Crystal Dreams Read online

  “Thank you for keeping it safe.” She smiled up at him, and their eyes met. For the briefest moment, he returned her smile, before his face hardened, before his mouth turned down.

  “I am not a barbarian to destroy the property of another, however alien, or monstrous.” He tentatively reached out a finger to stroke a crystal. “It be warm."

  “Yes."

  He frowned at it, then at her. “Is the bed fully functional? Will it, will you be ready for what must be done tomorrow?"

  Liandra nodded, not trusting in her voice to answer, for she knew it would betray her foreboding. She didn't want to dream-share with him again, yet what other choice did she have?

  “Good. What else will you need?” Connal asked.

  “I suppose it's true that all my equipment was left behind? I always have a monitor when I dream-share, so that I don't become lost in the dreams."

  “How is that done?"

  “The computer watches over me, as well as my client. If we go too deeply, then it brings us back to a light sleep. If there's danger, it will awaken us."

  “It did not work too well before!"

  “No,” Liandra whispered. “I don't know why."

  “Every machine has its limitations.” He paused. “I will have one of my people perform this task. I will not, again, entrust my life to the whims of electronic gadgetry."

  “And I don't feel comfortable having a stranger look upon me in the dream-state. Besides which, none of your kind could possibly be skilled in monitoring."

  “Is that so?” Connal raised a taunting eyebrow. “My people have the ability to do everything, and more besides, than a mere machine."

  Liandra shrugged. “Why do you have such a distrust of technology? It's illogical, almost bordering on a pathological phobia."

  Connal smiled grimly. “Spare me your counseling! I have very good reasons for the way I think. If you wish to believe I am mentally deranged, so be it. ’Tis true, perhaps? Who else but a mad-man would kidnap a Dream-weaver from under the noses of her incorruptible League servants?"

  “Who else, indeed, but a madman,” Liandra said. Though she meant it as a stinging rebuke, Connal laughed at her rancor.

  “I will escort you to your apartment, now. Come away from the bed. It remains here, under lock and key ready for the morrow."

  He returned her to her bedchamber, firmly closing the door behind him as he left.

  As pleasant as her new apartment might be, Liandra still felt as if the walls were crowding in on her. She waited only moments before she scurried across the room and opened the door wide. Once again, she saw that Dougall and Fergus sat outside on guard duty.

  Minutes later Fianna arrived, carrying a tray laden with food. Liandra suddenly realized how hungry she was as she looked down at the dishes.

  Fianna smiled, and gently touched Liandra's arm. “Connal said you were not to be left alone, so you shall suffer the presence of Dougall and that hound while you are our guest. Set aside your fears. Whatever he says, Connal will not harm you. No one in the Castle will."

  “I'm not so certain about that,” Liandra said.

  “And for my sister's behavior, I apologize.” Fianna grimaced. “Her tongue is sharper than any dagger. She sees you as a threat and that makes her doubly dangerous."

  “A threat?” Liandra asked. “In what way?"

  Incredulously, Fianna regarded her “She is jealous of you, and what you and Connal have shared. ’Tis true when she said that he has not been the same since he returned to Castle MacArran."

  “That makes two of us!"

  Once Fianna had gone, Liandra sat at the table and inspected the food. She stabbed at it with her fork, tentatively tasting a morsel. Its sweet warmth soothed her mouth before she slowly swallowed. She forced herself to eat only a little, just in case the food reacted against her metabolism, causing sickness. Medical facilities on Caledonia would no doubt be basic. She had no desire to find out, first hand, just how primitive!

  With her hunger alleviated, she felt weariness descend. She needed to sleep, to prepare herself for the next day and what it might bring.

  Liandra walked to the door and Dougall set down the knife and fork on his table.

  “I'm going to close the door, now, I'm going to sleep. I ... goodnight."

  Dougall nodded and Liandra closed the door to the sight of him and the hound eating their evening meal.

  Stretching out on the canopied bed, she grimaced at its hard surface.

  At home, she was used to the anti-gravity cushioning of her crystal bed with its warm lights spinning a cocoon around her body, as she floated on a mattress of air. On Caledonia she had only a cold, unyielding bed. The thing was impossible! More like an ancient torture device than a place to sleep.

  She pushed herself up from the bed and went to the window. Caledonia's single moon cast a strange purple-blue light on the brooding mist-enshrouded countryside. She drew in her breath, for it was beautiful, in a wild, alien way.

  Liandra knelt before the fireplace and experimented with the controls, so that the ‘fire’ flickered amber, red and orange. She brought her pillow and quilt to the hearth and covered herself, watching the flames, hoping that the lights and colors would bring comfort and sleep. She was so tired, living on her nerves for too long. Although the sleep she desperately craved was a long time in coming, when it did, it seemed only a few minutes had passed before a voice violated her sleep.

  “Witch?"

  The word echoed in her mind, and she tried to ignore it, thinking Connal's gentle voice a dream. A memory. When the warmth of a hand cupped her shoulder and turned her, Liandra started awake.

  Connal knelt beside her. With a cry, she dragged herself upright, drawing the quilt to her chest.

  In a blur of speed he hurled himself to his feet, hands on hips. “You have no need to fear me. What is it you do before the fire?"

  “Trying to sleep,” Liandra said. “What do you want?”

  He laughed. “Most women I know find early morning a bitter-sweet thing, depending upon whom they find in their bed when they awaken. Fianna tried to rouse you from slumber. She could not. Fearing you were ill, she summoned me. And I find you like this. Why? Was the bed not comfortable enough?"

  “I'm used to something different. This chamber is oppressive."

  Connal glanced around, eyebrow arching skyward. “'Tis one of the finest apartments in the Castle. It belonged to my mother.”

  “I'm not ungrateful, Connal. But I'm used to my own bed, it lulls me to sleep with its sounds and colors. A Dream-weaver must have such to maintain health."

  “And by the look of you, your sleep was not restful. Well, that makes two of us."

  He turned on his heel and stalked from the room. Liandra noticed he did not close the door.

  She struggled to her feet, cringing, as she felt sore, cramped muscles. Longingly, she thought of her rejuvenation chamber. It would have soothed away her aches and pains. Now without it, she would have to tolerate her discomfort. Somehow.

  She heard the voices of men in the corridor outside, and Connal's above them all giving instructions.

  Moments later four men staggered into the chamber. Between them they carried her crystal bed. They carefully placed it down and looked at Connal for more directions.

  “Where would My Lady like her bed?” he asked.

  “By the window, please."

  “As the Lady says.”

  The men positioned it as directed and then, their work done, they studied her curiously before Connal dismissed them. Obediently, they hurried from the room, though each man cast a backward glance, to catch their final glimpse of her.

  “Thank you for this consideration,” Liandra said, stroking the bed.

  Connal shrugged. “I..."

  “Fergus, get out of the way! Connal, do something with this beast of yours!” Fianna stepped over the dog who had once again positioned himself in the middle of the doorway. She ushered in two girls who each carried
a tray of food.

  “Put them on the table, and be off about your work,” Connal said.

  The servants hastily retreated from the chamber. They paused to take a long hard look at Liandra, before they scurried away.

  Connal chuckled. “My people are curious to see, for themselves, the green-haired witch Jennie has told them about."

  “I'm not comfortable being the center of attention.” Liandra frowned at Connal. Yet, to them, she was a novelty. If their positions had been reversed and Connal was a ‘guest’ on her home base, there would be many women—and some men—who would want to get more than a second look at such an exotic creature as Connal MacArran. She wondered what he would make of such notoriety. As images of his discomfiture passed before her eyes, Liandra had to smile. Seven Stars, she'd love to see that day!

  “I like not the way you smile, witch. What are you about?"

  Liandra blinked and drew her mind back to the present. “I was thinking about home.” Not exactly a lie.

  “The sooner you help me, the sooner you will see it. As we have plans to make, I thought you and I could breakfast together.”

  He motioned her to the table and awkwardly Liandra sat down on the chair he held for her. Once she was seated, he sat opposite, eating quickly.

  She nibbled at a small piece of toasted bread with a thin spread of jam. It was delicious! She kept her gaze downcast on her food, conscious of the way Connal studied her. His silence was most disconcerting. She sipped her tea, finding that of all the things on Caledonia, this liquid was by far the nicest thing she had encountered.

  Connal sighed deeply, contentedly, and leaned back in his chair. She put down her cup and regarded him.

  He raised a quizzical brow. “Is that all you intend to eat? You will fade away before my eyes."

  “Unlike you, my appetite is small. Besides, I have no way of knowing how this poison will react to my metabolism. They are primitive nutrients."

  Connal laughed long and hard. “Do not let Fianna hear you speak thus about her meals. She would be much insulted."

  “I don't intend to tell her. Do you?” Liandra raised a delicate brow and Connal grinned at her.

  “One MacLeod after your hide is more than enough for you to handle."

  “One—what?"

  “MacLeod. Fianna, like Jennie is from clan MacLeod. Their family is affiliated to me."

  “You didn't come here to reveal your family tree,” Liandra said. “What did you want to discuss with me?"

  Connal stretched out his long legs. “I would say much.”

  From inside the pouch—the sporran—that hung at the front of his kilt, he pulled out a thin, oblong package. As Liandra concentrated on it, the word ‘envelope’ came to mind. Connal placed the envelope in front of her and she regarded it and him curiously.

  “We found this two days after Garris disappeared. His letter to me explained where he had gone. That was how I knew where to begin my search. Open it."

  Liandra carefully did as she was told. “This is made from paper!"

  Connal's eyebrows shot skyward. “Aye."

  “I've never touched paper before.” She regarded the smooth, fragile surface, which was decorated with bold scrawls of dark ink. “Garris wrote this?"

  “Aye."

  She traced a finger over the script, sensing. Like the piece of jewelry Connal had given her, it was also confused. “So many people have handled this letter, I cannot focus on any aura.”

  But even as she went to discard the paper, she caught the vibration. Something dark. Sinister. Then it vanished, though Liandra shivered as the legacy of that feeling stayed with her. Her imagination, surely?

  “I thought the letter might help, for the dream-search,” Connal said.

  “I need something which no one but Garris has touched."

  “I will see what I can find.” Connal frowned. “What make you of the letter?"

  Liandra turned the paper in her hand, studying it from every angle. “I've never seen anything like it before, except in the museum on Terra."

  Connal pursed his lips. “You know of Terra, do you? Earth is the name I know it by."

  “So it was before it joined the League. My mother is Terran. She took me there as part of my education."

  “You are an Earther?” Connal's brows drew together in a measuring frown.

  “Why does that shock you?"

  “I had not expected you to be human."

  “Human is such an arrogant word. Every sentient being calls itself human. In every League language, human means civilized. It doesn't denote origin."

  “I stand corrected. And your father is also Terran?"

  “Asarian."

  “I have little knowledge of this race."

  Liandra stared at him, her turn to be shocked. “Over two hundred years ago, Asarian Weavers ventured forth from their home-system to search for sentient life. From their journeys and subsequent meetings with other beings, the League eventually formed. How is it that you don't know this? Every civilized world..."

  “Caledonia is, by your estimation, not a civilized world,” Connal said dryly. “Or have you forgotten?"

  “How could I, when the evidence of it is constantly before my eyes?"

  “Please do not provoke me, Liandra, especially so soon after breakfast!” He studied her deeply “I am curious. You say your mother is human—forgive me, I should say Terran. How primitive of me to forget! And your father is Asarian. Whom do you resemble?"

  Liandra wondered at Connal's sudden curiosity. Previously she had the impression that he had no wish to know anything of her, and the less he had to do with her, the better. Now he was asking for her life history. She much preferred this interrogation to his usual shouting and taunting. Perhaps she could humor him awhile longer.

  “Asarians aren't so different from Terrans. In some ways I'm like my mother. My best traits, I inherited from my father."

  “And your worst traits? Where do they originate?” Connal teased.

  Refusing to be baited, Liandra shook her head.

  “You have not answered my question,” Connal said.

  “There've been so many, to which do you refer?"

  “The letter. What make you of Garris’ words?"

  Liandra frowned down at the paper. The words swam before her eyes. She couldn't understand, not even the subliminal tutoring could aid her. “I don't know. I can't read them."

  Connal's eyebrows arched skyward. “Cannot or will not?"

  “Can't,” Liandra said. “My computer..."

  “Say no more! And you dare call me barbarian? At least I am able to read and write. I do not rely on some infairrnal machine to think for me. Give me the letter.” He snatched it out of her hand.

  “It's not what you think, Connal...”

  He waved her to silence. “Spare me your explanations. I shall read it for you. Castle MacArran, Caledonia 12th day, 8th Month, Year 709. My chieftain." Connal glanced up at her. “That's me, in case you've forgotten. My chieftain. When you find this letter, I will be off-world. I have sought the services of Dream-weaver Liandra Tavor. Do not ask me why, because in my own mind I am not certain why I must see this foreigner, only that I must. Garris.”

  Connal looked up at her, to see that she was still listening, before he, again, dropped his eyes to the paper. “And to Fianna a post-script, “Forgive me, darling, I could not tell you in person where I go and why." He flung the letter down on the table. “Well?” he demanded, studying her.

  “It's a mystery to me."

  “And to me,” Connal said. “No Caledonian ventures off-world without a damn good reason, and certainly not without his lord's permission. He most definitely did not have my leave to go. As far as I know Garris had no motive to see you. I am bewildered by his knowledge of your existence."

  “There are few Dream-weavers in the League, so if someone needed to find me they would have no difficulty. Because of our rarity, my skills are well known throughout the hundred worlds.
"

  “I did not know I was host to a celebrity.” He inclined his head mockingly. “I am honored to have your company and expertise at my finger-tips."

  Liandra glared at him.

  “Tell me this, Mistress. Where do beings go who need the professional help you offer, but who cannot, for some reason, employ one such as you?” Connal asked.

  “They would go to Space Med."

  “Who?"

  “Not who, what. The League offers a medical service on every world. Computers and androids can generally help most cases."

  Connal grimaced. “I would not trust my well being to any creature which is not flesh and blood. And I would not want counseling from any agency that considers a computer a viable alternative to good old-fashioned doctoring. ’Tis beyond me why any would want to seek out a mechanical contraption for any reason!"

  “I don't understand you.” Liandra said.

  “One thing I am curious about, witch,” Connal eyed her shrewdly. “You said you have parents. From what I hear of the League, there would be no place in their scheme of things for parenting, as we on Caledonia understand it. Children are artificially created, that is the truth of it. Yes?"

  “We of the League have choices. Most parents prefer matrix-surrogacy, as it's more convenient. Seven Stars! I couldn't imagine the other biological way, it's barbarous."

  “Life artificially created thus would have no soul, surely? No love..."

  “That is where you're wrong, Connal. All children are conceived in love, no matter how it is done. What about those beings who are not able to produce a child, whether because of genetic incompatibility, or sterility? Would you render them childless simply because of some ridiculous aversion to technology? The League has ethical standards to ensure life is revered in its many forms, no matter how they might be conceived."

  Connal frowned. “And what of you, counselor? Were your parents similarly detached during the time of your creation?”

  “My mother and father mind-touched with me as soon as I attained consciousness. Within moments of my conception I knew how much I was loved."