Jean Lorrah - Empress Unborn

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.