Strange Attractors - Kim Falconer [78]
He shook his head. It was a dream. A nightmare. It had to be, but it felt strangely like a memory. The hemlock’s doing, no doubt. I couldn’t have a memory like that.
He’d never been down the quarry steps in the rain at night and neither had Shaea. What idiot would risk such a journey? It was too easy to be knocked off the edge in a flash flood. He shivered. When the drains under Corsanon filled, clogged with refuse until the pressure was so great they broke free, the water and waste flowed like a rushing river, a waterfall spilling over the edge. He shivered again, even though the afternoon sun was warm on his shoulders, the cobbled street radiating heat. Shaea? Why can’t I find you?
He called to her in his mind, not daring to say the words aloud. The Stable Master didn’t even know he had a sister and that he snuck food to her when he could, stealing away from his duties to make certain she was all right. He still had moments of guilt that it was he the Stable Master chose that day and not Shaea. He was good with animals, to be certain, but his sister was equal at least. She had some kind of magic touch. But she’d been shy and hung back and neither of them would ruin the chance for a better existence, whichever one was chosen.
What could have happened to her? He’d been gone only a day and she was nowhere to be found. He asked after her, tapping the sleeping drunks on the shoulder or passing a penny to soot-covered children. No one had a clue, not about Shaea or the old witch Rall. He picked the scab on his neck, the shooting pains startling him. Shaea. I need you. Don’t be gone. Please don’t be gone.
The fires hadn’t damaged this part of the city but who knows what happened when they broke out? People could have scattered anywhere. And then there were the floods. They’d swept through every street, heading for the outlet above the quarry steps.
He searched his memory, aware again of the sensation that he stood on the wrong side of a door, locked out of the most important room in his mind. He beat on it with his fists, twisted the handle and forced his fingers into the cracks to pry it open. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he panted, trying harder, hammering at it with his thoughts until he gave up. It wouldn’t budge. Whatever it was, he wouldn’t get at it that way.
He took a deep breath and exhaled, blowing stray hair from his face. He couldn’t force it. It was a fluke that he was alive at all. The healer had said he should be performing an autopsy, not sending him merrily on his way. There was that word again—should. Thinking of it made him want to laugh and cry at the same time. How strange. But merry was not how he felt in any case. Xane rubbed his temples. He didn’t think he could feel worse and still be standing.
A thought trickled into his mind. Head for the portal. He chuckled. Now he knew he was deranged. The portal was one destination he knew nothing about. Those things were witches’ business and best left at that, though Shaea longed to find one and get them both out. Could that be where she’d gone? Had she somehow found a portal and vanished to another place in Gaela, one that would offer a better life? Did you leave without me, sister? If so it would explain why he felt to go that way himself. What if…
He shook his head, brushing it off. His place was back at the stables where the smell of horses, straw and leather would ease his aching head. He would report to the Stable Master, who would be well pleased to see him. He’d check his charges and hopefully be able to go to his cot early. The stimulants were wearing off already and he didn’t think he could stay on his feet much longer. He certainly didn’t feel like eating dinner either. He looked down the last alley, empty save for afternoon shadows and a family of stray cats. They might know something but, unlike Shaea, he couldn’t communicate with them. As he walked on, the image of a large black temple