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This, Quinn thought, was heaven. As good as it gets.
She’d been on board the Adventurer for a nine-day and planned to stay for a year. Or more. The rest of her life wouldn’t be adequate for her to document all she was learning.
Butter had stayed in Cann, Gwen’s village. As soon as the settlers finished the barn, she planned to bring her horse to the new settlement. To her disappointment, the Terrans hadn’t brought horses. Too big, needing too much exercise.
She’d used the nine-day to develop a working map of their way of life. The other questions, questions that might yield answers about their origin, and the origin of the Aura, she was saving. Soon, though. She couldn’t deny her anticipation at the prospect of uncovering the truths behind their history.
Harry and the medic named Constance sat with her around the library table. The closest she’d ever been to a library was the biblios in most villages, holding the records of major events. The room held physical books – she idly traced the words in the one open before her with a finger – but also banks of something called electronics. She was no more clear about these electronics than they were about the Aura, but she’d learned to access the files on lit-up screens, and struggled to read the contents. Their printed word was nothing like the carefully scribed script she’d grown up with, not to mention the vagaries of the Eurocorp Standard language, which wasn’t the same as theirs, however close it seemed to be.
“I am coping, you know,” she’d said to Harry earlier. “I’m getting the hang of it.”
“Are you chasing me off?”
She loved how Harry’s blue eyes danced, as if instructing her in the oddities of Eurocorp Standard was the greatest happiness imaginable. He was becoming a good friend, but he was a distraction. As often as not they would end up walking the corridors, he laughing as she struggled to memorize the layout of the Adventurer, or exit through the hatch to explore the surrounding land. Outside, Elspeth had the full complement of settlers organized into teams. Before winter set in, they intended to have a barn, shelters for farm implements, and fields ready to yield crops in the spring. Within a year, they’d construct a village; she could understand their urgency to return to the land. Life on the ship was comfortable, if cramped, but even Quinn, accustomed to long days spent indoors over her charts, felt the pull of the natural world.
Although the book still lay open in front of her, she wasn’t reading. She was listening to Constance give a methodical, detailed accounting of the symptoms she and one other crew member, a roustabout named Richard, experienced whenever they left the ship.
Roustabout, another new word in a long list of new words.
Richard was, if not replaceable, at least not critical to the success of their settlement. Constance was.
“I’d like to do some simple tests,” Quinn said. “Probably Gwen’s right and you have Auric sensitivity. Joss does, so why not? But I’d rather be sure before we begin anything more in-depth.”
“Is it really that complicated?” Constance asked. “There’s no way to just... I don’t know, create a magic blanket to wrap around me? I’m going mad cooped up in here.”
“Even more complex than you think, if you’re truly meant to be a Weaver. We train for about eight years. But no, sorry, no magic blanket. Or not exactly. Right now, investigation, perhaps a temporary weave to allow you to go outside. Later, a more powerful template that will ensure your safe passage to the Motherhouse. If you do have Entrée, you can’t risk skipping the training.”
Nor can we risk you running around untrained. She didn’t need to say the words. Constance had spent time with Gwen, and Harry, through regular visits with the villagers, had a good grasp on life in the Midland.
“I remember seeing it on the video, before we landed. Stone buildings near the eastern mountains.”
Quinn nodded, deferring discussion of the hills for another time. “We’d never let you go on your own, plus we’ll enter the winter season before you could get there, so you’d have to expect hardships. Possibly hostility, from what I saw.”
And what she’d heard. Another Healer passing through Cann had reported unrest, even danger, to Weavers and ordinary folk alike as suspicion swept the Midland.
But before any of that, she had to enable Constance to leave the ship.
“When do you want to start? I’m ready.” Constance’s lips had pinched together into a grim line.
Quinn smiled and placed a hand on the other woman’s. “Don’t worry. It’s painless. From your perspective, it’ll look like I’m in a trance, waving my hands in the air.”
“Like Gwen did, when she treated me for... what should we call it? Aura sickness?”
“I’ve heard others use that term. But no, she would have been sensing for illness and aligning your energies so they flow smoothly. This is more about the brain. Is now a good time?”
Harry stood. He’d followed the conversation closely, but she’d detected his discomfort with their Auric work, no matter how he strove to accept it. “I guess I’ll see you ladies around,” he said. “I’m supposed to be raising a barn.”
Quinn watched him go. She liked Harry. Really liked him. But that spark...
Damn Kiril anyway, she grumbled to herself. Bad enough he was so obnoxious. Did he have to ruin her for any other man? Harry should be everything she wanted. But the spark just wasn’t there.
“Can we use your berth, or sick bay?” she asked, proud to be wielding the new terms so comfortably. “We’ll need an hour or so.”
“Let’s do this.”
Quinn admired Constance’s calm command, very much like Willow’s. Where illness and injury were concerned, she took charge. Quinn couldn’t wait to see how she responded to the manipulation of the Aura, which made Healing possible.
~~
“NO DOUBT ABOUT IT,” Quinn said. “Your connection’s strong. Stronger than many trained Weavers. It’s no wonder you can’t handle the atmosphere outside. I’m amazed it doesn’t get to you in here.”
“The ship’s well shielded. Gwen says some gets through, or she wouldn’t have been able to help me the way she did.” Constance lay on the bed – bunk – in her cabin, limp. “Honestly, Quinn, that was better than a massage. What magic did you work, anyway, besides putting me to sleep?”
“Didn’t mean to.” Quinn dragged a chair over and sat, stretching her legs out in front of her, the wounded ankle crossing the whole one. It throbbed, the result of standing and ignoring it for almost an hour. “Very basic manipulation before I began probing. Relaxing your mind makes it easier. Gwen could do it more smoothly, though. It’s not my strength.”
“I wish I understood what your strength is,” Constance said. “It’s all very mysterious. In the library, you get on the scent of something and you’re damned near indefatigable. But all this about the Aura, weaves and templates and stuff – I don’t get it.”
“And I can’t really explain it in any depth. Once you start training, you’ll understand more. I expect you’ll prove to be a Healer, but with your strength... time will tell.”
Constance raised up at that, leaning back on her elbows. “Isn’t that a given? You mean they might turn me into something else?”
Quinn laughed. “Well, you won’t be a Bard, that’s for sure.” She’d heard Constance sing quietly under her breath. “But you’re strong enough for a Scribe.”
Constance shook her head, adamantly. “I’m a medic. For me, it’s that or nothing. Your unusual methods intrigue me academically, but I have no interest in pursuing them for myself.”
“Like my friend Willow. She was a Healer from when she was tiny. Bryar too, destined to be a Bard. I didn’t have any particular calling when I went to the Motherhouse. I knew I was different, but no more. That’s one of the benefits of training. You’re forced face to face with what you are. The deepest self.”
“I’m forty-five years old. I think I know my deepest self, thanks.” Constance dropped back onto her bunk. “Funny. For almost everybody here, life goes on as usual. New roles, perhaps, but it’s basically the same. Doing what has to be done, eating and sleeping and raising children. For me, the whole paradigm of my life is changing. Being here at all is hard enough to wrap my head around. Becoming a Weaver... that’s beyond my ability to imagine.”
“Then you have an idea of how we felt when Joss and Kiril dropped into our world.”
“You always mention Sergeant Worthing first. Why’s that?” Constance sat up again, this time swinging her legs off the bunk. “Let’s go find tea.”
“Coffee?” Quinn asked hopefully.
“The stuff’s rationed, you know.” Constance grinned. “Never mind. Take my ration. I’m not that keen on it.”
“I accept.” She’d thought she loved caff. But this coffee... she could drink it all day and night.
As they walked down the corridor toward the elevator that took them to the mess hall – so many new words, new concepts – she said, “About Joss, he’s integrated into our way of life. He discovered his power, and it freaked him out for a while, but then he got training and found Willow...
“Your close friend.”
“Weavers rarely form lasting relationships, mainly because we aren’t in one place for any length of time, but also because it’s hard for people to understand us. Joss and Willow... I can’t be certain, but I think she’s pregnant. They belong together.”
“Whereas Colonel McKettrick...”
“A rockier road. Their first contact was with Weavers, and without Entrée he’s had a harder time finding where he fits. I don’t know where he is or even if he’s still alive, but he left the Motherhouse traveling with Bryar, and Bryar’s getting closer to us. Another nine-day or so.”
“I’ve heard stories of what happened in the hills. You aren’t willing to talk about it, are you?”
No, she wasn’t. It felt private, a memory too personal to crack open. Or perhaps it was for Kiril’s sake. The demon inhabiting him, what he’d done... These were his people. She wouldn’t say anything that might threaten his reputation with them. Had he come to terms with himself yet? She hoped so.
“Stop daydreaming, woman,” Constance said, pulling on her arm. “I hope he turns up soon. You need to get yourself grounded.”
Quinn froze, then gave a helpless shrug. Constance had seen right through her. But maybe, if Kiril did make it to the Adventurer, she’d be able to shake him out of her system once and for all.
So many maybes where he was concerned.
“Coffee calls,” she answered. “And then I’ll try to figure out a weave to let you spend time off your ship, and that will be easy to renew. Later we’ll worry about getting you safely to the Motherhouse.”
As the two women stepped into the elevator, Quinn reflected on how much she enjoyed her time with Constance, not a Weaver – so far – but potentially a friend.