David Weber - Hell Hath No Fury

This is why Janaki wanted him here!

The thought flared like an explosion, and in that instant, Darcel Kinlafia realized what was happening.

This knowledge, those visions, those recognitions, weren't his. Or, rather, they weren't solely his. In that chaotic, stunned instant, he knew precisely what it was to have the Calirath Talent, for in that moment, he shared it with the Emperor of Ternathia. It was Zindel's vision, his recognition of his daughters, roaring through Kinlafia's Voice Talent, like a flash of lightning bridging the gap between two pylons of the Ylani Strait suspension bridge.

And in that recognition, Kinlafia discovered the true curse of the Calirath Talent. For all their clarity, all the iron certitude that they would someday come to pass, those visions were isolated from one another.

There was no continuity, no thread to tie them together, to tell him why Andrin wept, or who she stood to face in such splendid defiance. No calendar to tell him when he handed her that document, or where, or why.

He stood there for an eternity, frozen, realizing that he'd been right to suspect that Janaki had more reasons than he'd shared for sending Kinlafia to Tajvana. And he also realized why Janaki hadn't shared those other reasons. Not out of dishonesty, not out of any intent to deceive or mislead, but because without this moment of fusion, Kinlafia could not possibly have understood any explanation Janaki might have offered.

And then, as abruptly as it had struck, the moment of almost unendurable vision ended. Ended in the tick between one second and the next. That was all the time it had truly taken-no longer than the time between two heartbeats-to change Darcel Kinlafia's life and future forever.

He blinked, and the world about him flashed back into focus. He sensed Alazon's concern and realized that even though she hadn't shared the vision of Zindel's Glimpse, she'd Felt its impact upon him. He wanted to tell her not to worry, that everything was all right. But he couldn't, because he didn't know if things were "all right" … or if they ever would be again. All he knew was the way things had to be.

And it was knowledge that only he and Zindel shared. Knowledge which could not be-must not be-

shared with anyone else. Especially not with Andrin. Not yet. Perhaps never.

"And these are our daughters," he heard Zindel chan Calirath's deep, calm voice say. "Girls, come meet Voice Kinlafia. I suspect-" Kinlafia turned his head and looked into those steady gray, Calirath eyes with their burden of ghosts yet to come "-that we'll be seeing quite a bit of him in the future."

Erthek Vardan tipped his chair back. He balanced it on its rear legs, with the top of its back braced against the wall, while he held the book tilted so that the ceiling-hung kerosene lamp's light spilled over the pages.

The wall behind him was made of logs notched and laid into place, then chinked with clay. It was rough and ready looking, but it was also solid and, like the steeply-pitched rain-shedding roof, it was definitely weatherproof. The weather was still warm enough that the fire crackling on the hearth wasn't really needed for heat, yet it was a welcome relief against the omnipresent, damp chill. Coupled with the sound of rain pattering against the roof overhead, it produced an oasis of welcoming comfort which was almost enough to make a man forget that he'd been stationed at the ragged edge of the known multiverse.

Personally, Erthek wasn't likely to be that forgetful.

Grateful as he was for the stout roof and the fire, he missed things like the theater, hot baths that didn't have to be laboriously heated, bucket-by-bucket, and restaurants. No one would have called him a hedonist, but he hadn't quite counted on conditions this primitive when he volunteered for three years'

Portal Authority service as a way to earn money for college.

Still, he knew he'd been lucky, in a horrid sort of way, to have drawn this particular posting.

What had happened to the Chalgyn Consortium's survey crew was horrible, but the PAAF had shown these "Arcanan" barbarians that they didn't want to confront Sharonian soldiers, whatever they might have done to a surprised, vastly outnumbered party of civilians.

Erthek himself was no soldier, of course. In fact, he was a civilian employee of the Portal Authority on his very first assignment. He was also less than twenty-one years old, and he suspected that he'd been originally earmarked for this particular relay post because his superiors figured that he, unlike some old fogy in his thirties, had the youthful resilience to survive it. Or it might be simpler than that. In fact, it almost certainly was. After all, he was probably the most junior Voice in the Authority's employ, and when he'd first been assigned to Thermyn, no one had had any reason to suspect the existence of Hell's Gate, far less what was going to happen on its other side. At that point, this had simply been what had to have been the least desirable Voice posting of them all, so it had made sense to hand it to the most junior Voice of them all.

But the choice to assign him here had virtually guaranteed Erthek's later career. No one was going to forget his part in passing the critical message traffic from Hell's Gate back and forth along the Voicenet.

Erthek Vardan was going into the history books, and wasn't that an amazing thing? The notion amused him, and yet there was something else under the amusement. A hard, vengeful something that found grim satisfaction in serving as one of Sharona's messengers in the confrontation with the murderers of Shaylar Nargra-Kolmayr and her companions.

He'd never expected to find himself doing something that important this early in his Authority service.

And, truth to tell, he was grateful that Petty-Captain Waird chan Lyrosk had finally reached Fort Brithik.

Chan Lyrosk was a Ternathian, on loan to the PAAF, which made him not simply senior to Erthek in the Authority's service, but an army officer, as well. Erthek knew he'd miss the independence he'd enjoyed as the only Voice available to Company-Captain chan Robarik, Fort Brithik's CO … but any disappointment on that side was more than outweighed by the relief he'd feel when someone else became officially responsible for this critical Voice relay tomorrow morning.

He grimaced at the thought, then looked up from his book at the clock ticking away on the mantelpiece.

A fresh gust of raindrops pattered noisily across the roof and made him even more grateful for the fire of split logs. But under his gratitude, there was a growing flicker of concern. It certainly wasn't anything strong enough to call fear, but it was more than simple uneasiness. There hadn't been anything scheduled, but it was unusual for a full day to pass without any Voice transmission from Shansair Baulwan. If nothing else, Shansair usually made a conscientious effort to tell Erthek when he was shutting down for the evening so that Erthek could shut down himself, instead of maintaining his Listening schedule.

Well, he told himself, if I haven't Heard anything from him in the next hour and a half, then I'm just going to have to send him a message and ask if it's okay for me to go ahead and turn in. He ought to be able to Hear me, even if I can't Hear him without trancing. In the meantime … .

One of the chickens in the hencoop built onto the side of the relay station stirred, clucking loudly as something disturbed it. Erthek listened for a moment-they'd had problems with a persistent bobcat, and he started to reach for the shotgun racked on the wall above him. But the hen in question sounded more querulous than frightened. An approaching bobcat would have led to something more strenuous, and Erthek chuckled. Probably that last gust of rain had blown in through the coop's wire side and the chicken was merely letting the world know how irritating it had found the experience.