They had almost reached Tathan on their return trip before Merin could bring herself to speak about what had happened in Saray’s room.
“You were more right than you realized, Dulan,” Merin said. “Saray told me the experiments exhaust not only her, but Ananka as well.”
“I hoped when you went off with her,” Herne said, “that you would discover just this sort of useful information.”
“I was compelled to go with her, but I don’t mind,” Merin told him, “because I saw Ananka.”
“You what?” Herne stared at her. Dulan turned completely around in the front seat. Tula dropped the reins in his astonishment, thus allowing the ixak to run free. They immediately broke into a fast trot, perhaps scenting their stables and evening food. Before Tula had them under control again they were racing down the main thoroughfare of Tathan. It was not until both cart and ixak had been returned to the stable and Tula had rejoined his companions in Dulan’s sitting room that the others began to question Merin.
“Where did you see Ananka?” Herne asked.
“If I am correct,” Merin told them all, “You saw her, too. I believe the cat was Ananka in disguise.”
“Tell us everything,” Dulan urged, taking the chair nearest the fire.
“Saray left me alone while she found clothing for me,” Merin said. “When I turned around, instead of the cat sitting on the bed, a woman was there. When Saray made a noise, the woman vanished and the cat reappeared. It hissed at me and ran away.”
“What did the woman look like?” Tula regarded her with wide eyes.
“Like me,” Merin told him, “except her hair was lighter.”
“Remarkable,” Tula breathed.
“Exactly what I would expect,” said Dulan. “Herne, you have mentioned before that when you first saw Ananka, she, looked much like Merin.”
“I only noticed the resemblance later,” Herne amended the story, “after I looked more closely at Merin. I didn’t really see her in those days.”
“When Ananka first appeared to you,” Dulan asked, “had you been thinking of Merin?”
“Yes.” Herne spoke slowly, recalling that now-remote scene by the campfire. “I was wishing she would remove her blasted coif so I could see what color her hair was.”
“Did you have a mental image of her hair?”
“From her brows and lashes, I thought it must be light brown,” Herne said. “But I was wrong. It’s actually much darker.”
“Ananka did not know the real color of Merin’s hair, either,” Dulan pointed out, “because she took the image of Merin out of your thoughts, and showed herself to you as the Merin you imagined,”
“No wonder she looked so familiar. But when I went to her in the grotto later that night – when I – we – damnation! Was it a real creature I saw and touched, or was it all an illusion?”
“We do not understand Ananka’s full powers,” Dulan said.
“That answer is no help to me at all.” Herne looked so miserable that Merin reached out to take his hand.
“You could no more have stopped what happened in that grotto,” she told him, “than I could have refused to go with Saray today. There are some things humans cannot resist.”
“I thought I wanted her,” Herne said, “because I wanted you without knowing it. I understand that now, but still, what I did –”
“It’s all right.” Fortified by the way he had told Saray it was Merin he loved, she was able to smile at him. “It doesn’t matter now. I understand, and I’m not angry.”
“Tarik said it must have been an illusion.” Herne’s eyes were locked on Merin’s face. He was totally concentrated on her, forgetting the others in the room. “Tarik was so sure of it that he made me certain, too.”
“Tarik?’ Dulan’s sharp voice made them both jump. “This is the second time today you have mentioned other people. Herne, you two were not alone on this world, were you?”
“No.” The stark word brought a gasp from Tula and a stiffening of Dulan’s robed figure.
“You led us to believe an untruth,” Dulan accused him.
“We were trying to protect our friends,” Herne said. “we weren’t sure you could be trusted, and we didn’t know how extensive your power might be. I wasn’t even sure you were real.”
“And now?” asked Dulan.
“I still don’t know what to believe about how we found ourselves here,” Herne admitted. “But I do believe you are honestly trying to help us, so I will tell you that there were ten others with us, two of them descendants of your own people who joined our colony after we arrived. We are all living in a building far north of here, on an island in a lake.”
“At Lake Rhyadur? You have moved into our private retreat, the place most truly my home on this planet?” Dulan paused, apparently overcome by strong emotion.
“In their time,” Tula said to Dulan, “we are dead for hundreds of years, old friend. Should we care if someone else lives in our rooms after we have gone?”
“You are buried there,” Herne said. “Both of you.”
“How do you know this?” Dulan asked.
“By your own words,” Herne answered. “You kept a notebook. Our leader, Tarik, found it. Your mate is there, too. It seems you all died of extreme old age.”
“Well, then.” Dulan’s head was bowed. “A peaceful death, with loved ones near. A final resting place at Rhyadur, where my heart lies. Thank you for telling me.”
“There’s more,” Merin said. “We call this world Dulan’s Planet. That is the official Jurisdiction name.”
There was a laugh from beneath the blue hood, a coarse, choked sound that broke suddenly into a clear peal of pure mirth. On Tula’s face a look of startled delight appeared.
“Fair enough,” said Dulan. “In the Jurisdiction, I lost a world that should have been mine to rule because I was born a telepath. It’s only fair for the Jurisdiction to give me back a world. What matter if it’s a posthumous honor?”
* * * * *
Merin insisted on dressing in private for the Gathering. She waited while Herne bathed and donned the formal robe that Tula had brought for him to wear. It was a soft, grey-brown in color, trimmed in silver, and loosely made like the robes worn by Tula and Dulan, with long full sleeves and a hood, which Herne wore thrown back into a cowl. His ash-brown hair was still a little damp from his bath. Without a supply of the pills that kept his beard from growing, he had been forced to shave with a razor. There was a tiny nick on one side of his jaw. To Merin, he was remarkably handsome, even if he looked pale and tired, with the harsh planes of his face drawn and tense.
“I hope there are refreshments at this Gathering,” he said. “I’m hungry.”
“We just ate with Dulan.” She laughed at his words, dismissing the hollow feeling in her own stomach.
“Nothing I eat seems to fill me,” he complained. His hands were at the chinstrap of her coif, unfastening it. “Aren’t you hungry?”
“In all of Tathan, there is only one thing that fills me,” she murmured, reaction to his touch stirring deep inside her, “and leaves me satisfied, too.”
“You, my dear, are rapidly becoming a galaxy-class tease.” He grinned at her. “Who would have thought the cold and self-controlled Merin of just a few days ago could turn into such a passionate woman in so short a time?” The coif was off now and his hands were stroking through her hair, pulling it down out of the tight coils and over her shoulders.
“I don’t understand what has happened to me.” She sighed. “I never dreamed of feeling like this, of wanting another person so badly that I can’t think about anything else.”
Herne unfastened the opening of her treksuit down to her waist. His hands were on her breasts. Merin felt the passionate heat begin to rise in her. In another moment or two she would not be able to stop what was certain to happen between the two of them, and neither would he. She pulled away.
“We don’t have time for this,” she protested. “I have to bathe and dress.”
“Are you refusing me?” He sounded stern, but when she met his grey eyes they were filled with laughter.
“Never,” she promised, sliding her hands along his chest, down toward his thighs, pausing at a crucial spot, smiling into his eyes all the while. “It’s only a postponement. Later, after the Gathering is over, when we are in this room again with the rest of the night before us, then we will taste passion and I’ll make the waiting up to you. You won’t regret the delay.”
“I was wrong,” he said. “You aren’t a tease at all. My dearest, you rank as one of the great seductresses of all time.”
“An Oressian seductress?” The idea made her laugh.
“That’s one of the reasons why I love you so much,” he told her, turning serious. “You are a mass of fascinating contradictions. You could even forgive what I did with Ananka. I don’t know of another woman who would forgive that stupid mistake.”
In a gesture that was rapidly becoming familiar to her, he kissed the tip of her nose. She watched him walk to the door, her eyes filling with tears of love. He had enlarged her heart with tenderness and joy beyond anything she had ever imagined was possible. He paused at the door to look back at her.
“While we are at the Gathering, we ought to be watching and listening for any information that might help us find our way home,” he said. “But even while I appear to be concentrating on other subjects, I won’t stop thinking about you for a moment, or fantasizing about the things we’ll do when we are together. Now, get dressed, and as you put on each garment, imagine what I’ll do as I remove it later.”
She almost called him back. She almost told him to forget about the Gathering, the waiting telepaths, Saray, Ananka, everything but their love. All she wanted was Herne in her arms, kissing her, his hands on her skin, his rough voice speaking passionate words. She had to force herself not to tear open the bedchamber door and go after him.
Instead, she made herself walk into the bathing room and pull off her treksuit while the water ran into the tub. And when she sank into the warm, fragrant suds she thought about sinking into the bed in the next room, with Herne on top of her and his hot love surrounding her.
She rinsed in the coldest water the pipes could produce and she reminded herself that she had a duty to perform this evening. For Herne’s sake, as well as her own, she had to be prepared to seize upon any fact that would help them return to their own time.
* * * * *
The gown that Saray had given Merin was made of a green so dark it was almost black, a floor-length, long-sleeved column of tiny pleats that clung to her figure, swaying and rippling when she moved. The only decorations on the dress were the golden band set with green and blue jewels that edged the high, round neckline, and a matching sash that wrapped just below her breasts. It was a design as demurely covered as any Oressian robe, yet because of the way the pleats folded and unfolded with her every breath or motion, it was scandalously revealing. The tantalizing fragrance of khata wood that wafted from the fabric only added to the seductiveness of the gown. The headdress was made of golden fabric thickly sewn with jewels of blue, green, and purple. It was uncomfortably heavy, but it did cover all of Merin’s hair.
She applied the cosmetics Saray had provided, using the narrow brush to paint a silvery-black line around her eyes, rubbing pale pink on her cheeks and a darker shade on her lips.
She had not planned to use these artifices – they were entirely unnatural to an Oressian – but when she looked into the bathing room mirror her face stared back at her as pale and tightly drawn as Herne’s had seemed to be earlier. Her spells of lightheadedness had diminished somewhat, but she felt tired and listless, and oddly weak. And hungry. Always hungry, ever since she arrived at Tathan. She was used to eating little. Gluttony was not a vice permitted to Oressians, and she had always been even more abstemious than her Oressian companions. Yet now she constantly craved food. She wondered if vigorous lovemaking could create such an unceasing need to eat. She decided to ask Herne about it later.
When she appeared in Dulan’s sitting room Herne’s reaction to her costume was all that any woman could have wanted.
“Spectacular. Glorious. Beautiful,” he said, walking around her slowly, to take it all in. “Best of all, beneath that glitter is my Merin. I’m almost afraid to touch you for fear I’ll disarrange something or smear the paint. But later, my dear –“ His glowing eyes completed the sentence he had left unfinished. His hand was warm when it enclosed her fingers.
Dulan arrived, robed and hooded in severely plain dark red, and Tula in bright green trimmed with gold embroidery.
“Most appropriate,” murmured Dulan, regarding his guests.
“My dear friend, I protest,” said Tula, laughing. “This is something more than merely appropriate. Merin, Herne, you both look splendid. I am proud to escort you to our most important event.”
“You haven’t told us yet what will happen tonight,” said Herne.
“The Gathering Hall is the place where the telepaths and the Chon meet to communicate with each other,” Dulan explained.
“Do you mean the birds will be there?” asked Merin, glancing toward the windows. “But it is almost evening. I thought birds went to sleep at sunset.”
“Every thirty-two days, on the single night when both moons are completely full,” Dulan said, “we mingle with the Chon in memory of our first meeting. We were newly arrived on this world then, living in tents or sleeping in the open, still weary after our long journey and uncertain of our ultimate destiny. That night, just as the sun set and the full twin moons rose, changing a dark world back into almost daylight brightness, the Chon who live in the cliffs north of Tathan came to us. I can still see the scene in my mind, still recall the brilliant colors flashing in the last rays of the sun. All that green and blue, dazzling the eye. Then came the joyous knowledge that these were creatures with whom we could communicate.
“We built the Gathering Hall,” Dulan told them, “so we would have a permanent location in which to meet the Chon, who after that first night have come to us in large numbers whenever both moons are full. We meet individually or in small groups at almost any time, but the Gatherings are special occasions.”
“You still haven’t explained what will happen this evening,” Herne protested.
“But I have,” said Dulan. “We gather with the Chon.”
“Is that all? Just gather? Then why do you need us to be there?”
“Tonight your situation will be discussed,” Dulan said.
We hope,” Tula added, “to convince certain of our friends to add their voices to our appeal to Saray, to beg her to return you to your home.”
“It is time,” Dulan said. “We mustn’t be late.”
Merin and Herne followed the two telepaths out of Dulan’s house and along the alley to the small door that led to the Gathering Hall. Behind the door the garden lay green and fragrant. Merin had paused to exclaim over a particularly lovely white blossom when Herne touched her hand, then pointed upward.
The sky was pink and gold with sunset. A few brilliant streamers of gold-tinged clouds drifted across Merin’s line of vision. She thought at first that her eyes were reacting to the combination of bright color and concentrated light, until she realized the dots she was seeing were not a visual distortion; they were birds.
The Chon came silently, on gently fluttering wings, filling the Gathering Hall and garden, their jewel-like blue and green bodies seeming to shine with an inner light.
The huge double doors to the Gathering Hall were thrown wide open. From where Merin stood she could see the interior, where more Chon mingled with brightly robed telepaths. She was not frightened, for she knew the birds were friendly creatures. But she was dazzled by color, movement, the rustle of feathers, the footsteps of many telepaths, and she sensed a vibration in the air, which she believed was caused by the telepathic communications now going on between the birds and their hosts.
“How beautiful,” she murmured as Herne’s hand clasped hers, drawing her toward the doors. They entered the Gathering Hall directly behind Dulan and Tula.
“Now we know why it was built so large,” she said, “and why half of it is open to the sky.”
“I have seen this before,” Herne told her. “Once, at Home, when a Chon touched me for a second or two, I saw this scene. And you were the woman who stood beside me.”
“Remarkable.” Tula had heard him. “We know the birds have long ancestral memories, which are passed from generation to generation, but you have no telepathic ability.”
“I was unhappy,” Herne said. “Perhaps the bird wanted to comfort me. Osiyar thought so.”
The crowd separated to make way for their little group. As they walked toward the center of the Hall, Merin could see that Dulan, born to be a ruler on another world yet banished from it because of an involuntary and perhaps unwanted talent, had become a respected and important person on this planet. Following in the wake of Dulan and Tula, she noticed polite bows, heard pleasant greetings exchanged between their escorts and the other telepaths. She quickly became aware of the intense curiosity directed toward herself and Herne.
Ordinarily, she would have been frightened to be the object of so many direct and assessing looks. But Herne’s fingers curved around hers. With him next to her she felt safe and she was learning to trust Dulan and Tula. Thus she was able to look back at telepaths and at birds with as much open interest as they displayed toward her.
She was amazed at the many Races represented within the Hall. She turned her head at the sound of a hissing breath, to meet the triangular, milky eyes of a scaly-skinned female Styxian, who politely acknowledged her look. Merin bowed back in wonder. On any other world, a Styxian would have torn out her throat before asking her name.
After that encounter it came as no surprise to her to see a pale gray Denebian, or even a stiff, antennaed Jugarian, who actually smiled at her. A Demarian who looked remarkably like Tarik, with pale skin, black hair, and midnight-blue eyes, moved aside to let Dulan’s party pass. It was then, as those around them changed positions, that Merin saw a one-armed Cetan.
He had dark brown hair, worn long in the Cetan style, and an unruly brown beard that could not entirely hide the terrible scar disfiguring his face. Merin could easily imagine that a telepathic Cetan would have to fight again and again for his very life among his fiercely warlike fellows, and he quite possibly had fled his homeworld in order to save that life. He stood now with his single hand resting on the bosom of a blue Chon. The two were obviously in deep communication, for they took no notice of anyone near them, and the Cetan’s attitude was one of profound peace.
Merin’s fascinated study of the crowd filling the Hall was interrupted when Herne tugged at her hand, pulling her forward to stand beside him at the pedestal of the golden Chon statue. The Hall grew still, those present turning toward them.
“We welcome to our company tonight,” Tula began, raising his voice to be better heard, “visitors from a far world, who have come to us in friendship.”
“There’s no friendship from the Jurisdiction for telepaths,” called a voice from the crowd. Merin could not see the speaker.
“Drive them out!” shouted someone else. “That’s what the Jurisdiction did to us!”
“No, kill them, so they can’t tell anyone where we’ve settled,” cried another voice. This idea was roundly cheered by a small group on the far side of the Hall.
“Those are Saray’s friends,” Tula murmured to Merin. “They are few in number and most of us do not agree with them.” But when he tried to speak again the angry shouts of those few drowned his words.
“Stop this at once!” Dulan’s voice, that peculiar scratchy sound that gave no indication as to gender or age, carried above the clamor. “This is a peaceful Gathering, not a place for dispute. How can telepaths, who are victims of a terrible persecution, who have been forced to find safety in a dangerous and uncharted part of the galaxy condemn strangers simply because they are unknown to you?”
“Did you think we wouldn’t recognize them if you put them into familiar clothing?” demanded a dark-haired young man who now strode forward out of the crowd. “Any true telepath can smell Jurisdiction blood from a light-year away. I say, kill them now, before they bring the Jurisdiction service here to wipe us out!”
“Your enthusiasm does you credit, Hotan.” Saray stepped around the corner of the pedestal. “but enthusiasm is not a sufficient excuse for murder.”
“Saray, Saray.” The crowd began to separate, leaving a widening space near the statue. The Chon moved with the telepaths, like them splitting into two groups.
“There before you is the division in our society,” Tula said to Merin.
It was easy to see what he meant. On the one side, ranged with Tula, Dulan, Herne and herself, were most of the telepaths. Some of the older ones had missing limbs or obvious scars and a few were hooded like Dulan, most bearing mute witness to the brutality of the old Jurisdiction law prohibiting telepathy. Apparently the persecution to which they had been subjected and their long journey to this world had produced some odd combinations, for the one-armed Cetan, his hand still resting lightly on the blue Chon’s breast, stood next to the Styxian, seemingly on good terms with her. A red-faced Jugarian and a pale Denebian were talking together and nodding in agreement with each other.
On the other side of the Hall was a small, unruly faction made up mostly of young people, including several argumentative Jugarians, their antennae bristling and bright red with excitement. Within this group was a knot of brawny males of several Races, all rather dusty looking, whom Merin thought were probably the quarry workers, and another group in bare feet, who wore what looked like sailors’ outfits. Merin quickly assessed them all with a professional eye.
“So it has been throughout history,” she said to Tula, responding to his remark. “In every dynamic society there are always divisions between generations and professions. As we see demonstrated here, frequently they clash.”
“That may be excellent historical theory,” Tula replied in a nervous voice while pressing himself more firmly against the stone pedestal at his back, “but it won’t help us if they become violent. Let us hope Saray can control her adherents.”
Into the empty space left when the telepaths drew apart Saray now stepped, and those in the Gathering Hall grew quiet to hear what she would say. She created a dramatic picture, gowned in glittery black-and-silver fabric draped upon one shoulder to leave the other shoulder and both arms bare, her only jewelry the gold rope bracelets on each wrist. Her straight black hair streamed down her back. Her face was pale, her dark eyes large.
“These strangers are not to be harmed,” Saray declared. When an angry muttering began among the younger faction she raised both arms, silencing them once more. “Only fools resort to violence before they understand a situation.”
“We are wise enough to rid ourselves of Jurisdiction agents before they can harm us,” objected the dark young man who had called for immediate death for Merin and Herne. He took a menacing step toward Saray. “Who is going to protect us when the Jurisdiction Service arrives, fully armed? Will those old men and women on the other side of the Hall help us then, or will they bow their heads and let themselves be killed, and we, their children, too?”
“Hotan, my friend, you do not understand,” Saray said. “It was I who brought Merin and Herne to Tathan.”
This announcement brought gasps of surprise from both sides of the Hall.
“You have conducted another experiment?” Hotan regarded Saray with awe. “Is it possible, then? What you have been promising us is true?”
“You see these two here as proof of my success,” Saray told him, flinging out an arm toward Merin and Herne. “No longer need we remain bound to one time or place. Anywhere in the universe that we desire to visit, any time past, present, or future, is open to us. All we need to do is strengthen our powers.”
In the amazed silence the scaly Styxian female stepped forward to face Saray.
“Thisss isss wrong,” she hissed. “You know it. Not every telepath hasss your skillsss. Desist, SSSaray, before you destroy us all by tearing apart the very fabric of time!”
“You may be content to live by the ancient rules of telepaths,” Saray said. “Younger and braver folk are not.”
“Imra is right.” The one-armed Cetan moved to stand beside his Styxian friend. The blue Chon came with him. “We all know there are limits beyond which even the most skilled telepath cannot go. Repeated experiments of the kind you have attempted can only result in madness and death.”
“Does Saray look mad to you, Jidak?” asked Hotan, who was standing with Saray to confront the Cetan and the Styxian. “Her experiment has succeeded. That is all the proof we need.”
“Saray has admitted to Dulan that she required the help of Ananka,” Jidak replied.
“It seemsss,” put in Imra the Styxian, “that despite her claimsss, Saray isss incapable of stretching her skillsss as she would have you believe.”
“One day,” Saray told the assembled crowd, “you will all believe in what I am doing.”
“I already know what I believe in,” said Jidak, “and it’s not a ball of light that lives in an underground cave that no one can find.”
“You will regret those words, Cetan,” declared Hotan.
“There iss no Cetan here,” hissed Imra, “Nor Styxian, nor Jugarian, nor any other Race. All are telepaths and we have no help but each other. In a galaxy ruled by the Jurisdiction, you would do well to remember that.”
“Saray!” Dulan stood alone, a straight figure in dark red. “Long ago, in my own youth and arrogance, I attempted what you are now doing. Thus I can warn you out of my own knowledge. There will come a time when your mind can no longer bear the terror or the strain of repeating these experiments. I was fortunate enough to have friends with telepathic abilities equal to my own, who helped me back to health. But who among us is equal to you? Who could aid you in repairing your mind and talents? Nor is the danger only to you. With each experiment you will distort time a little more for those who are physically near you, and that distortion will drive them toward the same madness that will claim you. Do you want to bring such an end to your friends? I tell you unequivocally: these experiments are unethical and they must stop!”
“Think before you command me, Dulan,” cried Saray. “Dare you order anyone to cease learning, to allow superior telepathic skills to stagnate because of an ancient tradition?”
“I plead with you not to destroy yourself. These others agree with me.” Dulan indicated the telepaths on one side of the Hall, who held up their hands in affirmation of his anguished plea. “We are your friends. Let us help you. I myself am willing to work with you to the limits of my ability, to repair the damage already done to your mind.”
“She doesn’t need you,” yelled Hotan. “She has Ananka.’
“Saray,” said Dulan, ignoring the young man, “warn your friends not to harm Merin or Herne. After what you have done to them, it is the least you owe.”
“She owes no one anything!” shouted Hotan, but Saray’s hand on his arm stilled any further rudeness.
“In this Dulan is right,” Saray said. “Merin and Herne are to be treated with respect until Ananka has decided what to do with them. No friend of mine is to raise a hand against them. I want your word on this, Hotan. The others will listen to you.”
“I’ll do it for you,” Hotan said. “Not for strangers, and certainly not for these old ones who have forgotten what it is to be young or energetic, or ambitious and eager for life.”
“Hotan,” said Jidak dryly, “it is my dearest wish to live long enough to see you when you are your father’s present age, so I can repeat those words to you. As for you, Saray, like Dulan, I offer my assistance if you will but accept it.”
“And so do I,” put in Imra.
“I thank you for your concern,” said Saray, but she did not say she would accept the offers.
“On behalf of all the folk of Tathan, who truly care for you,” Jidak said in formal tones, “we implore you to end your unhealthy alliance with the alien entity you call Ananka, before you, and we, are destroyed.”
“Ananka does not intend anyone’s destruction,” she said, leaving Jidak and Imra shaking their heads in sadness at the obduracy of this most talented of telepaths.
“We are gathered here,” Dulan reminded them all, “to commune with our dear friends the Chon. I marvel that they have not left us in distress at the anger and dissension filling this Hall. Please, my friends, for this evening at least, let us have peace in Tathan.”
“To this I can agree,” Saray said. “Hotan, Imra, Jidak, separate in peace, I beg you.”
Slowly the telepaths and the birds broke into smaller groups and the tension began to ease.
“That foolish young woman,” Tula grumbled to Merin, “is stubborn enough to destroy herself and all those who love her rather than admit she could be wrong.”
“Tula speaksss the truth,” hissed Imra, joining them. “If this situation continuesss, it will be the end of Tathan. I fear a future in which we disperse across this world and live in isolation. To prevent that possibility, SSSaray’s experiments must stop, and soon.”
“She won’t stop voluntarily,” said Jidak. “She’s too strong-willed to bow to any pressure we can exert, and Hotan will always back her, no matter what she does.”
Herne had been watching and listening with great attention. Now he voiced his opinion.
“What I have seen tonight has made me realize that Saray needs a shock to convince her. There may be a way,” Herne said, his gaze on Saray, who was talking to Hotan. “It is just possible that I could bribe her with a piece of valuable information.”
“Yesss,” breathed Imra. “You know the future, don’t you?”
“What will you tell her?” asked Jidak.
“First, I am going to insist on meeting Ananka again,” Herne said. “I’ll begin by confronting that ball of light.”
“If you need a friend to stand with you – ” Jidak offered.
“Or a second friend,” put in Imra.
“Don’t try to speak with Saray this evening,” Tula advised. “On the night of a Gathering she stays with Hotan, and he will dispute any attempt to confer with her alone. I will send a message in the morning, asking her to join us at Dulan’s house before she goes home tomorrow.”
“Be sure she meets with us early in the day,” said Herne. “There may not be much time left.”
“You are a brave man, yet you are afraid. But it is not fear for yourself,” Tula murmured as Jidak and Imra moved away from them. “This is what I sensed in you the first time we met. You have been concealing something of deadly importance.”
“I’ll tell you soon,” Herne promised. “Don’t worry, Tula. There is no danger to you, or to Dulan.”
“I never thought there was.” Now that Hotan and his band had been stopped by Saray, Tula was able to smile again and to leave the protection of the pedestal. “You are free to speak with anyone here, though I know you cannot communicate with the Chon. You may retire to Dulan’s house whenever you wish. After Hotan’s promise to Saray, no one will bother you.”
With that, Tula bowed to them, leaving to join Dulan and a group of Chon. On the far side of the Hall, Saray and Hotan stood talking with a few of the tougher looking men and the two Jugarians, until Hotan took Saray’s arm a bit roughly and led her through the main door.
“There is a soundless murmuring in the air,” Merin said to Herne, “a constant vibration. It’s like hearing a conversation that is just too far away for me to be able to catch the words. I know it’s there, but I can’t understand it.”
“I don’t think anyone would mind if we left,” Herne said, giving her a look that made her heart pound. “Come with me now, my love.”