Wizard Rescue Pavoni 12

[setenaya]

Anat woke to familiar voices, speaking softly but forcefully—angry whispers, hissed replies. They were speaking Korchin, of course—but he could make out his own name. And—was that “Zerrina”? But he knew those voices. Temechi and Sogetai were arguing, and in arm’s reach of him.

Half-conscious, he scrambled away from their quarrel—right into the wall. If it hadn’t been there, he would have fallen off the bed; as it was, he knocked his head against the ceramite.

Sogetai and Temechi turned as one to look at him—the crack must’ve been loud—and Anat instinctively cowered from their gazes.

(How long had it taken to replace a soldier’s instincts with these?)

“It’s all right,” Temechi said, pitching his voice gentle again. Sogetai didn’t say anything, only reached out to stroke Anat’s hair. He tried to contain his wince.

“But you’re angry,” his traitor tongue said.

“I’m only angry at Sogetai, Anat. You’re fine.” Temechi reinforced those words by patting Anat’s shoulder.

Angry at Sogetai. How much did that matter?

Once, Anat wouldn’t have thought twice about it. The idea that a psyker space marine would be vulnerable to his own brothers would never have crossed his mind. Now… Did Temechi have power over Sogetai, or only over Anat himself?

Should he have caught Temechi’s hand with his cheek, tried to placate him? But if he and Sogetai were equals after all, that might look like Anat was taking sides, as he had no right to do.

Temechi took his hand from Anat’s head, and Anat went stiff.

“Temechi thinks I owe you an apology,” said Sogetai.

Maybe this wasn’t a serious matter after all.

Anat felt a surge of relief, twisted together with a dangerous kind of annoyance—had he been so worried for nothing?

(Not a day in their lenient keeping, and he had already lost control of himself so.)

He pulled his knees up against his chest, and waited.

Sogetai sat down—at the far side of the bed, too far away to easily reach over and touch Anat. “Says I shouldn’t have used my powers on you, earlier.”

Anat felt as if he were trapped under a great weight, struggling to breathe. This time, of course, Sogetai did not help. Could not help.

What were the rules, for White Scar psykers?

What were the consequences for breaking them?

“I…” liked, no, that wasn’t a word he could use, even if it had been exactly true, and I didn’t mind would be ridiculously frivolous. Finally he whispered, “It helped.”

“… I’m glad,” Temechi said. “But I do still think he should have asked. Both times.” He looked pointedly at Sogetai.

Both… Then perhaps Sogetai had only read Anat’s mind the one time, after all. Despite his current worries, that was a relief to know.

“You weren’t there,” he said instead, and then cursed himself—that was almost blame, a worse misstep than the one he had held back from.

“I meant that he should have asked you,” Temechi said, very gently.

Anat stared at him. Eye to eye.

It was the first time he’d done so without being told.

Temechi went on. “It’s fine when he does those things with me. He knows I don’t mind. But he never asked you, and it wasn’t in a battle with no time to ask, and… we don’t know what customs your legion had, about such things.”

Had… Surely it was more surprising that Temechi cared about Thousand Son customs than that he spoke of the Fifteenth in the past tense. But all the same the reminder that they were a dead legion hurt.

(And what did that make Anat—a ghost?)

Don’t dwell on that, not now. Focus on what else Temechi had said.

Sogetai should have asked Anat… Imagine that he meant it, strange as it seemed. Proceed as if it were true.

It hadn’t been as if Sogetai could have asked, that second time; Anat had hardly been capable of speech. But the first…

“I would.” His voice cracked. “I would rather he…”

“Go on,” Temechi said, and held out a hand to him.

Anat took it and slowly, daringly, moved their joined hands to his shoulder. Temechi only smiled, so Anat leaned his cheek against Temechi’s hand, and wondered if he was seeking comfort or offering payment, or both at once.

It was a long time before he could put his thoughts in order to speak, and a long time after that before he could force air into the words. He spoke without looking at either of them, and without lifting his hand from his shoulder or his cheek from Temechi’s hand.

“I would rather he used his skills on my body, rather than my mind.”

Silence. Had he said the wrong thing—the wrong way—was he going to be in trouble, or Sogetai?

At last Temechi broke the silence. “Given the choice,” he said carefully, “would you want him to use his powers on your body, or—not on you at all?”

Powers, not skills. Was that word reserved for Temechi’s own expertise?

“I… I truly didn’t mind.” Anat pulled his legs up in front of his chest, looped his free arm around them. “It was… I… I used to do that kind of thing for my brothers.” That last came out as a whisper, and a moment later he regretted it. Why had he said that? It surely wasn’t what they wanted to hear.

He looked up to find Temechi staring not at him but at Sogetai.

“Please don’t be angry with him. I…”

Sogetai reached out a hand towards him on reflex, and then frowned as if annoyed that his arm was too short to reach. Anat reached out his own free hand to him, and Sogetai took it.

“Anat. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Anat’s fingers tightened, unmeant, around both of their hands.

“He’s been angry with me before, and I’m still alive.”

“Don’t joke,” Temechi said. To Anat, he said, “All me being angry with him means is…. Well, what you already overheard. An argument. I’m not in charge of him, and I won’t hurt him.”

Sogetai made a noise; Temechi waved his free hand indistinctly, and Anat wondered if they were communicating telepathically. Temechi kept talking. “It’s all right.”

Anat closed his eye. If they noticed, they both let him.

Sogetai seemed not even to believe that Temechi could hurt him. That… Before, Anat wouldn’t have thought it evidence of naiveté. Perhaps he wouldn’t even have been wrong.

But here and now believing in Sogetai’s safety felt almost as outrageous as—as—as if he were trying to believe that Prospero still lived.

(The rune priests had clearly not believed that they were safe, after all. And wouldn’t they have known?)

Anat wrenched his thoughts back on course. He could not know if Sogetai was safe, improbable he found the idea. What he did know: Sogetai believed himself safe.

“… Have you known each other very long?” He pitched his voice soft, diffident. Personal questions were dangerous, but—

“A very long time.” Temechi’s tone was warm.

“Since our time as scouts,” Sogetai added.

Odd to have met then and not when they were made—but Anat put that thought aside. Irrelevant. What mattered was this: they had been together a long time, and in that time Temechi had done Sogetai no harm.

It did not mean he never would. But the chances seemed better.

(Certainly better than Anat’s own.)

Neither of them asked why he’d wanted to know, at least. And neither seemed offended. That was fortunate.

He’d overstepped his bounds, just now. Even if they hadn’t minded his question, even if they forgave him for presuming to defend Sogetai—those had been risks, and he couldn’t count on their forbearance continuing.

Even—especially—the stormseer’s. Temechi is his brother, Anat told himself, and you are nothing to him.

“Well anyway,” Sogetai said, rather awkwardly, “I’m sorry for looking into your thoughts.”

Without thinking about it, Anat opened his eye. As usual, he couldn’t tell much from looking at Sogetai’s face. But his hand tightened again, and Sogetai took that as an invitation to move closer. Their joined hands fell to the surface of the bed, and at some unspoken signal Temechi sat down on Anat’s other side—about as far away from him as Sogetai was, still shielding him from the rest of the room with his presence.

“I won’t do it again,” Sogetai added. “Nothing without your say-so, all right?” He squeezed Anat’s hand as he said that, and he smiled.

What was that worth? If Sogetai asked for permission, of course Anat would have to give it. As he had to nod now, accepting—the apology, he supposed.

But it occurred to him, sitting there between them—they had had this whole conversation in public, and Temechi had not minded all the other White Scars seeing how gentle he and Sogetai were with their prize.

Perhaps neither of them was taking a risk, then.

That thought should have been a pure relief, but there was an ache to it—to letting go of that evidence that he mattered. That they wanted to keep him.

Anat shook his head, freeing the hand joined holding Temechi’s in the process. Don’t borrow trouble.They hadn’t shared him yet; hadn’t even let anyone else touch him.

Maybe Temechi just wanted everyone else to know the rules had been followed.

Temechi was looking at him—was that a frown? Once again Anat wished he were better at interpreting subtle expressions. He reached out to Temechi’s hand, in case he’d caused offense, and Temechi squeezed it before letting go. But all he said was, “It’s about time for your lunch. I’ll go get you some.”

And with that, the conversation seemed over. So Anat leaned awkwardly on Sogetai as he drank his meal, and tried to put aside his worries about both their futures.