Free Strands of Starlight by Gael Baudino Page A

holding any weapon larger than the small eating knife she carried. She felt weak and helpless, but hate and anger were burning inside her as hotly as the power ever had. “Somehow . . . somehow I'm going to kill him.”
    “Some paths are closed to us,” Varden said gently.
    “That's easy for you to say: you weren't raped.”
    He rose and went to the window. He looked up at the moon as if taking counsel, and the light wound around him in a soft shimmer. When he turned around, she was conscious again of his eyes. “Among my people, Miriam, the ways of healing involve more than closing wounds and casting out disease. We try to bring comfort and strength. As I healed you, my mind touched yours, and I lived through your violation. Believe me: I understand.”
    “Then how can you stand there and talk to me about barred paths?” she cried. “That's not human.”
    He returned to his chair in silence. The starlight flashed in his eyes. Miriam felt uneasy, and as the silence lengthened, she clenched her hands on the coverlet again, afraid to ask that last, direct question.
    A quiet tap at the door broke the spell. “Come,” said Varden, his voice pitched just loud enough to carry.
    A slight man in a rumpled soutane entered with a tray. His thin, fair hair barely showed his tonsure. “I heard voices,” he said cheerily. “I brought our maiden some dinner.”
    Miriam flinched. Her maidenhood could not have been farther fled.
    The priest stood over her and tried to smile reassuringly. “I am Kay,” he said. “How is it with you, mistress?”
    “Well . . . my body is healed.”
    He failed to catch the implication. “I have some soup, if you are hungry.”
    She was not, but his young face was so earnest that she sat up and ate a few spoonfuls to please him. Kay hovered, resting a hand on Varden's shoulder. “God bless you, my friend,” he said softly. “Thank you for coming.”
    “Could I do otherwise, Kay?”
    Kay smiled at him and turned to Miriam. “Mistress,” he said, “you are welcome in my house. You may stay as long as you wish, and you may come and go as you please.” He spoke with the rustic formality of a peasant. This, Miriam decided, was no city-bred clerk, educated in some northern town and given a pleasant and comfortable cure because of high-ranking friends. Kay was obviously a man of the country, and was just as obviously glad of it.
    Miriam nodded slightly. With Kay present, Varden was more distinctly different, the light in his eyes more evident. “Thank you,” she managed.
    But she had heard the words before. Mika had said them. You're welcome here. You're safe here. As long as you want. Of course. Until her power flared and she—
    She stopped short, her train of thought utterly demolished. Varden, himself a healer, had said she was safe. And it was Kay, a priest, who had offered her sanctuary.
    The Free Towns. My God. And maybe this place floats every Lammas Eve after all. . . .
    Kay was bowing to her. “I must go,” he said. “Vespers is well overdue, and tonight I have some special concerns.”
    “What? Me?”
    Her tone made him frown slightly. “I had . . . I had thought to pray for strength for you.” He looked uncertain.
    “Don't bother. I appreciate the thought, but don't bother. I don't want anything from your God or your Church.”
    She expected him to become enraged, but he only looked sad. “As you wish,” he said. He touched Varden's shoulder again. “God bless, my friend.”
    “The Hand of the Lady be on you, Kay.”
    Kay closed the door behind him. “I pray you, Miriam, speak more kindly to Kay,” said Varden. “He is a good man.”
    His calm rankled her, and her words to Kay had made her bold. “And what about you, Varden? Are you a good man ? Or something else?”
    He said nothing for a moment. She might have commented on the weather. “What would you know, Mistress Healer?” His voice was quiet, but he could not have been more terrifying had he shouted.
    She