Colemenoport
Wayfarer
The wild rush of energy into the room would have brought Shan to his feet, if Priscilla had not placed a hand on his knee.
“Hello, Padi,” she said, calmly. “We were just wondering if you’d be joining us for the meal.”
Padi turned, light on her toes, pattern blazing even as the excess energy ebbed.
“I sent to Father that I would come,” she said, “and I had told Tekelia particularly that there must be a time limit on lessons, as I was promised elsewhere.” She looked over her shoulder, finding the clock that dominated the entrance hall.
“Oh, but we did manage it—and I’m not late at all!” she said, sounding less relieved than triumphant.
“Indeed,” Shan said. “You are in very good time. Will you have a glass?”
Padi smiled.
“I would like a glass,” she confessed. “May I beg half an hour to rid myself of the day’s dust?”
“An exemplary notion!” Shan said. “I believe I will do the same. Priscilla?”
“After I call down to be certain of the meal,” Priscilla said. “Will Tekelia be joining us, Padi?”
“Tekelia is dining elsewhere this evening,” Padi said. “I am given to say that they hope to have all of us to share a meal with the Haosa, very soon.”
“That sounds delightful,” Shan murmured. Padi spun and reentered her room, rather less precipitously than she had exited, and closed the door.
Shan picked up his glass and glanced at his lifemate.
“Only see how inconsistent we are, Priscilla,” he said. “We had been distressed when she resisted her Talents. Now, we are distressed when she embraces them.” He sipped wine. “Whatever they are.”
“And however they may manifest when not being influenced by Colemeno’s ambient,” Priscilla added. She tipped her head, brows drawn.
“Actually,” she said, meeting his eyes, “I think I prefer an exuberant student.”
“As do I,” Shan agreed. “I only wish I were more certain of the tutor.”
“Tekelia has done us no harm, and might be said to have acted generously on our behalf,” Priscilla said.
“All true. Well. I had said that my wits were lagging.”
He drank the last of his tea and stood.
“I will return, after I have dusted myself off. Possibly my wits will be revived by the process.”
“I’ll call the kitchen,” Priscilla said.
* * *
“If one may be bold, Daughter,” Shan said, as he poured fresh glasses, “what worked?”
Padi was curled into the curve of the sofa, dressed in ship casual: sweater, loose pants, and soft shoes. Her pattern was scintillant, reflecting both pleasure and satisfaction.
She looked up at him, her face relaxed, lavender eyes languid.
“A . . . technique,” she said, and glanced to Priscilla, who was also curled into the sofa’s giving cushions, long legs drawn up beside her.
She gave Padi a smile.
“I am,” she said, “all ears.”
“From which stems my concern,” Padi said. “I fear that description may be beyond my scope.”
“Come now, Trader yos’Galan!” Shan said, bringing the tray over and setting it in the center of the table. He gave Priscilla the glass of iced mint tea; Padi, the glass of the white. Taking the red for himself, he settled onto the sofa between his daughter and his lifemate.
“I have heard you wax eloquent regarding cogwheels and gear ratios! Surely, you may do justice to a technique which touched you with such joy.”
Padi paused, her glass not quite to her lips, expression arrested.
“Joy,” she repeated.
“Well,” Shan said, apologetically, “perhaps I was mistaken. Priscilla, what aspect would you say adorned Padi’s arrival among us this evening?”
“At least delight,” Priscilla said. She smiled at Padi. “Are we both wrong?”
Padi sipped her wine, eyes narrowed.
“I will own both joy and delight. As to the technique, it is a . . . mode of travel.” She tipped her head as if considering that assertion, then nodded.
“One mode of travel,” she said, and met Shan’s eyes. “Two formulas for arrival.”
Shan inclined his head.
“Yes.” Padi sighed. “What one must do is form an image in the mind—either of a personal signature, or a place one has visited. Once the image is perfectly formed, it is shown to the ambient, which—transports one to the person or the place pictured.”
She looked down then, and raised her glass, as if to fortify herself against disbelief, or, Shan thought, recrimination.
As strong as her Talent was, Padi had not found it easy to absorb the techniques meant to assist her in its use. This had become a point of frustration to her, and to those teachers who had been available aboard Dutiful Passage—including himself. She struggled to build the simplest tools, to hold the most basic shapes firm, and expressed impatience with core concepts. Most of the greater Talents—Healers, and dramliz in all their variations—required tools, shapes, and concepts to guide them, and to conserve energy, Talent not being a limitless resource.
However, to his Healer’s Eyes, Padi’s Talent seemed to be precisely that—without limit. When startled or hurried, she did not make a tool, or summon a shape, but merely—reached for the desired result.
“I did say,” Padi murmured, “that I might not do justice.”
“So you did, and we were fairly warned.” Shan set his glass aside. “I wonder if you might show me the way of it?”
Padi’s eyes widened.
“You’re a Healer,” she said.
Shan rose, and looked down at her, one eyebrow lifted.
“It can’t be helped, you know,” he said mildly. “Certainly I have no hope that I will stop being a Healer at my time in life. Will it matter, do you think?”
She blinked.
“I don’t know, having just learnt myself. Perhaps we ought better to have Tekelia—”
“Tekelia-dramliza is wanted elsewhere this evening,” Shan interrupted. “Come, where is the harm? If I am inept or unable, surely all that will happen is that—nothing will happen. I will remain here while you manifest in whatever delightful locale you might picture. Once you notice my absence, you can return.”
Padi turned to Priscilla, whom he doubted was best pleased with him at the moment.
“Lina said it would take an . . . appreciable time for his—his Talent—to fully return.”
Which was more than Lina had been pleased to tell him, Shan thought, crankily. Vot’itzen, indeed.
Priscilla moved a hand, to all of his senses utterly unconcerned. “Lina did not foresee Colemeno. He is as well—or better—than he’s ever been. I don’t think you’ll break him. And it would be interesting to know if you can teach him this technique.” She smiled. “Please—begin the lesson immediately, so I can have my turn before the meal arrives.”
For an instant, Padi looked betrayed. Shan carefully did not smile, but met her eyes gravely.
“Well, Daughter? Is now a convenient time? The meal isn’t due for half an hour yet.”
She closed her eyes briefly, put her glass down and rose.
“I think,” she said, “that I had best emulate my teacher, and begin with this—catch me.”
She blinked out of sight.
Shan raised his eyebrows.
“I see I’ve been put on my mettle,” he said, and brought Padi’s signature to the front of his mind. That part was quite easy, though he remained somewhat in the dark about showing it to the ambient. However, if the ambient was, in fact, ambient, then surely all one needed to do was to concentrate and—
The parlor smeared away into fog, and he was blinking into Padi’s face. They were standing quite close, in the center of her private room.
“I suppose,” his daughter said, sounding resigned, “that being a Healer doesn’t matter.”
“I am pleased to hear you say so,” he told her earnestly, even as he did a quick internal inventory. He appeared to be quite unharmed, his heartbeat was steady, his breathing was deep and calm. As best as he could tell, he had expended no energy at all in leaping from parlor to bedroom. Which could not be so.
Could it?
“For the next lesson,” Padi said, “you will need to bring the parlor to mind, and show that image to the ambient.” She paused to give him an appraising look. “It would be best if you picture a section of the room that is clear of furniture or other hazards to footing. I offer this advice from personal experience.”
Once again, she blinked out of sight.
It was easier this time—merely a thought, a brief foggy smear, and hey, presto! He was standing beside Padi in the parlor, and Priscilla was rising from the sofa, her eyes sparkling.
“My turn,” she said.