rode together through the hills surrounding Tramontana. The bounty of a morning’s hawking, a brace of forest grouse for the Midsummer Festival feast, hung from their saddles. The men also had baskets filled with mountain daisies, skyflowers, and even a stalk or two of creamy white bellisma, to be arranged into gift packets for the women of the Tower. Neither had kinswomen to honor according to Midsummer tradition, as Hastur Lord of Light had honored Blessed Cassilda with fruit and flowers. Yet Coryn thought with anticipation of the expression on Liane’s face at the river-opals he had found for her, the sort of gift he would have presented Kristlin with.
Now Coryn and Liane rode easily together as brother and sister, watching Aran ride ahead, body moving fluidly with the horse’s swinging stride. On this morning, Coryn had lent Aran his fine Armida black, a gift from his father last winter. It was the same horse Petro had ridden on his ill-fated mission to Storn during that terrible fire.
Aran, still lanky and possessed of such dark-lashed eyes as to make most maidens envious, rode with his hands on his thighs, reins loose on the horse’s neck. The black arched her neck and broke into a canter, feet lifted high and tail bannered in the wind.
Coryn laughed. “She wants to run!”
“What have you been feeding her, dragon bones?” Aran called back. The horse, released from invisible reins, lengthened her stride. Aran lifted his gloved hand and the verrin hawk, which had been hovering at the limit of sight, circled down to meet him. Like many of his clan, Aran had the Gift, the donas , of rapport with animals.
Coryn slowed his own mount, closing his eyes to more easily follow the meld of animal, bird, and man. One hand crept to the starstone on its silver chain around his neck. Even insulated in heavy silk, it pulsed with energy as he focused his mind on his friend’s.
Wind streamed through his mane, lifted his wings, swept joyful tears from his eyes. Power surged through him, as if he could run or fly or ride forever. Of all the gifts of Aran’s friendship, this was the most precious.
Liane drew her horse even with Coryn’s, her ladyhawk hooded on her wrist. The years had straightened her nose and faded her freckles, leaving her handsome but not pretty. Yet when Coryn glanced at her, he saw the spirit behind her green eyes, the courage she brought to everything she did. She’d become a skilled monitor and, as Kieran had predicted, had guarded Coryn’s well-being on more than one occasion in the matrix circles.
“It isn’t fair!” she said, following the black horse with her eyes. “I can follow the course of a single blood cell through a man’s body, but try as I might, I can’t go with him like this.” She meant Aran’s oneness with horse and hawk. Although she could monitor and manipulate energon flows in a human body, she was far less talented in empathy, the ability to sense another’s emotions, and she had only the minimal telepathy to work in a circle.
“Ah, well,” she sighed. In the closeness of the Tower, it was impossible to keep her feelings for Aran secret, or the fact that he had only brotherly affection for her. They had been lovers for one brief night, at Year’s End when all normal barriers in the Tower community lifted. What for Liane had been an ecstatic awakening was to Aran only part of the shared sacramental rite of the festival.
Coryn, sensitized by his rapport with Aran, felt the pang of Liane’s longing. If she had been Kristlin, he would have felt duty bound to speak to Aran. But he knew that if he took any action, Liane would be furious and humiliated. She was a trained monitor, a leronis . As she had so emphatically informed Coryn on more than one occasion, he was not the guardian of her conscience. Furthermore, her own Keeper had determined that as long as she kept the channels which carried her sexual energy cleared, the situation was no danger to either her or to
Now Coryn and Liane rode easily together as brother and sister, watching Aran ride ahead, body moving fluidly with the horse’s swinging stride. On this morning, Coryn had lent Aran his fine Armida black, a gift from his father last winter. It was the same horse Petro had ridden on his ill-fated mission to Storn during that terrible fire.
Aran, still lanky and possessed of such dark-lashed eyes as to make most maidens envious, rode with his hands on his thighs, reins loose on the horse’s neck. The black arched her neck and broke into a canter, feet lifted high and tail bannered in the wind.
Coryn laughed. “She wants to run!”
“What have you been feeding her, dragon bones?” Aran called back. The horse, released from invisible reins, lengthened her stride. Aran lifted his gloved hand and the verrin hawk, which had been hovering at the limit of sight, circled down to meet him. Like many of his clan, Aran had the Gift, the donas , of rapport with animals.
Coryn slowed his own mount, closing his eyes to more easily follow the meld of animal, bird, and man. One hand crept to the starstone on its silver chain around his neck. Even insulated in heavy silk, it pulsed with energy as he focused his mind on his friend’s.
Wind streamed through his mane, lifted his wings, swept joyful tears from his eyes. Power surged through him, as if he could run or fly or ride forever. Of all the gifts of Aran’s friendship, this was the most precious.
Liane drew her horse even with Coryn’s, her ladyhawk hooded on her wrist. The years had straightened her nose and faded her freckles, leaving her handsome but not pretty. Yet when Coryn glanced at her, he saw the spirit behind her green eyes, the courage she brought to everything she did. She’d become a skilled monitor and, as Kieran had predicted, had guarded Coryn’s well-being on more than one occasion in the matrix circles.
“It isn’t fair!” she said, following the black horse with her eyes. “I can follow the course of a single blood cell through a man’s body, but try as I might, I can’t go with him like this.” She meant Aran’s oneness with horse and hawk. Although she could monitor and manipulate energon flows in a human body, she was far less talented in empathy, the ability to sense another’s emotions, and she had only the minimal telepathy to work in a circle.
“Ah, well,” she sighed. In the closeness of the Tower, it was impossible to keep her feelings for Aran secret, or the fact that he had only brotherly affection for her. They had been lovers for one brief night, at Year’s End when all normal barriers in the Tower community lifted. What for Liane had been an ecstatic awakening was to Aran only part of the shared sacramental rite of the festival.
Coryn, sensitized by his rapport with Aran, felt the pang of Liane’s longing. If she had been Kristlin, he would have felt duty bound to speak to Aran. But he knew that if he took any action, Liane would be furious and humiliated. She was a trained monitor, a leronis . As she had so emphatically informed Coryn on more than one occasion, he was not the guardian of her conscience. Furthermore, her own Keeper had determined that as long as she kept the channels which carried her sexual energy cleared, the situation was no danger to either her or to
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