The Gate to Futures Past (19 page)

“No, Sira.”

I relaxed.

“Or maybe.” Andi squirmed away to look up at me, her eyes earnest. “The boxes are always near.” She touched the side of her head, then moved her hand as far away as she could stretch her arm. “But they aren't always close. I think that's why I had trouble finding Rasa's grandmother.” She lowered her head, looking up at me through her eyelashes. “Don't tell him, but I was glad you and Aryl told me to stop. There are a lot of boxes now and everyone is talking at the same time. I was getting tired.”

Nik flinched. “You weren't to touch the Great Darkness—”

Josa took her hand, keeping them both still. “We knew nothing of this, Sira.”

“Because she didn't tell us. Why, Andi?”

The child blinked with surprise. “I thought you saw them, too.”

“Saw who? Who, child?” Nik demanded, growing frantic. “Deni and Cha. Mirim. Are they—”

Hush,
I sent her urgently, as Josa put his arm around his Chosen. Andi looked uncertain, as if finally aware her elders were upset, or did enough of their bond remain that she could share her mother's pain? “I used to,” the child said, very carefully. “Their boxes don't stay as close as the rest.” She gestured apology.

This was a nightmare. I looked at Morgan.
Delusion?

Could be.
Without conviction, as if he'd decided otherwise. “Andi,” my Human asked the child, “how long have you been able to see the dead—these boxes?”

“For always.”

“And there are more now?”

“Oh, yes.”

I hadn't thought it possible to grow so cold, when all around was warmth—

“When did that change?”

He spared no one, not this child, not me, never himself—not when it meant this much.

“When Sira came to visit,” she said in her clear high voice. “And after we came to Cersi. There are a lot now.”

I'd believed I'd known the shape of my grief, understood how it tried to slow my steps and steal all hope.

I'd been wrong. This child knew better. When I'd arrived in her life, I'd brought death with me—and it hadn't left.

Sira—Witchling
—

A hand, small and cool, rested on my cheek. “You shouldn't be sad, Sira. It hurt to go, but they're happy now. Even Noson.”

“Andi!” With a frantic rush of hands and arms, a tide of
concern
and
contrition,
she was whisked away from me.

My side grew cold. I may have heard her sweet voice reassuring her distraught parents, may have felt my Chosen, steady and strong, along our link, but my mind roamed elsewhere, relentless, chasing the truth.

Om'ray believed only the living and those they'd known in life existed
 . . .

M'hiray, that the living were the sum of those come before and gone . . .

In common, that the physical body was a husk, discarded once empty. The mind
was
the individual, inextricably connected to the living whole through the M'hir, at the end of life destined to dissolve and vanish into that
darkness
 . . .

And become nothing . . .

Had we'd been wrong about that?

Morgan had stayed with me, followed my thoughts.
We live; we die, Witchling.
With a spacer's pragmatism.
Why does what happens after matter so much now?

It's not that,
I sent, suddenly sure what bothered me.
If we believe Andi—if what Jacqui
saw
wasn't a dream, but somehow real—the question isn't where we go when we die
—

But why, now, do we matter to the dead?

Dream Chamber. Core. Home. Whatever we chose to call it, this was where everyone came after our meal was done. Unlike the previous shipnight, there was no desire to linger in the galley.

Nor any for sleep.

I was as restless as any. Sona?

>
I will receive confirmation, Keeper.<

Nor, I thought, any surer answers than that. Which stopped no one from speculating.

I wasn't immune. “So,” I said brightly, “after breakfast.”

Morgan's lips quirked. “Before we'd need supper,” he corrected. “Leaving a margin of a full shipday.”

“Or not.”

My persistence earned a smile. “Or not. We're ready as we can be.” He touched the pocket that held his noteplas and stylo.

My Human and I, Barac and Ruti. While everyone else believed tomorrow would bring us the world about to be our home—while some might have reasonable concerns ranging from the ancient starship's ability to land to what awaited us on the ground—we four knew tomorrow could be our last.

Barac and Ruti stayed close together, politely refusing contact with anyone else, but weren't alone or strange in that. My people gathered in their natural units: families, Om'ray Clans, M'hiray, our cadre of scientists. Gurutz stood sentry on the door as he hadn't since we'd lifted. Perhaps he prepared for the changes to come away from the ship.

Just before the lights dimmed for shipnight, our Healers—Morgan as well—would walk the Core, offering a dreamless sleep to any who doubted their ability to rest.

Sona
's Council might be among those who asked. They'd worked without pause throughout the day. Now they sat together, with Leesems and Destin, poring over lists for tomorrow. They planned for what came after our landing and how we'd start our future.

They'd asked Morgan to join them. I cheered up and smiled at him. “Ready for this?”

An eyebrow lifted. “There's no ‘this.' I'm sure they just have questions.”

I gave him a look back. “They'll want you in charge.”

“Sira.” Patiently. “Degal's behind it. He knows I've experience with new worlds, that's all.”

“Hah! He doesn't want to go purple and die.”

“Reasonable attitude, don't you think?”

“What I think?” I ran my hand along his bare arm, enjoying the feel of his skin. “I think you're the finest explorer in the universe and they've oort fungus for brains if they don't insist you be first out of the air lock—the door.”

Muscle tensed like cables beneath my fingers. “It can't be me. You know why as well as I do. There could be a greeting party—and they'll be expecting the Clan.”

“Which is why it has to be you.” I took Morgan's face in my hands, tilted it to the light, other than the beard seeing features so similar to ours it was tempting to imagine a connection, some combination of long-lost lineages able to produce such a nose and mouth, those ears and forehead, the brilliant blue of those eyes. Tempting, but wrong.

Morgan wasn't Clan. He was who and what he was.

We desperately needed both.

“When you walk off this ship first,” I told him, “you prove we aren't just the result of some experiment, wrapped up and sent home to be used or discarded. You, my dear Human, prove we've become so much more and they'd best pay attention.”

The smile I loved, that started in his eyes and spread slowly to his mouth. “I'll make a trader out of you yet, chit.”

So I wasn't the only one to think beyond tomorrow. “I've a good teacher,” I replied, finishing the words with a kiss.

It wasn't the
Silver Fox,
being too quiet, too large, and entirely too self-important, but I found myself sentimental when we curled up for our final rest within the ancient Hoveny starship. Once I knew Morgan slept, I sent, Sona.

>Greetings, Keeper. What is your will?<

To thank you.

A doubtless confused pause.

Gratitude is a feeling,
I explained.
You've taken care of us and that's how I feel. That's how we all feel. Grateful for your help.

>It is pleasing to do one's duty, Keeper.<
Was that caution? >
I will receive confirmation and continue to do so.<

I'm sure you will.
What more could I say?

What would Morgan have said to the
Fox,
if he'd had the chance?

You've been a good
ship.

A
FLARE OF
unease
pulsed through AllThereIs, disturbance in its wake. Some tumbled aside to safety. Some were drawn haplessly close and consumed. The Watcher saw the danger. She chose to remain where she was.

And accept.

The pulse slammed into her.

Through her.

For an instant, she was
unmade.

The next, in sped all she'd been and known, reforming, gathering.

The next, in flooded all the
other
had been and known, reforming, gathering.

Enlightenment: a second Watcher, drawn with the
unease
or accompanying it
.

Communion.

Concern.

The Watchers pulled apart, one to Watch.

One to summon.

No proof, not yet, the
unease
was the peril that must never come again.

No need. This time, AllThereIs would be protected.

The starship squirted from subspace, gliding along the curve of gravity in a descent planned before it was built, bleeding velocity.

A signal preceded it, repeating, through the long, lonely dark.

Confirmation request. Identification: Cersi-So.

Alarms cried out.

Confirmation request. Identification: Cersi-So.

A sleeper woke.

Confirmation request. Identification: Cersi-So.

A cup fell, rattling—

—and its contents spread like blood.

I
FOUND myself staring into the dark. Why was I awake—too soon—this time?
Morgan
—

Noticed the drop, did you, chit?
He nuzzled my neck.
Bet none of these grounders did.

Which made no—then every possible sense.
We're back—back in normal space.
Meaning we were about to arrive—

That we are,
with immense
satisfaction.

No more blobs and streaks—real stars? I concentrated—

—and went nowhere.

Of all the—
We can't take a look,
I informed my Chosen, doing my best not to be disappointed.
The Star Chamber's gone.

Who knows, Witchling. Maybe tonight, we'll walk outside beneath all the stars we'll ever need.
A tender press of lips against my throat, then I felt him roll over and settle.

Unbelievable.
What are you doing?
I demanded.

Going back to sleep. We've a while yet.
A hint of
amusement. I suggest you do the same. This should be an interesting day.

Before I could respond, he was sound asleep. Whether a Human trait or simply Morgan's knack to rest at whim, I knew one thing for certain. I couldn't do it.

I stared at the ceiling.

Unless I cheated.

If I didn't, I'd lie here till morning, awake, struggling to keep the thoughts and emotions whirling through my head from bothering anyone else.

Let alone rein in my imagination, already fixating on a starry stroll, which could be disrupted by alien monsters, maybe cannibals—

Cheating was, I told myself hurriedly, acceptable under the circumstances.

Opening my
awareness
of the link between our minds, I let my consciousness
curl
around my Chosen's inner self, savoring the peace of his slumber.

Until that was all there was.

As if to remove any doubt the Clan would leave the ship on this day, Om'ray and M'hiray stripped their beds and secured their belongings. Not by any recommendation from Council; Tle di Parth started it, the Chooser standing defiant and alone at her end of the Core, arms around her bundle of things.

The di Haons quietly did the same. The di Kessa'ats.

Then Ruti.

Blankets began flying from beds, unanimity spreading across the Core until everyone stood, arms full, among rows of bare mattresses and empty platforms, ready to go that instant.

Tle did an admirable job of appearing unaffected; I knew her well enough to guess she was touched—and discomfited by the feeling.

Morgan, having somehow squeezed our belongings into his pack when I wasn't looking, pulled off our blanket, rolled it, and handed it to me with a flourish. “I'd say we're done here.”

His shields were impeccable, and no one else could read the grim resolve in his eyes. A chill feathered my skin, but I ignored it, giving a tiny nod.

Sona, I asked silently,
have you received confirmation?

>I will receive confirmation,
Keeper.<

Nothing had changed, then.

I smiled at my Chosen. “Breakfast first.”

Sira
.

At last. My spoon paused on its way to my mouth. I made it finish the trip, this being my last bite.
Yes, Great-grandmother?

Between us, alone.

Those sharing our table or walking nearby weren't who she meant.

Morgan.

I'd see him if I looked up; what I felt was
focus.
Having finished his breakfast, he walked through the galley, pausing to speak with this Healer or with one of the scientists. In reality he prowled, there was no other word for it, and most who saw his face gave him room.

Just as well. He'd tucked something round and undoubtedly dangerous into his coat pocket, and was slowly making his way to the dais and
Sona
's access portal interface, to be there and ready for whatever came.

Aryl wants a private conversation.

About time.

I smiled to myself. My Chosen valued Aryl as much as I did; what had happened yesterday, and her silence since, concerned us both.

My sense of Morgan faded as I firmed an inner wall between us.
Alone it is, Great-grandmother.

My profound apologies, Sira, for the pain I caused you. I was overcome and shouldn't have been.

Already forgotten,
I lied.

Not by your Chosen,
with a
wry
touch that became something darker.
I trust Morgan to think of you first. For that reason, what I would say may need to remain between us. I don't ask you to promise, but to decide for yourself.

Not good at all.
Go on.

Before the Council meeting, I told you I'd dreamed—that wasn't the truth. It wasn't a dream at all. I would share it with you.

Of course.
I put the spoon down and brought my elbows up on the table, leaning my chin in my hands. Inwardly, I braced
.

. . . finding myself in a shack—no, it was nicer than that, a home
made of wide logs caulked with red clay, with a floor covered in thick woven rugs and a snug roof overhead. A door stood open on a wide green valley crossed by a sparkling river. There were tall, thin trees in the distance, framed by mountains that touched a purple-blue sky; nearer, rows of tidy crops. Flowers, pink and white, in a bowl sent forth a heady fragrance for which I'd no name.

My feet were bare and I dug my toes into the prickly pile of the rug. I wore nothing but the warm air playing across my skin and a cloak of heavy red-gold hair. A strand tickled my nose, trying to make me sneeze.

Hands gathered the stuff, guiding it into a smooth knot, as I couldn't do. “That better?”

Male, the voice, so rich and deep I felt it in my bones.

If I turned, I'd see who it belonged to—but I mustn't, for it couldn't be—

Arms, big and strong, went around my waist, drawing me back against a wide, warm chest. “Welcome home.”

But I had none . . .

I found myself sitting at a table, staring at a spoon, both improbably less real than Aryl's sharing.

Giving myself a little shake, I looked up to see if anyone else had noticed, then pulled the band from my arm, tipping it to see the artist's delicate signature: a square no larger than my fingernail, open at a corner. Another, finer, inside. Within that, six tiny dots, of varied depth, representing a constellation seen from Tuana
—
when it had been Oud and not smothered in jungle.

Enris,
I stated.

Yes. Although it cannot be. What I experienced—what you shared—cannot be.
Her mindvoice was distant, almost cold.
None of that was from my memories, Sira. Yes, we'd started to make a home at Sona, but this—this is what we'd hoped to build, dreamed of, not what we had. And yes, that's his voice—his touch—but as if he hadn't aged.

Tread carefully, I warned myself. This had to be why Aryl reacted as she had to Andi's declaration that our dead went to boxes. Boxes they liked. Enris, this place?
Dreams can take us—

Did it feel like a dream to you?

No.
No more than Jacqui's, of my father in his workshop: his box. Both had been so convincing, I might have 'ported there.
You heard him speak, like Jacqui.
Cold settled into my bones
. Like Andi.

Her wordless
agreement
held a grim foreboding.
And more. I
felt
him, Sira, for an instant. Not as the ragged ruin I carry inside me, but
him.
As if Enris were still alive and we were still—Joined. Only to have our link fail. Again.

This wasn't a wish she'd made before falling asleep. This was a trial no one should have to bear once, let alone relive in their sleep. Part of me was astounded anew by Aryl di Sarc's strength, the rest pitifully grateful I'd never need it.
What does it mean?

It means I now understand why the
taste
of change has filled me since then. These visits by our dead have a purpose, Sira, one we should dread. What came to me was a trap, intended to lure me from reality into something else. The link between Chosen
pulls
the living after their dead into the M'hir, as is right and natural. This box, baited with everything I've lost, is neither. I fear to be exposed to it again. I fear a second time, I may not be able to resist, that what I am will abandon you.

Leaving the Vessel within me empty; dooming us all. Little wonder Aryl hadn't wanted Morgan to
hear
this.

Risa and Jorn. Bile rose in my throat. Had they been lured by their dead?

I refused to think it. Refused to believe any of it.
We don't know these aren't somehow still dreams and harmless, however disturbing,
I insisted.
We need to learn more. Find out what's causing them.

And if it's not what, but where?

What did she mean?
The “where” of ghosts is the place they died and last touched the M'hir,
I replied cautiously.
The few who linger at all.

Yet here is where Andi
sees
them. Sira. The ship's taking us back where this started: Cersi, the Clan, you and I and M'hir—

What makes you think that's as simple as a
world?