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Off-Grid

The Tree House


The ambient was . . . not so vivid here at the port as it was on Ribbon Dance Hill, or even at Tekelia’s house on the edge of the wood. There, it was a coruscating rainbow field, saturating everything.

Here, the colors were . . . dimmer, slower, and somewhat less exhilarating. Even diminished, however, the ambient was there, perfectly apparent to the senses.

Frowning, Padi brought Tekelia’s signature to the front of her mind, as if she were trading faces with Lady Selph.

There came a chill, a frisson, an eye-blink of silver, and—

“There you are!” Tekelia said gaily, extending a glass filled with the Haosa’s gentle green wine, rather than the sterner ruby.

“Well chosen,” she said, accepting the glass with a smile.

They drank. Padi walked to the edge of the porch, to look out over the trees. In truth, it was a pleasing prospect, all the more so for being entirely unlike anything else she had seen today.

“What made you tarry?” Tekelia asked from beside her.

She turned to gaze into mismatched eyes.

“Tarry? When I had to intuit the entire procedure from—own it!—the most minimal instructions possible!”

“Not the most minimal,” Tekelia protested, holding up a hand. “Most minimal would have been—catch me.”

Padi considered that as she sipped.

“Why do I think that’s precisely what the Haosa do amongst yourselves?”

“Because you would do the same, were you Haosa?”

Padi produced a frown that was perhaps not quite as stern as she had wished.

“You must have a very odd notion of my character,” she said.

“Very likely, as I am myself odd, even among Haosa,” Tekelia said equitably, leaning elbows on the rail and holding the glass in two hands.

“Being a Child of Chaos, you mean,” Padi said, putting her elbows on the rail as well, and leaning into Tekelia’s warmth.

“That, of course. Though standing as Speaker for the Haosa also has an effect.”

Padi laughed lightly.

“Yes, I can see that might produce a certain oddness.” She sipped her wine.

“Speaking of oddities . . . ” she murmured, “why is the ambient so dim at port?”

Tekelia smiled.

“You have heard it said, I think, that the Haosa live off-Grid.”

“I have heard that,” Padi admitted.

“Civilization—and the port, too—are on-Grid.” Tekelia sipped. “Or, I suppose it would be more proper to say that Civilization is under the Grid.”

“I hadn’t realized that the Grid had . . . presence.”

“The Grid is a marvel created by the ancestors, who took their lesson from history. Not many can abide the fullness of Colemeno’s ambient field—the First Wave demonstrated that to everyone’s satisfaction. However, the ancestors did not wish to abandon Colemeno—and, yes, it has been suggested that this reluctance was an effect of the field.”

Tekelia sipped wine, lifted a shoulder and let it fall.

“A discussion for another day. Let it simply be said that the ancestors wished to remain; they wished to live, love, and multiply in a place that was safe for themselves and their children. Therefore, they joined together and created a great weaving of placid energies to shield those who lived beneath it from the—what was the phrase from your guidebook?—the invigorating atmosphere? It is a weaving they made, thus the ambient falls through, but—filtered—much reduced, less exciting and more malleable for those who see it as a tool.”

“Which would be all of Civilization,” Padi murmured.

“That is so. We of the Haosa have a far different relationship with the ambient, as you have noted. The amusing thing . . . ”

Tekelia paused to drink wine, and Padi did, as well.

“The amusing thing is, it’s said that there were those among the weavers who would now be Haosa, perhaps even a Child of Chaos—or two.”

“Do you think that’s true, as well as amusing?”

Tekelia looked at her, face serious.

“I do. It’s a working of love and mercy, and gave relief to many. The weaving was well done. What is less well done is that we have become . . . separate. Distrust took root; Haosa and Civilized are not at ease with each other. I don’t think that the ancestors intended that.”

“Surely they couldn’t have,” Padi said, straightening out of her lean. “Not with their history.”

“The purge of the Small Talents on Liad, you mean.” Tekelia slanted a smile at her. “You and I think alike.”

“And so we come full circle. Tell me, how will I come back to port if I am to be responsible for my own movements? I grant I could show the ambient my father’s signature, but I have—concerns.”

Tekelia laughed.

“As I would. But, no. There’s another way, which I’ll show you, now you’re out from under the Grid.” Tekelia paused. “Have you time? It oughtn’t take an hour, quick as you are.”

“Here’s a different tune! I thought I had tarried.”

“By Haosa standards,” Tekelia said, “perhaps, a little. Given that the idea was new to you, and the instructions—I own it!—sparse—you did very well.”

“I am mollified,” Padi declared. “If the lesson can be taught quickly, I am eager to learn. Father is not the only one who might not wish me to appear, suddenly and unannounced, at his side. However, we need to be aware of the time. I have been particularly invited to share the evening meal in”—she glanced at the timepiece on her wrist—“two and a half hours.”

“Well, then, let’s get to work!”

Tekelia grinned, held out a hand for her glass—and both vanished, possibly, Padi thought, reappearing in the kitchen.

“First,” Tekelia said, “we should go into the great room.”

Padi turned toward the windows leading from the porch. Tekelia caught her hand.

“Not like that. Like this.”


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Framed