Empress Unborn

Chapter Three

The next day, Julia stood proudly before the people of Zendi as Aradia gave out awards to those who had helped to save lives after yesterday’s storm. The older Readers were embarrassed by the ceremony-they were not accustomed to being rewarded individually for their services.

Master Clement had set up an Academy here. Almost all of the Academy-trained Readers lived there, continuing the life-style they had always known. The only difference now was that men and women worked there together, something that still made some older Readers uneasy.

Money in an Academy was communal property; if the Readers earned some, it went into the community coffer; if a Reader had to travel, he was given funds for the journey out of that coffer. Master Clement had instructed that the gold Aradia handed out today was to be kept by the individual Readers, not placed in the Academy treasury. Many of the Readers receiving it had no idea what to do with the money.

Not so the minor Adepts and other citizens! They burgeoned with pride and plans. Many were merchants who had lost property in the storm; they, of course, would rebuild. Others thought of presents for their families, dowries, necessities or luxuries.

Galerio’s cohorts would probably drink and gamble their reward away, Julia knew. Galerio himself, though, wanted a horse, and she wholeheartedly approved. They’d be able to ride out into the country-alone, without his pack of followers. She carefully shielded her thoughts from Master Clement, who would surely feel compelled to relay them to Aradia. Rules of privacy didn’t apply to children when adults thought they violated them “for the good of the child.” How she wished her teacher would stop thinking of her as a child!

Toward the end of the ceremony, Aradia called forth a man who looked less like a hero than anyone Julia had ever seen before. It wasn’t exactly his appearance, although he was perhaps the most “medium”

person Julia had ever seen: medium size, medium build, medium age, medium-brown hair slightly receding. It was his demeanor, as if he wasn’t sure why he was there, his glance darting about as if he expected someone to chase him away.

But Aradia announced, “Wicket, and his friend Pyrrhus who is still in the hospital, are Aventines, but they risked their lives-and Pyrrhus was badly injured-saving the child of one of Zendi’s citizens. It is especially important to remind ourselves that the Aventines are no longer our enemies, but citizens of our empire. Pyrrhus and Wicket proved yesterday that they are brothers to us all. Wicket.” She handed the man two gold coins. “One measure for you, and one for Pyrrhus, in token of the gratitude of your fellow countrymen.”

Wicket stared at the gold, which Julia guessed was more money than he had ever had at one time in his life. She tried to Read his surface feelings-not exactly a forbidden invasion of the privacy of a nonReader if she did not search his thoughts, although she knew she would get a stern lecture from Master Clement if he caught her at it.

But Wicket’s feelings were hidden behind a strange barrier-a wall of nonsense: snatches of songs, jokes, stories swarmed on the surface of his mind, masking not only what he was thinking, but what he felt as well.

Smothering the urge to giggle, Julia stood in silent amusement as Aradia bestowed the Empire’s honor on a common criminal.

Some sort of confidence man, she assumed, pickpocket maybe, or cheat at gambling. NonReader, he had been trained by somebody who knew the Readers’ Code to set up a mental screen lest he be caught at his unlawful activities before he could even perform them. Julia had Read such criminals in Tiberium, where they had operated boldly during the brief time of chaos after the city’s fall.

Later, she had helped her father recognize such people and discourage them from plying their trade in Zendi. Wicket must be new here; there were Readers in the town now who would recognize that barrier.

All he had to do was trigger any citizen’s suspicions, and he’d be caught.

Meanwhile, though, Julia found it amusing that no one else yet knew what Wicket was-and since he had not broken the law, she was not about to tell. Such people who lived by their wits had been her friends in childhood, often willing to amuse a little girl with jokes and stories when no one else had time for her. Of course in the Savage Lands, with no Readers to pry into their heads, they had not needed such mental barriers then.

Flustered at being the object of attention from those in authority, Wicket was saying, “Uh-thank you, Lady Aradia.”

Julia wondered if Aradia noticed that he did not say ” my lady.” She knew many Aventine Readers who, while they acknowledged the titles which indicated the status of the Lords Adept, refused to accept their right to rule them. A single instance, of course, told her little about Wicket’s attitude. It was obvious that he had never met a Lady Adept before.

Neither Aradia nor Master Clement ever referred to Julia as “Lady,” although the people did. It was an issue Julia remained silent on; if she asked for the term of respect from her guardians, they would tell her she was too young. Master Clement, she was certain, would say she should not have the title until she had passed the tests for Magister Reader-and that event was five years away So she said nothing, but also never corrected her people.

Galerio never used the title, though. When the ceremony broke up, he joined her, saying, “How about putting your talent to some use for me, Julia?”

“What do you want me to do?” she asked eagerly, pleased at the chance to have Galerio owe her a favor.

“The horse market’s tomorrow. Come Read the animals for me, and what the dealers are thinking about them. Help me get the best I can for my money.”

“Of course,” she replied. Actually, Galerio did not need her help to keep from being cheated; Readers who knew horses much better than she did patrolled the market to be certain that hidden problems were not palmed off on unwary customers. But their job was not to influence the dealing; Galerio would get a better bargain with a Reader to determine what the dealers really considered their animals worth.

“Julia,” Aradia called.

Knowing she would see him tomorrow, Julia did not linger with Galerio. She had a momentary advantage with her stepmother, since the friend Aradia disapproved of had become a hero, so she could afford to be cheerfully obedient.

In fact, Julia was cheerfully obedient most of the time; she had to admit that Aradia was always just with her, and encouraged her to grow and extend her powers. If pressed, she would also have to admit that Aradia treated her better than her real mother, who had neglected her, often hit her when she was an inconvenience, and eagerly sold her to Lenardo when Julia was revealed as a Reader.

Julia had never known her father-her mother wasn’t even sure which of several possibilities he was-so Lenardo had felt “real” to her from the moment his mind first touched hers. It was harder to accept the stepmother who took his attention from her, but Lenardo had trained her always to seek the truth, the facts.

And the fact was that Aradia went out of her way not to come between Lenardo and Julia.

With Lenardo away, Julia found herself becoming closer to Aradia. Something Aradia had said last night haunted her with its truth.

Julia had been waiting to be scolded for running away in frustration when she had not been able to manifest Adept talent. She had been braced with arguments in her own defense, ready to point out how she had recognized the worth of Galerio and his followers, who had proved themselves heroes in the aftermath of the whirlwind.

Instead, after supper, when Julia was bathed and already in her sleeping garments, Aradia called the girl to her study.

Julia loved that room. It was Aradia’s study, but both Julia and Lenardo often went there in search of books and scrolls, for Aradia was determinedly rebuilding the library she had lost in the destruction of Castle Nerius.

Aradia sat quietly by the window that opened onto the courtyard, on one of the two comfortable lounges.

She was also in her sleeping garments and robe, her pale hair loosened from its intricate daytime style.

On her way in, Julia picked up a wax tablet and stylus from one of the tables-a tablet Lenardo had written on many times. Then she sat down on the lounge where Lenardo usually sat, and swung her feet up.

With her ability to Read the history of an object, she was thus able to feel surrounded by her father, protected by his love and caring.

Aradia watched her in silence for a moment, and then said, “I wish I could feel him as you do, Julia.”

The simple statement brought sudden, unexpected tears to the girl’s eyes. “Read with me,” she offered, and Aradia’s mind touched hers, sharing the memories of Lenardo sitting on that lounge, writing on that tablet.

But if she could share the sweet with Aradia, Julia also shared the bitter: each time she touched something of her father’s, the most recent memories were farther away. The days were passing. No message came from either Wulfston or Lenardo, and none of Aradia’s inquiries brought an answer.

Mind to mind, neither woman knew whose throat tightened first with unshed tears. They looked into each other’s glistening eyes, and broke the rapport.

“We both miss him,” said Aradia.

“Yes,” Julia agreed.

“Julia-you know that I am trying to care for you as Lenardo would.”

“I know,” she had to admit.

“Never mind the events which followed-would Lenardo have approved of your running away from your lesson today?”

Julia looked into Aradia’s violet eyes, but her stepmother had become deliberately unReadable. So she had to focus on the question-nothing about Galerio, but about leaving an unfinished lesson.

A sad smile came to Julia’s lips. “You’re right. Father would scold me for giving up a lesson I need to learn. I’m sorry, Aradia. I won’t do it again. “

“At least you will try not to,” the other woman acknowledged. Then she also smiled. “Julia, you and I have more in common than our concern for Lenardo.”

“Our concern for the Savage Empire,” Julia responded immediately.

“True,” Aradia said with a nod, “but I meant personal concerns. At the moment, we are both having great difficulty working with nature, because nature is toying with us.”

Julia frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You are undergoing puberty. Your body is changing- and as a Reader you certainly know the body affects the mind. Your feelings are often confusing. Sometimes you don’t know what you think about something. Then on some other idea you will feel completely convinced one way one day, and the opposite way the next.”

Julia said, “Yes, I know you were my age once.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Aradia replied. “You think it doesn’t matter that I’ve been through what you are going through, because I’m not feeling it now. But you’re wrong, Julia. Being pregnant does very much the same things to my body that puberty is doing to yours.”

“Father asked me to be careful about your feelings while you’re pregnant,” said Julia.

Aradia smiled. “Your father may be the greatest Reader the world has ever known-but although he may delve into women’s minds, he will never live inside a woman’s body. You do, Julia, and so do I. There are some things you and I have in common that Lenardo will never, ever understand.”

And Julia suddenly knew why Aradia would not say a word about Galerio. She smiled back at her stepmother with a new understanding. “May I Read the baby?” she asked.

“Of course,” said Aradia. “I was going to ask you to.”

And the two women shared sensing the small life Aradia carried that was a part of Lenardo.

On the following day, Julia was in a benevolent mood toward her stepmother. When Aradia called her away from Galerio, she went at once, and found that Aradia and Master Clement were going to the hospital. She was not being arbitrarily called away from her friends; she was being called to work with the healers.

It was an adult responsibility Julia had been performing for years-and one area of her powers where not even Master Clement questioned her judgment or her competence. Eager to help her people, Julia followed the others from the forum.

At the hospital, Aradia moved from one ward to another, greeting the recovering patients who were awake. Most needed only rest and nourishment now, and would be ready to go home within the day.

The healers had been able to care for all the injuries, but today most of them were themselves in recovery sleep. Minor Adepts now joined Readers in nursing the patients.

Julia and Master Clement went to help Read the patients still in healing sleep, to be certain all was going as intended. Aradia made sure they were well involved in their work before she sought out Pyrrhus.

Pyrrhus was awake, Wicket already at his side. As Aradia approached, she saw that his friend had given Pyrrhus the gold coins, and Pyrrhus was holding them on the open palm of his left hand, staring at them.

He was in one of the small wards where severely ill or injured patients were cared for, with only three other beds. One of those beds was now empty, and the other two men were still deep in healing sleep.

As Pyrrhus should have been.

The entire right side of his face and neck were vividly red and sore: regenerated flesh that in another day under Adept care would heal unscarred to its normal condition, but today must be as painful and sensitive as if flayed.

Pyrrhus seemed to be hiding his pain successfully from Wicket, but without Reading Aradia could see it in his eyes, dilated so they appeared black rather than their natural dark brown. Although it was pleasantly cool within the stone building, his brow showed a faint sheen of perspiration. Yet even with Reading, she still could not detect his pain.

It made no sense. She might be a very weak Reader, but pain such as Pyrrhus was experiencing should have had her sending him to sleep in self-defense. She had never heard of anyone masking such strong feelings except Lords Adept, but a Lord Adept in Pyrrhus’ condition would not have the strength for such effort.

Was Pyrrhus a secret Adept grown up in the Aventine Empire, where until four years ago such powers had been anathema? No, even the greatest Lord Adept would be at the mercy of his own body’s defenses, which would put him back into healing sleep whether he willed it or not. Besides, a Lord Adept would block the pain, not suffer it while blocking transmission to Readers. There had to be some other explanation.

However he was doing it, why was he masking his pain? It meant only that no Reader called an Adept healer’s attention to him, and he suffered for no reason.

Aradia crossed the room to Pyrrhus’ side, and waited for him to look up at her. Although it was discolored, his face was back to its normal contours now, thin with sharp planes, high cheekbones, pointed chin, eyes set deep under a heavy browbone. A large, straight nose saved it from appearing pinched, but it would have been a severe, even frightening face were it not for a sensuous, beautifully sculpted mouth, now tense with suspicion as his eyes met hers.

“You remember Lady Aradia,” Wicket said brightly, too eagerly cheerful. “She’s the one healed you, Pyrrhus-and gave us the gold!”

“Why give us money?” Pyrrhus asked, his eyes like twin weapons trained on Aradia.

“Because,” she replied gently, “although there is no adequate repayment for saving a life, such a deed cannot go unrecognized and unrewarded.”

“I assure you,” Pyrrhus said acidly, “my action was unpremediatated. Simple animal reflex.”

“The reflex of a good man,” Aradia told him. “Witnesses told us what happened: when you saw the vat of oil toppling, about to spill onto a little boy, you ran in and snatched the child up. And when you could not move fast enough to escape the burning liquid, you tossed the child to Wicket, who carried him to safety.”

“At least it was a child,” Pyrrhus said, closing his hand over the coins with an audible snap. “Although of course he will grow up, won’t he?” He made it sound like a curse.

By now it was clear to Aradia that Pyrrhus was wounded far more in mind than in body. Such cynicism could only cover deep scars of betrayal. It was not an uncommon symptom among the people their Savage Alliance had conquered, and the only cure was to prove their benevolence over time.

The sole medicine she could offer Pyrrhus at the moment was to continue his healing. “Have you eaten?”

she asked.

He frowned slightly at the abrupt change of subject. “No.”

There was fruit and bread on the bedside table, along with a pitcher of water. “You must be hungry,”

Aradia said.

“Yes,” Pyrrhus replied. “Wicket, have you a knife? I don’t know what has happened to my clothes and belongings.”

Of course-he would be ravenous with the hunger that came from depleting the body’s reserves in Adept healing, but the pain in his face would not allow him to bite into the fruit. Aradia opened to Reading, sending an order to the hospital kitchen for the revitalizing soup that was kept ready for awakening patients.

Wicket handed Pyrrhus a knife with a thin blade, in trade for the coins. But when the man in the bed tried to move, simply to reach for the fruit, the pain escaped his control, and he gasped as his body twisted.

Wicket deftly caught the falling knife.

“Let me help,” said Aradia, laying a hand against the back of Pyrrus’ neck, where the nerve centers led to his cheek and down into his injured shoulder. Deliberately, she stopped the pain.

At the sudden relief, Pyrrhus collapsed back onto his pillow, eyes closed. Then he reopened them, and lifted his right arm with an effort, staring at his hand. “It’s gone numb,” he said, unable to control the slight hint of fear in his voice.

“Just temporarily,” Aradia quickly assured him. “It’s the only way to take away the pain so you can replenish the strength healing has taken from your body.”

Wicket had already sliced up an apple. “Here,” he said, putting it in reach of Pyrrhus’ left hand.

Once the man began to eat, his body’s needs took over. It was a common experience to Aradia, but obviously neither Pyrrhus nor Wicket had ever seen anyone eat after Adept healing. Bread and fruit disappeared as fast as Wicket could slice them, and when an attendant brought the soup Aradia had called for, it vanished with equal speed.

Wicket was staring at his friend in utter astonishment. “You won’t stay so skinny if you eat like that, Pyrrhus!”

Aradia guessed that Pyrrhus was hardly satisfied, although his stomach was full. He lay back, looking embarrassed, but did not answer.

“Your friend is behaving normally, Wicket,” Aradia assured him. “Adept healing takes the strength from his own body to repair the damage, and he has to replenish it. Even after he is healed, he’ll need to eat far more than normal for several days.”

“Well,” said Wicket, “I can see where our money’s going to go, then!”

“Don’t worry, Wicket,” said Pyrrhus, “I won’t ask for any of yours.”

Pyrrhus was not looking at Wicket; he did not see his friend’s face fall. Then Wicket’s look became determined. “We agreed we were in this together, didn’t we? So it’s our money, not yours or mine, and if you need it to get your strength back-well, where’d I be without you?”

Pyrrhus turned his head to look at Wicket. “Probably much better off,” he answered.

“I’d be dead!” Wicket said.

Pyrrhus nodded. “Precisely.”

Aradia knew that physical weakness was exacerbating Pyrrhus’ attitude, so she said, “Pyrrhus will feel much better tomorrow, Wicket. You mustn’t take anything he says now seriously.”

“Why not? It’s the way he always talks. Good thing he doesn’t act the way he talks, innit?”

It sounded like a long and enduring friendship, and the way Pyrrhus raised his eyes to study the ceiling without attempting to answer confirmed it. Aradia upgraded her estimate of the chances that Pyrrhus would modify his cynical attitude with further experience of life in the Savage Empire.

She smiled at Wicket. “I’m going to put Pyrrhus back into healing sleep now, so-”

“Oh, no,” Pyrrhus snapped. “No more of that, thank you!”

“If I don’t,” said Aradia, “you’ll be in pain for several more days, and it will be weeks before you’re healed enough to be active. Aggravate those half-healed burns in the meantime, and you could get scar tissue that would hamper the use of your right arm. Your sword arm,” she added, remembering that when she first saw him, Pyrrhus had been wearing such a weapon, sheathed at his left.

“Do the healing,” he said, “but don’t try to knock me out again.”

“It’s the only-”

“Aradia.”

She turned, to find Master Clement and Julia entering the room.

“What are you doing, Aradia?” the Master Reader asked. “There are plenty of competent healers. You must not exhaust yourself.”

“I’m not,” she replied. “It’s only this one man.”

“What is-?”

Master Clement approached the bed, and stopped in his tracks when he saw its occupant. “Pyrrhus!”

Aradia opened to Reading, and was engulfed in the old man’s astonishment and concern, followed by sorrow. “What has happened to you?”

Pyrrhus looked back expressionlessly. “I had a brief encounter with a vat of boiling oil,” he said flatly.

“You?” asked Master Clement. “I heard the name, but I never thought- Pyrrhus, what’s wrong? Why aren’t you Reading?”

Now Pyrrhus’ voice was heavy with sarcasm. “Oh- hadn’t you heard? I was sent on a short journey along the Path of the Dark Moon.”

Aradia saw Wicket’s eyes, wide with astonishment, go back and forth between his friend on the bed and the imposing figure of Master Clement in his scarlet cloak. It was clear that he’d had no idea his friend was a Reader.

“But-that’s impossible!” Master Clement was saying. “I tested you for the rank of Magister myself. You should have been a Master Reader by now.” Then he silent for a moment, gathering his emotions. “Yes,”

he said grimly, “I understand what must have happened. Portia.”

“Indeed,” Pyrrhus replied with a smile that would form ice crystals on a volcano. “Portia.”

Aradia felt something then from Master Clement that she had known only once before in the wise, courageous, and benevolent man who had been her husband’s mentor: guilt. “I sent you into her power,”

he said, “when I sent you to Tiberium.”

Pyrrhus said in a voice of total insincerity, “It doesn’t matter. It happened nearly five years ago. I’ve adapted.”

“Portia is dead,” said Master Clement.

Pyrrhus raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I know,” he replied in a voice of savage satisfaction. HI was in the rapport. I helped you kill her.”

Master Clement strode to the bed. “Then your powers are not severely diminished. Pyrrhus-we know how to heal the Readers Portia and her cohorts forced onto the Path of the Dark Moon. As soon as you’re well, you will come to the Academy, and-”

“No!” That barked word seemed to drain the last of Pyrrhus’ energies. He lay back against the pillow, pale and sweating again, and closed his eyes. Then, in a voice devoid of emotion, he said, “What Portia did to me was not her usual method of taking an uncooperative Reader out of her way. Oh, she had originally planned to marry me off, drug me with white lotus, drain my will so she and the other corrupt Masters could implant the belief that my powers were reduced. “

The man’s mouth twisted in a parody of a smile. “I found out what they were doing,” he said. “You were right, Clement. I was one of the best Readers you ever trained. So I Read too much, found out what Portia was doing-and stupidly refused to join her inner circle. I still had the ideals you taught me. Much good they did me!”

“Pyrrhus,” Master Clement pleaded, but the man continued inexorably.

“Then she stupidly tried to set me on the Path of the Dark Moon. But I told you, it was a short journey.”

“You ran away,” said Master Clement.

“The morning of my supposed wedding day. Never did meet my intended bride.” He gave a snort of humorless laughter, and opened his eyes. “Have you ever tried to hide when Readers are searching for you, Clement?”

“As a matter of fact,” said the old man, “I have. You have to Read, to discover whether they are tracking you, but every time you do you risk giving yourself away to them.”

“Yes. Well, I escaped-and learned a skill that has since served me very well.”

“Your ability to block sending out thoughts,” said Aradia, “even pain. The reason none of the Readers noticed how badly you were hurt yesterday.”

“Yes,” said Pyrrhus. “I established an identity as an ordinary Aventine citizen, and began to contact some of my old friends from the Academy who had become Dark Moon Readers. Of course, most of them deserved to be, but even they resented the Masters’ crippling some of the best Readers if they were dangerous to Portia’s schemes.

“We made plans, tried to determine if any among the Master Readers were uncorrupted. We contacted a few Magisters we could trust, but we needed a Master Reader to persuade other Masters. We settled on Master Julius, head of the hospital at Termoli. I went to him, with three Magister Readers, healers from his staff. He… listened.”

“And then,” said Master Clement, “he went to the Council of Masters. Yes, Pyrrhus-I learned the full story later, after the fall of Tiberium. Your name was not mentioned, though.”

“No-there was no need to record what happened to me,” Pyrrhus said bitterly. “I was just another failed Reader on their books. But they had to account for the healers: Magisters Samantha, Tyrus, and Cylene, and Master Julius.” He winced. “The man was a fool. He had immersed himself in healing, never been involved in politics. The very innocence that made us confide in him caused him to betray us.”

Master Clement said, “Master Julius thought you were mistaken. He was concerned, though, that the tactics of the Council of Masters were causing misunderstandings among both Dark Moon Readers and Readers in training. He honestly thought he was helping your cause by reporting to the Council of Masters everything you had told him.”

Pyrrhus gave another of his perfectly insincere smiles. “I learned an important lesson from that experience: never trust an honest man.”

Aradia saw Wicket lean forward at that, and take Pyrrhus’ uninjured left hand in both of his. Pyrrhus took no notice, but neither did he withdraw the hand.

“You were an honest man,” Master Clement pointed out, “and Master Julius should have trusted you. As it was, Portia turned the Council against him, insisted he was incompetent, and had him retested. I don’t know how he was made to fail the testing-I wasn’t there.”

“They drugged him,” said Pyrrhus. “I was there. In spirit, anyway. One of the last things I ever Read. Did you know that when they told him he’d failed, and they were going to marry him off, he took poison?”

“Yes… I heard,” said Master Clement. “But you, Pyrrhus. Why have you shut yourself off to Reading?

How can you live that way?”

“I live that way because I have to,” Pyrrhus replied.

“What do you mean? It’s safe to make yourself known as a Reader now-it has been ever since the fall of Tiberium. ‘

Pyrrhus looked directly up at Master Clement, and suddenly his smile was genuine, if brief. “You really are that innocent, aren’t you?

“But then,” he added, his face returning to its expressionless mode, “that means you are just like Master Julius. Clement-I can’t Read.” The voice was flat again, devoid of feeling. “Portia caught me spying on the testing of Master Julius. You see, I was stupid enough to care what happened to him, and when I Read them cheating him out of his life’s work by testing him under drugs, I slipped. My anger showed. I learned another lesson too late: forget the rest of the world, and look out for yourself.

“The next day Portia and her cohorts went to work on me. I’ll wager you didn’t even know the techniques exist, Clement my innocent. But they do. They used drugs, and then they used their minds against mine- the combined power of thirteen corrupt Master Readers who didn’t care how much pain they inflicted as long as they were sure I’d never be able to spy on them again. “

Aradia felt sheet horror prickle her skin, Read the same reaction from Julia and Master Clement, but none of them could close themselves off from the rapport with fellow Readers as Pyrrhus stated in that cold, empty voice, “What it felt like was that they burned out pieces of my mind. After that… oh, I can project thoughts with the strength of a Reader, although I’ve learned not to. But I can’t receive thoughts anymore.

“I cannot Read.”

Julia felt sick, a terrible grim sickness such as she had never known before. To lose the ability to Read?

Never to touch another mind again? Unthinkable!

Both Master Clement and Aradia were as deep in shock as she was.

Wicket was still leaning forward, holding Pyrrhus’ hand, unnoticed. Julia saw him tilt his head back, fighting tears. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.

“There was no reason,” Pyrrhus answered. “There was nothing you could do.” He removed his hand from Wicket’s grasp, no longer making the effort to keep his voice flat and steady. It betrayed his exhaustion by trailing off almost into a whisper on the last words. His perfect control was slipping; Julia could Read the throbbing sting of his incompletely healed burns.

Master Clement said, “You are tired, Pyrrhus, and still in pain. The Lady Aradia will put you back into healing sleep, and tomorrow-”

“No!” His pain disappeared again as he regained control, eyes flashing. “I will not allow anyone to manipulate my mind!”

Aradia said, “I understand now why you fought me when I tried to help you yesterday. Pyrrhus, all I want to do is finish healing your wounds.”

“Do it without putting me to sleep,” he said.

“I can’t. Conscious, your body cannot tolerate the stress of such extensive healing.”

It was stalemate. After what they had just learned, Aradia could not use her powers to force Pyrrhus to sleep.

Then Master Clement said, “You know how to put yourself into trance sleep, Pyrrhus. Do so, and then Lady Aradia will start the healing process again. By tomorrow your body will be back to normal.”

“But not my mind,” Pyrrhus said flatly, defenses at full alert again.

“Pyrrhus, please,” said Wicket. “Let them heal you. You can’t leave here in that condition.”

With a sigh, Pyrrhus closed his eyes. “There are times, Wicket, when even you are right.” And he slipped off into the meditative sleep that Julia had only recently mastered, his body in total relaxation. He would not move or dream, as in normal sleep. His mind could not interfere with the healing of his body.

Master Clement said to Aradia, “Shall I get a healer to help you?”

“No, I have done no other healing today,” she replied. “I have more than adequate strength for this.”

Then Aradia went to stand beside Pyrrhus, her hand on his injured shoulder. She became blank to Reading, and Adept healing fire coursed through Pyrrhus’ burned flesli-this fire renewing rather than destroying.

When Aradia stepped back, Wicket looked up at her. “Will he be all right now?”

“When he wakens tomorrow he will be completely healed, just ravenously hungry again.”

The tears he had forced back while Pyrrhus was awake escaped Wicket’s control as he looked at the sleeping man. “He never told me! Four years we been together, and he never told me who he really was.

My best friend.”

“Wicket,” said Master Clement gently, “I do not believe Pyrrhus withheld the information from you to hurt you. I don’t think he ever meant to tell anyone. But today he found good reason to tell it. To hurt me.”

“But why?” the man asked.

“Because I sent him to Tiberium, where he came to Portia’s notice. And because as one of the Council of Masters I should have known what Portia was doing. I do blame myself. Pyrrhus is right. I was sinfully naive. It is difficult for a Master Reader to comprehend that anyone-even the Master of Masters! — could be so corrupt without other Readers noticing.”

“Pyrrhus noticed,” Wicket said bitterly, sniffing and wiping tears from his chin with his sleeve. Then suddenly he got to his feet and turned to Aradia. “Can you cure what Portia did to him? Can you fix his head so he can Read again?”

Aradia looked at Master Clement. “I don’t know,” she replied. “Will you Read him for me, Master?”

The old man nodded. “We certainly owe him to try,” he replied. “Come sit down, Aradia,” he said, leading her to the empty bed, and sitting beside her. “Julia-”

“Don’t send me away,” she said. “I won’t go.”

He smiled. “I wasn’t going to send you away, child. I want you to Read with us. Sit down. This will take concentration.”

So Julia sat in the chair beside Aradia and Master Clement, and let her mind open to the fullest, most perceptive Reading.

Julia well understood muscle and bone and blood vessels, for she had been working with Adept healers for years. The brain, though, and delicate fine nerves were areas in which she had little experience. It was easy to follow Master Clement’s perceptions into Pyrrhus’

head. What they found, though, brought on her sick feeling again.

When the three stopped Reading Pyrrhus and lifted their heads, they found Wicket’s anxious eyes on them. “Tell me!” he demanded. “Did you fix it?”

“No,” Julia told him.

“Why not? Can you fix it?” he insisted.

“I’m sorry,” said Aradia. “To repair such nerve damage is beyond the ability of any Adept I know.”

Master Clement spoke, not so much to Wicket as to himself, as if trying to convince himself that what they had Read was true. “It is actual physical damage-nerves literally burnt out in the area of Pyrrhus’

brain that… translates what a Reader Reads into coherent images.”

Wicket obviously understood only one word of that. “Burnt? But you can cure burns!”

“We cannot restore destroyed nerves,” Aradia said patiently. “I am sorry, Wicket.”

Master Clement, though, was still preoccupied. “Physical damage,” he mused. “Aradia, there is no way that Readers could-”

“Remember what Zanos and Astra discovered?” Aradia reminded him. “Portia was giving her protection to at least one secret Adept in Tiberium, in return for his… favors.”

Wicket got up from his chair and stalked toward them, all trace of the cheerful little nondescript gone.

“Portia!’ he exclaimed in fury. “Damn-I wish Pyrrhus hadn’t told me she’s dead. I want to kill her with my own hands!”

“You’re too late,” said Julia. “We already did.”

“Julia!” exclaimed Aradia.

“Well, with our minds, then. It’s the same thing.”

“But it’s as if she won’t stay dead,” said Master Clement. “Just as she wouldn’t stay-”

“You, of all people, know she is dead,” Aradia said firmly, and Julia remembered how the old Master Reader had lain for days, his mind trapped outside his body, lost on the planes of existence, for when Portia’s body died her spirit had refused to depart peacefully to the plane of the dead. Master Clement had tried to escort her there-and only a circle of Adepts and Readers had been able to call him back to his body before he, too, died.

But later they had found out, to Master Clement’s dismay, that Portia’s angry spirit had not stayed on the plane of the dead. Torio had gone there to bring back the woman he loved. He had met Portias spirit, still seeking revenge, on what he described as the plane of lost souls. He had made certain Portia could not follow, knowing she would trace him back to the physical plane if she could. So Portia’s spirit was left trapped in a hell of her own making.

Master Clement said, “She is dead, but not at peace. I should not have let you call me back. I should have escorted her through the portal. If she escaped from where Torio met her, she could-”

“No,” Aradia said. “Torio made certain she could not follow him back to the physical plane. Don’t you trust Torio, Master Clement?”

Master Clement stood. “Yes, I trust Torio. Portia may be what prevents his return. He left her trapped, and feels the same guilt I do.

“Oh, yes, Portia is dead, but her evil lives on. Indirectly, she drove Torio from us. Directly…” The old man shook his head. “The damage she did lives on. Pyrrhus-how could one Reader do such a thing to another? By the gods, it would have been kinder to kill him!”

When Aradia returned home that evening, she found it difficult to eat supper despite having used her Adept powers. Julia also picked at her food, and Aradia did not have to Read her to know the girl was as depressed as she was by what they had learned from Pyrrhus.

Feeling excessively tired, Aradia decided to be sensible and go to bed early. She didn’t even hear Devasin’s chatting, and dismissed the woman as soon as she was in her nightgown, her hair let down.

Then she sat for a while, brushing the tangles out of her hair, thinking of Lenardo. She remembered how she had first come to respect him when he helped her and Wulfston cure their father of a brain tumor.

Healing such a condition had been impossible for either Adepts or Readers alone, and they had always been alone in those days, trapped on either side of the border in societies where the appropriate power meant respect and position, but exhibiting the wrong power meant that a child would be summarily executed. But when Lenardo and Aradia overcame their arbitrary division, together they had brought Nerius back to full health.

Only to have him die in the battle with Drakonius.

He died as he would have preferred- fighting like a man, she reminded herself. He saved my life, and Lenardo, Wulfston, and I went on to defeat our enemies.

For a time, it had seemed that Adepts and Readers working together could accomplish anything. Only now was it coming home to them how little they could really do.

What kind of ideal society were they building, where nothing could be done for someone as devastatingly wounded, physically and mentally, as Pyrrhus?

Small and recent as Aradia’s Reading talent was, she shuddered at the idea of losing it, never to know again the touch of another mind… Lenardos mind.

I may never know his touch again, on my body or in my mind.

Aradia stared into her small round mirror and shook herself. “No more maudlin thoughts!” she said aloud, getting up and taking off her robe. “I’m just being… pregnant!”

Still, as she lay down and tried to fall asleep, she was acutely aware that the other side of the bed was empty. No warm chest to curl up against. No strong arms to make her feel absurdly protected even though both she and Lenardo knew that she was the one with the Adept powers to throw thunderbolts or-using proper leverage-move mountains.

She would never fall asleep if she lay there missing Lenardo.

But when she tried to put her husband out of her mind, the confrontation with Pyrrhus replayed itself, unbidden. No wonder the man was so brittle, bitter.

Aradia sat up in bed, her arms about her knees. If all she could do was think negative thoughts, perhaps she should go into her study and read. But she was very tired. She had not slept well recently.

Then she remembered something Nerius had taught her when she was a little girl and couldn’t sleep because she was upset over something she had no control over. “Make plans,” her father had told her.

“Make positive plans to correct something that is wrong. Remember, daughter, there are far more things in this world outside your control than in it-so worry about what you can do something about.”

It had always worked in childhood.

She had no control over Lenardo’s absence. She had no control over Pyrrhus’ burnt-out nerves.

But if she could not restore Pyrrhus’ Reading, perhaps she could do something for the ex-Reader and his loyal Wicket. “We’re in this together,” Wicket had said. What was “this”?

If they had a purpose, Aradia would try to help them achieve it.

If, as so many people did, they had come to Zendi seeking work, a better life, possibly she could hire them. She smiled. Tomorrow she would have to find out what, exactly, the two men could do.

On that positive note, she fell asleep.

And dreamed.

It began as a pleasant dream, one that was becoming familiar now. She saw her baby floating in the womb, as before not an infant but a fully formed young woman. Again the girl spoke serenely without opening her eyes, the same words: “After I am born, I will give you what I owe you.”

Aradia felt warm love for her child, and watched as the girl’s eyes began to open.

But as they did so, Aradia suddenly felt a sense of recognition. She knew this woman, but from long, long ago.

A childhood memory.

It was… her mother!

Fully open now, the eyes glowed with fury. The face was no longer the serene, doll-like face of Aradia’s daughter, but the mad face of her mother, screaming as she had screamed the last time Aradia ever saw her.

“You’re not my child! You’re evil! You stole my powers!”

The face twisted, and the woman suddenly held an upraised dagger, grasping Aradia by the throat with the other hand as she howled, “You stole my powers, witch! But you can’t control them yet-and I will have them back! Die, you sorceress! Die!”