Damia (24 page)

“We did, didn’t we?” Isthia said mildly when Ian looked at her for guidance. He hadn’t half introduced those he was supposed to. “As promised, ponies,” and she nodded to Ian.

Grinning from ear to ear because he could get to show
off so soon, Ian “called” the ponies from where they browsed on the grass growing among the cradles. Obedient to the summons, they trotted to him while the children, still in the capsule, stared with wide open mouths and eyes at the little troop.

Damia was out of the capsule like a shot, Jeran and Cera not a split second behind her. But Damia stopped just short of the first pony, taking in his flaxen mane and tail which Ian had plaited that morning, the darker “beer” of his hide, his dainty hooves, his bright black eyes, alert with interest.

“Just hold out your hand—flat so Jupiter can’t catch your fingers—and let him sniff you,” Ian instructed.

“What’s this one’s name?” Cera asked, already holding her hand out to the lighter colored mare nearest her.

“And this one?” Jeran asked, wanting his answer from Ian before Cera had hers.

“The mare is Birdie, Cera, and, Jeran, your gelding is Cricket,” Ian said, genuinely enjoying his role.

If Afra had told them about the ponies, Jeff
, Isthia remarked to her son later that night when her grandchildren had finally been put to bed,
there’d’ve been no fuss on leaving.

I forgot you still had to use those wretched beasts
, Jeff said ruefully, for he had stopped riding the moment he had learned how to teleport accurately.
Afra will be immensely relieved. He was talking about sending out a Coonie or two to keep her from being too lonely.

Thank you, no. There’s enough livestock to be cared for about the place. As it is, it took a lot of persuasion to get Damia to sleep in her bed instead of out in the paddock with Jupiter.

Jeff chuckled.
Jupiter?

Yes, Damia was so pleased by that. She has a remarkable appreciation of her environment, doesn’t she? Anyway, reassure Angharad that all’s well.

I will, but I may not mention that she’s been displaced by runty legged manure makers.

The Rowan knew that the children had arrived safely
and were settling in, but she’d given himself and Afra such a bollicking for the way they had practically abducted her children that he decided not to risk another storm. She was resting now, more deeply than she had in many months. That was something he wouldn’t mention, though he was intensely glad to see how effective the lifting of her maternal burden had been.

Those runty legged manure makers are the best possible antidote for unsettled kids. Damia had firm control over Jupe in about five minutes. Cera wasn’t all that pleased with the effect of a long ride on her tender behind, but Besseva slathered her with an appropriate salve. Jeran’s being pompous. He’s so much like your father at moments!

Jeff chuckled because he knew exactly what his mother meant.
Then I shall expect to see him much improved when we get a chance to visit.

Ah, about that! Leave it a while. Angharad really oughtn’t to travel—too much stress. And let the children settle in completely. Rhodri and Ian took half a dozen tapes, which I’ll get Morfanu to zip off to you. That should reassure you both.

I am, I am, Mother, and can’t thank you enough for pitching in like this.

Oh, I had my reasons.

But when Jeff probed to find out what they were, Isthia refused to admit him.

Besseva, noting Isthia’s smug grin, raised her eyebrows inquiringly.

“I’ve reassured the doting papa that his little ones are safely asleep in their cots,” Isthia said, and resumed her slight smile.

“We’re going to have to watch that youngest one,” Besseva said. “Oooh, but she’s powerful.”

“Hmmm, yes.”

“But really, Isthia, aren’t they a bit young?”

“Not at all,” Isthia replied stoutly. “They’ll have fewer inhibitions.”

“And get into more trouble, too.”

“Besseva, we’ve got to develop our own Talents, and
that
requires
Talent. One blind man can’t lead another effectively.”

“But they’re children!” Besseva’s voice rose slightly in protest, and Isthia, mentally and physically, shushed her. Ian was working in the corner, giving his niece’s saddle a good soaping to soften the leather.

“And a little child shall lead them,” Isthia said, her eyes sparkling.

“You are the absolute end, Isthia Raven.”

“On the contrary, I’m the beginning,” Isthia replied. “And, if I’m going on as I mean for them to begin, I’m going to need a good night’s sleep.” She gave a gusty sigh. “Why do children have the reserves of energy people my age so desperately need?”

“Huh!” Besseva said in contradiction to that complaint.

*   *   *

Lying in a new bed into which she had been tucked by her fascinating grandmother, Damia was still reviewing all the wonderful things that had happened since the capsule had opened. Being
on
Deneb was much better than hearing Daddy talk about it. And why hadn’t he ever mentioned that Deneb had
ponies
? She sighed and, to make sure
he
was all right, she “reached” to touch Jupiter. He’d stopped eating and was idly flicking his tail, as much to discourage the minute nightflyers from settling on Birdie’s head as to keep them off himself. His mind was drowsy with sleep.

Just like Rascal’s when he was curled up on her bed. Was Rascal missing her? Damia wondered. He’d have no one to sleep with. A sad feeling made her throat constrict. Poor Rascal! Maybe, just tonight, Daddy would let him sleep on the foot of their bed. She loved having a pony, but a pony couldn’t sleep at the foot of her bed and she missed the comforting presence.

“Mrrow?” came a plaintive call from outside her door. Damia had been given a proper bed without railings. She crawled out from under the covers and opened her door. “Mrrr?”

“Who are you?” Damia called sleepily. A large orange and white cat marched into the room, rubbing himself
against her leg. “Oh, you’re beautiful.” Though the animal was as tall as her waist, Damia hoisted him into her arms, once again exerting kinetic energy without realizing what she’d done in her wish to do what she needed. “There,” she said, plonking the cat down at the foot of her bed. “Now, you stay there and keep me company, hear? Maybe Rascal will have sense enough to go to Afra if Daddy won’t let him sleep in their room.”

Yes, she thought firmly as she scrambled back under her covers, Rascal’ll go to Afra so he won’t be so lonely with me gone.

Seeing her settled, the cat circled into the spot of his choice at the other end. His purring put her to sleep as Rascal’s so often had.

*   *   *

Afra sat back in the couch, exhausted by the day’s emotional upheavals. He fed the Coonies and they went out for a night of hunting vermin in the tunnels. He could have used their company, especially tonight. He cleared his mind and tried repeatedly to stretch himself across the eighteen light years to Deneb, but he had failed every time to pick up even the merest glimmer of young Damia.

“She’d be sleeping,” he told himself. “I hope.” I ought to do the same, he continued silently. All of a sudden, a body burst through the catflap.

In the next instant, that body executed a flying leap, landing on his chest so hard that Afra grunted.

“Rascal? What are you doing here?”

Never had Rascal purred quite so loudly in Afra’s presence, nor was the animal so determined to settle himself on Afra’s person. It was as if . . .

“Did Damia tell you to come to me?” Afra asked, wonderingly. “Or is it just that you miss her, too, and you came looking for her here?”

The way the barque cat had leapt onto him did not suggest he’d been looking for anyone else but Afra. Planting his hindfeet squarely on Afra’s thighs and his front paws on Afra’s chest, Rascal then butted his head imperiously
into Afra’s face. Then, looking squarely yellow eyes into yellow eyes, Rascal said definitely, “Meh!”

That apparently settled that and Rascal jumped down, looked expectantly at Afra, before sauntering in the direction of the bedroom. Afra saw him settling himself on the bed with an air of “Here I am, here I stay.”

“You’re quite right, Rascal. I’ll turn in now, too.”
Good night
, he called blindly across the void to Deneb.

He didn’t expect to sleep, certainly not with a heavy lump weighing down the duvet over his feet, but curiously comforted by that companionship, he did.

*   *   *

There were lots of girls and boys Damia’s age at the school in which Isthia enrolled them, for Deneb did not run special daycare centers for pre-schoolers. Damia couldn’t appreciate that Deneb was undergoing a much needed population explosion, but she did realize what Afra had promised her was true. Within a few minutes, Damia was seated at a small table with a green-eyed blonde girl named Alla, a solemn-faced boy called Jorg, and a freckle-faced, red-headed girl named Jenfer who didn’t stop grinning all that first morning. There were lots of other children her age, too, just as Afra had promised her, at more small tables in the sunny room with shelves and shelves of toys and books and curious boxes that Damia was dying to open. But because Alla, Jorg, and Jenfer sat very correctly at the table, Damia did so, too, however much she wanted to play with the fascinating stuff in the boxes. She tested and found one was crammed full of colored crayons of all different sizes.

Both her grandmother and her uncle Ian had impressed on all three Gwyn-Ravens that they were to be on their best behavior at school. Or, and the threat was awe-inspiringly frightful, they wouldn’t be permitted to ride their ponies. Jeran had had a private word with his sister and had glared ferociously at Damia so that she knew she’d suffer his retribution, too, if she tried any of her tricks.

Damia was far too entranced with her new friends to think of any “tricks.” She listened, very carefully, to the
instructions Linna Maybrick gave the class—hearing it on two levels—and sometimes puzzling at the contradictions. But when she saw the others obeying what was said aloud, she followed their example.

At the morning break, she let Jorg lead the way to the playground where the four tablemates played together, climbing all over the “mountain” and down into the “tunnels” and swinging over the “rivers” and reveling in noise and happy dirtinesses . . . for play area was dirt and shavings.

Linna Maybrick, their teacher, watched carefully from the doorway. Alla climbed to the top of the mountain and hesitated for a moment at the top of the slide down, for it was, for a child, a huge drop. One of the more aggressive older boys was behind her and he lost patience, giving her a push on her way. His thrust was off-centered and caught Alla just as she was bent to sit on the slide. Thrown off-balance, she teetered to one side, a two-metre free-fall to the playground below. Alla screamed. Damia, who had been waiting at the bottom, gave a horrified shout, then “concentrated.” Linna, who had started running the moment she saw the boy shove Alla, came to an abrupt halt as the little girl
bounced
gently onto the hard ground. Damia rushed over to her friend and helped her up.

“Are you okay?”

Alla nodded shakenly. “I got pushed.” Then she cocked her head. “Did you do that?”

Damia turned suddenly shy. If she admitted to doing any “tricks,” she wouldn’t be able to ride Jupe. “Do what?” she asked ingenuously.

Alla narrowed her eyes at Damia. “Well, someone did something.”

Jorg, who had watched the whole incident wide-eyed, eyed Damia critically. “You’re not from here.”

“I am, too. I live with my grandmother and my uncle.”

She pointed toward Ian, who was playing with older boys on an adjacent field. Jorg peered in the direction, but his eyes were suspicious when he turned back to her.

“I know about the Ravens. My dad says they’re all FT&T freaks.”

Damia didn’t know the word “freak,” but she did know FT&T. Everyone she knew worked for FT&T and was proud of it.

“Why, thank you very much,” Damia said while Alla gawked at her in stunned surprise.

So did Jorg, having anticipated a far different response to the insult.

“But you’re a freak!” he shouted, and she picked up on the pejorative this time.

“There’s no need to shout,” Damia said, dismally aware that the three of them were suddenly the center of attention.

Abruptly Jeran and Cera made their way through the tight knot of children.

“Who called my sister a freak?” Jeran demanded, fists clenched at the ready. Beside him, Cera assumed a similar stance. Jorg nervously retreated.

“Actually he said I was an FT&T freak, Jeran,” Damia replied, worried lest her brother realize she’d done something that could be accounted a “trick,” even if it had saved Alla from injury.

Jeran frowned intently at his sister for a moment and then, bracing himself again, unerringly settled on Jorg as the culprit. But the recess bell sounded and Jorg was the first one into the school.

Back in class, Jorg quickly spread the rumor that Damia was a freak. She felt miserable, especially as Alla wouldn’t even look across the table at her. On the other side, Jenfer’s grin turned slightly malicious and she kept staring at Damia.

When Isthia collected her after school, she naturally asked how Damia had liked her first day at school, and was taken aback by the fierce answer.

“I hate it. I’m not going back.”

On the flitter ride to the Raven compound, Isthia deftly drew out the reason for Damia’s discontent. She was both saddened and angered that her grandchild had had such an unfortunate encounter on her very first day.

“Jorg is wrong. You are not a freak,” Isthia assured her,
“even an FT&T freak. And you were very quick about saving your friend from injury.”

“She’s scared of me now and Jenfer just stares at me, grinning!”

“Stare back at her, and I’d suggest you give Alla a little time to get over being rescued. She must have been surprised to bounce on the ground when she expected to crash.”

Damia considered that. “Yes, I guess she was more surprised than anything else. ’Least she wasn’t hurt.”