The heart keeps its own Code.—Anonymous
THE DOORKEEPER SHOWED him to a private parlor, served him wine and left him alone, murmuring that the Master would be with him soon.
The wine was sweet and sat ill on a stomach roiled with fear. He set it aside after a single sip and paced the length of the room, unable to sit decently and await his host.
Behind him, the door opened, and he spun, too quickly. Master Healer Kestra paused on the threshold and showed her hands, palms up and empty, eyebrows lifted ironically.
Ignoring irony, Daav bowed greeting, counting time as he had not done since he was a halfling, throttling pilot speed down to normality, though his nerves screamed for speed.
The Healer returned his bow with an inclination of her head and walked over to the clustered chairs. She arranged herself comfortably in one and looked up at him, face neutral.
"Well, Korval."
He drifted a few paces forward. "Truly, Master Kestra?"
She waved impatiently at the chair opposite her. "I will not be stalked, sir! Sit, sit! And be still, for love of the gods! You're loud enough to give an old woman a headache—and to no purpose. She's fine."
His knees gave way and, perforce, he sat. "Fine."
"Oh, a little burn—nothing worrisome, I assure you! For the most part, the Learner never touched her. She knew her danger quickly and crafted her protection well. She created herself an obsession: an entire star system, which required her constant and total concentration—I should say, calculation!—to remain viable." She smiled, fondly, so it seemed to Daav. "Brilliant! The Learning Module will not disturb rational cognition." She moved her shoulders.
"Tom Sen and I removed the obsession, and placed the sleep upon her. We did not consider, under the circumstances, that it was wise to erase painful memory, though we did put—say, we caused those memories to feel distant to her. Thus she remains wary, yet unimpeded by immediate fear." Another ripple of her shoulders.
"For the rest, she passed a few hours in the 'doc for the cuts and bruises. I spoke with her not an hour ago and I am well-satisfied with our work."
Daav closed his eyes. She was well. He was trembling, he noted distantly, and his chest burned.
"Korval?"
He cleared his throat, opened his eyes and inclined his head. "Accept my thanks," he said, voice steady in the formal phrasing.
"Certainly," Kestra murmured, and paused, the line of a frown between her brows.
"You should be informed," she said, abruptly, and Daav felt a chill run his spine.
"Informed?" he repeated, when several seconds had passed and the Healer had said no more. "Is she then not—entirely—well, Master Kestra?"
She moved a hand—half-negation. "Of this most recent injury, you need have no further concern. However, there was another matter—a trauma left untended. Scar tissue, you would say."
"Yes," he murmured, recalling. "She had said she thought it—too late—to seek a Healer."
"In some ways, she was correct," Kestra admitted. "Much of the damage has been integrated into the personality grid. On the whole, good use has been made of a bad start—she's strong, never doubt it. I did what I could, where the scars hindered growth." She sighed lightly and sat back in her chair.
"The reason I mention the matter to you is that I find—an anomaly—within Scholar Caylon's pattern."
Daav frowned. "Anomaly?"
The Healer sighed. "Call it a—seed pattern. It's set off in a—oh, a cul-de-sac!—by itself and it bears no resemblance whatsoever to the remainder of her pattern. Although I have seen a pattern remarkably like it, elsewhere."
"Have you?" Daav looked at her. "Where?"
Master Healer Kestra smiled wearily, raised a finger and pointed at the vacant air just above his head.
"There."
It took a moment to assimilate, wracked as he was. "You say," he said slowly, "that Aelliana and I are—true lifemates."
Kestra sighed. "Now, of that, there is some doubt. The seed-pattern was found in the area of densest scarring." She looked at him closely, her eyes grave.
"You understand, the damage in that area of her pattern was—enormous. Had a Healer been summoned at the time of trauma—however, we shall not weep over spilt wine! I have—pruned away what I could of the scar tissue. At the least, she will be easier for it—more open to joy. That the seed will grow now, after these years without nurture—I cannot say that it will happen."
He stared at her, seeing pity in her eyes. His mind would not quite hold the information—Aelliana. She was his destined lifemate—the other half of a wizard's match. He was to have shared with Aelliana what Er Thom shared with his Anne . . . She had been hurt—several times hurt—grievously hurt and no one called to tend her, may Clan Mizel dwindle to dust in his lifetime!
He drew a deep breath, closed his eyes, reached through the anger and the anguish, found the method he required and spun it into place.
He was standing in a circle of pure and utter peace, safe within that secret soul-place where anger never came, and sorrow shifted away like sand.
"And who," Kestra demanded, "taught you that?"
He opened his eyes, hand rising to touch his earring. "The grandmother of a tribe of hunter-gatherers, on a world whose name I may not give you." He peered through the bright still peace; located another scrap of information: "She said that I was always—busy—and so she taught me to—be still."
"All honor to her," Kestra murmured.
"All honor to her," Daav agreed and rose on legs that trembled very little, really. "May I see Aelliana now?"
THE ROOM WAS SUN-FILLED and fragrant, with wide windows giving onto the Healers' extensive gardens. She stood in the open window, looking out on the rows of flowers—a slender woman in a long green robe, her tawny hair caught back with a plain silver hair-ring.
He made no noise when he entered, but she turned as if she had heard him, a smile on her face and her eyes gloriously green.
"Daav," she said, and walked into his arms.