Ellendr?a, Midsummer

  I had finally settled down on a couch in the common room. Although Darí and I shared the family home, Darí was seldom on Ellendr?a. Often, on the few occasions when he was, I would be on duty elsewhere. Essentially, we lived alone. It was seldom that the living quarters had to be adjusted to accommodate both of us at the same time. Darí would probably have to put up with some of my sprawl.

  With the two of us coming and going as frequently as we did, our small single-story house and associated gardens didn’t get as much attention from us as they should. Unlike so many other cultures, our people don’t work for money and have no currency. Resources are distributed freely amongst the population according to the needs of the individuals. People voluntarily work at activities of their choice. Concepts like “jobs”, “salaries”, and “income” are not a part of our lives. Thus, neither Darí nor I receive payment for our services, nor do we “hire” people to look after our home when we are absent. However, it has long been the practice on Ellendr?a that those who offer their lives up in particularly demanding service, such as Healers and Guardians, are provided for in other ways. Thus, during our absences someone had been looking after the gardens and orchard, harvesting the produce, keeping the dome machinery operating smoothly, and making sure the house was supplied with food enough to feed two often hungry Guardians.

  Faintly, in the far distance, I heard a booming sound. There wasn’t much air traffic these days, so that was quite likely Darí’s spaceship coming down through the atmosphere. He would probably circle over the mountains to lose speed and elevation, then come up the valley for his final approach.

  I got up and walked outside to the main dome entrance—a large cargo door for big equipment with an adjacent smaller door for people to pass through. I put my hand, palm facing outward, against the dome material beside the small door. After a moment, the door slid sideways with a quiet hiss, disappearing into the dome wall. I stepped into the airlock. Quickly the door slid shut behind me, preventing the loss of precious water and oxygen from the dome’s environment. Shortly afterwards, the outer airlock door opened. Hot, dry air blew into my face as I walked out into the open. A second hiss told me that the external airlock door was now closed behind me. I sucked in a lungful of air, feeling momentarily light-headed as my body accommodated to the much lower levels of oxygen. I squinted—even though the sun was low in the sky, the air evaporated the moisture from my eyes, making them feel gritty.

  A quiet whine announced the ship’s low gliding approach. The dome was on the farthest extent of the city, located where once there had been the edge of a forest. The forest was now long gone, and there were few other domes in the near vicinity, so Darí had a clear landing approach. The sleek ship was still shedding velocity, but braking smoothly, coming in on a good flight line. Darí was an excellent pilot, probably one of the best. Our athairad’s ship, which I still flew, was a much older design; however, Darí had worked with the engineers to construct a new, more modern ship to his specifications. This ship, the F?alen, looked like a cross between a fast courier and something more deadly—it was highly maneuverable, with four wings and a long needle nose. Unlike most Ellendrí ships, it was armed. At first, this seemed a little excessive, since Guardians were very seldom threatened, but with the recent spate of pirate activity in the space lanes, it was now clear that Darí had been given some warning from Farrw?n about what to expect.

  The ship came to a stop a short distance from the dome, hovering. No longer requiring any forward thrust, Darí shut the main engine off. The ship gently settled to the ground using its antigravity units, barely raising any dust from the parched soil. I heard a few clicks and whirring sounds as the ship’s systems were shut down, then the whine of servos as the door opened downward to form a landing ramp.

  I blinked a moment in the scorching air to clear my eyes, then I could see Darí at the top of the ramp, stepping down. Silvery bright hair, pale grey eyes, high arching eyebrows that were a gift from our athairan—I could almost be looking in a mirror. Although I am the eldest by three years, the two of us could be twins, so similar are we in appearance. Eight years working as a Guardian had wrought changes in Darí—no longer my quiet, introverted deirfad, he had developed an unexpected strength of character and bearing that made the similarity between us even more striking.

  Although Guardians had no formal uniforms, Darí was wearing the same style of clothing that I used when on duty—shirt and pants made of a heavy, long-wearing fabric, fitted to allow easy movement, but without loose, bulky folds. Guardians’ color choices were personal—Darí favored dark blue. Over his shirt, he wore a black jacket that featured numerous pockets and places to store items that might be needed when traveling. These jackets were standard apparel amongst those who traveled the star lanes of the Ll’Ellendr?n. A heavy belt provided a place to carry more equipment if necessary, and occasionally a belt knife, if a Guardian was spending time on a planet where animal attacks or dueling was common. Like most Guardians, Darí wore sturdy boots that came to mid-calf, and his had clearly seen a great deal of walking.

  Darí looked tired, but he was rapidly striding across the space that separated the landing site from the dome. I quickly walked forward to meet him. We stopped midway between ship and dome, standing in the lifeless dust. After a moment of hesitation, Darí gave me a self-deprecating half-smile. I gave up any pretense of dignity, and grabbed my deirfad in a hard welcoming hug. For now, it was just enough to be together again, to be alive, even if questions remained unanswered between us.

  After a while, we stood back, breathing heavily in the low oxygen air. I met Darí’s gaze, still not completely certain what I would see there, but glad to find only a sense of happiness to be home, and the weariness of long days on duty. Somewhere, somehow, Darí had finally found the soul healing he needed—the terrible pain and hollowness that had haunted his eyes for far too many years was gone, replaced by a look that spoke of experiences weathered, wisdom gained, and determination to move forward with whatever life now held for him. I felt comforted by that look. It gave me the confidence that my own decision, after much soul-searching, was indeed the right one. I hoped that the black cloud of despair that had been dogging my steps for much too long was being pushed away, leaving me with the opportunity for a better life.

  “Welcome home, my an?ncára,” I said wholeheartedly, clasping Darí’s arm in the more formal greeting between family and friends.

  “It’s good to see you” Darí replied softly, inclining his head a little, studying me as though he too was trying to judge where he stood with me. Then he smiled a little, and gave me a hearty embrace in return.

  Lorril and Ellendr?a (approximately a quarter-year earlier)

  When I look back at the things that I’ve done to Dran, I sometimes feel so wretched that I really wish I’d followed Darriel to the beyond, but of course, that would’ve only made the situation worse. How something as vital, beautiful, and soulful as our an?ncára bond could have become such a burden to us both is still a circumstance that’s beyond my ability to truly understand. I suppose it all began back when we were children. The pressure that society places on people to conform to certain standards, to behave in certain proscribed ways, is a terrible thing. That we let these pressures force us to make bad choices is even worse.

  An?ncára bonds between siblings are actively discouraged in our culture today, although once, they were honored and accepted like all other an?ncára relationships. But you don’t choose your soulmates—they just happen. And soulmate bonds are eternal—you can no more destroy them than you can choose them. Dran and I were so young when our bond formed that we had no concept of good or bad, right or wrong. We simply were. As we grew older, we began to understand that this connection we had was not considered a good thing between siblings, where children born from such a union could be highly inbred. So we kept it to ourselves. Looking back, that was a bad decision. It would have been better to have faced the criticism of our culture, to have been public about our nature, because I suspect that would have changed everything else that has happened since. At the time, I’d been strongly in favor of being open about the situation and Dran had been opposed, mostly on the grounds that he didn’t want to see me hurt. He has always been my protective older deirfad.

  Sometime later, I discovered that I was one of those lucky few who can form a second an?ncára bond. However, with my first bond a well hidden secret, that second bond to my beloved Darriel became the sanctioned public perspective of my life. Dran became lost in the shadows, although in no way had our bond been lessened. It was an awkward situation. Ultimately, it drove him off-planet. I am truly to blame for all the terrible things that have come to pass since Dran and I were forced to live separate lives.

  It was Darriel, however, who took much of the blame for our struggles as her own. She felt that her personal limitations prevented us from achieving a life where all three of us could be together. But really, had I not driven Dran off-planet in the first place, we would’ve been together already. It’s hard to say whether Darriel’s feelings of guilt were in part responsible for her death after the archives building collapsed. It had seemed as though she’d already given up before we’d managed to rescue her from the wreckage, but in reality, she was so badly injured that I don’t think she would’ve survived in any case.

  What was particularly uncanny about Darriel’s passing to the beyond was the promise she extracted from Dran. With our strong beliefs in the beyond and the possibility of rebirth, our people don’t make promises lightly to those who are about to make the crossing. Dran and I would’ve happily followed Darriel, instead we were trapped in the world of the living, with Dran forced to be our anchor.

  I don’t hate Dran for the role he was compelled to play. I don’t believe it’s possible to hate your an?ncára any more than it’s possible to break the an?ncára bond. But Darriel’s death left me miserable—moody, depressed, and angry at myself. Over time, I found that if I focused on achieving something, I could temporarily escape the feeling of desolation. On Farrw?n’s suggestion, I went into training to become a Guardian. It gave me something to keep my mind away from thoughts of Darriel, and better yet, it would get me off-planet. I couldn’t walk through Ellendr?a’s only city without seeing the place where the old archive building used to stand, reliving the scene of Darriel’s death. I needed to get away.

  Throughout those two years of training, Dran was always there, pulling me away from the brink of beyond, trying to ease my grief. I knew he was hurting too, but trying hard to be strong. All I could offer him was more pain, and that only made me feel worse. When I finally received my Guardian’s Star, I decided that it would be best if I left without Dran, hoping to maybe save him from some of my black moods. That may not have been a wise decision, but it seemed like the right one at the time.

  In those first four years as a novice Guardian, Dran never gave up on me. I knew he was always somewhere near at hand, somehow managing to be there when things got tough, then disappearing just as quickly. How badly I wanted to thank him, to tell him how much it meant to me to know he was there. Yet, each time I got close to him and started to say something, the flaring of the bond between us would bring images of Darriel to my mind, and I would begin to crumble. Sometimes, I had to walk away without even looking at him, blinking back tears of pain, anger, and frustration. Would the anguish and loss over Darriel’s death never end? I dreaded that my life would forever be a nightmare of misery.

  Thankfully, grieving does end. Six years after Darriel’s death, I realized that when I thought about her now, it was the good things I remembered, not the image of her dying in my arms. Healing had come at last. Finally, I was able to reach out to Dran, with the hope that maybe we could find our place together in this world. However, it seems that happy endings are seldom found. Six years is a long time to be strong, to be the rock that held us fast. When I was once again able to offer my heart and soul to Dran, there was a barrier between us. He was polite and kind, but I found it difficult to push past my deirfad’s defensive shell, find the closeness that I sought. I had rebuffed him so many times in my grief that he had built a protective shield around his inner self to keep the hurt away. I suppose, looking back, I should have pushed him harder, broken through his shields before they’d hardened and become impenetrable, before he had a chance to convince himself that it was indeed possible to destroy the bond between us.

  Life went on. Things were very busy amongst the Guardians, both as a result of significant reductions in our numbers and the constant border attacks by the Cultaní. Dran and I came and went from our home on Ellendr?a, sometimes meeting, mostly not. We were polite, careful of each other, but there was no warmth, none of the old familiarity.

  Dran had been almost 60 years in the service of the Guardians—a phenomenal length of time. He was becoming a legend. Still looking the same as he had at 25, he moved with the wild grace of the f?alen, his grey eyes clear and penetrating, his mind knife sharp. Ellendrí don’t age, unlike some of the peoples of the Ll’Ellendr?n—I could easily believe that Dran had become the ceaseless Guardian, forever upholding the path of peace.

  Dran told me little about his life, but some stories eventually reached me, traveling as all tales do. A few I believed, most I did not. He had taken his Healer’s training, and had done very well indeed, but had refused to take his Healer’s Oath, stating that his work was as a Guardian. That I could believe—it seemed well within the character of my deirfad. Other tales I didn’t believe as much. One described how he had played a game of dare with a Cultaní raider who was attacking a passenger ship, charging down on it with his old ship, shields up, taking a beating from the Cultaní’s lasers, but refusing to turn aside. At the last moment the Cultaní ship pulled away from its prey and fled, cowed by the sheer audacity of an unarmed ship doing a suicidal charge. Another told that he had worked his way through a battlefield to rescue a Guardian caught on the wrong side of the action, dodging projectiles and bombs with graceful ease. Still another portrayed him as some kind of hero who had fought to protect the lives of innocent people, showing outstanding skill in weapons as archaic as swords and daggers. Some stories claimed that he had surely been injured in battle, but had simply shrugged it off and walked away. These stories were clearly fictitious or maybe fanciful elaborations on events with more rational explanations. Dran was no risk-taker—I remembered how careful he’d been during the years when Darriel was alive. Nor was he some kind of invincible hero. I recalled only too well the time he’d collapsed in my arms after being wounded—not an unexpected response, but certainly not the actions of someone with supposed superhuman powers.

  The better part of 10 years had passed since Darriel’s death when our world changed again. I had been on Lorril, having a discussion with representatives from a number of the First Arc worlds about the possibility of setting up an armed Border Patrol to defend against the Cultaní raiders. There were three of us representing the Guardians at that table, although I’d been acting primarily as the spokesperson. On this particular day, the group had just taken a break for the midday meal when Rallandrí was suddenly at my elbow. Rallandrí generally acts as dispatcher for the Guardians, and his appearance was unexpected. He hadn’t been at the meeting that morning or anywhere on Lorril as far as I knew, and must have only just arrived on planet. I was surprised to see him.

  “You’ve been assigned to Ellendr?a,” he instructed curtly. I raised my eyebrows at him. Normally, Rallandrí notifies us of new assignments telepathically—that he was here in person to give me new orders was unusual. Besides, Dran normally worked out of Ellendr?a, and should have been able to deal with anything that could arise on our home world. I looked at him with considerable speculation, “When? Why?”

  “Now.” Not only was Rallandrí being very abrupt with me, I could also sense that he was both angry and frustrated with something that I’d done. “Get your gear together and I’ll meet you at the F?alen to give you the details.” Then he was gone as quickly as he’d come. I spoke briefly to the other Guardians, making sure that things would go smoothly in my absence, gathered the little bit of equipment that I’d had with me, and left the meeting.

  Lorril is a water world, mostly ocean with a scattering of island archipelagos. It’s probably about as different from Ellendr?a as you can get—moist, tropical, lush—and very beautiful. Even the meeting building, a pale pink structure artistically designed in the shape of a fluted seashell, had an oceanic theme. The F?alen was crouched on a flat white sand beach just outside the building, along with about 20 other ships. Not far beyond the ships, the sea lapped in turquoise waves against the shore. Tall trees topped with elegant fronds were planted around the meeting building, providing shade to the walkway that gave access to the facility. Rallandrí was already beside the F?alen, waiting impatiently.

  “When was the last time you communicated with your deirfad?” he asked sharply as I reached the ship.

  It wasn’t a question I was expecting. I blinked, thought for a moment, then replied, “Yesterday afternoon, Lorril time.” I’d been making a bit of an effort to check in with Dran at least once a week. I’d been worrying about him, afraid that something might be wrong, but since everything between us was wrong these days, it was hard to tell if anything had changed.

  “And?” Rallandrí was playing me along. I didn’t like the feeling. Something was up and I wished he would just tell me straight out.

  “He seemed all right.” I focused my mind on the conversation I’d had with Dran. As usual these days, I could never tell what his underlying thoughts and emotions were. I only seemed to be able to touch the surface of his mind, where once we had been completely open to each other. But had there been something specifically different yesterday? I could feel myself frowning as I contemplated our difficulties, adding “A bit tired, maybe. He said he’d just finished a job and was heading back to Ellendr?a.” I was getting distinctly uncomfortable with this line of thought. What was up with Dran?

  “Nobody’s heard from him since,” Rallandrí was clearly worried. I remembered that Rallandrí and Dran were good friends, that Rallandrí had always kept a careful watch out for Dran, especially in the last few years when he took on so many missions unaccompanied. “I’ve received a disturbing report regarding him,” Rallandrí continued, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. “It appears that he was injured yesterday during a small planet-side altercation. The Guardian who made the report said that he didn’t think the injury was life-threatening, but it looked like Dran had sustained a burn in some laser crossfire. Apparently this didn’t stop him from leaving in his ship.” Rallandrí let out a frustrated sigh. Evidently, he was used to this sort of behavior from Dran. “Normally, I wouldn’t worry too much about him, but he usually reports in once he’s reached Ellendr?a.” Rallandrí gave me a hard look, “I was under the impression that you two were an?ncára. Don’t you know if he’s injured?”

  I was a bit flustered and hurt by the accusing note in Rallandrí’s voice, realizing that I’d probably failed my an?ncára yet again. I closed my eyes and sank deeply into our bond—I could feel it, trace it, but when I reached my deirfad, it was like looking at a solar eclipse. I could sense the bright edges of our bond all around Dran like a halo, but when I tried to reach him directly, I just felt darkness, a barrier. I pushed a little harder, trying to make my presence felt against this mental wall. His mind stirred slightly. I sensed the red glow of pain, but his shields remained in place.

  I opened my eyes, focusing on Rallandrí again. “He’s on Ellendr?a. He does seem to be hurt, but I can’t tell how badly. He’s shielding against me.” Wondering out loud, I asked “Why doesn’t he just call in a Healer if he can’t heal himself?” I shuddered as that thought sank in. There was a time when I would not have allowed any other Healer but myself to work on Dran.

  “That’s exactly the question I want you to answer,” Rallandrí’s look turned fiercer. I could see that he wasn’t feeling very friendly towards me. In fact, he had never been more than perfunctorily polite in any of our previous meetings. “Why would your an?ncára be shielding himself from you?” he demanded.

  I sighed, feeling pained. “I’m sure it’s my fault. Things haven’t been very good between us for a long time.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me. I’ve seen how you behave when Dran is around.” Rallandrí’s heavy brows were drawn together, shadowing his steely grey eyes, making him look even angrier, if that was possible. “I finally sent him back to Ellendr?a just to keep him out of your way. I only wish he’d stay there.” Rallandrí stared down at the white sand between his feet, obviously sorting out in his mind what he wished to say to me. After a long moment of silence, he brought his eyes up to mine again. “Look Eldarí, I’m not unsympathetic to what happened to you after Darriel died. You’re lucky to have survived at all. You’re also lucky that Dran is your an?ncára. Even after all that has happened, he still cares more for you than anything else in his life. I don’t know exactly what’s happened between you and Dran, but whatever it is, I want you to fix it. Now. Before Dran kills himself in some insane rescue mission.”

  “I’m sorry.” Even as I spoke, I knew the words were trite, overused, meaningless. “I never meant to hurt him.”

  Rallandrí’s gaze released me, and his eyes shifted their focus to a position somewhere over my right shoulder. His expression seemed to have the slightest trace of amusement. “Dran always was impossibly stubborn. I suspect you aren’t much different. Once he’d made up his mind about something, there was no stopping him until he’d convinced himself utterly that he was wrong.” Rallandrí’s eyes returned to mine. “If you don’t get this sorted out between you, I will personally come to Ellendr?a and force you to talk to each other until you start seeing some sense, even if I have to tie you both up to keep you in the same room.” Looking at Rallandrí, I could almost believe that he might be able to carry out his threat. Although shorter than I, he had broad, muscular shoulders and a barrel chest, indications of Gw?rdrí blood in his heritage. Rallandrí sighed, rather dramatically. “Dran’s acting like a heart-broken hero, and you’re so worried about hurting him again that you’ll let him die from his own stupidity.” That pretty much summed the situation up. I dropped my head in acquiescence. Rallandrí put his hand on my shoulder, shoving me gently towards the F?alen, “Go. Quickly.”

  **********

  I went as fast as the F?alen would take me, but I still had time to ponder the implications of the situation. Dran and I had been functioning in isolation for so many years that I simply took it for granted that he would look after himself, I would look after myself, and neither of us would get killed. Dran had always had such unbelievably good luck combined with a good deal of hard-earned skill that I never doubted his ability to survive, even in very difficult circumstances. He’d always been cognizant of the risks inherent in Guardian duties, and very conscientious at reducing them to the lowest possible level. Could my deirfad truly be acting like a “heart-broken hero”? Was he even capable of such behavior? Were some, or even all, of the tales I’d heard about him true? The thought that they might be made my skin prickle with fear. What if Dran was to get himself killed in some wild escapade? Worse, what if he really didn’t care about the risks anymore? I had just barely survived Darriel’s death. There was absolutely no doubt in my mind that if my deirfad went to the beyond, I would be following him shortly thereafter.

  Although it seemed to take much longer, in less than half a deciday I was landing the F?alen just outside our family’s dome on Ellendr?a. The white glowing orb of the sun was touching the western mountain peaks that formed one side of the wide valley in which the city of D?arven was located. Orange bands were starting to streak across the sky in a prelude to sunset. Yellowish dust stirred up by my landing settled quickly back to the baked soil in the hot stillness. The dry air sucked at my lungs, the lower levels of oxygen making me feel momentary light-headed—that was always my first taste of coming home.

  Dran’s ship was neatly parked in front of the dome, a short distance from where I’d set down. Unlike the F?alen, it looked much more like an atmospheric plane than a spaceship, with only two wings, swept sharply backward and downward, and a long tail fin. It was faster than the F?alen, but less maneuverable, and carried no armaments. It looked to be in good condition, but as I approached it more closely, I could see that the surface heat shielding on the front edges of the wings looked discolored, gleaming iridescently where the material had been slightly damaged. The ship had taken a lot of heat on those surfaces, as though the outer energy shields had nearly collapsed, pushing back against the ship’s hull. I touched the ship’s surface with my fingertips, but refused to allow my mind to speculate on how the damage had occurred.

  In front of me, our dome rose opalescent in the rapidly fading light, like a strange outgrowth thrusting up from the barren soil. Through the nearly transparent material, I could see the green of gardens, grass, and orchards, and the small, low structure that was our home. I walked across the yellowish sand to the small, slightly out-jutting airlock, which formed the entrance into the dome. Next to it was a larger cargo door, but we seldom ever used it. Pressing my palm in a specific location beside the door, I activated the mechanism, which slid the door to one side, allowing me to enter the airlock. I stepped inside. With a hiss, the exterior door closed automatically behind me. I waited a few moments, then the inside door opened. Moist air laden with the smell of living, growing things flooded my nostrils. I strode quickly inside, letting the airlock door swoosh shut behind me.

  I was standing on the small, grassy meadow that led up to the house. It grew wild, with tiny white and blue flowers scattered amongst the blades of grass. A path of worn paving stones made its way from dome entrance to house front. Quickly, I strode along the familiar walkway. The scents in the air began to sort themselves out in my head—pungent herbs used for cooking from a small garden just below the front windows of the house, sweeter, more fragrant odors from pink and purple flowers hanging off vines along the east side of the house. The house itself was low and long, a single story made from blocks of yellowish sandstone, running in an east-west direction. The main entrance was in the center of the building, opening into a large common room where most of the family activities occurred. The west end of the building contained a number of smaller rooms, including several sleeping areas. The east end contained the large family sleeping room and the bathing, washing, and waste disposal facilities. Although I had traveled widely in the last eight years, this was the only home I’d every truly known.

  As I opened the house door, an unpleasant smell assaulted my nostrils, making me feel a bit nauseous. Burnt flesh. But worse than that, it was underlain by the smell of putrefaction, of a wound in which infection was beginning to develop. My heart banging against my ribs in dread, I stepped into the darkened interior of the house, closing the door behind me. I didn’t turn on the lights. I could still see quite well in the darkness, the retroreflective tapetum lucidum layer behind the retina of my eyes providing me with excellent night vision. Heading straight toward the west wing corridor, I stopped at the room where Dran normally slept and gently slid the door open. Leaning through the door, I could clearly see that the room was undisturbed and empty. So where was he? The smell was distinctly stronger at this end of the house. On a guess, I quietly opened the door to the room where I usually stayed when I was home—yes, definitely the source of the stench. I could see a form sprawled untidily face down on the bunk under the window, and after a moment, movement. With a gleam of silver eyeshine, Dran turned his head towards me.

  “Darí,” he rasped softly, “what in the mythical fifteen hells of Vor?n are you doing here?”

  “I’m here to help you, Dran,” I answered simply. And judging from my first impressions, he definitely needed some help.

  “Don’t need any.” His voice, though hoarse and raspy, was firm enough. He might be sick, but he certainly wasn’t dying, or at least not yet. He turned his head away from me, the stubborn set to his shoulders telling me that he considered the matter no longer under discussion.

  Touching the switch panel where it was located by the door, I turned the lights on dimly. I wanted to be able to see Dran clearly, but I didn’t want to blind his dark-adapted eyes. I took a few steps forward so that I was standing beside the bunk. He was lying face down with good reason—a black strip of burned flesh as wide as my palm ran from his right shoulder blade down to the lower left side of his rib cage. The wound was relatively shallow—once again Dran had been lucky. Had the laser cut a little deeper, it would have sliced through backbone and rib cage, leaving him crippled and dying.

  Dran’s shirt had been fused into the wound by the intense heat of the laser. This was a serious problem. Our people have very robust immune systems. The positive side of this is that we seldom get sick from bacterial or viral infections. The negative side is that our bodies are highly reactive to any foreign materials entering the body. Dran’s body was mounting an intense immunological battle against the extraneous matter that was now fused into the wound—parts of the burn were red and pus-filled. He was obviously feverish. I could see that he was flushed, and his hair was plastered down where he’d been sweating. The pus and dead tissue made an excellent growth medium for bacteria, thus generating an infection and producing much of the odor that I had detected when I’d entered the house. While the infection was hardly likely to be life-threatening, as Dran’s immune system would prevent it from spreading beyond the wound, it added to the stress load on his body. Dran had clearly been struggling to get his shirt off. I could see that the burn was torn and bloodied along his rib cage where his efforts had caused more damage. But at some point, exhausted, feverish, and in pain, he had simply given up and collapsed across the bunk.

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  It was interesting that Dran had chosen my room in which to collapse. This told me another part of the story, one that caused me more grief than seeing him lying there in pain. Hurt, alone, and seeking whatever little solace he could find, he had come to the place where sight and smell would remind him of me. Thus, his memories of me had served him when I could not.

  With an effort, I pushed guilt and self-hatred away. I could follow that path again, Dran could run from me again, and we would be right back where we’d begun this terrible cycle. Conversely, I could get on with helping Dran—the burn needed to be cleaned thoroughly, but afterwards, I could heal it quite easily. This was not a particularly serious injury, as long as it was dealt with promptly.

  I sat down on the bunk beside Dran, gently laying my hand on his head. He stirred slightly, mumbling, “Go away. Go back to your duties.” His words stung, but I was expecting as much.

  “Why are you doing this to yourself? Why are you acting so crazy?” I could feel the heat of his fever through my fingers. I wondered whether he was delirious or not.

  “I’m not being crazy. I’m doing something that needs to be done,” his voice was passionate. At least he believed that he was doing a good thing.

  “And what if you get killed?” I asked the question that had been boring through my brain.

  “I won’t. I seem to be cursed with good luck,” Dran made a cynical snort. “And if I do? Lots of Guardians get killed these days. What’s one more?” Dran’s words had a darkness that chilled me.

  “Just what exactly do you mean by that?” I demanded.

  Dran was quiet, breathing softly, but I could sense the pain and tension in him. After a while, he replied in a low voice, “Look, Darí, you know as well as I that our planet’s dying, our people are going extinct, and there are only a few Guardians left. I can’t see much worth living for when the last Guardian lays down eir Star.”

  “But you’re my deirfad, my an?ncára,” I was shocked that Dran seemed to think that his actions would have no impact on me. This was not the Dran I remembered, the older deirfad who always looked out for me.

  “Really?” Dran sighed, sounding tired. “We’re not an?ncára anymore. We haven’t been for years. You’re free to go. There’s nothing holding you to me now.” There was a sense of pain and loss in his voice that reminded me harshly of how I’d felt after Darriel had died. I didn’t want to go through that again. As I looked at Dran, I felt a flood of fierce determination fill me, determination to prevent my deirfad from seeking the beyond before it was truly his time.

  “Is that what you think?” I snapped angrily at Dran. I found it hard to believe that he somehow couldn’t feel our bond, that he’d completely blocked himself away from it.

  “Yes,” he replied, turning his head towards me again. “Don’t you?”

  “No.” I moved my hands so that I had one on each side of Dran’s face, holding his head so that he couldn’t turn away, looking into his eyes. I wanted him to see the truth in my mind, but his grey eyes were hard, shuttered. I knew he wasn’t willing to make contact. Taking a slow breath, I brought my frustration under control. “Look, I’m going to clean the burn on your back. If someone doesn’t do that, you’re going to be seriously ill.” As if he wasn’t already. “It’s going to hurt. I’d prefer that you don’t play at being heroic and pass out on me. I want to be able to go into your mind and block the pain. I need you to release your shields.” I was trying to be clear and rational, hoping that he would agree without any further struggle.

  Dran’s eyes went out of focus for a few moments. He seemed to be struggling with something, then he shook his head, “I can’t.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” I asked sharply.

  “Can’t,” he shook his head again. Why was he so determined to be difficult?

  Feeling my anger starting to rise up in response to Dran’s persistent lack of cooperation, I frowned at him intensely. There were shadows under his eyes. He looked exhausted, but at the same time, I could feel a faint vibration of tension. He was edgy and over-tired, wound up from pushing too hard. It was possible that he was just too uptight to let go and relax his shields. In that case, I wouldn’t be able to do much until he collapsed from exhaustion or illness, or I forced his shields, or … I thought for a while. Forcing his shields would be akin to psychic rape. I had absolutely no desire to inflict that upon him after everything else I’d done. But there might be some tírath in the house … I got up and went over to a small cabinet in the corner of the room. The drawers held a miscellaneous selection of medical supplies that I kept at our home. After a bit of searching, I found a small red vial with tiny writing on the side. Tírath is a drug used to enhance telepathic contact, generally by removing any barriers or shields that might be in place. It’s occasionally used in situations like Dran’s, where a person is too emotionally or mentally over strung to relax, but it also has a bad reputation as a drug used in interrogations. However, it might just be what I needed right now to work on Dran’s burn … and there was the faint possibility that it might help me deal with the larger issue of our relationship.

  I went out to the common room, where I found a pitcher and a cup. I filled the pitcher with cool water, then brought both items back to my room. Once there, I added a drop of tírath to the cup. Filling it with water, I placed both it and the pitcher on a small inset shelf above the head of the bed. Sitting on the bunk next to Dran, I gently lifted his upper body, rolling him a little so that his shoulder was leaning against my side. Steadying him with my right arm, I was able to grab the cup and offer it to him with my other hand. I thought he might fight me, given his dark mood, but he was strangely passive. I could see that he was thirsty—dehydrated from the fever and loss of plasma seeping from the burn. He also knew the water was drugged. Looking at me, he raised an eyebrow. If I hadn’t been feeling so miserable, I could almost have laughed. I did try to smile a little at him. “It’s tírath,” I told him. He would, with a Healer’s training, know what I intended. He studied me again, didn’t say anything, but took the cup from my hands and drank thirstily. I offered him a second cup of water, which he accepted gratefully. I left him resting while the tírath took effect, spending a few moments gathering the supplies that I would need—my surgical tools, a bowl of warm water and some sterile wipes for cleaning the wound.

  By the time I got back to Dran, he had a slightly wide-eyed, wild look. I knew the tírath had made an impact. I sat next to him, and stroked his hair, trying to calm him. I’ve never been given tírath, but I could tell by Dran’s expression that losing control over your shields was a frightening experience. However, for the first time in a very long time, Dran’s mind opened up to me. Gradually, as his barriers faded away, I could feel the connection between us grow stronger. At first, Dran didn’t seem to notice; he was still struggling with fear. Then he made a little strangled sound, rolled on his side, curling up like he was in pain. I was completely surprised by his reaction. I let myself sink deeply into our bond so that I could sense what was wrong. Dran twitched and moaned a bit, but I couldn’t see anything amiss with the bond itself, or anything particularly wrong with Dran beyond the obvious laser burn and exhaustion.

  “Does it hurt that much?” I must be doing something awful to Dran again, for him to be in such pain. I couldn’t remember our an?ncára bond ever hurting him like that before.

  “No,” his voice sounded strangled. “No, it doesn’t hurt.”

  “Then what’s wrong, Dran? What have I done to you?”

  “I thought it was gone,” he answered hoarsely, then muttered, “It would’ve been better that way.” He was quiet for a bit, then finally said, very softly, “I know you don’t want to be with me.” As he said it, I could see in his mind the years when he’d been there for me, and I had just walked away from him. How do you explain actions like that? How do you justify yourself? I know I had been lost in my own misery, but I had had no right or cause hurting Dran like that. I found myself wishing desperately that Dran hadn’t been so gentle with me. Instead of stepping aside every time I blundered past him, blind in my own pain, he should have stopped me, forced me to come out of my shell and face our reality. Now maybe it was too late.

  “Dran, I know what you think, but it really isn’t that way,” I had to try, at least. “I’ve been terrible to you, and I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to hurt you. I wasn’t trying to drive you away. I just didn’t know how to stop the pain,” I knew I was babbling, probably wasting my energy. I took a deep, calming breath, trying to focus on what I needed to do. “Just let me help you today. You can make up your mind about me tomorrow.”

  I felt Dran tremble under my hands, but he seemed to make some sort of decision. Slowly, I felt him force his muscles to relax. He straightened out and rolled face down again. “Heal it then, if you will,” he said softly, and that was the last thing he said to me that night.

  I gently reached into Dran’s mind, into his pain center, that region of the insular cortex where pain messages from the body are received and acted upon. Here, a trained Healer can place a temporary block, which prevents the pain from being detected. I felt Dran relax more completely as the intense sensory nerve impulses from his back no longer seared through his mind. Now, I could do the messy business of cleaning and debridement. And messy it was. I cut his shirt off to get at the wound, then carefully removed all the foreign material and dead tissue from the burn. It took a long time. Even with the pain blocked, I could still feel Dran twitch reflexively when I had to cut more deeply into his back. But eventually there remained only healthy tissue. The wound bled slightly, but I was able to control that without much difficulty. All through the procedure, Dran said nothing, but remained pliant and didn’t fight me.

  Holding my Star in my right hand, I settled myself cross-legged at the top of the bunk next to Dran’s head, leaning against the wall, with my left hand resting lightly on his head. I breathed slowly and deeply, clearing my thoughts. Then I closed my eyes and sank gently into a healing trance. My focus was entirely on Dran, my mind sinking deeply into his body, seeking out the injured tissues that needed to be repaired. Healing uses a combination of empathy, psychokinesis, and energy manipulation to detect damage and encourage the body to heal itself. I visualized the muscle, nerve, and skin tissues that must be regenerated, then stimulated the healthy cells in the region around the burn to rapidly differentiate, divide and grow. My mental image of the body in an undamaged state formed the scaffold upon which the newly formed cells were arranged to create muscle fibers, skin layers, and nerves, thus replacing those that had been destroyed. A skilled Healer can completely regenerate tissues and damaged organs, leaving neither scar tissue nor other evidence of the injury. The only limitations are the amount of energy available to the Healer, and the patient’s reserves of metabolites from which to create new tissues. Given a reasonably fit patient, I could accomplish some relatively impressive things using a Guardian’s Star.

  It took much less time to heal the burn than it did to clean it. When I opened my eyes again, I could see that the only remaining sign of the wound on Dran’s back was a brighter pink strip of new skin. In a week or two, the pink color would fade, and the skin in the burn area would be indistinguishable from the rest of the skin on his body. Dran was breathing slowly and steadily, his eyes closed, but I knew he was still awake. Under my hand, I could feel that his skin was cool, and the fever was gone. He was trembling a little bit. I thought he might be slightly in shock from the effects of the injury and the drug I’d given him. The tírath was starting to wear off—while I still had the chance, before he could erect his shields, I did a quick scan of his entire body, looking for hidden injuries that I might have missed. He twitched slightly as I started, but stayed still. While I didn’t detect anything especially problematic, I could see how hard he’d been pushing his body, feel his exhaustion from overworking. Dran and I have the same build. As active Guardians, we should have had about the same level of fitness and strength. In the past, this was probably true, but looking at Dran now, I could see that he had trained his body to a fine edge. His lean muscles were hard knotted cords, clearly defined along his shoulders, arms, and back. I suspected that he was easily stronger, and probably quicker, than I was. However, what really concerned me was his total lack of body fat. I had a feeling that not only was he working too hard, he also wasn’t eating well enough to keep up with his energy expenditures. A person’s body can only take abuse like that for so long …

  I had done all I could do for now. I unfolded myself and slipped off the bunk. Dran shifted a little, but remained quiet, still sprawled across the bunk. I took a moment to pull off his boots and push him more securely onto the bed. Now what? I turned to go, maybe to sleep in Dran’s room or in the common area. But this was my room. Dran had come here, consciously or subconsciously, seeking what? A memory? A hope? Not sure that it was the right thing to do, but willing to try anyway, I kicked off my boots and pulled my shirt over my head, tossing them in a corner where they were out of the way. The bunk was wide, wide enough for two—it had been used by the two of us together more than a few times during our childhood.

  I slid beside Dran on the bed. He was still shaking slightly and felt a little cold. I wrapped my arms around him, bringing our bodies closer together, my chest against his back. He jerked again as I touched him, as though hit by a spark of electricity, but didn’t complain or push me away. His shields were still down, although I thought he could close me out now if he wanted to. I opened my mind and heart up to him, felt our connection draw us together, make us one. I was tired. The warmth of our soul union lulled me to sleep, even as I felt Dran still trembling quietly against my body.

  **********

  Sometime later in the night, I was awakened by Dran shuddering silently in my arms, crying noiselessly. His thoughts were a chaotic jumble of emotions—pain, frustration, fear, hope, and underneath everything else, despairing love. I remembered when he’d cried long ago, on that day I’d healed him after Rallandrí had sent him home to me from Davandr?a; how I’d tried to convince him to stay and how he’d tried to explain why he couldn’t. At the end, even though we had no resolution to our dilemma, he had given his love unconditionally to me. That was all I could do now, and so I held him until he cried himself into an exhausted sleep.

  **********

  The warm yellow light of the early morning sun shining obliquely through the window gradually woke me up. I was relaxed and happy, more than I’d been in a long, long while. At first my half-asleep mind couldn’t quite figure out why. Then, I realized that Dran was still in my arms, sleeping peacefully. His face was relaxed, the expressive eyebrows forming lazy arches. His muscular body, beautiful in an austerely athletic way, rested bonelessly against my chest. I knew his barriers were still down as I could hear his mind wandering through pleasant dreams. I stayed very still, not wanting to wake him, not wanting to end this fragile moment of peace in our lives. However, like many good things, it wasn’t meant to last long. I don’t know what woke him, but with a jerk, Dran went from being completely asleep to being wide awake. I was afraid that he was going to start fighting in my arms, but although his entire body went tense for a moment, he gradually relaxed again.

  I could tell that Dran was thinking; could hear the surface thoughts in his mind. He was sorting through the events of yesterday, pulling himself together, trying to decide what to do. While all telepaths normally shield their thoughts from each other, the degree of this shielding varies depending on the person and the situation. Most telepaths shield their deeper thoughts and emotions, but keep surface “channels” open for telepathic communication with others. However, when a telepath feels threatened, they can completely barrier themselves. This was more or less the state that Dran was in last night, a condition brought on by stress, exhaustion, and physical and emotional pain. Today, I could see he was bringing his normal shields back into service, making choices about what he was willing to share and what he was not. Most importantly, as far as I was concerned, he was trying to decide how to handle the link between us. The bond between an?ncára is special—it’s a unique bidirectional link between two people over which an entire range of thoughts, emotions, and even physical feelings, can be shared. It’s much harder to control or block than other lines of telepathic communication, although clearly Dran was very good at doing what was normally considered impossible. I was waiting for the shutter to be slammed on the window that was now open between us. But strangely enough, Dran didn’t lock me out. In his mind, I could sense a mix of fear, hope, and a willingness to see what could come of the situation.

  Gradually, I became aware of another sensation—hunger. I had expended a lot of energy last night. Even though my Star had provided the bulk of the energy used in the healing, it was still necessary to control and guide that energy, and this had depleted my reserves. My body was demanding, rather insistently, that I do something about this. I suspected that Dran wasn’t in much better shape—whatever mission he’d been on had probably demanded a great deal from him. I was pretty sure he hadn’t eaten anything since he’d been injured.

  “Hungry,” I mumbled in his ear. “Going to find something to eat. Want something?”

  “Hmmph,” Dran responded, but started to roll onto his back. I slid off the bunk, grabbing my shirt from the pile in the corner.

  I headed to the common room, on the prowl for something quick to eat. A food preparation area was located on the west side of the common room. Provisioned with a small vacuum cooling unit, powered by the dome’s solar panels and used for the storage of fresh food, an open flame cooker utilizing methane generated by our composter, a working surface, and various storage units for non-perishable supplies, it was similar to many I’d seen on planets throughout the Ll’Ellendr?n. I immediately went to the cooler, quickly finding something to my liking—eggs, a round loaf made from ground grains, some soft cheese, a spread made from last year’s fruit. Both K?rr?l and Farrw?n tended to keep track of Dran’s comings and goings. Usually, one or the other would make sure that there was food in the house. Since Guardian work frequently demands much time and energy, our community always ensures that Guardians are supplied with whatever they require for a reasonable existence. K?rr?l, our ?dr?lad, usually determined what we needed, then made sure that it was available when we needed it. In addition, our food was partially provided through an exchange system. Long ago, our parents had planted an orchard in our dome—this now produced much more fruit than the family could consume. We shared some of this fruit, receiving other items in return, such as milk, cheese, and meat from a friend’s herd of dervids, and eggs from another friend’s flock of chakars. So I was lucky.

  The eggs I tossed into a pot of water, which I set to boiling on the cooker. Then I began to work on the loaf with my knife, carving it into slabs. About this time, Dran appeared, having found a clean shirt. Although he seemed a little indifferent, he picked up a slab of the loaf and smeared it with cheese when I indicated that it was my intent to share the meal with him. Possibly seeing my hunger encouraged him to eat—he certainly looked half-starved. After a while, I found the herb supply, and made up some tea to go with our meal. The next little while was spent in near silence as we intently consumed a goodly quantity of food—Guardians are rather renowned for their appetites.

  We didn’t talk much that morning. I think we were both in a state of shock over the whole situation. I didn’t push Dran. He had good reasons for being reticent. I wasn’t sure that any explanations I could provide would improve the situation.

  **********

  Late afternoon found me in the grassy area behind our house. As at the front of the house, the grass was much more a meadow than a carefully cultivated lawn, ensuring that many wildflowers and native plants could survive. Although there were no large predators or grazers in the dome, there was a great deal of smaller native wildlife. Most families tried to preserve some of Ellendr?a’s plants and animals within their domes. Like us, they too were doomed to extinction when the sun finally scorched the planet into a dust ball. Many of Ellendr?a’s larger species were preserved in gene banks, possibly to be salvaged from the brink of extinction if we ever decided to colonize a new planet.

  Regardless of the planet I’m on, I always enjoy being outside in natural settings. On Ellendr?a, this meadow was just about as close to natural as one could come, although there were a few game preserves in some of the larger domes. I’d spent many hours of my childhood in this meadow, examining plants, exploring game tunnels through the tall grasses, catching the odd misfortunate small animal, which would then have to endure my inquisitive nature before being released. Today, however, I was trying to relax by going through a familiar routine. The work that Guardians do tends to be very demanding at times. It’s important to keep in good physical shape. Therefore, most Guardians have several workout routines that they use, depending on the environment in which they find themselves, to maintain their fitness. Since I had the freedom of a good-sized meadow, I was using a pattern that started with some gentle warm up exercises, but ultimately got to some pretty challenging and active maneuvers. The activity was good for my mind, and the familiarity of the various movements soothed my nerves and brought some degree of calm.

  In the center of the meadow was a small garden pond, the home of a number of water birds and various water plants. It had also been well used as a swimming hole by two young children. I still swam in it when I had a chance to come home, now that I could tolerate coming back to Ellendr?a regularly. Taking off my pants, shirt and underwear, I stood on the low rock wall that formed the edge of the pond. The pool was shallow—my head was just above the surface when I was standing on the bottom—but it was possible to dive into it, as long as you didn’t dive too deeply. And that’s what I did—enjoying the sudden coolness of the water on my skin, then swimming underwater until I’d reached the far side. There were a few large rocks on the bottom there where you could sit and still keep your head out of the water. The water was a comfortable temperature, more tepid than cold. It was possible to lounge around on the rocks for a good while before getting chilled. The water was also clear and clean, thanks to an efficient filter system.

  I’d been sitting in the water for a little while when I looked up and saw Dran at the pond’s edge opposite me. He looked hot and sweaty, like he’d been doing something similar to what I’d been up to, or possibly working in the gardens.

  “Don’t just stand there, jump in!” I called out. It was obvious that he too had been using the pond regularly as a place to cool off from the sun’s heat.

  Although I know from my travels that many cultures have some rather strange, even bizarre, taboos around the human body and nakedness, Ellendrí don’t generally have any particular concerns over nudity, especially amongst family members. Telepaths can be quite reserved with strangers, but we are very close within our families where physical contact is the norm rather than the exception. In the past, I would not have expected Dran to be inhibited from joining me in the pool by either our nudity or the possibility of physical contact. However, now he exhibited an unusual shyness, which I attributed to the current state, or rather non-state, of our relationship. Finally, after some hesitation, he undressed, balancing on the rock wall, lean, muscular body making a silhouette against the brighter background. In a fluid, graceful move, he dove, disappearing in the shallow water.

  With the angle of the sun, I couldn’t see Dran swimming underwater. I waited for him to surface somewhere in the pond, but he seemed to be taking a very long time down there. How long could he hold his breath? I was beginning to wonder if I needed to search for him, when I felt something tug at my ankle. Then, like a great sea monster, he surfaced next to me, pond weed draped over his head and shoulders, spraying me with water. He was laughing. My heart leaped at the sight—I hadn’t seen Dran laugh in years. I sluiced my hand through the water, splashing him in the face. He responded by grabbing my arm and dragging me off my rocky perch. Suddenly, it was like the weight of years had been lifted off us—two adults tussling in a pool, playfully trying to drown each other like a couple of rambunctious children. Although Dran was definitely stronger than I, he didn’t quite succeed in totally dunking me. I got in one or two good tricks of my own. When we both finally started tiring of the fun, Dran picked me up, heaved me over his shoulder, and without a great deal of effort, climbed up over the pool’s rock wall and dumped me on the meadow grass. After he flopped down beside me, we both panted quietly, lying on our backs in the warm sun, drying off, but not saying anything.

  A long time passed. I was half-asleep in the sun when I felt Dran’s hand gently touch my shoulder. His fingers were very light and tentative, just a hint of a touch. I could feel a similar sensation in my mind. It had been a very long time since Dran had made any attempt to connect with me—even the events of the past night had all been initiated by me—so I stayed very still, keeping my mind and emotions wide open to him. I felt the gentle feathery caress of a highly skilled telepath, carefully tracing along that which held us together. At first, he lightly investigated the surface of our connection, staying shallow, exploring its extent, but suddenly, without warning, his mind dove into the depths of the powerful bond between us. I trembled slightly. It wasn’t painful, but unexpected. I continued to stay as open to him as I could. It was important to me that Dran see completely all that I was—the scars left behind by the loss of Darriel, the total commitment of my love for him, the nature of my very being. After a while, he gradually returned to the surface levels of our bond, leaving us open and connected, but with the bond quiescent, momentarily stilled.

  Dran sighed, rolled over onto his stomach, putting his head in his hands. “What are we going to do?” he groaned.

  I countered, “What do you want to do?” I rolled over and put my hand on his upper arm, wanting the contact to help me sense clearly what was going through his mind.

  Dran was quiet, apparently thinking how best to answer. Finally, he said, “I want to do the right thing, for both of us. I just don’t know what that is.”

  Neither did I, but we’d certainly managed to do a lot of the wrong things in our lives. After I’d pondered on this a bit, I spoke slowly, “Long ago, before Darriel and I became an?ncára, I’d wanted us to announce our relationship publicly.” I paused, staring at the meadow grass, watching a small insect climb nimbly up the stem of a tiny white daisy. “I still want that. If we don’t, our relationship will always come second to everything else in our lives.”

  “What if you meet another Darriel?” I could feel the fear in Dran’s mind. Twice rejected, he didn’t trust me not to do it again. Fair enough, I was condemned by my own actions.

  Although I knew there was no simple way to engender trust, I did my best. “I will never let anyone come before you in my heart. Never.” I looked at Dran directly, “Even Darriel didn’t. If she had, I would’ve died with her. Only you had the power to hold me here,” I mulled over what I’d said, then added, “We’ve always kept our bond private, so other people didn’t see what we really were. If we’re not regarded as an?ncára, we’ll always be expected to do things that make us push our relationship to the back of our lives, rather than respect and value it as we should.” Dran was looking at me steadily, but I didn’t think I was having much impact. Finally, I added, “I doubt that I would ever meet someone like Darriel again, but should it happen, ey would have to accept our an?ncára bond as it is, and learn to live with us rather than try to change us.”

  Dran’s grey eyes looked distant—he was remembering how things had been. “Hmmph,” he snorted softly.

  It occurred to me then that I was making a bit of an assumption. It hurt to think that maybe what I wanted was completely at odds with what Dran wished to do with his life. “Dran, do you want to be my s?athcára, or would you prefer that we just keep living our lives separate as we have for so long?”

  At this, Dran smiled gently. “I’ve never wanted anything else but to be at your side. It just hasn’t happened, and I’m not sure that it will.”

  Another thought came to my mind, “All those insane stories that I keep hearing about you—are they true? I saw the heat damage on your ship when I arrived yesterday. Did you actually try to drive a Cultaní raider off by threatening to ram it?”

  Dran smiled a bit more broadly, and there was an audacious gleam in his eyes, “I guess that depends on which story you heard and who was telling it.” He laughed. “I did charge the Cultaní ship, but I knew they were going to run.”

  “You saw it?” I asked, wondering just how strong his turas really was.

  “More or less …”

  “You’re lucky they didn’t burn your shields out first.”

  Dran laughed again, giving me a gentle shove. There were some changes in my deirfad that I was going to have to get used to.

  **********

  We spent the next 15 days together—the longest we’d been in the same place at the same time since I’d become a Guardian. At first, I thought that Dran might resume his work as Recorder for the Elder Council, although this was hardly a full-time occupation. Instead, he asked K?rr?l to arrange for someone else to temporarily look after this duty, on the grounds that he was taking some time off to recover from a difficult mission. True enough, but totally out of character for Dran. K?rr?l easily saw through it. He did, however, comply with Dran’s request, making a muttered comment of “About time the two of you stopped tearing each other apart.”

  Dran was, for the most part, the same person I remembered from our youth. We were very alike in many ways—more introverted than extroverted, intensely curious, always interested in learning new things, active, playful at times and deeply thoughtful at others, with a quiet sense of humor bordering on cynical. However, in other ways, we’d grown apart. Dran had an internal strength that seemed to solidly anchor him, making him equally very powerful and very stubborn. He relied heavily on his inner senses to keep him safe, and took much greater risks than the deirfad I once remembered. And he was moodier, with darker depths and thoughts that ran in deep currents. He was often hard to read, sometimes difficult to comprehend. However, we seemed to get along well enough. I had some hope that things might go better for us. But we never discussed the future.

  Farrw?n visited us several times over that period. He was a good friend to us both. We spent long hours catching up on each other’s lives, discussing some of the serious problems facing our people. Farrw?n foresaw more that he would talk about, but that had always been the case. Dran and I knew not to push him for more answers that he was willing to give.

  Eventually, I contacted Rallandrí, explaining all that had happened while I’d been on Ellendr?a. I think he was satisfied that Dran and I had managed to work out some peaceable arrangement between us. I had the distinct impression that he would have preferred to leave us alone for a while longer. However, the universe outside our dome was moving forward, and there were far too few Guardians left to carry out our duties to the Ll’Ellendr?n. Reluctantly, he recalled me back to Lorril to continue my mission there.

  Farrw?n visited us on the evening before my impending departure. At some point, Dran had wandered out of the house on some errand for a few minutes, leaving Farrw?n and I alone for a while. I’d been quiet during the evening, thinking about the Cultaní raiders, my work in setting up the Border Patrol, and the fact that Dran and I had not come to any particular resolution about how we wanted to continue with our lives. Looking up from my thoughts, I noticed that Farrw?n was watching me intently, his head cocked to one side, clearly trying to decide whether he should interrupt my reverie. Finally, he said softly, “You’ll be together soon. Dran will come to you when he’s ready.”

  “Do you see that, or are you just trying to make me feel less depressed?” I challenged in return.

  Farrw?n smiled, the tawny streaks in his dark, shoulder-length hair catching the last of the evening’s sun as it shone through the common room windows. His smoky-grey eyes had that luminous quality I’d come to recognize meant that he was seeing something outside the present moment. “I’ve seen it.”

  “When?”

  “Before the year is over.” A gentle thump of a door sliding shut announced Dran’s return. Farrw?n’s eyes lost their otherworldliness, and we once again became three friends discussing the woes of our world.

  1 year = 222 local days = 446 Terran days = 1.13 Terran years; 1 half-year = 111 local days = 223 Terran days = 0.565 Terran years; 1 quarter-year = 55.5 local days = 111.5 Terran days = 0.2825 Terran years; 1 deciyear = 22.2 local days = 44.6 Terran days = 0.113 Terran years; 1 tenday = 10 local days = 20 Terran days.

  A f?alen is a wild canine native to Ellendr?a; similar to a Terran wolf.

  Dasení generally have better night vision than Sfoení. Like many vertebrates, Dasení have a layer of tissue in the eye, called the tapetum lucidum, which lies immediately behind the retina. Sfoení lack this tapetum lucidum layer. This tissue is a retroreflector, reflecting visible light back through the retina, thus increasing the light available to the photoreceptors and contributing to superior night vision. Even weak starlight provides enough illumination for the tapetum lucidum layer to reflect the dim light and enhance night vision. The tapetum lucidum is iridescent, and the visible effect of its presence in the eye is eyeshine. Dasení generally have a silvery eyeshine, although some individuals may have a blue or amber eyeshine. Some Dasení races (e.g., the Ellendrí) also have acute senses of hearing, smell, and overall vision, probably as a result of genetic engineering.

  Dervids are small caprine bovids similar to Terran sheep or goats.

  Chakars are fowl bred for meat and eggs similar to Terran chickens.

  World Building – Storytelling.

  Guardians’ Destiny – Storytelling.