Free B00CH3ARG0 EBOK by Christie Meierz Page A

apothecary.
    Cena was brisk, a sign that Marianne had come to recognize
meant the Sural’s healer had a full schedule for the day. She delayed the busy
woman only long enough to get a good look at her baby on the medical tablet. She
never tired of gazing at the little face of her tiny daughter, who was entirely
human-looking at this stage – or rather, Tolari-looking, she corrected herself
– and about the size of an avocado. She was perfect.
    “Your dreams have been peaceful for some tens of days,” Cena
said.
    Marianne looked up and nodded. “It’s a huge relief.”
    “And your body is tolerating the increase well now.” The
healer gazed at Marianne, tapping her chin with a finger. “I believe your aide
is no longer necessary, and you may resume your normal activities.”
    She blinked. “ All my normal activities?”
    Cena’s mouth twitched. “Yes, high one,” she answered, then
added, “You and the Sural are free to resume coupling like a pair of digger
squid in warm water, but try to be moderate. You need sufficient rest.”
    Marianne blushed and laughed. “What is a digger squid,
exactly?”
    “A small, twelve-armed cephalopod that lives in the southern
oceans. In the spring, huge throngs of them migrate to breed in warmer waters. After
selecting a partner, they mate continuously from dusk to dawn, when the male
dies. We believe it dies in ecstasy.”
    Marianne stifled a giggle and wandered out the door to the
gardens. Faint music drifted on the breeze. Was there a visiting musician in
the stronghold? Curious, she followed the sound.
    The music came from a gazebo near one of the streams that
divided the garden. She approached softly, not wanting to disturb the player, and
was surprised to find a girl of perhaps ten standard years. Absorbed in the
music, her eyes closed, she played an oboe-like wind instrument with
breathtaking skill for one so young.
    The girl seemed to become aware of Marianne and stopped
playing, opening her eyes.
    “Don’t stop,” Marianne said. She entered the gazebo and sat just
inside.
    “Yes, high one,” the girl said, beginning again.
    “Wait, no—” Marianne interrupted, and the girl stopped. “Not
like that. I just didn’t want to interrupt your practice. You play so
beautifully.”
    “My gratitude,” she said with a bow. “Are you the Marann?”
    “Yes, I am. What’s your name? What brings you to the
stronghold?”
     “I am Thela. My father is a climatologist who came to meet
with the Sural.”
    Marianne nodded. “Yes, I met a few of those at the morning
meal.” She lowered her voice and added in a conspiratorial tone, “It’s all very
boring, isn’t it?”
    Thela stifled a giggle. Marianne smiled warmly at the girl,
who looked like she was pondering something.
    “High one—” She hesitated.
    “Yes?”
    “My father told me the Jorann turned you into a Tolari, that
you are no longer truly human.”
    “That’s true,” Marianne replied, wondering where Thela was
going with this.
    “Does that mean you have never heard a real performance?”
    Marianne lifted her eyebrows in surprise. That was unexpected.
“I’ve heard Tolari musicians play, if that’s what you mean. I’ve been to all
the seasonal festivals since I came here.”
    Thela shook her head. “Some of us have ... a gift. If you
were human when you listened to one of us play, you might not have been able to
feel it.”
    “Feel it? What do you mean?”
    Thela smiled and oozed eager delight. “Close your eyes and
listen.”
    Marianne leaned back against the gazebo and closed her eyes,
as Thela began to play a traditional Tolari melody. The melody repeated, with variations,
and began to take shape and form and emotion, swirling and dipping around them
in triumph. Then it changed, becoming sad and desolate, and faded away. Marianne
opened her eyes and realized her cheeks were wet with tears.
    “Oh my.” She breathed a sigh, wiping her face.
    Thela cradled her instrument and gave a bow.