Dreamhearth Page 9

  Ametia’s dreams remained pastiches of war scenes, though lately they’d begun including moments of quiet between battles. Mending armor, sleeping in a cot, bent over maps in a tent while outside the muffled rumble of thunder called to mind storms, or the movement of artillery. /Maybe we’re doing some good?/ Vasiht’h said when they withdrew.

  /Hard to say,/ Jahir replied. /One would have to assume that these pauses represent a cessation of her worries, and yet, they don’t./

  /If it’s a war she doesn’t think she’ll win in her lifetime, maybe this is her admitting that even she has to rest sometimes./

  /One can hope./

  “Thank you for the afghan,” Vasiht’h said to the Harat-Shar when she was leaving. “Did you make it yourself?”

  “I did,” she said. “I don’t crochet often, but I get these wild impulses and then I’ll just up and do one in half a day. Yarn everywhere… it’s a total mess.” She grinned. “But I get something concrete out of it. There’s something about that. Making a thing, rather than building ideas and thoughts and contexts.”

  “You are making a context,” Jahir offered. “It is merely a context of pattern and fabric.”

  “Hah!” She shook her head. “Maybe. Anyway. We can talk more next time. Not about the dog, though. That’s Allen’s business. And probably stupid tourists who don’t know him gawking. The people in the city know better.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Jahir said for him, which saved Vasiht’h the trouble of asking.

  “Allen,” she repeated. “Allen Tiber. The only big dog around here is Trusty, and Trusty belongs to Allen.” She grinned, showing a tooth. “I’m surprised you haven’t met him yet. He’s a big name in the therapist community. I saw him for a few sessions. Before you ask—we didn’t click. Probably because he’s human. How can I complain about human prejudice to a human? There’s no way he could keep it from getting personal. Or maybe I’m doing him wrong. Maybe he could have managed… but then, would it have mattered if I hadn’t been able to believe him capable of it? Anyway. Next week, aletsen.”

  The floor-dropped-away feeling in the mindline wasn’t a perfect approximation of how Vasiht’h felt at having this dropped on them, but it was close. “Why didn’t she tell us that in the beginning?”

  “Why would she have?” Jahir said. “It was not an important detail, apparently.”

  “Like the fact that strangers for some reason are snubbing him and his dog?” Vasiht’h frowned. “Is that because he’s human and she sees human prejudice everywhere? Or because he’s human, and so people are prejudiced against him?”

  “Or the third possibility?” Jahir offered. When Vasiht’h glanced at him, the Eldritch paused, then said, carefully, “Perhaps he is not easily liked.”

  Vasiht’h folded his arms. “A therapist who isn’t liked doesn’t stay in business long.”

  That week, Pieter’s children came to visit them: two adult Seersa, both caramel-colored, but the male had a darker cast and lacked his father’s stripes, which his sister sported along with striking ventrals of cream. Their mother must have been a handsome woman, Jahir thought as they settled on the couch.

  Their differences in coloration did not extend to their eyes, which shared their father’s bright hue, and were identically determined.

  “We’re so glad Tapa decided to come to you,” the female, Brenna, said. “We’re worried about him.”

  “He needs therapy,” the male said, Roland. “He’s going to get himself killed on some of these crazy trips of his. It’s like he’s trying to die.” His ears flicked back. “He’s not… do you think he’s suicidal?”

  /This is more your arena than mine, I fear, arii,/ Jahir said. /My instinct is to reveal nothing, but they are Pelted, and the Pelted feel differently about medical privacy issues./

  “What makes you think he might be?” Vasiht’h asked aloud.

  /Nicely done!/

  /Let’s just say I’ve been taking notes since we met./

  Jahir tried not to let his rue tinge the mindline.

  “He’s always been a model father,” Brenna said, taking up the narrative. “Dami died when we were young, and he left Fleet to take care of us when he could have handed us to our grandparents, or had us in a boarding school. But he felt strongly that he should be there for us. He was always there for us.”

  Roland nodded. “Responsible. Dutiful. He told us how those were important ideals. It’s what drove him to Fleet, I’m sure. Though he never talked much about what he did there. It was always about us. How were we doing in school, what could he help with. What did we need to take whatever next step we’d decided on.”

  “He was good at listening,” Brenna agreed. “He doesn’t talk much, but he listens really well, and then he acts on those things.”

  “That’s how we knew he loved us,” Roland said. “He showed us. But we grew up and we moved out, and maybe that was hard on him. He’s got nothing left, you know? He spent twenty-five years on us and now that’s done.”

  “He’s earned a life of his own, but… he’s acting like it’s over!” Brenna wrung her hands. “He goes on these crazy vacations where you shoot animals in the outback, and there’s no safety gear, and we’re never sure if he’s going to come back. Or he’ll do stunt sports…”

  “He likes skiing and snowboarding,” Roland agreed.

  /So those dreams were real!/ Vasiht’h exclaimed.

  /Astonishing,/ Jahir murmured.

  “We’re worried,” Brenna said. “That he misses Dami so much that we were the only reason he was… you know…” She looked away.

  “That he was staying alive for us,” Roland finished. “And now that we’re grown up, he thinks it’s safe to move on.”

  /Plausible,/ Jahir murmured.

  /Kind of sad that it’s such an easy diagnosis that even a couple of kids could make it./ Vasiht’h sounded troubled; Jahir glanced over and found him pressing his forepaws together. /It almost seems too easy./

  /Then perhaps it is. We should make our own evaluation. It is why we have been engaged./

  /True./ Aloud, Vasiht’h said, “How young were you when your mother died?”

  The rest of the interview garnered them a picture of the Strong household, enough to confirm that from Roland and Brenna’s point of view, they’d had a very good childhood. Roland as the elder had clearer memories of their mother than Brenna, who’d lost her at five years, but they both recalled their father’s devotion to her. It seemed to be in keeping with Pieter’s character, for he’d certainly shown the same devotion to his children. A man who’d prioritized his family, Jahir thought.

  “Maybe he just really likes risky sports and didn’t want to take any chances when the kits were young?” Vasiht’h said after the two had gone.

  “Mayhap,” Jahir agreed, going into the cabinet for the afghan. “The question becomes what part we play.”

  “It’s beginning to sound like the part we play is ‘mediator’,” Vasiht’h said, the mindline tacky with the memory of embarrassment, like something spilled and left without cleaning. “Goddess knows I’ve untangled enough squabbles in my family to know sometimes what you really need is a third party to translate. You can grow up with someone and still find them incredibly alien.”

  “We could suggest group sessions?” Jahir said.

  Vasiht’h glanced up at him. “I feel a ‘but’ in the mindline.”

  That made him smile—how well his friend knew him already. He brought down a fresh pillowcase. “But from our own observation, and from the children’s, Pieter is not a talkative man. If we put them in the same room it’s likely they will do all the talking and he will obligingly listen, and nothing will be accomplished.”

  “I wonder if group sleep therapy is possible,” Vasiht’h muttered.

  The idea was not quite appalling, but close. “One dreaming mind is a sufficiency.”

  “You’re probably right,” Vasiht’h said. “But wouldn’t it be something to be able to…!”<
br />
  That was honest-to-gods enthusiasm in the mindline, and it made Jahir wonder what about the prospect could possibly be so exciting. The extent of their powers was already enough for him. To be capable of more was… disquieting, when more was so often associated with villains out of myth. The gifts they’d been given were enough, and he let that conviction tint the mindline, and received in return an acceptance that felt like a hug. He glanced over his shoulder—

  “You’re right. We should be grateful for what we have,” Vasiht’h said.

  “I am,” Jahir agreed.

  Lennea was the most retiring of their clients, and the most willing to use the couch for the purpose they’d intended it. Her dreams were anxious things that they soothed according to the scene they found: they quieted raucous children in classrooms, eased tensions in staff rooms, provided gentle breezes and the distant sound of wind chimes to rambles outdoors and diffused tensions in awkward family dinners. From this, and her hesitant talk sessions, they gathered that she was a peacemaker, and that work sometimes forced her into positions of more responsibility than she was comfortable with: usually temporary, but always distressing until she was able to resume her normal duties. There was no darkness lurking in her, and little urgency to their work when she came.

  “More like what we signed up for,” Vasiht’h said when they were shutting down for the day.

  “It is as Healer KindlesFlame told me once,” Jahir said. “A practice is mostly catarrhs and broken bones, and only the occasional emergency.”

  “Did he actually say catarrh?” Vasiht’h wondered.

  Jahir paused, then said sheepishly, “Probably not. But ‘virus’ seems imprecise.”

  “You could say ‘head cold.’”

  “But what if it is in the chest?”

  Vasiht’h eyed him and Jahir let him sense the peeping mischief in the mindline. It was not on the level of Helga’s mischief, certainly, but it was enough humor to light his friend’s eyes.

  Yes. He could certainly live like this. For a very long time. And enjoy it.

  The charge for the train trip just… vanished.

  Even expecting it, Vasiht’h found it unsettling. They’d gone to open their joint account, as promised, accepting the token fin coin from the bank—explaining that had been a fun conversation, particularly since Vasiht’h didn’t know why banks always gave new account holders a single coin. Almost no one used coins except for their symbolic value, so he’d riffed on that, but the moment they’d gotten back to the cottage he’d looked it up to make sure. Thankfully, he’d been on the right track, though as with everything there was a strange and long story behind it.

  So they’d had their joint account, and they’d attached all their assorted bills to it, including the vacation. And the day after, that debit was gone, and their account still had the same balance. It was as if he’d left someone with a gaping, bleeding wound only to return the next day and find the patient jumping around outside, playing flying saucer.

  It was their day off and Jahir was exploring the recreational complex in search of a pool, so Vasiht’h settled on the roof with his book and hoped to find some insight, no matter how oblique, in his sisters’ gift. The sex scene was as appalling as Sehvi had reported, not because it was erotic and he found thrust-by-thrust descriptions of sex uninteresting, but because it was so clogged with metaphors and vague allusions to what the characters were doing that he couldn’t figure out what was happening. In a sex scene! He would have thought it would have been fairly easy to at least guess!

  He was on the sixteenth paragraph about how they were completing one another spiritually and looking up the word lubricious when the tablet chimed a priority message. Spreading it, he found his sister, leaning so far toward the screen that her nosepad was out of focus. The few seconds it took for the well-connect to finish negotiating meant she was halfway through his name when the sound finally started working. “..siht’h, Vasiht’h, ariihir, he proposed!”

  “Kovihs?” Vasiht’h said. “Already??”

  “Already!” She laughed. “Ariihir! I’ve known him three years!”

  “Oh!” Vasiht’h said. “Then he’s quick, good for him.” He grinned at her peal of laughter. “Well, you know. THEY’LL GET AROUND TO IT EVENTUALLY.”

  In between squeaks, Sehvi said, “Yes… I know!” Wiping her eyes. “Tell me you’re happy for me.”

  “The only reason I’m not thrilled is because you’re on another planet and I can’t come over and hug you, and hug him, and have an impromptu party,” Vasiht’h answered, beaming. “Have you told Dami and Tapa yet?”

  “No! You first,” she said, eyes sparkling. “It’s the middle of the night on Anseahla, they’re going to have to wait. Well, no, I’m going to have to wait. It’s so hard to wait! But it’s mid-morning for you, so I figured I’d hit you first.”

  “And the rest of the family?” Vasiht’h said with a studied air of innocence.

  That made her laugh harder. “You really mean ‘did you tell Bret’, don’t you. No, I haven’t, but I look forward to it. Knowing him, I’ll get a lecture about how to properly set up a marital relationship before embarking on it, and do I really know what I’m doing, and have I considered the practicalities?”

  Vasiht’h grinned. “Do you know what you’re doing? And have you?”

  “Yes. And I don’t care.” She snickered. “That felt good to say. No, seriously, we have discussed the sorts of things you need to know before you start, like ‘do we have congruent plans for our lives’ and ‘do we both want children’, and ‘do we both have similar sex drives.’ I’m not ten years old anymore. I’m a little more cognizant of basic reality than I used to be.”

  “I never doubted it,” Vasiht’h said. “Well, except maybe briefly while reading this book. Can I send it back to you so you can use it as relationship advice for your forthcoming marriage?”

  Sehvi snickered. “I’ve already read it! Find me a new one!”

  “With better sex scenes,” Vasiht’h said. “It’s pretty bad when you can’t tell whether they’re done or not from the text.”

  “You’re just not reading it carefully enough.”

  “If I was reading it more carefully, my eyes would start bleeding,” Vasiht’h said dryly. And then sighed and added, “So have you and Kovihs discussed money, and if so, how did you make it work?”

  “Have you run out of fin already?” Sehvi leaned toward him again. “I thought you had clients!”

  “We have three clients,” Vasiht’h said. “I’m pretty sure they’re not enough to cover the monthly rent.”

  “Pretty sure,” she repeated, her ears fanning in confusion.

  “We just got the joint account,” Vasiht’h said. “And one of our bills disappeared, and now I’m wondering if others are going to disappear. And if so, if they’re disappearing because they’re drawing on our money, or because he’s putting extra in.”

  She shook her head. “Oh, ariihir. For once, I have actual advice for you!”

  “Good! I need it!”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Don’t let your need to think of yourself as an independent adult—to please a brother who’s never going to change!—introduce problems into your absolutely amazing relationship with your best friend.”

  “It’s not just Bret,” Vasiht’h protested, pressing his paws together. “I want our parents…”

  “To be proud of you?” Sehvi interrupted. She snorted. “They already are, ariihir. And they’ve always loved you. Look, we’re both young. Even by Pelted standards. And you’re already out on your own with a partner, running your own practice! On a starbase!”

  “Maybe,” Vasiht’h said. “If they let us stay.”

  “If they don’t, then you’ll go somewhere else where they will let you stay, and you’ll set up again. Or you’ll come household with me and Kovihs and we’ll run a huge joint medical office—wouldn’t that be fun?” She sighed. “I wish I could hug you, because you need one. Stop second-gue
ssing yourself, big brother. You’re doing great! And if you keep picking at this scab with your Eldritch, you won’t be doing great, because you’ll disturb him, and you’ll upset yourself, and all for what? Because you can afford to pay your bills? Just say ‘yay’ and go buy a cake!”

  “I guess that makes a lot more sense than fretting about it,” Vasiht’h admitted. “But I can’t seem to do it.” He smiled a little. “I guess that teaches me, right? I’m so ready to help people who come to me for therapy be confused and anxious for as long as they need to be, without judging them for not just getting over it. And here I am, not getting over something.”

  “If you tell yourself you’re not getting over it you really won’t, and then you’ll be in trouble,” Sehvi said. “Don’t make any prophecies you’re going to be compelled to fulfill.”

  He chuckled at that. “Ugh. Maybe you should be here doing this job…!”

  “No thank you. I’m far too impatient.” She grinned. “You’re the understanding one, ariihir. All I’d do is kick people in the pants and then wonder why they were lodging complaints instead of paying me.”

  That picture made him laugh. “All right, I’ll try harder! But enough about me? When are you doing the ceremony? Where?”

  “Oh, you know the family will kill me if I don’t go back to Anseahla…”

  They spent the remainder of the call discussing Sehvi’s plans. Not just for the wedding either, but for the life that she and Kovihs wanted together, and Vasiht’h was astonished at how neatly they’d tied everything into one package. It helped that they’d met in school doing similar work, of course. But he still couldn’t help saying at the end, “I wish I had as clear a picture of what I’m planning as you do!”

  She blew out a breath, exasperated. “You have the worst case of tunnel vision ever, ariihir. You’re already doing what you were planning to do! Now it’s just ‘continue doing it’, so of course it doesn’t sound very deterministic.”

  “But if we have to leave…” He trailed off. “I’m doing it again.”