Strange Attractors (24 page)

‘And now you’ve found me. Good work. Let’s go.’ She’d slipped out of his embrace and led the way. ‘Hurry up.’

He couldn’t breathe only this time it wasn’t because of the foul air. Rosette felt different, distracted, like he’d never experienced before. The sweet connection and warmth were gone. He groaned. Of course she would be detached. It’s self-protection. He’d told her he couldn’t continue their relationship, that it was too complicated for him. He pulled her back to him. ‘I’m an idiot,’ he said. ‘Rosette, we have to talk.’

‘You’re certainly not an idiot. You’re a quantum geneticist, and you’d better remember everything you were ever taught. We can’t stop now. We have a quantum computer to build.’ She led him up the hill, tugging him when he dragged his heels.

‘What is the urgency? An’ Lawrence still missing? What’s happened?’

‘Not An’ Lawrence. I found him, twice. It’s Jarrod,’ she said. ‘We’ve lost him.’

‘Lost? As in misplaced?’

‘Lost, as in body-dead.’

Grayson felt the blood drain from his face. ‘You want to use the backup? Passillo?’

‘The spell, yes. That’s why we need you. Come on.’ She yanked him. ‘Grayson, what’s the matter? We are in a hurry!’

He didn’t budge even though she tugged again. ‘Rosette,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t you know?’

‘Know what?’

‘That’s not how it works.’

‘How what works?’

‘The backup.’

‘Of course it is. That’s the whole point in having it squirrelled away in my blood—so we can re-boot Jarrod if we lose him.’

‘Rosette, darling. That’s not it.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s there to ensure the continuation of Jarrod all right, but I don’t think you need to build another quantum computer to activate it.’

She looked at him and raised an eyebrow. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, from what I understood, the CPU is designed to boot up right where it is.’

‘Where it is?’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘That’s ridiculous. It’s in me.’

‘Janis wanted to guarantee the continuation of the Jarrod, at any price.’

‘Price?’ She frowned.

‘The CPU sequestered in your DNA is a failsafe, activated if there is no other possible way to restore him. That’s in all the notes.’

‘I understand but…’

‘Are you sure his consciousness hasn’t gone elsewhere?’

‘If it has, we can’t reach him.’ Rosette’s hands encircled her belly. ‘Grayson, what price? What happens, exactly, when the CPU is activated? How do we get him back without a computer? He needs to be somewhere while he creates another tulpa.’

‘He does. That part’s true. He needs…housing.’

She frowned for a moment, looking at her feet. ‘Housing?’

‘Hardware.’

Rosette looked up. ‘So what happens to me if I activate the spell?’

Grayson cleared his throat. ‘I don’t know. It’s never been done before.’

X
ane walked back to the military stables. They wanted to take him by donkey cart but he told them he felt fine—the air would do him good. It was a lie. He felt like a herd of grunnies had trampled him into the ground, but he could handle it. He had to find Shaea and assure her that he was well. She’d be sick with worry. She always got that way if something happened to him; such a sensitive girl.

He searched every burnt-out alley and street he knew. There were plenty of beggars lining the gutters and scavenging the bins—going through the wreckage wrought by fire and storm—but there was no sign of Shaea. Could she have been trapped in a burning building? Caught in the flood? There was plenty of talk at the healers’ temple about the foreign spells that ripped through Corsanon last night—some demon warrior from the west caused it all. Could she have got in the way of his magic?
Shaea, where are you?

Maybe she’d been out digging for yams when he
was shot. She might have raced to the battlefield to find him. Foolish girl. He imagined her scrambling down the quarry steps, her rag of a dress like a tattered flag, the iron smell of battle in the air.
Did you get lost, Shaea?
Maybe the witch Rall would know, but he couldn’t find her either.

He turned a corner and a vision filled his mind. He was on the quarry steps. They were slick with rain and a torrent roared in his ears. It was dark, night-time, and his eyes were locked on a young woman—not Shaea. It was someone else. Someone he wanted to reach for. Someone he loved. She was in trouble. She was about to be swept away.

He shook his head. It was a dream. A nightmare. It had to be, but it felt strangely like a memory.
The hemlock’s doing, no doubt. I couldn’t have a memory like that.

He’d never been down the quarry steps in the rain at night and neither had Shaea. What idiot would risk such a journey? It was too easy to be knocked off the edge in a flash flood. He shivered. When the drains under Corsanon filled, clogged with refuse until the pressure was so great they broke free, the water and waste flowed like a rushing river, a waterfall spilling over the edge. He shivered again, even though the afternoon sun was warm on his shoulders, the cobbled street radiating heat.
Shaea? Why can’t I find you?

He called to her in his mind, not daring to say the words aloud. The Stable Master didn’t even know he had a sister and that he snuck food to her when he could, stealing away from his duties to make certain she was all right. He still had moments of guilt that it was he the Stable Master chose that day and not Shaea. He was good with animals, to be certain, but his sister was equal at least. She had some kind of magic
touch. But she’d been shy and hung back and neither of them would ruin the chance for a better existence, whichever one was chosen.

What could have happened to her? He’d been gone only a day and she was nowhere to be found. He asked after her, tapping the sleeping drunks on the shoulder or passing a penny to soot-covered children. No one had a clue, not about Shaea or the old witch Rall. He picked the scab on his neck, the shooting pains startling him.
Shaea. I need you. Don’t be gone. Please don’t be gone.

The fires hadn’t damaged this part of the city but who knows what happened when they broke out? People could have scattered anywhere. And then there were the floods. They’d swept through every street, heading for the outlet above the quarry steps.

He searched his memory, aware again of the sensation that he stood on the wrong side of a door, locked out of the most important room in his mind. He beat on it with his fists, twisted the handle and forced his fingers into the cracks to pry it open. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he panted, trying harder, hammering at it with his thoughts until he gave up. It wouldn’t budge. Whatever it was, he wouldn’t get at it that way.

He took a deep breath and exhaled, blowing stray hair from his face. He couldn’t force it. It was a fluke that he was alive at all. The healer had said he should be performing an autopsy, not sending him merrily on his way. There was that word again—
should
. Thinking of it made him want to laugh and cry at the same time. How strange. But merry was not how he felt in any case. Xane rubbed his temples. He didn’t think he could feel worse and still be standing.

A thought trickled into his mind.
Head for the portal
. He chuckled. Now he knew he was deranged.
The portal was one destination he knew nothing about. Those things were witches’ business and best left at that, though Shaea longed to find one and get them both out. Could that be where she’d gone? Had she somehow found a portal and vanished to another place in Gaela, one that would offer a better life?
Did you leave without me, sister?
If so it would explain why he felt to go that way himself.
What if…

He shook his head, brushing it off. His place was back at the stables where the smell of horses, straw and leather would ease his aching head. He would report to the Stable Master, who would be well pleased to see him. He’d check his charges and hopefully be able to go to his cot early. The stimulants were wearing off already and he didn’t think he could stay on his feet much longer. He certainly didn’t feel like eating dinner either. He looked down the last alley, empty save for afternoon shadows and a family of stray cats. They might know something but, unlike Shaea, he couldn’t communicate with them. As he walked on, the image of a large black temple cat rippled across his mind. The creature winked at him.
This is madness. I’ve got to lie down.

When he reached the stables he went straight to his section. There he found Fortuna and Grace, his charges. They were fed and watered but not groomed—their coats crisp with dry sweat and mud, their hooves packed, manes and tails full of brambles. He sighed and brought Fortuna, the palomino gelding, out first. He cross-tied him in the breezeway and with a curry comb in both hands he went to work.

Using circular strokes he started at the gelding’s neck, just behind his ears, flipping the tangled mane to the other side. His strokes lifted the caked mud, the powder falling to the ground. He did a thorough job, currying the entire body save his legs and the lesions
left by bramble thorns. Fortuna tolerated the grooming with only an occasional pinning of his ears or swish of his tail. Good lad.

‘You must be tired to be this well mannered, eh, boy? If I wasn’t beat myself I’d dose you for worms while you’re placid.’ He combed out his mane and tail and finished with a stiff boar-bristle brush, running his hand down each leg to check for injury. ‘Sound as always, Fortuna, though you look like you swam through a briar patch. You fit your name, lucky one.’ He treated the wounds and stood back, checking his work. ‘Let’s tend to your hooves and be done.’

He grabbed a hoof pick from the groom box and bent over, running his hand down the near front leg, clucking as he leaned into the horse’s shoulder. Fortuna lifted his hoof and Xane cleaned it, picking out the packed dirt and rocks until the V-shaped sole was clean and smooth. He checked the shoe nails, running his thumb across the heads before setting the hoof down.

Xane repeated the procedure on each hoof and with a bucket of water and a brush he scrubbed the last of the mud away from the hoof walls, rubbing in oil until they shone like polished wood. When he finished, he looked at the ground, frowning. One of the rocks that he picked from the hooves caught his eye and he held it to the light. ‘Where have you been, Fortuna?’

He groomed the mare next, saving the sweet one for last. Grace always lived up to her name. She stood poised and serene as he curried and brushed her coat until it shone like obsidian. He examined the stones from her hooves as well, shaking his head. ‘How could this be?’ he whispered as he led her back to her stall, refilling the water buckets and giving them each an extra armful of hay. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve been halfway to Mount Pele and back. But
that’s impossible.’ He scratched his head and went off in search of the Stable Master, the blue metal rocks in his hand.
Impossible?

Xane tapped on the Stable Master’s door. ‘Master?’ He wasn’t expecting to be chastised but his charges had been injured and only returned by chance. He squeezed the rocks in his hand.

‘Xane,’ the Stable Master said. ‘Are your horses settled?’

He entered the room as several officers filed out. ‘Aye, sir, and groomed.’

‘Injuries?’

‘They’re sound, sir, with minor scratches.’

‘From?’

‘Brambles. They’d both been tied in them, I’d say.’

‘By Captain Naden?’

‘I don’t know, sir. I can’t remember.’

The Stable Master got up from his desk and examined Xane’s neck.

‘I’m surprised you’re alive, with or without memories.’

A fire jolted up Xane’s spine and he shivered. ‘Me too,’ he whispered. He squared his shoulders. ‘Sir, I think the horses have had an uncanny journey.’

‘A what?’

‘I found these packed into their hooves.’ He held out his hand, the blue metal dull in the evening light.

The Stable Master took the stones and held them to the lamp. Under the candlelight they sparkled, their edges like glitter. ‘You picked these from their hooves? Are you sure, boy?’

‘Certain. Do you know where they’re from?’

The Stable Master nodded. ‘Nowhere accountable, lad.’ He headed for the door. ‘Bring them up. I want to check them for myself.’

Xane almost wished he’d waited until morning to show the Stable Master the rocks. His head throbbed and his stomach ached. He was overcome with a sudden thirst but ignored it, forcing his legs to work. He reached for the halters hanging next to the stall doors and brought out the animals one at a time for the master to inspect. It was lucky he had done a first-rate job of cleaning them up. The Stable Master went over them from head to hoof, eyeing the angle of wear on their iron shoes, looking through the sweepings and the manure pile for more clues. He grabbed the boar-bristle brush from the rack and pulled out a few winged seeds.

‘You used this brush?’

‘Aye, sir. Sorry. I didn’t clean it yet. I…’

The Stable Master waved him silent. ‘Good you didn’t. It’s got our clue. They were ridden to Prieta, most likely with the troops that chased the war witches.’

‘How can you tell?’

‘See these seeds?’

‘Pine nuts? They grow everywhere.’

‘Pine nuts do, indeed, but take a closer look.’

Xane focused his eyes and for a moment the seed zoomed in so close he thought he could see through it. He jumped back.

‘Are you all right, lad?’

He nodded, looking again. ‘They’re bigger than our pine nuts, aren’t they? And darker?’

‘They’re Parana nuts, grown only in the foothills of the Prieta Mountains.’ The Stable Master took off his cap and scratched his head. ‘But their shoes don’t show the wear we’d expect to see from a journey there and back.’

‘Some mystery,’ Xane said.
Where have you been,
my lovely Grace? My fractious Fortuna? And who was it that rode you, leaving you at the battlefield with neither saddle nor headstall?