis—the owner, you know—said she would let my work at the stable pay the fees, and so, so Solly was my equid.” She took a breath, remembering.
“They wouldn’t let me say good-bye. I hope Rafis, or Pent, or my cousin Lindy will tell him what happened, so he doesn’t think I’ve abandoned him.”
“Did no one else ride him, after he became yours?” Tekelia asked after they had walked a little way in silence.
“Well, no. He was my equid, that was well-known. I would take Lindy up in front of me sometimes, and we would ride. She loved him as much as I did. I hope—I hope Rafis will let her take care of him.”
She paused. “Is there a public comm at Ribbon Dance Village?” she asked diffidently. “Maybe I could call and—ask.”
“There are comms,” Arbour said. “And you may call anyone you wish to call.”
“Only,” Tekelia added softly, “don’t be very surprised, Cousin Geritsi, if no one will talk to you.”
Off-Grid
Ribbon Dance Village
“Influencer.” Village Administrator milHorn put the papers down on the table, and said again, with emphasis, as if that might make the meaning clearer to him, “Influencer.“
Geritsi took a careful breath, and said, “An out-of-control Influencer, sir. Which you must admit is very bad.”
He sent her a look from beneath heavy brows. “Told you it was bad, did she? Your Gift?”
“Not—as such,” Geritsi admitted. “She did say that it had infected my entire pattern.”
“Did she now?” Administrator milHorn closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled.
“Honestly, it’s like the Grid makes it hard for them to think,” he muttered, possibly to himself. He opened his eyes and held Geritsi’s gaze. “You listen to me, Geritsi slentAlin, and you believe me. Of itself, no Gift is bad—and I include Child of Chaos in that statement. What you do with your Gift—that can be judged—good, bad, had-to-happen, but your Gift is only a fact, one piece among all the pieces that solve the puzzle of you.”
Geritsi looked at him doubtfully, and he sighed. “Put it this way—left-handed or right-handed?”
“I—left-handed.”
“Right, then. Suppose you swung out and smacked me a sharp one right on the nose—is it your left arm that’s bad, or your temper?”
“I’d say my judgment,” Geritsi said, and blinked when he laughed and sat back in his chair.
“There you are! You know it’s nonsense; I know it’s nonsense, and no one here is going to be judging you good or bad, treasure or trash, based on your Gifts, whether you’re right-handed or left-handed, the color of your eyes, or any other single item that, all connected, makes the whole of you. Your cousins can help you understand your Gifts; they can teach you how best to work with the ambient; and how to bake bread, should you want to know that. We’re not like the city, where there’s so many that care’s a commodity—and a rare one, at that. Here, we’re few, and we take care of each other. Which brings us around to your living arrangements.
“The village likes to place newcomers into a working household first, so there’ll be somebody on hand in case there’s a problem, which we don’t expect, but it’s not uncommon for those who are newly arrived to become confused, or misunderstand conditions, or misjudge the expanded scope of their Gifts. It’s not required that you attach yourself to an existing household. If you’d rather go right into your own place, we can call an Open House and get you under roof this evening.”
Geritsi bit her lip. Administrator milHorn raised his eyebrows, and waited.
“I—the case is that I have no money. I can’t pay—”
“Grid-locked thinking,” he interrupted.
“Pardon?”
“Did I just tell you that care isn’t a commodity, here? We’re a community. Cousin, we say, and cousin we mean. We pool resources, share the work, and the benefits of the work. We take care of each other. One of the ways we take care of each other is potlucks—community meals. Not just because we like to eat and dance, but so we can see each other; make sure no one of us is ill or in danger. No one wants an incident. Also, you might’ve heard it said, under-Grid, that those of us who live out from under have no control over our Gifts. That’s—let’s say misinformed. We have a special and precious relationship with the ambient, and one of the benefits of that relationship is that we are in control of our Gifts. We talked about that, remember?”
“My Gift is only one piece of the puzzle that is me,” Geritsi said after a moment.
He gave her a grin. “You were listening. Good. Now, here’s my recommendation—notice this: I recommend, you decide.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I recommend that I introduce you to Pelen and Veet. You three will talk and decide if you want to share household. If you do, the details are yours to work out. If it doesn’t seem a good fit, then you and me will sit down together again.”
“Or,” Geritsi said, to be clear, “I can move into my own house, tonight.”
“That’s right. If you want to pursue that option, I’ll show you the available cottages, so you can make a choice.”
Geritsi closed her eyes. Inside her head, colorful ribbons danced, and she heard someone—perhaps several someones—singing. The ambient, Arbour had said, was trying to make friends.
It came to her that she might need help understanding that relationship.
She opened her eyes, finding Administrator milHorn watching her calmly, his big hands folded on the table.
“I would like to meet Pelen and Veet, if you please,” she said.
#
Pelen and Veet were elders, rich in experience. They brought Geritsi into the kitchen, and fed her cookies with tea. They did not ask how she had come to be exiled from the city, reft from her family and penniless. Instead, they wondered who had met her at the market, and, upon being told it had been Arbour and Tekelia, were pleased that she’d had so able a pair to guide her home. That was what they said—home—and Geritsi was warmed to hear it. Pelen told her that Arbour was ‘prenticed to Iver—that was Administrator milHorn. Young Tekelia was the equal of anything, was Veet’s opinion—and Pelen shot her a sharp look.
“They told you about Tekelia, didn’t they? Child of Chaos.”
“They did say that,” Geritsi admitted, “but I don’t know what it means.”
“It means the ambient loves Tekelia like its own child, which brings its own rewards, and a specific danger, Chaos being Chaos.”
Geritsi frowned. True, Tekelia had been—wary. But, dangerous?
“I still don’t understand,” she said, and Veet laughed.
“‘course you don’t, ’cause we haven’t said! Child of Chaos means that the ambient runs in Tekelia’s blood, and Tekelia’s Gifts are strong. You’ll have noticed the eyes?”
“They’re . . . different colors,” Geritsi said slowly, “and not always the same colors.”
“Right you are! That’s one sign of Chaos’ love. The other is that Tekelia can unmake you—or me, or my lazy old cat over yonder—with the touch of a finger.”
Geritsi put her teacup down on the table.
“Is such a Gift possible?” she asked, thinking, how cruel.
“No, no—Tekelia’s Gifts are many,” Veet said, “but the link with the ambient, that’s what makes Tekelia’s touch a danger.”
“We had another Child of Chaos in the village—Ezen orkinDolli—and he was much the same,” Pelen said.
“What happened to him?” Geritsi asked.
“After Tekelia had learned everything he could teach, Ezen took off to Visalee, for to live Wild.”
Geritsi blinked. Pelen laughed, and leaned over to pat her hand.
“We’ve got a screen you can use, if you decide to stay. The village has subscriptions to all the news services and the library net. We take a couple specialty feeds. Veet and me—we’re researchers, you know.”
“No,” said Geritsi, “I didn’t know. Is this a library, then?” She looked around the cozy kitchen.
Veet laughed. “Ribbons love you!” she said. “I remember going to Haven Central Library before I failed my evals. If it had been up to me, I’d have lived there the rest of my life. But, no—it’s a love of knowledge with us.”
“And we’re useful, too,” Pelen said forcefully. “We help Iver with needed research, take queries from anybody who has one . . .”
“And we collaborate with the librarian at Pacazahno school,” Veet said. “Not to say our own.”
Geritsi supposed that she blinked again, because Pelen looked to Veet. “Girl needs a screen and some time to use it.”
“Not a problem,” Veet said, “only we have to know is she staying.”
“Yes,” Geritsi said, looking at them and feeling a warmth in her chest, and hearing the ambient’s song, briefly louder, as if in approval of her choice. “I’d like to stay. Only, I’m used to working.”
They both laughed. “No worries there, Geritsi. The whole village works.”
#
Veet took Geritsi to the village store, as she had it, and walked her inside.
“You just pick yourself out enough clothes for the next day or two,” she said. “And if there’s something pretty you’d like to have up in your room—a quilt, or some bits for the shelves, go ahead and bring them, too. I’m going across to the bakery—” She pointed it out—”If I’m not back by the time you’re done, just come get me.” She gave Geritsi a keen look, and reached over to a peg where about a dozen cloth bags were hanging from their handles, detached one, and handed it to her.
“Have fun shopping,” she said with a brisk smile, and went out the door, leaving Geritsi alone in the store.
The rows were well-organized, and she was quickly able to find another pair of pants and a bright red sweater, along with socks, underthings, a robe, and a sleep shirt. At the back of the store, she found pillows, quilts, rugs, and six shelves of knickknacks. She glanced at them, not really intending to take anything, but there was a figurine of a dappled horse, standing tall and proud, neck arched and one front foot off the ground, looking so like Solly that of course she had to have it, and tucked it carefully under the red sweater folded in the bag. She walked back up the row, and after some consideration, added a soft throw printed with roses, and turned toward the front of the store.
Four people were standing between her and the door—and two looked decidedly tough. The ambient’s singing, which had been quite soft, even soothing, while she shopped, suddenly launched into a shout. Geritsi went back a step.
The toughest looking of the group raised her hands, palms out and fingers spread. Geritsi felt . . . warmed, and the ambient’s song went down to a hum.
“Cousin,” the girl said carefully, “good morning to you. I’m Maradel—” a nod to the left, at the second desperate case, “this is Vayeen—”
“I’m Emit,” broke in one of the softer two, offering a grin, while the other gave a bouncy little half-bow and said, “I’m Feyance.”
There was a pause. Geritsi looked into four waiting faces, and produced a bow of her own.
“I’m Geritsi slentAlin,” she said, prudence nudging her to add, “I’m staying with Pelen and Veet.”
“Good,” said Vayeen, in a surprising light voice. “They’ll take care of you, Cousin Geritsi.”
“Yes, they will!” Emit said, with another grin. “But the reason we’re waylaying you, Cousin, is to find if you play an instrument.”
“Your reason,” said Maradel, and Feyance said, “Our reason.”
Geritsi felt her mouth relax into a smile. “No, I’m afraid I have no musical talent at all,” she said, and prompted by what she could only describe as a nudge from the ambient, asked, “Do you all play instruments?”
“Feyance plays the mandola,” said Emit.
“Emit plays harmonium,” Feyance said.
Geritsi looked to Maradel, who gave a grin and a half-shrug. “No musician here, Cousin,” she said, and jerked her head slightly to the side, “Though Vayeen occasionally picks up a rain stick.”
“And not to bad effect,” said Emit. “We’ll be playing at the potluck tonight, Cousin Geritsi, and wanted to invite you to join us, if you did play.”
“And also,” said Feyance, “to show you where the instrument room is, so you weren’t without.”
“Thank you,” Geritsi said, “that’s kind, but, as I don’t play—”
“That’s all right,” Emit said; “you’ll dance, at least.”
Secretly, Geritsi doubted it, though she said politely, “I’m looking forward to hearing you play.”
Emit laughed. “You won’t be able to avoid it!” Another bow.
“Welcome, Cousin Geritsi! We’ll see you this evening, and you will dance!”
And with that, they dispersed, Vayeen going out the door with Emit and Feyance, and Maradel striding down the aisle to the section that had to do with pots and pans.
Geritsi left the store, trying not to feel as if she were escaping, and walked down to the bakery. Veet was talking with the woman behind the counter and three other people—and broke off with a, “Here she is now! Geritsi, let me introduce you to your cousins—”
Off-Grid
Ribbon Dance Village
Village Square
There was music. Geritsi thought the harmonium sounded especially well, and Vayeen did join the musicians for a time, plying the rain stick with what, even to Geritsi’s untutored ear, sounded like skill.
She was besieged by cousins, each of whom was sincerely pleased to meet her, which assertions she Felt more and more clearly. Finally, the inside of her head stuffed with new names, and ringing beneath the continued assault of good fellowship, Geritsi slipped into a less-populated corner of the square, somewhat away from the fire, and sat on a bench. She sighed, closed her eyes, and leaned her head back, arching her back.
She was tired, she thought, and wondered why, before recalling that only yesterday, at about this time, she had been getting into Vrom’s truck for the ride to Peck’s Market.
“Cousin Geritsi,” said a low, rich voice, “you’re not dancing.”
The ambient shouted, briefly, but she needed no help recognizing that voice.
“Tekelia,” she said. “I don’t know how to dance.”
“Oh, is that all?”
“It seems enough,” she said, somewhat tartly.
Tekelia laughed. “Possibly. Are you interested in learning? I offer to teach, if it doesn’t offend. If it does offend, I’ll take myself off, with apologies.”
She did not, Geritsi thought, want Tekelia to take themselves off, with or without apologies. The ambient hummed in seeming sympathy of this. She opened her eyes, and gasped.
Overhead, the Ribbons danced against the dark and dusty sky. Geritsi felt her heart lift—and lift—and—
“Geritsi!” Tekelia said sharply.
She blinked, her heart plummeted into her chest, pounding as if she had run some distance.
“They’re so beautiful,” she murmured.
“Yes, they are,” Tekelia said, “but it won’t do to get lost in them, you know.”
“Does that happen?”
“Rarely, though it’s much more likely to happen to a cousin who is newly arrived.”
“I have a lot to learn,” Geritsi said, wryly.
“Is that a burden?”
She frowned, thinking.
“No,” she said finally. “I want to do well.”
“Do you?” Tekelia said softly, and then on a brighter note. “Do you want to learn to dance well? I promise you, it will be a skill you’ll use often. I don’t have to be your tutor. I’ll be delighted to fetch someone else; only tell me who.”
No, Geritsi thought, quite forcefully, she didn’t want someone else.
The ambient—giggled. Geritsi sighed. “I have a question,” she said.
“I might have an answer. Shall we see if they match?”
Geritsi smiled. “Veet tells me that you destroy what you touch. Is that—true?”
“Ah. That’s what my mentor, who was also a Child of Chaos, taught, and you know? It’s a hard proposition to test.”
Geritsi hiccuped.
“I can see that it might be.” She sobered suddenly. “Is it very hard?”
“What, discorporating someone? I gather it’s not, but again—”
“Testing is a problem. But I meant—if you can never touch anyone—was it that way for you, before you were—”
She caught herself on the edge of what must surely be rudeness. Before her, Tekelia dropped into a crouch, which put their eyes on the same level.
“Before I failed my third Evaluation and was adjudged an irredeemable Haosa?” Tekelia finished for her, and lifted a shoulder. “No. I was a strong multi-Talent, but, then, the ambient couldn’t see me very well, through the Grid. When I got out of the truck at Peck’s my eyes were different colors, which warned the welcomers to withhold their embraces, and to take me immediately to Ezen, so I could be taught how to go on without discorporating my cousins by the yard.”
“If you went back to the city, would you be—” She stopped herself again.
“Safe?” Tekelia said. “Oh, no. Chaos has me now, and, truly, I have few complaints. This is who I am, in fullness, as I was intended to be, not dulled or made compliant by the action of the Grid. I am dangerous, but not unless I choose to be. And I don’t choose to be dangerous to my friends.”
Geritsi looked, carefully, up, at the dancing Ribbons, beautiful and deadly. She felt a little thrill in the ambient’s song, and rose to her feet, as if the Ribbons lifted her.
“Thank you,” she said to Tekelia, who had risen when she did and dropped back two steps. “I would like you to teach me how to dance.”
#
Someone was whispering in her ear. Geritsi couldn’t quite make out the words, but the sense was that she had slept long enough, and breakfast was waiting.
She sighed, and snuggled closer into the blankets, but she was wakeful now. It came to her that her feet hurt, as if she had been walking—or dancing—
Dancing.
She had followed Tekelia to the edge of the square, where the fire and the Ribbons gave sufficient light for her to see the pattern that Tekelia danced out, and, to reproduce it as best as she was able.
“Very good,” Tekelia said. “Now try this.”
This was a spin and lunge so outrageous that Geritsi paused, abruptly convinced that she was being teased.
Instead of reproducing Tekelia’s move, she danced a square, and turned her back, clapping her hands.
“Yes!” Tekelia called from behind her. “Exactly!”
Geritsi laughed, and leaned, dancing a line, turning and dancing back, finding Tekelia before her, laughing in turn.
“There are no patterns!” Geritsi cried over the music of the harmonium, and the music in her head.
“Not true!” Tekelia countered, executing another lunge. “Your heart knows the pattern!”
It was then that Arbour arrived, Maradel at her side.
“She dances well,” Arbour said.
“She dances like a Haosa,” Maradel laughed and stepped forward, holding her hands out to Geritsi.
“Try this, now, Cousin,” she said, and Geritsi heard the ambient add, if you dare.
Geritsi caught Maradel’s hands. “Show me,” she challenged.
After that, she’d been fairly caught, as the patterns of the dance revealed themselves to her. Tekelia was a constant among those she danced with, always at a remove, but graceful; linked to them all by intent and by fondness, and by the ambient that danced through them.
She remembered Pelen coming to her and dancing a few steps while he whispered in her ear that he and Veet were going home, old folk that they were.
“Tekelia will bring you home when you’re ready,” he said, “in case you’re unsure of the way.”
She had been too full of the dance to be offended by the suggestion that she might not remember the way home, but when at last the Ribbons paled, and her cousins had drifted away, Geritsi found that she was—a little confused of her direction.
“I offer an escort,” Tekelia said, standing at her side, hair loose, tumbling past straight shoulders and waving slightly, as if in a breeze.
“I accept your escort,” Geritsi said, breathless, and looked around. The square was empty of cousins, the fire long since burned down. The music—
“Feyance and Emit are gone,” she said, feeling slightly stupid.
“They stopped playing some time ago,” Tekelia said. “You danced with them—do you remember?”
“I—” she paused on the edge of denial, abruptly remembering joining hands with both musicians, laughing, and spinning so quickly it seemed that their feet were off the ground.
“I remember,” she told Tekelia. “But I still hear music.”
“The ambient is singing. It would like us to dance more. But we have to rest, now, if we’re to dance again, tomorrow.”
On that, Tekelia had turned, and Geritsi followed, walking side-by-side until they were at the door to Veet and Pelen’s cottage, with its yellow shutters.
“Do you remember which is your room?” Tekelia asked, and Geritsi was glad to be able to say, “Second floor, in the back, overlooking the garden.”
“Well done,” Tekelia said, with a soft laugh. “Go and seize some sleep, Cousin Geritsi, and tell the ambient no, if it tries to tempt you to one more dance.”
Mist sparkled in the Ribbon light, and Tekelia was gone. Sighing, Geritsi went down the path, through the yellow front door, and up the stairs to her room.
She caught herself moving her feet in a pattern, as she pulled the sleep shirt over her head, and said aloud, quite as if the ambient could hear, and understand, her, “I’m tired now and I need to sleep. We’ll dance again, tomorrow.”
The singing faded to the softest of whispers. Geritsi’s feet stilled, and she climbed into bed, pulled the blankets up under her chin, and immediately fell asleep.
And now it was morning, and there was daylight outlining the curtain over the window. She was awake, hungry, and, she realized with some surprise, curious about what the day would bring.
Clearly, she had slept long enough, Geritsi thought, with amusement. She cast back the blankets, and reached for her robe.
#
First order of business, after breakfast, was to help Pelen carry a screen up to her room, and set it up on the desk in the corner.
“You’re welcome to use the house screen in the parlor,” Pelen said, while Geritsi made the various connections— “and the comm, too. This one’s your own private line, whenever, and however long, you want to use it.”
Geritsi climbed out from beneath the desk and stood up, standing next to Pelen while the screen glowed to life, did a countdown, and presented a query line.
“Right,” Pelen said. “Let’s get you signed into the village net.”
The second order of business was a visit to the Healer, who had been away at Deen’s Fallow, and had only gotten home after last night’s dancing was done. Geritsi sighed to herself, and made a note to access maps on her screen, so she could find where these places were.
Veet walked with her to the clinic, where the door was opened by Maradel.
“Good morning, Geritsi,” she said with a grin, and nodded at Veet, “Grandmother.”
“Good morning, Mari,” Veet answered. “Geritsi needs to be Sorted properly.”
“I should say she does!” said another voice from behind Maradel. “Come in, come in!”
“I’ll be at the winter garden,” Veet told Geritsi. “Find me there, after you’re done here.”
“Yes,” Geritsi said. “Thank you, Veet.”
She stepped into a warm, cozy kitchen. A man was sitting at the table, a cup by his hand, and two rumpled and familiar papers in the table’s center; he smiled as Geritsi approached.
“Good morning, Cousin,” he said. “I’m Albin, Medic and Healer. It’s good to see you.”
“It’s good to see you, Cousin Albin,” Geritsi answered.
“Maradel, get our cousin a cup of tea, and yourself, too, if you want one.” He turned again to Geritsi. “Mari’s my ‘prentice. Will you object if she Watches what we do here?”
“No-o,” Geritsi said, somewhat uncertainly, “but I do feel that I need to tell you both that Evaluator dakPorder’s examination revealed that I am an out-of-control Influencer, and that Talent has infected my entire pattern.”
“Yes, so I’ve just been reading,” said Albin, tapping the papers. “Ah, thank you, Mari.”
A steaming mug was put by Geritsi’s left hand. Maradel sat in the chair at the Healer’s right, and put her mug on the table before her.
“While it’s possible for a pattern to be broken or otherwise damaged, we rarely see infection,” Albin said. “Also, this—” another tap on the paper, “seems to say that the Talent of Influence has infected your entire pattern, and—with all respect to the Evaluator, that’s simply not how Talents work.”
“Tekelia said that Influence is not a Haosa talent,” Geritsi offered.
“Tekelia is correct. Also, Influence is a very . . . tight Talent, by which I mean, when we Look at it correctly seated within its pattern, it’s like—”
“A rock,” Maradel said, when Albin hesitated.
He laughed. “Apt. Yes, like a rock. I’m having a difficult time visualizing what Influence would Look like, spread through a pattern. Gravel?” He shrugged. “In any case, I don’t think we need to worry about infection. I would, however, very much like to Look at you, and See what your Talents may be, now that you’re out from under the Grid. Do I have your permission to proceed?”
“Yes,” Geritsi assured him, “though I should also tell you that my Talents are . . . negligible.”
Maradel drew a breath in between her teeth, and Albin threw her a grin.
“Gently, Mari. Civilization has its ways.”
“And I’m glad they’re not ours,” Maradel said forcefully.
“Well—yes. So am I. Cousin Geritsi.”
“Yes, sir?”
“You’re familiar with the white wall?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Contemplate it for me, please. If you become uncomfortable for any reason, tell me and I will stop what I am doing. Ideally, you should feel nothing, except, possibly, a slight warmth. Are you ready?”
“I am,” said Geritsi, and brought the white wall before her Inner Eyes.
#
“Thank you, Cousin Geritsi. You may release the wall.”
Geritsi blinked back to the table, where a fresh cup of tea steamed by her left hand, and a plate of cookies sat in the center of the table. The papers she had brought with her, that spelled out her danger and her doom, had been carefully folded along their creases, and put by her right hand.
Albin, across the table, looked . . . tired, Geritsi thought, and perhaps, a little, angry.
“Please have some cookies,” he said, reaching to the plate and taking one for himself. “We stand on no ceremony, here.”
Geritsi took a cookie and ate it in two snaps, surprising herself into a blink.
“‘nother one or two won’t go amiss, Cousin,” Maradel said, and Geritsi reached to the plate again.
“What we have here,” Albin said, when they had both had two more cookies, “is a very strong core property. Core properties are those attributes which inform the center of ourselves. They can be destroyed, but they cannot be changed.” He paused and sent Geritsi a sharp look. “It’s not an infection; it’s core. It does inform your entire pattern, because it’s one of the anchors on which your pattern rests.” He tipped his head. “Do you understand me, Cousin?”
“I think so. My core is my basic nature, which cannot be altered.”
“Correct. Now to specifics—one of your strongest core properties is an affinity for—peace. Because it’s core, it informs the rest of your pattern and in particular your other Gifts.” He sighed and took another cookie.
“The specialist got it—backward?” Geritsi asked, when he didn’t speak again.
He looked up, eyes bright. “In a word, yes; she did. She was correct in one thing, however.” He half-smiled. “Because this affinity for peace, for calm, is core, it can be neither altered or sequestered, and it is specifically not a tool. No more than being left-handed is a tool.”
Geritsi frowned, and then said, slowly, “So I am Haosa.”
“Oh, yes, you’re Haosa,” Albin said, “and we’re pleased to find that you’re our cousin.”
He raised his mug and had a sip of tea. Geritsi did the same and glanced to Maradel, who grinned at her.
“Nobody who dances like you do can be meant to be Civilized, Geritsi.”
She blinked, and Albin gave a soft laugh.
“Now that we’re clear on your core attributes,” he said, “let’s talk about your Gifts.”
Geritsi took a calming breath, folded her hands on the table in front of her and waited.
“I hardly feel worthy of such seriousness,” Albin said. “All I have to reveal is that the remainder of your Gifts—which are not, by the way, negligible—fall into the spectrum of Gentle Gifts: empathy, telepathy, foresight. You are also a propagator, which is to say, growing things grow better under your care.”
He turned his hands up and gave her a smile.
“You are not an Influencer, Cousin Geritsi. In fact, it would not be inaccurate to say that your Gifts are the antithesis of Influence, which seeks to confine and control. Your Gifts encourage growth, joy, and harmony.”
He paused to sip his tea, and put the mug down.
“There is one more thing,” he said.
Geritsi got very still. He sighed, and reached out to take her hand.
“It’s nothing ill, Cousin. Only, I see that you have a very strong link, here—she felt a thrill, and took a deep breath.
“Do you know what that is?” asked Albin.
“Yes,” Geritsi said. “It’s Solly. My equid. We have a—a bond. That’s what Rafis says.”
Albin smiled. “Rafis is correct. And that’s another facet of your core. You are able to form bonds across species.”
Geritsi tipped her head. “Is that rare?”
“Not unheard of,” Albin said, lifting one shoulder and letting it fall. “But not common.”
“Which is pretty much the definition of Haosa,” said Maradel. She stood and picked up the plate. “I’ll get some more cookies.”
Off-Grid
Ribbon Dance Village
Geritsi was mucking out Eriko’s stall, the last on the row. When she was done, she’d saddle Solly, and they would ride around the arena. They were working on transitions—canter to walk, walk to canter. Solly found these lessons rather boring, but he did them for her, and knowing that she would let him have his run, after the lesson was done.
A scream split the air, and Geritsi went to her knees, gasping in agony.
Her head—no! Her chest! Her stomach!
Another scream, and she recognized Solly. Somehow, she got to her feet, staggered to the end of the stall, looked—
And there was Evaluator dakPorder, with a person in Healer’s robes, standing outside of Solly’s stall.
“Cut it,” Evaluator dakPorder said, in her high, terrible voice. “That is an aberrant bond!”
“No!” Geritsi screamed, and she ran—tried to run, but the person in Healer’s robes straightened, and Geritsi saw the gleam of a knife, slashing. Her vision whited as she fell. She heard Solly scream again—
“Geritsi!”
Hands caught her, and held her tight—she sobbed, and reached, not for the one who was holding her, but into herself, into her core, searching—searching for something she had barely know was there, until now, when it was gone.
People were talking, but the sense of it was lost to her, as she wilted against the hands holding her, sobbing, “No, oh no, no! Solly—”
“Geritsi.” That voice cut through her horror, cut through the wailing of the wind at the center of her.
“Geritsi,” Tekelia said again. “Look at me.”
She raised her head, met one green eye, and one brown.
“Tell me what happened,” Tekelia said, voice calm.
She clung to that calmness, even as she realized it was Veet who was holding her, and stroking her hair.
“Solly,” Geritsi said, meeting Tekelia’s eyes. “They killed Solly—an aberrant bond—” She gasped again, reaching within—and finding nothing but that icy, terrible wind.
Tekelia’s mouth thinned. There was a swirl of mist, a soft boom—and Tekelia was gone.
“Here, now, Geritsi,” Veet murmured. “Pelen’s called the Healer. Just you stay with me, now—”
There were footsteps, then Pelen was crouching before her, holding out a cup.
“Sweet tea. You drink that right up. Albin will be here in two minutes.”
“Thank you,” Geritsi whispered. She tried to take the cup, but she was shivering too hard. Pelen finally held it for her, and she drank.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs as she finished, and she felt Veet sigh.
“That’ll be Albin.”
#
“Somebody cut the link you shared with Solly,” Albin said, and Geritsi could Feel his anger. “They didn’t bother taking any care with it, either. That’s why you’re in so much pain. I’ll Heal the cut—”
“No!” Geritsi cried.
Albin tipped his head.
“It will eventually heal on its own, but why suffer unnecessary pain?”
“I—can’t you—” Geritsi swallowed, and whispered, “Can’t you put it back?”
Albin reached out and touched her cheek.
“No, Cousin; I can’t,” he said, soft and oh-so-gentle. “The best I can do is ease your pain. Do I have your permission to do that?”
Geritsi frowned. She reached inside herself, seeking that place, that place—and her questing caught and held. The ambient whispered to her, singing a gentle song of healing and peace.
Geritsi took a breath, and met Albin’s eyes.
“Thank you,” she said. “You have my permission.”
#
The ambient murmured, and Geritsi stirred. The last thing she remembered was Albin telling her he was putting her into a Healing sleep
But now, the ambient whispered that it was time to wake up, and she Felt the particular ripple of song that meant—
She opened her eyes, and smiled to see who was sitting in a chair set at a little distance from her bed.
“Tekelia,” she murmured. “Where did you go? Not—to the stables?”
“Oh, no,” Tekelia said, meeting her gaze. Both eyes were blue, though of slightly different shades. “I went to see my aunt, and asked her to find what had happened.”
“And—did she?”
Tekelia’s mouth tightened, and Geritsi Felt sorrow on the ambient.
“She did. It’s not happy telling.”
“Albin said someone cut my link with Solly,” Geritsi said.
“That’s true, so far as it goes, but there’s more.” Tekelia sighed. “Do you want to hear it?”
“Yes,” Geritsi said, and shifted until she was sitting up in bed. “What happened? Is Solly all right? I—”
Tekelia raised a hand, as the ambient chided her softly.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Please, tell me.”
“Yes.”
Tekelia took a breath. Geritsi felt warmth flow out from her core; heard the murmur of the ambient’s approval.
Tekelia smiled.
“Thank you, Geritsi. Are you able to give yourself of your Gift?”
“I—don’t know?” she said.
Tekelia took another breath. “Do you want me to call someone—someone who can hold you? It’s hard for me to tell; I can’t think how hard it will be for you to hear.”
“I have to know,” Geritsi said, and felt the ambient settle warmly around her. “Tell me.”
“Yes,” Tekelia said again. “The case is that Evaluator dakPorder came to Sekura Stables accompanied by a Healer. She demanded to see the equid Solith the Fleet, which had belonged to Haosa Geritsi slentAlin, and which must be examined for unnatural bindings.”
Geritsi bit her lip. Tekelia smiled grimly.
“She found her evidence, and had the Healer cut the bond. You know what happened to you. What happened to Solly was similar. He went mad, so the stable owner told my aunt. He tried to kick down his stall, and when the head groom tried to calm him, she was kicked her trouble and now has a broken arm. Tranquilizers had no effect. The former owner was called—the right of ownership having reverted when Geritsi slentAlin was found to be Haosa and irredeemable. She gave her permission, and Solly—”
Tekelia stopped.
Geritsi bowed her head, but she did not cry. She’d known this, she thought. And so had Albin.
“Solly was put down,” she whispered, feeling the ambient curl tighter around her. “I thought she was wrong—his former owner—but she was right all the time. He was ungovernable. It was my Gift that made him biddable.”
“It was your Gift gave him the gifts of peace, more time, and joy in a bond he would never otherwise have had,” Tekelia said, sharply.
They were silent for a bit, the ambient flowing warm and comforting between them.
“Does it occur to you,” Geritsi said finally, “that the Civilized—aren’t?”
Tekelia’s mouth quirked.
“Often. You might also wish to know that my aunt is having Evaluator dakPorder and the Healer investigated for use of unnecessary force.”
Geritsi blinked.
“Is your aunt an . . . evaluator, then?”
Tekelia huffed a laugh. “My aunt is the Warden of Civilization.”
Geritsi stared. “You’re joking,” she said, but the ambient was already assuring her that Tekelia was telling the truth. “How—” She stammered to a halt, her confusion vivid in the ambient.
“How am I Haosa? You know the answer to that question.”
“Yes, I do. I suppose I mean to ask how you are able to—visit your aunt and be heard.”
“A better question,” Tekelia said, smiling at her. “Wild Talents aren’t unknown in my family. We don’t choose to abandon our kin. We keep in contact, and while I do admit that I visit more often than I’m visited upon, I’m welcomed when I arrive. In this case, the violence done to yourself and to Solly falls squarely within the Warden’s honor. She needs to know how the servants of Civilization choose to perform their duties.”
“Will she—Evaluator dakPorder—will she be disciplined?”
“Hopefully so,” Tekelia said. “I should mention that you may be called upon to speak with my aunt. As you’re no longer Civilized, you can’t testify, but she may wish to hear you tell the tale in your own voice.”
“Will I have to go to—to the Wardian?” Geritsi asked, finding herself unwilling to return to the city.
“No, if she needs to speak with you, she’ll come here.” Tekelia smiled. “She’s very mannerly.”
“All right, then,” Geritsi said, and blinked as the ambient sang in her ear.
“What’s the time?”
“Time to gather for the potluck,” Tekelia said. “Do you feel well enough? Shall I call Albin? Or—”
“No,” Geritsi interrupted, suddenly feeling that what she needed—what she wanted—was her cousins about her, sharing grief and merriment alike through the ambient. “I’d like to go to the potluck.” She pushed the covers back. “I need to get dressed. Will you wait for me in the parlor?”
“Of course,” Tekelia said.
Off-Grid
Ribbon Dance Village
The Rose Cottage
There was so much to learn, so much to do, and one was never alone, not with the ambient always singing, in the heart and in the mind.
Geritsi’s knowledge of plants brought her naturally to work in the growhouse, and from there to the cousins who oversaw the village gardens, and the orchards. She assisted Pelen and Veet with their research, learning techniques, and acquiring a deft touch with a query. A chance question about muffins saw her ‘prenticed at the bakery—and she fairly danced through her days, as well as the night, both busy and content.
The Warden of Civilization did not come to call, but she read in the newspaper that there was to be a restructuring of the Department of Gifts and Talents, and when she asked if that was the Warden’s work, Tekelia allowed that it seemed very like her.
Twice, she went to meet new cousins at Peck’s Market, and was pleased to see Vrom on both occasions.
She not only had cousins, she had friends, a web of love and trust that buoyed her and gave her a quiet, unremitting joy. Arbour, Maradel, Vayeen were primary threads in that web and Tekelia—Tekelia was something else entirely. One could tell Tekelia anything, dance with them just as freely in a meadow as on a knife’s edge.
None of them were like the bond she had shared with Solly, but that, Geritsi thought, was right and proper. Each bond was unique.
Just after Midsummer, she woke to the ambient singing to her of roses, and new directions.
She relocated to the Rose Cottage that afternoon, with the full support of Veet and Pelen—and her cousins gave her such an Opened House Party that she could scarcely contain tears of pure happiness.
#
The last guest—Tekelia, as it was so often Tekelia who left her last—bid her sweet dreams at the gate, and vanished in a swirl of Ribbon-dyed mist. Smiling, Geritsi turned to the front door, and if she danced on her way down the walkway, well—who could blame her?
There was no sign within that there had lately been many people inside, talking, and dancing, eating, singing, and laughing. It was second nature to clean up as one went, at a potluck as much as a Ribbon Dance—or an Opened House.
Geritsi moved from the front parlor, into the library, to the big kitchen at the back of the house that overlooked what would soon be her kitchen garden, the front yard being awash in the roses that had given the cottage its name.
She walked to the window, and looked out at the quiet night, the Ribbons reflected across grass and tree-tops. It came to her then that she was fortunate in her life, in her cousins, and her friends—and she laughed softly.
“A year ago, you thought your life in ruins,” she told herself. In fact, she scarcely thought of her former life any more, and when she did, it was Solly who dominated her thoughts. She wished that she had been able to bring him with her, two Wild things finding their best life among the Haosa. The lack of their link no longer pained her, but she was sometimes still very aware of its lack.
Well. She turned from the window to survey the neat and spotless kitchen. Her cousins had left her nothing to do.
Smiling, she went upstairs to her bedroom.
#
She was hungry. So very hungry.
Geritsi woke at all once, her stomach cramped and empty. This had happened before, though not lately. It had been an exciting day, and it would have been easy to miscalculate her needs.
She kept a pack of cookies in the bedside table. She got it out, but then it occurred to her that—meat—was what she wanted.
That—was more than strange. Usually, when one had overextended, the body craved fast fuel. Cookies should have been exactly what she needed.
Her stomach was empty, and she was cold—only she wasn’t cold, Geritsi thought. She was quite warm.
And if she wasn’t cold—then perhaps she wasn’t hungry, either.
One of her cousins was in need.again
Geritsi threw back the blanket and reached for her robe.
By the time she gained the kitchen, she had separated the need from herself, and had a direction for the cousin in distress. Outside—had someone gotten drunk on the ambient and danced off into the trees? Surely, they would have—
Hunger washed over her again, and—worse—anger.
Geritsi looked into the cold box, found a covered plate of sandwiches, and pulled it out. Pulling her robe snugly around her, she went out into the garden.
“Hello,” she called. “I have sandwiches. Will you come?”
Hunger swamped all of her senses, and she staggered. She took a breath, centered herself and stood still, holding the plate of food, open to the ambient, seeking a direction.
Someone moaned from beneath the trees. Geritsi moved forward, carefully, the grass damp under her bare feet.
Another wave of hunger came, and Geritsi called out. “Can you come to me, Cousin?”
There was no answer.
She queried the ambient, seeking a signature, trying to find who had fallen into such desperation. But the ambient only showed her a flash of topaz in the darkness.
Geritsi bit her lip, and the ambient whispered in her ear.
“Cousin?” she called again, but this time there was no answer at all.
Geritsi’s heart stuttered, and she walked more quickly toward the trees.
Tekelia, she sent, along the bond that had grown between them.
Geritsi?
I have a lost cousin sending hunger and anger. They’re under the trees at the edge of my garden. I’m going to take them food. Will you come?
Yes.
There was a foggy swirl to her right, which resolved into Tekelia, likewise in a robe, hair loose to the shoulder.
“I don’t recognize that signature,” Tekelia murmured. “Topaz?” A deep breath. “So much anger.”
“Cousin?” Geritsi called, and her answer this time was a roar.
“Geritsi,” Tekelia said. “It may be that our cousin is Ribbon-kissed.”
Geritsi shivered. She had never seen anyone who had been Ribbon-kissed, but her cousins had told her. Even though the Haosa enjoyed a close bond with the ambient, it was possible to get too close, into a place where the regard of the ambient and the heat of the Ribbons began to—unravel a person’s core.
Someone who was Ribbon-kissed would no longer know their cousins. Worse, they would have no understanding of their danger, or the danger they posed for others.
“Give me the plate,” Tekelia said softly. “Go back to the house. I’ll find who it is.”
Geritsi hesitated.
From beneath the trees, someone screamed in raw pain.
Geritsi leapt forward. She heard Tekelia swear, saw a flash of silver slightly behind her—and another flash at the edge of the trees.
There came another scream, followed by a shout.
“Tekelia!” she shouted, and suddenly she was surrounded by silver mist, her feet missed the ground, then found it and she fell to her knees beside Tekelia, facing a—
“Cat?” she gasped, though it was three times larger than Veet’s fat old housecat; topaz eyes enormous, snout wrinkled and lips drawn back, showing fangs.
Anger, pain, hunger.
Geritsi realized she was still holding the plate of sandwiches. She ripped off the cover, and put the plate directly in front of the . . . cat.
“Sokyum,” Tekelia said, as the creature bent its head and began to eat. “Wild cat. The finest hunter in the forest.”
“Then why is she so hungry?” Geritsi demanded.
The sokyum raised her head, met Geritsi’s eyes, and she saw it—a young aboreal, a leap, a branch breaking, a fall, far too long, and the impact with the ground—Geritsi screamed herself when she felt the leg break.
“I’ll get Albin,” Tekelia said. “He’ll give her mercy.”
Mercy, Geritsi thought, staring into the topaz eyes. Do you want to die, Lady? She asked through the ambient.
The negative was harsh; followed by sadness, and the realization that she couldn’t hunt, broken as she was, and would soon starve.
Maybe not. She extended a hand.
“Geritsi—” Tekelia breathed, and she felt terror in the ambient.
Let me help you, she said to the sokyum, and felt warmth rising in her, a vast and easy peace, meeting and melding with the complex, beautiful creature before her.
“Her name,” she said to Tekelia, “is Dosent. Get Albin. She’ll let him set the leg.”
“And after?” Tekelia asked carefully.
Geritsi turned to look at Tekelia. “She’ll stay with me, of course.”
“Of course,” said Tekelia, and was gone in a swirl of silver.
The bonding with Solly had been an accident, but Geritsi knew her Gift now; she knew the ambient, and the power of the Ribbons. She teased a thread from her pattern, and showheld it up, until it glowed against the ambient.
Do you see that, Dosent?
An affirmative came through the ambient.
This would bind us, Geritsi said. You would share my Gift, which is peace.
The ambient whispered that the hunt was precious, even if there was no kill.
Geritsi smiled. I think I would like to hunt with you. I accept you. Will you accept me?
Minutes later, when Tekelia and Albin arrived in a swirl of silver mist, the sokyum was asleep with her head on Geritsi’s lap.
END
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