Above them, white birds with black-tipped wings circled the ship, and he pointed them out to Astra as she came up to him and lovingly slipped her arm around-
NO! Suddenly he was sitting up in bed, surrounded by darkness, hearing nothing but his own rapid breathing. “By Mawort-!” he swore, but broke off. He didn’t really believe in the gods, not even the warrior god to whom his life was dedicated.
Serafon is right, he thought. Why am I dreaming of a Reader in such terms?
He didn’t know, as he sat sweating in the darkness, which Astra terrified him more: the Reader who might discover his secret… or the woman who had in two brief encounters impressed him as no other woman ever had. Against his will, her face appeared in his mind, mature yet childlike, with beautiful features that reminded him of one of the temple statues. When she had smiled at him after the earthquake- He wanted to see that smile again.
And I will, he told himseE She is part of my destiny. He had not slept long enough to recover his strength, and drowsiness began to overtake him again. But before he yielded, one last thought warned, That destiny may be my destruction.
In the Academy the next day, Astra also struggled with a sense of impending danger. She had agreed to meet Tressa out of body.
Why? she demanded of herself, thoughts carefully shielded. Why did I trust her? She’s no friend-
never has been. I’ve often wished she could be, since it would have been safe…
Had Astra and Tressa been friends, they would not have had to fear separation. Readers who failed to reach the top ranks were married off to other failed Readers, to produce children with stronger talents, in service to the empire. Consummating such marriages weakened those Readers’ meager powers, and birthing children sometimes destroyed a mother’s powers entirely. In all cases, she lost contact with the girls she had grown up with.
Astra remembered the sad day when her friend Helena was wed to Tranos, a total stranger. She was there at her friend’s request, as the bride’s attendant. Just before the ceremony, the two young Readers had stolen a few minutes by themselves. Helena had cried in Astra’s arms, for the badge of the Dark Moon had just been pinned on her.
Both girls looked on it as an unearned mark of shame. But even though Astra could sympathize with her friend and offer her comfort, she could not fully appreciate Helena’s turmoil. For Astra, there was no fear of treading the Path of the Dark Moon. How could someone cursed with so much Reading power not pass the test for Magister?
Four years later, when her turn finally came, it was all Astra could do not to appear overconfident to the Masters who tested her-in fact, she had been careful not to show the full range of her powers that day, for in one so young they might pose a threat to ambitious members of the Council.
She had passed, of course-but although her incredible strength and range guaranteed her a place in an Academy for life, she had not achieved the control she would have to have before making the final step into the ranks of Masters.
That was where Astra eventually planned to be. She still had ten years until she reached the height of her powers; surely by then she would gain control. Once in the highest rank, she would be in the realm of real power-perhaps in charge of an Academy of her own. And one day, in the far future, perhaps she might sit in Portia’s seat. Master of Masters, Head of the Tiberium Academy, adviser to the Emperor-why was she risking all that on Tressa’s dare?
But when Astra had been ritually washing her hands and face in the temple fountain before the memorial service for Master Quantus, Tressa had come up beside her and whispered, “I have the same suspicions you do. Foul play!”
But Tressa had been closed to Reading, and Astra, despite the startlement Tressa’s statement caused her, had managed-she hoped-not to broadcast to the other Readers. Those other Readers were already taking their places, and the sound of running water covered their voices as Astra whispered back, “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean!” the other Magister insisted. “After the service, when we all go back to our rooms to meditate, meet me on the plane of privacy!” And she shook the water off her hands and stalked to her place at the back of the temple. Astra followed, deliberately letting herself be caught up in the ceremony so that her turbulent emotions would attract no attention.
If only no one had Read that conversation-
Astra had not been able to tell that anyone had, and she was certain she could catch any Reader spying on them as they left their bodies. They simply would not move to the plane of privacy if there was anyone Reading them.
By the time Tressa’s mind touched hers, Astra was certain they were alone. She left her body, which she had carefully arranged on her bed so that nothing would cramp or cut off her circulation while her attention was elsewhere.
Wordlessly, they moved together to the plane of privacy. Not since her last meeting with Master Quantus had Astra come here, where no Reader could eavesdrop on their conversation unless that person had come out of body and passed over to this particular plane with them.
Just as she was admiring the smooth techniques Tressa had achieved, the other woman broke the spell with the tasteless remark, III thought that memorial service would go on forever.”
Astra made no attempt to hide her irritation. “What do you want to tell me?”
“Why are you so upset? You act as if Master Quantus was a friend of yours.”
Tressa knew they could never have met in person, but she didn’t know the rest. “He was a friend. Like me, he was a musician-and Master Thenea sent me to him on the plane of privacy when she couldn’t answer my questions on musical theory. He was a great authority-and very patient with a less experienced musician.” He had also given Astra valuable lessons in how to ask those difficult questions without alienating her own teachers who didn’t know the answers. “From what little contact I had with him,”
she added, “he impressed me as a good teacher and a very kind, gentle person.”
“Perhaps,” Tressa said with the mental equivalent of a shrug, “but that’s not the kind of person Portia lets into her inner circle.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Council of Masters has split into two factions: Portia and other heads of Academies against the Masters who don’t teach. Portia’s group may be smaller, but they are well organized and in constant communication. The others are divided over changes in the Reader system-trying to prevent further failures at the Magister level after the poor showings of the past few years.”
Ill know all that,” Astra told her. “Get to your point.”
“Four Masters have died in the past eight months. One after a long illness, one in a mysterious accident, one in an Academy fire-which could have been deliberately set-and now Master Quantus.”
“He died of heart failure,” said Astra.
“Did you examine the body? He had something in common with the other three who recently died: he disagreed with Portia’s new policy of retesting Magisters and Masters. Last month, he brought a formal protest before the entire Council when one of his staff members was reevaluated and placed on the Path of the Dark Moon… and now he’s dead.”
Tressa’s suspicions were only too familiar, for Astra had been refusing to make the same connections in her own mind. They had been the source of her reaction to the news of Quantus’ death-but it would not do to speculate about such matters, especially with the Academy’s most notorious gossip.
She yearned to share her fears with another strong Reader, but it had to be someone she could fully trust.