Script of the Heart Page 21

  Just taking a deep breath of end-of-summer air and the scent of Giniana's cottage and her banished the depressing thought. He had her, for now, and, he hoped, for the foreseeable future. He didn't know when his yearning for her would fade. Their bond appeared strong and healthy and growing.

  The ultimatum that had spurted from him had clutched his gut, but they wouldn't be in a intimate bubble of a new relationship forever. She'd had to accept him as an actor or he couldn't continue to be with her.

  And she had. He'd sensed shock and dread, incipient panic from her at breaking up.

  They'd gotten through it.

  As they would get through the next five days until the time Healing of Thrisca, hopefully, and not her demise, and through the finish of Firewalker at the end of the month … and, hopefully, too, not the end of his career.

  He contemplated staying here in bed with Giniana, but sweat coated him—heat sweat and fear sweat and sex sweat, and he needed a waterfall. He rose and went to the other door of the bedroom and opened it, then stared at a tiny, windowless workroom converted from a closet. It held a small desk with delicate metal tools he didn't recognize, and many shelves of … rocks.

  Looking closer, he saw a bowl of different-colored polished stones, some incised with runic glyphs, some with inspirational words such as, "Believe," "Create," "Trust," "Revel." She used copper, silver, gold and glisten metal to script the cut runes. Outlined drawings of animals were also carved in the stones.

  Fascinating.

  With a fingersnap, he set a lightspell orb to see better, and a gleaming flash of crystal set in rough rock caught his eyes. It showed repeating variegated bands of nearly black deep purple, then blue-green, a soft solid green, and a few horizontal streaks of white. Reaching for it, he took the rock and rough crystal down from the shelf, examined it, feeling the texture of pure Celtan rock and smooth glass angles.

  "You like that piece?" Giniana asked behind him.

  He smiled. "Yes. Obviously you have a strong creative Flair as well as your Healing."

  "Thank you, though it's a hobby only."

  "Understood. You're a Healer and this is to relax."

  She nodded, her eyelids lowering as she scanned his body. He might feel grubby, but she liked what she saw, and his body reacted to that. He wondered at the space and sturdiness of her waterfall enclosure. "Let's head for the waterfall." His voice dropped low.

  Her brows raised, then she tilted her head, smiling. "Just checking on my FamCats to make sure they're busy. This is one of Thrisca's quarterly days up at T'Spindle Residence."

  "Free from Fams all day?" His spirits lifted.

  "Yes."

  Then his calendarsphere pinged and stated, "Your first session in the Johnswort Ritual Room, celebrating the anniversary of the construction of the house, is scheduled to begin in one and a half septhours—"

  "Cancel—" Johns began.

  "No, don't," Giniana interrupted.

  "It's not a hard and fast appointment for me," he pointed out.

  "But it's important." Her face wore an arrested expression. "I thought of that when I met you, but not since. You're from an old Family."

  "An old family who prized their middle-class merchant status." He twitched a smile, but didn't pretend that his lips curved in pleasure. "The last few generations of the family deteriorated to near poverty." Squaring his shoulders, he stated, "But I am refurbishing both house and yard. I have time and Flair to labor on them now."

  "Then it's important that you keep your appointment."

  He strode to her and lifted her fingers to his lips. "I'd rather spend most of the day with you."

  Her smile radiated sincerity. She ducked her head a bit, peered up at him through her lashes. "Perhaps you'd like to show me your house?"

  Thank the Lord and Lady his place should be in good shape! "I'd like that." Bracing himself, he said, "I'll even invite Thrisca and Melis."

  "Hmmm." But her lips twitched. "They are hunting and showing their skills and being spoilt today by T'Spindle Residence and that Family."

  "You might be right. It could be quite a comedown to visit a shabbier estate—not really an estate, but a large house and parcel of land."

  "I'm sure the FamCats would think so, and I'm sure they'll try to milk this treat at T’Spindle Residence for as long as possible, perhaps late into the evening."

  And her scrypebble shrieked. "Giniana, please, please Giniana, we need you here at AllClass HealingHall, transnow!" begged a woman.

  Giniana stiffened. "That's FirstLevel Healer Lark Holly."

  "Of the FirstFamily GreatLord Hollys?"

  "Yes. I must go! Whirlwind spell, professional Healer attire!" Giniana commanded, and Johns shuddered as he saw her roughly scrubbed by the cleansing spell, her hair yanked back into a professional coronet and Healing clothes whisked on her. As soon as the nasty wind ended, Giniana brushed a light kiss on his mouth. "Please secure the cottage, and I’ll see you later, I hope!"

  "Yes," he said as she teleported away.

  No Whirlwind Spell for him. As he headed toward her bathroom, he contemplated the thought that he must accept the fact that there would be times like this, when Giniana answered a call for an emergency Healer. Such an instance could happen at any time: when he took her to a fancy dinner and they'd begun to sit down, in the middle of the night, maybe even while they made love.

  He had accepted her as a dedicated Healer, but he'd also been quite aware of the mantra she shared with him, "Just for now. Just for a short time." But that wouldn't necessarily be true if a HealingHall scried with an emergency. He didn't see Giniana ever refusing such a plea.

  An aspect of her profession he hadn't totally acknowledged until now. It scared him a little that he accepted that she might leave at any moment so easily. As he had moments before, no hesitation on his part, or selfish demand, he so totally supported her.

  He lingered as long as he could under the waterfall, enjoying the luxurious herbal and medicinal silky liquid falling from a ledge over his head, but neither Giniana nor the cats returned. Fulfilling his promise, he set spellshields on her cottage, then took the public carrier home.

  Some minutes later outside his ritual room, Johns oiled the door hinges and ensured the slab of wood swung smoothly before he entered the chamber. Since he used this space at least quarterly to keep the basic housekeeping spells going, not much dust accumulated and the brass pentacle-within-a-circle inset in the floor gleamed in the sunlight.

  He looked at the place with fresh eyes. Bare white walls, no furniture, no rugs. Clean, smelled fine of herbs, tidy altar. At least he'd fulfilled his minimum responsibilities of his family home.

  The altar still showed trappings of his Summer Solstice ritual. He winced. He'd done those necessary spells perfunctorily in a short ceremony more than a month ago.

  After that, he'd focused on himself and his career. Had definitely not been in the proper state of mind to feel the immense gratitude for all that had been given him in his life. Nor had he expressed such gratitude in this chamber for far too long.

  He experienced gratitude now, and predominantly for his new and wonderful lover. A woman who he hoped might visit that very afternoon, for more than just sex. His previous relationships featured casual lovers. None of those ladies had asked to come to his home and he hadn't offered. More casual than he'd thought, since he never spoke to prospective lovers about how he wasn't looking for long term, that was understood up front by both parties.

  Not like Raz Cherry emphasized the unimportance of his affairs to his women. But Raz had a wealthy noble Family behind him. Johns, as a guy on his own, and dedicated to his craft of acting, wouldn't be seen as a good marriage prospect. Just as well. Oddly enough he felt as if he'd been saving all his emotional attachment for a certain driven Healer.

  The moment he'd seen her, desire had sizzled through him. It hadn't faded, not after one session in bed, not after … and he didn't know how many times he'd had sex with her, and us
ually the back of his mind kept track, lowering as that was.

  A window banged, yanking him from wandering thought.

  He crossed to the center of the room. Since today didn't demand directional precision, he moved the mobile altar to the south where it stayed in summer. Then he returned to the middle of the brass pentagram set into the floor.

  The windows on two sides of the room poured in light. The quality of that golden sunshine and the notion that this room featured in his earliest memories—even when his mother had been alive—caused deep satisfaction to well through him.

  He held that, the satisfaction, the peace, the knowledge that this room and the whole house belonged to him. Had belonged to his family for generations. He hadn't thought of that, been grateful for it, for years.

  Appropriate thoughts and feelings for the anniversary day of the raising of this House.

  Then he let out a large breath, angled until the sun rested on his face. He began the prayer to the Lord and Lady, drew on his own inner Flair and initiated the greater housekeeping spell he hadn't done for too long, using his Flair to power it. Then energy surged up through him from the floor, nearly burning his feet.

  He choked on a ritual word, but only one since he was a professional, kept on with the rhythm of the chant when his eyes blurred with power infusing the atmosphere around him, heating it, too.

  What was that?

  us. The tiny whisper came in his mind, a faint squeak and equally fleeting vague image.

  But a huge current of feeling.

  Power, energy, Flair waiting for him to access it, to use it for the house and property. And the instant he thought of his land, strength rolled through him, tickled the underside of the ground and the thread-roots of millions of blades of grass, supplying them with energy.

  He thought he heard a boy's surprised yell outside, Marti Samphire working in the yard. But Johns focused on his feet, on the wooden floor below him, then into the basement, and further … down a minuscule shaft he didn't know about. Latching onto the flickering image, the hint of murmur, he sent his mind to the source. Felt them better.

  Runestones, all touching, in a circular pattern. He couldn't discern the mineral type containing the carved glyphs.

  Runestones. HeartStones.

  Yesss! Not truly a word, just a feeling of affirmation and joy.

  Johns rocked back on his heels, sending most of his attention to the stones, sucking in a big breath, too, as the realization pinged through him.

  His ancestral house had a—not a HouseHeart because there was no chamber—but definitely HouseStones. His home was becoming sentient.

  Lord and Lady.

  Talk about responsibility.

  He continued to recite the middle of the spell. Energy pulsed through him so greatly that he seemed to swell with Flair from the inside out, stretching his skin. He pushed that power, along with his own contribution, back through the house—the House—and downward, sensing the complete thrill of the stones as they received such energy.

  Sounds rustled around him, impinging on his awareness. The floorboard creaked, the window glass in the room thinned of its own accord, setting the small crystal chandelier above his head that he'd forgotten about sparkling and dancing and chiming.

  Joy.

  Lady and Lord, why had he waited so long to do this? But he hadn't known about the HeartStones, and who knew, for sure, when they'd managed to gather that last bit of energy to puff them into intelligence? As he settled back into his balance, he considered that if he hadn't let the HouseStones gather Flair and energy, if he hadn't left them alone, if he'd drained them regularly, they'd not yet be sentient.

  A rationalization for sure, but it worked for him. He ended the spellchant with thanks to the Divine Couple and the House, and bowed in all four directions. Then he let the power sweep and hum around him, cleansing the whole house.

  His legs wobbled as he sank down to sit in the center of the pentagram. Hell, his whole insides seemed to ripple, radiating from his gut. Amazing.

  can we sleep now? murmured the tiny voice, then answered itself, sleep. until next turn of year. A slight pause. would be better if more than one human abiding here.

  Johns opened his mouth, and his mind, to reply, but felt the teeny flickering of the rune HeartStones' essences subside into darkness—sleeping and listening and learning to all that occurred in the House. To him.

  Zow.

  He wanted to share this wondrous event, and with Giniana. No scry bowl in the ritual room, of course, and he'd taken his perscry pebble out of his pocket and placed it on the table outside the door for items not to be brought into ceremonial chamber.

  He rose to his feet and exited the room, tapped the latch shut with a stronger verse-spell than previously. Checking their bond, he found her still working, but it seemed she might be finishing up. So he left a message in her perscry that he'd provide lunch here for them both, reminded her of the address. He'd also sensed that the other Healers, or the HealingHall itself, had flooded her with energy.

  Then he stopped and sniffed. The hallway smelled good, and breath stopped as the scent wisped around him, bringing back memories, once again before his mother had died when he'd been seven years old.

  Without thought he strode upstairs to his suite, looked across the hall. He blinked blurred eyes and saw the rich dark scarlet of the door opposite him. His mother's suite. He couldn't remember, now, how long it had been since he'd actually entered those rooms. A bit after his FatherDam had died, he thought. The women had loved each other as mother and daughter, though his father had died of a sickness soon after Johns had been born.

  No, not ready to set foot in his mother’s rooms. Something he could need help with, from a strong person, like Giniana.

  So he banished sadness with the contrasting thought that he, his Family, now had a permanent companion, the House. Incredible and uplifting.

  While he strolled through the house—his House, since it had begun to be self-aware—looking at the gleaming rooms and out the pristine windows at bushes that had blossomed with flowers, grass that had grown, his perscry emitted a standard call ping. "Saint Johnswort here," he answered.

  A laconic man in a Cherry Shipping and Transport pilot's uniform stared at him. "I'm calling to deliver an Alder Classic glider to you. ASAP, I was told. Can accept a gilt chit from you." He named a large amount.

  Johns nodded coolly. "I'm at Saint Johnswort estate now and will stay until you arrive."

  "Right. See you soon."

  Letting out a pent up breath that he'd sucked in at the price, Johns allowed himself to lean against the kitchen counter, wiped sudden sweat from his forehead. The price on the glider really was a deal. It was a good investment. The vehicle itself could last him a lifetime if he treated it right, which he fully intended to do. It was also a statement that he had enough gilt to own the thing and enough Flair to power it.

  Having a glider, now, would signal others in the business he wasn't worried about his career or future.

  Johns thought he'd always worry about his future.

  But paying for the vehicle would deplete his savings. He'd need to land a job much sooner.

  Picking up T'Ash's silver token from the no-time appliance where he'd cached the treasure, he examined it. On the face showed an Ash tree, the Ash tree in the center of the Great Labyrinth. The obverse pictured T'Ash's and D'Ash's profiles with the date inscribed. Impressive.

  He rolled the coin in his fingers. Like most people, he'd never earned any kind of any Family token before.

  Good enough to purchase a glider?

  Immediate rejection of that notion. Like the terrible idea of mortgaging his home and land Giniana had brought up days ago that he'd dismissed instantly. No.

  He believed in himself, in his ability to pursue his career, in his own sheer determination. Save the token, the estate, minor as it was, for the future.

  He'd stash the coin in the safe in his mother's rooms when he got the guts
to go there. Perhaps with Giniana. It was the main suite of the House. Wouldn't it be tied to the HeartStones, the vibrations of that space resonate most for them? He'd have to seriously think about moving into those rooms.

  It was time.

  A thought snippet floated through his mind. He'd like living in the suite so much more with Giniana.

  Too soon for that option! Not until they'd all survived the time procedure. If Thrisca didn't live through the process, maybe Giniana and Melis would like a change of scene—no, throw those pessimistic thoughts right out.

  Analyze his own career. He'd be handing over a large amount of gilt shortly. He should really get down to business and determine how much food all the House no-times contained—indifferent tasting or not. Look at his wardrobe … and if worse came to worst … make those tiny play houses, tree houses, forts, for noble children.

  He would have time to examine the MasterSuite and refurbish it. Working through it might be odd and sad, but he could face the echoes of the women who raised him now.

  They'd be proud of him, he was sure.

  He flipped the silver token, watched it catch the light as it spun through the air before he snatched it back. There might very well be other family treasures or tokens in that suite that he could discover.

  Chapter 23

  With his new sensitivity to the House and grounds, Johns knew when the glider flowed through the gates he'd told Marti Samphire to open before the boy left. Johns felt the vehicle travel up the newly-weeded flagstone gliderway to the front of the House.

  He hurried down to open the door, step out onto the deck of the wrap-around porch, greet the driver as the man drew up.

  Johns's gaze fixed on the beautiful machine as the guy lifted the driver's door and exited, patted the hood before he rounded the glider to meet Johns.

  Staring at the vehicle, Johns handed the man the gilt chit without any tiny bump of anxiety. "Beautiful."

  "That she is," the Cherry driver said, grinning. The pilot saluted him and vanished, teleporting away with a small pop.