Celta: Heart Choice Part 1

HEART CHOICE.

by Robin D. Owens.

To Morgan and Diva.

One.

DRUIDA CITY, CELTA,.

404 years after Colonization, spring, late afternoon.

Get Me down! GET ME DOWN! The telepathic demand was imperious.

Straif Blackthorn had just descended the stairs of the door of the Green Knight Fencing and Fighting Salon, after his daily bout with his cuz Tinne Holly, when he heard the command.

Get Me down!.

The mental cry, attached to a screech that could only come from a Siamese cat, speared through his head.

He wanted to put his hands over his ears as the pitch built and the torment continued, drowning out the swish of pouring rain. But a hunter always kept his hands free.

Straif glanced around the sidewalk and street. The smallest s.h.i.+ver of movement caught his attention. There, atop a gray stone wall, crouched under the small overhang of a second-story windowsill, was a damp cat. A Fam-Familiar-an intelligent animal with psi powers that could mentally communicate with people.

She glared at him with bright blue eyes. White with a dark mask of brown, she didn't look purebred Siamese, but when she shrieked again, he knew he couldn't deny that piercing note in her yowl. Get Me down. I do not belong in this filthy rain.

The rain of Celta smelled fresh and clean, even here in Druida City. The city added its own aromas, that of evening dinners, the scent of glider, stridebeast, horse.

And wet cat.

You, Straif Blackthorn, you come here and get Me down, the cat meowed.

He scowled. Small, dainty, half-Siamese, and telepathic. It could only be a female. And it could only come from the GreatHouse T'Ash.

Warily he moved under the window and reached up.

She jumped down instead. "Umph!" he grunted, as she landed on his shoulder and dug in her claws. "Stop it, or you're ending up in the gutter, cat."

Balancing, she retracted her claws until they just hooked into his clothing. I am a Fam, daughter of the Cat Zanth who is Familiar to T'Ash.

"I can tell."

I am YOUR Fam.

Straif stiffened, turned his head to stare into her blue eyes. He noticed her pink nose, her elegance.

I will be good for you, a close companion.

He wondered if that would be true. "Let's consider a temporary alliance, for, say, six eightdays."

She sniffed, then rubbed her head against his cheek. He lifted a hand larger than her head and stroked her jaw. She purred. Her fur felt incredibly soft under his fingers. Her purring and the feel of her softness, her daintiness after his years on a hard trail through much of untamed Celta, sparked a warmth of tenderness inside him. She could speak to him by mind, using Flair-psi powers. Perhaps she could be a companion.

"Six eightdays," he repeated.

One last rub, then she sat up straight, replying, Unnecessary. You will adore Me. Everyone adores Me.

Straif sighed. It was inevitable that with his new life, he'd take on new burdens, as well as shouldering all the old ones, the old responsibilities that meant old griefs.

I heard this morning that you are staying in Druida and opening up T'Blackthorn Residence.

News traveled fast. Just that morning he'd made the decision to finally move from a guest suite at his uncle T'Holly's. He could no longer bear the underlying sadness of the household.

So he'd decided to open his own home. He hadn't visited T'Blackthorn Residence in some time, and he dreaded going to it now, so his steps lagged.

I will help. I am a Cat of great taste. Surely you have noticed My beauty.

"Right." He walked back out onto the sidewalk.

Most people call me stunning. She s.h.i.+fted on him. If we walk in the rain, I want a weathers.h.i.+eld.

He sighed out a Word, curving a s.h.i.+eldspell around her.

She delicately hummed a small purr. Very nice. I knew I made no mistake in taking you as My FamMan.

"Right."

Where do we go?

He wanted to hunch his shoulders, more against the thoughts that threatened to inundate him than against the rain.

"T'Blackthorn Residence," he said. Since he was GrandLord T'Blackthorn, it was appropriate that he live in his ancestral home, on his ancestral estates. Even though he was the sole Blackthorn. The last Blackthorn. The one Blackthorn who'd survived the Celtan Angh virus that had swept through the weak Family genes and killed his uncle and aunts and cousins. The remaining Blackthorn who still grieved for his sister and parents.

I approve. I was born for a FirstFamily Residence. I always knew it. The cat nodded, and her whiskers tickled his cheek, bringing him from thoughts as gloomy as the day.

"Right. Well, Stunning-"

A small paw prodded his face. I am stunning. That is My beauty. My name is Drina.

"Drina, huh?"

Drina. It is a Blackthorn name.

He sighed again. She was going to drag his emotions back from the frigid storage where he'd placed them when his Family had died fifteen years ago when he was seventeen. Since then he'd tried to keep his feelings completely superficial-except his fierce resolve to find a fix for his Family's genes and so ensure the survival of his line.

They'd pa.s.sed through middle-cla.s.s Druida and into n.o.ble Country, huge, old estates claimed by the first settlers of the three colonial s.h.i.+ps. Straif's steps slowed.

A couple of years ago he'd been summoned by his maternal uncle, T'Holly, to track and find his cuzes Holm and Tinne Holly. After their reappearance, Straif had come and gone in Druida, but hadn't ever returned to his estate.

When Straif entered the greeniron gates, he understood why. T'Blackthorn Residence had once been a showplace, one of the most beautiful buildings in Druida.

Now the many arched windows looked blind and dirty. His gut tightened as he saw some gray, scaly Celtan lichen had crept up the mellow blond bricks of the house, destroying it as surely as the virus had destroyed his Family. He groaned.

Drina leaned her small body against him; the gentle resonance of her rea.s.suring purr vibrated from her side to his face. Straif drew in a deep breath.

This was his fault. He couldn't bear to be reminded of his past, so he'd let the upkeep of the Residence slip. Now he would pay.

This will take many great spells. Much of your Flair and strength and energy and knowledge. Much gilt.

"Right."

She sniffed, then slightly opened her mouth and curled her tongue in that sixth cat sense of smell-taste. You have great Flair-great psi power. I have chosen well. I will help you.

"Thanks." Wanting to get the worst over with, and not able to endure looking at the sad outside of his Residence, Straif teleported them into the den. It was the office of the GrandLord, where all Family discussions took place and all decisions were made.

Miller moths circled around them in a cloud. Drina hopped down to chase them.

Straif ignored her and glanced around the room. The warm Earthmaple paneling comforted him, as did the dusty folds of purple velvet drapes and the ancient desk topped with a furrabeast leather blotter. He could almost see his father sitting behind the desk, looking at him, fingers steepled in his habitual gesture. Grief stormed through Straif like a caustic whirlwind, swirling memories of his Family-his mother, who matched his father in quiet, gentle, steady nature. Then images came of his irresistible scamp of a sister, Fasha, the only extrovert of the Family, more Holly than Blackthorn. How he missed Fasha, her optimism and determined cheerful-ness. How he wanted that in his life.

Never to see them again. No wonder he had fled his life here, searched throughout Celta for some oracle, some native herb or bacteria that might provide an immunization for the awful virus. The Angh virus that was fatal only to Blackthorns.

"Welcome home, T'Blackthorn," a deep voice soughed. Straif shuddered. It was the voice of the Residence, the voice of a long-dead GrandLord T'Blackthorn.

"Thank you, Residence."

"There is much to be done."

"It will be done," Straif vowed.

"I have maintained the elements of the central HouseHeart. The hearth fire crackles, the fountain bubbles, the wind tinkles chimes, the scent of rich earth rises from the floor."

Straif cleared his throat. "Thank you."

"It is good that you return. Please activate the standard arrival, general habitation, and housekeeping spells."

So Straif chanted the litany that would bring the Residence back to life-ignite fires and provide light, air rooms and clean them. The husks of dried moths in the ResidenceDen disappeared. Drina leapt back up to his shoulder.

When all was as tidy as possible, he said, "I would like a tally of the food available in no-time storage."

A holosphere appeared with images of great haunches of meat, bins of fruits and vegetables, barrels of beer and wine, cartons of grain.

"The storage no-time," said the Residence. "Would you like to see a list of the prepared meals?"

"Yes."

I only eat shredded furrabeast steak of the highest quality, said Drina.

Straif repeated her words aloud.

"Of course," said the Residence. "Welcome, T'Blackthorn Fam."

Drina preened. I also eat cocoamousse.

Straif sighed but told the house.

"T'Blackthorn will need to hire a cook," said the Residence.

"Right," said Straif. He'd have to hire several people of the highest integrity. Most Residences were staffed by Family members, proud to be of service to the Head of the Household. They had all died.

A nip on his ear made him jump.

Drina landed on her feet and hissed at him. You forgot Me. I am your Fam. No more of this gloom. We do not allow gloom anymore at T'Ash Residence. D'Ash says so. It is a good rule.

Straif bared his teeth at the cat.

She sat and stared haughtily back at him.

"T'Ash-"

All T'Ash's Family died, too, but he stayed. He did not run away.

"I was looking for a cure!"

She flicked her tail back and forth. Did you find one?

"No."

Drina swiveled her head slowly, taking in the state of the once richly elegant room. She sniffed. This place is not acceptable to a Cat of My High Degree. There is not even one pillow adequate for Me to sit on! We must do something about it immediately. Teleport us to Lavender Square, to The Four Leaf Clover, Mitch.e.l.la's shop.

"I thought I'd go to T'Apple for advice in a day or two." After he'd surveyed what needed to be done and gotten over his shock at the state of his home, when he began to plan.

Now Drina curled back her muzzle, showing tiny pointed teeth. The Four Leaf Clover, now. Trust Me.

He narrowed his eyes. "Trust you?"

Her tail whipped back and forth.

Trust Me and follow Me.