Heart Sight Page 7

  People studied each phase in turn. The child toddled from the center of the Great Labyrinth north of Druida City. Above the chubby figure clothed in a loincloth spread the huge Ash tree. Though the real labyrinth had a strongly defined path as a spiritual and meditation aid, in front of the toddler lay smooth grass in all directions, unlimited potential, any pathway he or she could take to the rim.

  Again Avellana had depicted the crater and the rising levels of greenery, rich and verdant, promising food and shelter on the soul’s journey. The bright star of Bel, their sun, shone high in the deep blue sky, a spring sky.

  Most of the tour pivoted to see the next mural, that of a man and woman in the prime of life, crafting an altar halfway up the bowl of the Great Labyrinth, with a trellis behind and to the sides of them, and on that trellis, exact copies of the holos everyone viewed now. More oohs.

  Vinni couldn’t prevent himself from looking down at Avellana and grinning. She radiated anxiety as she waited for reactions to her work. He pulled her close and her body had stiffened so that she toppled more than bent.

  Then everyone looked at the last mural. An old person with white hair, face so wrinkled with age and living that the individual’s gender could not be deduced. A long robe like the ones the ministers wore fell in folds; a thin gold band circled the elder’s brow. She or he faced them at the top of the rim of the crater holding the Great Labyrinth. This time the path—surely the path the person had carved—showed the deep brown of rich earth against autumn colors of leaves and berries. One foot stepped onto that path, taking the trail back down into the bowl to the Ash tree. One hand rose palm outward in greeting or farewell or both, and the sun shone right above the oldster’s head.

  Silence pervaded the Cathedral, with only the whispers of the wind against the windows, the breathing of the gathered people. No one even shifted. Then someone sighed, “Zow,” and that broke the moment and the visitors shuffled, murmured, talked a little louder. A plump middle-aged woman stepped up to Avellana, met her eyes, and bowed. “Thank you for showing us your art. You have a great talent.”

  “Thank you for appreciating it,” Avellana said, curtseying.

  “Now, GentleLadies and GentleSirs,” the Hopeful tour guide, a man in his late twenties, said, “let me show you some of the excellent sculpture we’ve decorated our stone with . . .” He led them away down the arm dedicated to the innocent childlike self.

  Avellana relaxed against Vinni and he cherished the feel of her against his side and kept his mouth shut.

  After a minute, she drew away, glanced up at him with a mischievous look, and said, “I want some ice cream, you with whom I can do anything I wish.”

  He raised his brows but returned her smile. “I’ll be pleased to provide you with ice cream. At The Merry Treat, Merry Tart shop?”

  “Oooh, big spender.”

  Reluctantly he dropped his arm from her waist and found her fingers and clasped her hand.

  When he moved, she didn’t, and he stopped.

  Her eyes had narrowed, and she spoke in a low tone. “You did not come just to give me a ride home, did you? There is something serious we must discuss.”

  Vinni sighed. “Yes, I’ve come to speak with you regarding a serious matter. But I don’t want to talk about that here in the Cathedral.”

  Her lips tightened, then she said, “This is a sacred space, Muin.”

  “It is also a building where sound carries well, and we have a group of people unknown to us touring.” He kept his voice quiet. “None of them seemed to recognize you or me, but I don’t want to talk of Family matters where others can hear.”

  “Very well.” She tucked her hand in the corner of his elbow, just like always, and he breathed easier. The crisis point had passed with her. He’d need to step warily, though, with this latest challenge.

  Changing the topic, he said, “Chief Minister Younger seemed cheerful when he left.”

  “He ran out of the Cathedral,” she corrected.

  “Yes. Why?”

  “When something that was joyful to begin with becomes a burden, it is time to lay it down, is it not?” she replied. “He is no longer Younger.” Her lips took on a smug cast. “We have chosen a girl of fifteen for that title. She will be marvelous.”

  But Vinni discounted the latter sentences. Yes, he knew how to shade his voice with truth and . . . lesser truth . . . to subtly guide a person who consulted him for visions of his or her life on the best path, and he’d learned that from listening and studying behavior. Right now, Avellana didn’t only speak of Younger. So Vinni would be direct. Keeping his voice a murmur, he said, “Are we also speaking of my prophetic Flair? Because it’s always been a burden.” He’d meant that to come out lighter, but his lips had twisted and bitterness had laced his tone.

  She studied him. “But you used to find some joy in your Flair! I know that.”

  His chuckle didn’t sound entirely mordant. “I did, but others didn’t seem to appreciate me telling them of their future.”

  He’d been brash as a child and a new GreatLord, offering advice instead of waiting to be asked. And then he began to understand that no one really liked meeting him, and even with members of his Family there remained a tiny distance between him and everyone else because of his great Flair.

  But Avellana had saved him from an early age, when he’d understood she was his HeartMate. He was never alone because of her. The only thing that scared him in his life was being without her.

  He wrenched his mind back to the topic—that the man he’d known as Younger had given up that title and responsibility. And had been glad to do so.

  An idea struck him to the heart. Was Avellana . . . could she be . . . speaking of their relationship as something that had been wonderful but had become a hardship?

  His entire focus fixed upon her, he saw, heard, sensed nothing else in the world. With a snarl he couldn’t suppress, he moved his grip to around her biceps and lifted her, eye-to-eye. “You aren’t talking about us. Saying that our relationship was joyful and now it isn’t. I won’t give you up.”

  And he kissed her. Right there in the Hopefuls’ holy Cathedral.

  He closed his eyes as held her, gentled his grasp and slid her down his body, let the groan that wanted to tear from him resonate through their bond, internal instead of external. She trembled against him and emotions rushed from her: love and tenderness, a touch of physical desperation—wonderful!—but all tinged with a twining thread of deep red anger. That hurt his heart, and he’d have to work on that . . . when he could think again, because all thought dribbled away.

  Lady and Lord, her body against his felt so incredibly wonderful! All he ever wanted to do was to hold her. Keep her close. Keep her safe. She felt right as always, her against him. Matching in this as in so much other.

  And matching in need. She touched her tongue to his lips and he parted them, craving the taste of her. So long. Five whole days without touching.

  Her arms clamped around him and they explored mouths with tongues. His hands drifted down to above her derriere. Stopped. Can’t go farther. Don’t know why but not now. Bad idea.

  She pressed against him and he had to break the kiss into little ones, as he breathed in pants. Her arms went around his neck and she toyed with his hair. And he sizzled hot, hotter, hottest.

  Needed to cool down. Ice cream. Yes, let that coat his mouth instead of Avellana’s taste . . . though he thought there might be a flavor of ice cream that reminded him of her. When he’d sent her away from Druida City during the plague years, he’d haunted shops that had drinks and pastries and ice cream that approximated her taste.

  Sweet and salty at once.

  Salty, he thought, because she’d cried sometimes when he’d kissed her good-bye.

  “Never again,” she murmured, placing her hand on the side of his face, and he understood that she’d s
ensed what he’d been thinking . . . or feeling. Those farewells wrenched him as fully as her.

  A cough. Avellana stepped away from him, and he had a couple of instants to mutter a spell dissipating his passion.

  He found Chief Minister Custos, who represented the guardian spirit, staring at them indulgently, or, rather, looking at the flushed faces of them both. The older man gestured. “There’s a privacy chamber down the arm of mature vitality that can be used for this sort of thing.”

  Vinni thought he might look shocked and wild-eyed. But he understood the reasons. The Cathedral continued to need all the energy and emotions people could pour into it, including sexual energy. And . . . he thought GreatCircle Temple might also have such rooms, though he’d never considered that notion before.

  With a couple of Words Avellana smoothed her appearance. “Thank you, Chief Minister, but we are leaving.” She gave the man a little curtsey. She sounded completely in control of herself and the situation.

  “May the rest of your day’s journey be sweet,” the man said.

  Avellana’s face lit and she laughed delightedly. “It will, we are going for ice cream at The Merry Treat, Merry Tart.”

  “Blessings to you,” Vinni said, yet feeling disconcerted. So he covered that by bowing again, this time with many hand flourishes.

  Custos nodded to them and retreated to the center and down the arm where the tour group guide lectured.

  Vinni snagged Avellana’s hand and walked with her to the northeast portal.

  Once outside in the bright light of the small white sun in the deep blue sky he took her arm, though the area around the Cathedral had been smoothed from the original rocky space.

  If she hadn’t truly forgiven him, she still allowed him to touch her. Five days had been four and two-thirds days too many without her.

  Since there continued to be few gliders in Druida City, he and Avellana had to walk a little ways to the packed dirt area where Vinni had parked, the only glider around, though he kept gathering information from his senses so he’d soon be able to teleport.

  Now he stood on Varga Plateau, where they could see the smudge of the buildings of Druida City in the distance and the more prominent landmark of the starship Nuada’s Sword. He relaxed, feeling more like himself, GreatLord Muin T’Vine who celebrated the Celtic religion of the Lady and Lord.

  Avellana sighed. “To answer your earlier question, no, Muin, I wasn’t referring to our relationship as having lost joy. Though we haven’t formally HeartBonded, I don’t think either of us would survive the loss of the other,” she said matter-of-factly. Then added, “Though I think we could live apart, as we have always done, successfully enough.”

  Irritation spurted through him, turning his vision red. Easy, easy.

  Now he did clear his throat. “Since you refuse to be guided by my—”

  “Fears?” she asked quietly.

  He stopped, simply stood frozen, no words coming.

  “Aren’t you tired of being fearful, Muin?”

  Eight

  Vinni’s mouth opened, but he remained speechless and closed it.

  Her steady blue eyes met his. “I am tired of being fearful, and of your worry.”

  “Our relationship is a burden for you.”

  “No!” she replied swiftly. “Of course our relationship is not a burden.” She paused and didn’t look at him. “At least not to me.”

  “I just proved I don’t consider our relationship a burden.” He moved in front of her and sank down until she couldn’t avoid seeing him, and waited until she looked at him. “Our relationship is a joy. The best and truest thing in my life.”

  She caught her breath. Held out her hands and he took them, straightened.

  Her lips trembled a little and the emotional bond between them that had constricted now expanded, flowing wide and deep with exchanged feelings. From her, he felt complete acceptance of . . . fate. And determination. He barely heard her exhale but scented the sweetness of her breath.

  Her pupils dilated and they stared at each other. “I will say again, we are close enough despite not accepting the HeartBond, that we might not survive the death of each other.”

  “No,” he said. “You would live if I perished.”

  She hissed and shook her head. “Why do you persist in thinking I am different than I am? We must discuss that in depth also—but later.” Reaching up, she placed her palm against his cheek. “I would not like to live if you were gone from the world, Muin. I would slough off my body, and my spirit would continue on its journey until I found you again.”

  And his soul would circle on the Wheel of Stars until she caught up with him.

  With a grimace she stepped from him and touched the door of the glider so it rose. “You need to practice acceptance of that fact, Muin, stop denying that we are already tied too closely to survive without one another. Stop thinking and feeling and believing that you can protect me from everything.” Her gaze drilled into him. “I have accepted that.”

  They stared at each other, until he cut his gaze away.

  “So. Let us get into the glider and you can tell me what situation has come up that we should discuss.”

  You could NOT have forgotten ME. Avellana’s ginger tabby FamCat swaggered from the bushes, burped, sat, and tended his bloody whiskers.

  Vinni considered him overly plump and groomed. As far as he knew, Avellana combed and brushed him every day. Rhyz stared at Vinni and smirked, sent him a private telepathic message. My FamWoman loves Me. I am with her EVERY DAY. She does not like you right now. One side of the cat’s muzzle lifted to show a fang.

  The cat had struck well. Vinni’s jaw clenched. Under her words and her surface feelings, he felt the low ripple of her continuing annoyance at him.

  Do not say so, Rhyz! Vinni heard his love’s telepathic projection to her Fam, her mindspeech laced with steel. She sniffed. You stir up trouble when we have temporarily smoothed the rough waters between us. She paused before continuing. And we are going to confront another problem soon enough.

  The cat’s ears perked up. Troublemaker. He trotted over to the glider.

  Vinni’s new glider. He’d recently purchased a new one—a vehicle in colors and fabrics pleasing to Avellana and that would only seat the two of them—but he liked being alone in a small space with her. So often he and she met when Family watched.

  And now he had to put up with the FamCat, too. He reached out with his mind to check on his own Fam. Flora snoozed on her pillow in her basket in Vinni’s sitting room.

  With a wave of the hand, he kept the glider door open on Avellana’s side, then thinned the top of the vehicle to an in-built weathershield that revealed the scenery. No reason to hurry back to the city.

  He hadn’t noticed the cat slipping into the glider until Rhyz lay on the back Fam perch and sneezed. Too much smell of HOUSEFLUFF.

  “Too bad,” Vinni said, entering the glider. He set the thing to self-navigate and pushed the steering bar into the dashboard.

  Avellana settled in and fastened the safety web, smiling. “This is a beautiful vehicle.”

  “It’s good for the two of us,” he replied. He hit the ignition button; the landing gear folded into the body of the glider and it proceeded smoothly, more slowly than if he’d taken the controls. He wanted every moment he could get with his love.

  Her smile fading, Avellana angled toward him. “Tell me what is wrong, Muin.”

  So he laid out Bifrona’s request, ending with, “I’m not sure why they asked us to lead the circle. Whether they want you to conform to their standards . . . or for some even less acceptable reason.”

  Avellana exhaled a sibilant breath, then turned to stare at him. “Is this why you wanted me to stay away from Druida City? You think someone in your household is working against us? That this request is a way to discredit me?”


  “Discredit us,” he corrected in a stern tone.

  “Discredit us,” she repeated.

  Bad peoples, Rhyz grumbled.

  “We have a conundrum, Muin,” she said as the glider carried them across the plateau toward the tall, strong city walls of Druida. Not looking at him, she said, “I don’t mind acting Lady to your Lord . . .”

  And his lust stirred at that, yes, it did.

  “. . . but I will not compromise my own faith. I will not be a Celtic God and Goddess Worshipper and a Hopeful. That is wrong. And, besides, I told my Chief Ministers that I would not do so.”

  “Then we will commission a whole raft of rituals from Priestess Tiana Blackthorn-Moss that will include both our beliefs. I can be more flexible. Can’t we both agree that the Lady and Lord reveal different aspects of themselves throughout the year? That could be seen as a journey, no? An eternal journey. And we could call the Lady-as-Maiden also the inner childlike self. We can use concepts such as that, which we both agree on, as basis for our Family rituals.”

  Avellana turned back to him with wonder in her eyes, staring at him as if he were a hero. “There are many aspects of the Lord and Lady.” Avellana whispered a tenet of the Celtan faith.

  “Yes, and that would include, for each, the four spirits and avatars you cherish in your own religion.”

  “This might work for us,” Avellana whispered.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve spoken to the High Priest and High Priestess about this, of course,” Vinni said.

  “Naturally.” She tilted her head. “What did they say?”

  “That I am a FirstFamily GreatLord and one of the rulers of the planet and I, and my household, must survive, and to do that, we all must remain flexible.” He drew in a breath. “And that our Celtic religion is inclusive, our Lady and Lord are not jealous deities. In fact, they stated that you, as a Hopeful, will have a more difficult time of finding rituals matching ours; the Intersection of Hope is not so inclusive and has particular procedures that must be included.”