Mind Over Psyche (11 page)

A unicorn waited at
the door.

Despite muscles that felt bruised and hands that felt raw, she threw herself onto his back and let him carry her to an o
pen field.

Once there, however, she panicked at being alone with the images left from the Remembrance. She couldn't make herself go back, either. Leinad would take her, by force, if necessary, and make her complete the Remembrance.
I can't let him
, she'd thought wildly
,
I can't
.

She couldn't be alone, and she couldn't seek out anyone Kanaan. Not like this. Contaminated with the insanities of Gardianju, she couldn't risk touching someone's mind now.
She
was barely handling it, and it was part of her talent. No healer would touch her, no friend offe
r comfort.

Her mind reeling, she slid from the unicorn's back and sat upon the ground, legs crossed, arms wrapped around her stomach, rocking slightly. She didn't know why she was doing it. She couldn't make herself stop. The unicorn nuzzled her gently, sending a cautious query, but she didn't respond. She was trapp
ed. Alone.

Suddenly, an everyn dove out of the sky and landed beside her, wheedling its way onto her lap.
No, sister
, he told her.
You are ne
ver alone
.

Another everyn joined, then another and another, until she was surrounded by a dozen or more, until her lap and arms were full of small dragon-like creatures, their cheeks stroking her skin, wings enveloping her. Carefully, they teased the tortured memories of Gardianju from her, replacing them with affection and re
assurance.

We are the first of the Greater Beasts and brothers to the animals; share the chaos with us. We can handle it. We have done this duty before; it is our God-sent talent. It is our avocation, our joy to help you as our ancestors helped other Miscria. Take our aid, sister. Accept
our love.

They guided her through a cleansing, led her gently to Divine Love. Words floated through her mind:
Mercifully guard my every thought and grant that I may always watch for Your light, and listen to Your voice, and follow Your gracious inspirations. I cling to You and give myself to You and ask You, by Your compassion to watch over me in my
weakness…

She blinked, suddenly aware of her surroundings. Not only everyn surrounded her now: Unicorns and some lesser beasts had joined the circle of love and support. A large wolf had shoved its way through enough to lay its shaggy head upon her lap, and she scratched its ears gratefully. Normally, they were solitary creatures, feral and sometimes dangerous. She thought she knew which images it had shared for
her sake.

It tolerated one more scratch and took off with an explosion of motion that sent several everyn flying and squawking in protest. She found herself laughing, and thanked the beasts who had saved her from herself and helped her back to sanity. Then she closed her eyes again, gave her gratitude to God, and felt His love in reply. The words came back to her. Sometimes, the Miscria were given words, like the recitation to Call the Ydrel. But these were not from the Remembrance, or from Deryl. Even the accent was
different.

Joshua.
Tasmae rose and asked the unicorn to take her to
the human.

*

After half an hour in a Kanaan hot tub, sweat ran down his face in rivulets and dampened his hair, and still he had no answers. However, he did feel physically better. He rose, took a quick dip in the pool—shockingly cool after the hot spring—and dressed. He grabbed some food, searched out Joshua in his mind, and headed for the unicorn fields. He might no longer be in a mental institution, but he could use the opinion of a psychologist
right now.

Deryl found Joshua in the field, brushing the neck of a unicorn and the others crowded around, eager to have their turn. He was humming, and when one of the unicorns bumped him impatiently, he laughed as he told him to get in line with
the rest.

“So this is where you hide?” Deryl called as he a
pproached.

“Hey! You found me out,” he called over his shoulder as he made a few short strokes around the horn. “Here.” Joshua reached into the messenger bag slung over his shoulder and pulled out a second brush. He tossed it to Deryl. “There's a whole herd waiting to be groomed—again, mind you. Not that you could be any more beautiful, could you, girl?” He cooed at the mare he was tending. The barrel-chested, broad-horned mare turned her head, careful of her horn, and nuzzled Joshua. He gave her a kiss on the nose, murmuri
ng to her.

Deryl snorted as he gave the nearest unicorn a few disinterested swipes. “You flirt with horses like you flirt wit
h nurses.”

“You don't think this fine lady deserves it? Still, I think you've had enough for the day, huh, Glory, my baby? How about we go for a qu
iet ride?”

Deryl didn't feel that much better. He gave the unicorns a bow. “Actually, if you don't mind, can we sit
and talk?”

Joshua shrugged and put the brushes back in his satchel. The unicorns wandered off, some breaking into a run. Cochise gave a chirrup and flew after them. Joshu
a laughed.

They went to a shaded tree, and Deryl lowered himself carefully onto the mossy ground beneath. The thick, spongy material gave like a pillow, and he sighed. It was a physical and a mental comfort. He recognized the moss from the shaded glen in the Netherworld where he and Tasmae used to converse. She had designed the glen for them from her own memories, but it still surprised him to find the moss in an area that should get a l
ot of sun.

“You all right?” Joshua sat down b
eside him.

“Yeah, just sore. I fell off one of the cliffs this
morning.”

“What? Are you sure you
're okay?”

Deryl smiled at his friend's concern. Even if it wasn't true, it seemed a long time since anyone was concerned about his well being without having an ulterior motive. “Just aches and bruises,” he reassured his friend. “I actually landed in a bush. The healer took pity on me and sent me back to soak out the kinks. Did you notice the hot spring in
the bath?”

“Oh, yeah. Very nice,” Joshua said with feeling. “Terry and I hung out there a whi
le today.”

“How's the healer training?” Deryl asked. Suddenly, that seemed more important than his petty
problems.

Joshua sighed. “Deryl, I'm not
psychic.”

“But you can feel the healing energy, sense it like music! And when I was catatonic, you got into my mind and brought me out,” h
e pressed.

“I don't know how I did that! That's never happened before—not to me, not to anyone in the whole recorded history of NLP. You may have
done it.”

“Still!” Deryl started, but Joshua cu
t him off.

“Even so, psychology—especially the kind I'm trained in—depends on understanding body language, especially eye movement. I don't know the Kanaan
signals.”

“Well, figur
e it out!”

“Fine!” Joshua threw his hands in the air. “Right away! Want to tell me how when I can't even tell if someone is thinking or talking to someone else or receiving a visual thought from someone? Want to tell me how to accomplish in a few days what took decades of research on Earth? Got any answers for me, O Gre
at Ydrel?”

“We have to do something!” Deryl yelled, fighting the twist in his heart. “I'm not going to
lose her!”

“You? Please,
please
tell me you're not falling in love with her.” Joshua rubbed his forehead as if expelling a
headache.

Deryl opened his mouth to protest, but nothing
came out.

Joshua watched him with narrowed eyes. “Have you
done
anything
about it?”

“What?” Deryl asked, even as he plucked the implication from Joshua's mind. “N
o! I, no…”

“Good. Because according to Terry, aliens carry their own kind of insanity. They've been making an exception teleping the Gre
at Ydrel—“

“Stop calling
me that!”

“—but
Deryl
might be a whole ‘nuther story. Not to mention, we don't know anything about their idea o
f dating.”

The shakes returned. Deryl leaned back against the tree and stared at the sky shimmering through the leaves. “I don't know what's happeni
ng to me.”

He meant the visions, the confusion, the feeling of panic in his gut, but for once, his friend totally missed th
e signals.

Joshua smiled at him, and his tone gentled. “Look, just remember that we're out of here in a week—and there are plenty of beautiful Ear
th women.”

And that pain in my side, like the tearing of the land.
He latched onto the diversion. “Like Clarissa, you mean?” They'd met Clarissa when he was in the hospital recovering from his appendicitis. Maybe the pain was a tra
nsference?

But why would I compare it to the land? Forget it now. Think about Clarissa: sweet and blonde, turned up nose that wrinkled when sh
e laughed.

“There ya go! She was fine lady. Played a mean gam
e of Uno.”

“Not a half-bad kisser
, either.”

“How would you know that, chaperoned as you were
all day?”

“No one seemed to think I needed a babysitter
at night.”

Joshua groaned and smacked his forehead. “I was responsible for you. I'd have been so fired if anyone had f
ound out!”

“That's why I didn't mention it. Anyway, it wasn't that big a deal. She'd sneak across the hall to talk around midnight, and the night before she was released, we
made out.”

“And?”

Suddenly he felt uncomfortable for whole new reasons. “And can we change the
subject?”

Joshua raised his brows at him, but leaned back on one arm. “Yeah, sure. How far did you drop
, anyway?”

“Twelve, maybe fift
een feet.”

“No way! You're lucky all you got were bruises. How come you didn't just
levitate?”

Deryl burst out
laughing.

“No, really. You can move objects. Why not use telekinesis on
yourself?”

Deryl fell silent, thinking. Could he? H
ow? Maybe…

Pushing away from the earth, but not hard; just a gentle nudge, like pushing on a pillow. The body floating, riding on
that push.

“Whoa! That is so cool! How are you do
ing that?”

The moment Joshua exclaimed, Deryl lost control. He flung his arms back to catch himself, landing on his elbows and behind. He yelped and rolled onto his stomach. “It takes a lot of concentration!” He chided, rubbing his abused
tailbone.

“Sorry.”

Deryl sighed as he sat back up. “I probably wouldn't have been able to catch myself from falling
, anyway.”

“Why did
you fall?”

“Slipped.”

“Yeah,” Joshua said in response to Deryl's terse reply. “And the rest of t
he story?”

Before Deryl could explain, Tasmae thundered up to them on
a unicorn.

When she saw Deryl
with Joshua, she felt her heart leap, and a funny yearning weledl up in her. She pushed it aside. Just one more thing she didn't understand.

She could not, however, avoid his concern. “You're not done, are you?”
He asked.

She shook her head. The Beasts had helped calm her, and she didn't want to think about returning to the Remembrance yet. Besides, she had a new mystery t
o unravel.

“Explain this to me, Joshua,” She said and repeated the words she had b
een given.

Joshua crossed his arms, and his brows knitted with confusion. “The Novena to the Holy Spirit. But how'd you
know it?”

“That's what I'd like
to know.”

Joshua gave Deryl an accusing glare, but he just shrugged. His emotions, though gentle, played upon her strained senses. Concern, confusion…She understood those. However, he also felt pressure—specifically, about something Deryl wanted from him. Something that inv
olved her.

Deryl, on the other hand, had closed himself off. Even Kanaan were more readable. Nonetheless, she got the impression of the eye of a hurricane: fully calm, fully still. Potentially
dangerous.

But whatever Deryl expected, Joshua knew it, and she could sense that he didn't think he'd have much choice but
to comply.

She huffed in frustration and started running her fingers through her tangled hair, yanking when she got to th
e tangles.

“Take it easy. Here.” Joshua reached into his pack, pulled out a wide-toothed comb, brushed it off against his pants, and handed it to her. “How come you didn't put it up before
you left?”

She didn't want to explain her has
ty escape.

“'Kay,” he said after the silence stretched. “Never mind. You're here now, and this is a sa
fe place.”

Both she and Dery
l snorted.

Joshua gave them both a stern glance. “It's dangerous for you to telep with other Kanaan right now, right? That's why they isolate you until you finish the Rem
embrance?”

Tasmae blinked, surprised. “Yes. How did
you know?”

Joshua nodded. “Terry told me as much. But that's obviously not working for you. Maybe Gardianju's Remembrance is too much to handle alone? But there's never been anyone to share it with, to, you know, help make sen
se of it.”

She thought of the Beasts. They'd relieved the pressure, but offered no insight. Joshua was right; the Miscria had no one to
help them.

“Until now,” Deryl breathed. He grinned at his friend, and Tasmae felt through his armor a hint of happiness, and
smugness.

“Until now,” Joshua confirmed. He did not share Deryl's happiness, but she felt his determination. He took the comb from her hands. “So, come on. Let us
help you.”

*

Joshua had no idea how to enter uptime and get in sync with Tasmae's thought processes, so he decided to try an old tactic he used on Rique's sister, and started to work at her tangled hair with quick, deft strokes. Rique had teased him about being Sabrina's hairdresser, but he'd gotten her through a lot of high school angst that way—and they'd had a pretty nice summer romance when she turne
d sixteen.

Which was why he was not going to share this duty w
ith Deryl.

Tasmae didn't say anything for a long while, and even Deryl seemed distracted, his eyes focused on an indefinite nothingness, so finally, Joshua said, “You've got a lot of hair. It must take forever
to brush.”

“Miscria do not cut th
eir hair.”

“Really? Why not?” He finished one long section, and ran his fingers through the rest to separate another. It felt soft and warm, but body-temperature warm rather than sunlight-he
ated warm.

“It is of Kanaan now. It gives me
strength.”

“Like Samson?” Joshua regarded her tresses with ne
w respect.

“Samson?” Tasmae
repeated.

“From our sacred Scriptures. Samson's hair made him strong—until Delilah convinced him to cut it off. That reminds me, though. ‘Kanaan' sounds a lot like Canaan, which is a very special place in the Old Testament. So who named your planet
and why?”

“We use words only for your benefit, Joshua. It's quite noisy when you'r
e around.”

Joshua picked up her teasing tone and chuckled. “But that didn't come from me, and while I did give Terry his name, I'd have never thought of
Salgoud.”

“That is Barin. Salgoud is a kind of fighting devil?” She paused, brow knitted and shrugged
at Deryl.

Deryl frowned, but this time in concentration. “It doesn't translate well. —ud means leader, salg is the name they use for Kanaans, but it's kind of insulting, like demon or subhuman or abomination. And the o denotes a certain amount of vic
iousness.”

“So, ‘leader of vicious subhumans'?” Joshua aske
d, amazed.

“More like ‘vicious leader of the demon-spawned subhuman abominations,'” Deryl d
eadpanned.

Joshua blanched. “And he's
okay
w
ith that?”

“Of course,” Tasmae replied. “To us, it is a mere arrangement of sounds without real
meaning.”

Joshua nodded. It was like when someone called him “nigger.” He blew it off because the word said little about him personally but spoke volumes about the other person's attitudes. “Oreo” Bothered him more, because it suggested that who he was on the inside was somehow wrong because of his race. “Incompetent,” however: that one really b
ugged him.

Tasmae was saying that Salgoud's name was tactically useful. “The Barins fear it. Our warriors have learned when they can secure a retreat by merely chanting
his name.”

“That is cool! All right, so why isn't your planet called Salgan or something? Where'd Kanaan c
ome from?”

“That would be my doing,” Deryl grinned sheepishly. “I think the Miscria must have pulled other things from my mind
somehow.”

“Many things have their names from the Ydrel,” Tasmae chimed in. “Spot. Everyn. Bondfriend. Even
Miscria.”

“Really,” Joshua said slowly. “Kanaan I get, then. ‘Bondfriend,' makes sense, kind of descriptive. Even ‘everyn,' since they're not wyvern sized, though if you'd read Anne McCaffery, you might have called them fire lizards. But where'd ‘Miscria' c
ome from?”

“Something my mother
told me.”

Deryl turned away then, again unreadable, and Tasmae turned her head just enough to look at him. Joshua suppressed a moan. Bad enough Deryl had feelings for her, but if she returned them? He set his hands on either side of her head and turned it forward again, hoping she'd think it was so he could brush her hair more easily. Regardless, she crossed her arms and let Joshua play with her hair, and he felt her try to relax into his soothing mini
strations.

*

Tasmae's attention brushed feather-soft against Deryl's shields, but caught in the memories of his mother, he didn't notice. “I told you my mom was psychic, right? Well, she told me that one day, a spirit would contact me—the Miscria. I was supposed to obey it. She thought it might be my guardian angel; wha
t a joke.”

Deryl laughed, a bitter sound even to his own ears. Tasmae reached out to touch his arm. He tensed against the urge to flinch away and redoubled his shields ag
ainst her.

“What happened to you
r mother?”

Deryl looked across the field, where a colt played under the watchful eye of its mother. “She was protecting me from a…a boarder we'd taken in. He got angry and ki
lled her.”

Deryl didn't look their way and tried hard to keep his tone matter-of-fact, but he still felt Joshua's sudden pity. The unicorns ran off, and he followed them with his gaze, forcing himself to see them rather than his mother crashing against the table edge and slithering to the ground. Where was his guardian a
ngel then?

Tasmae spoke softly. “My parents were killed protecting our training ground. I'd just come into my Miscria talent. I was not allowed
to fight.”

“I didn't even know how, then. If I could go back…” He heaved a shaky sigh, releasing his emotions and added in a more natural voice. “So that's where Miscria came from. ‘Ydrel' was something my mom called me now and then. I never knew why; I figured it came from my father. I don't know about ‘Tasmae,'
however.”

“Another Barin word, given to me in the last war. A tasmae is a small but fierce animal on their planet that's hard to catch and wreaks grea
t damage.”

“Told you,” Joshua d
eadpanned.

Deryl burst out laughing. It
felt good.

“On Earth, we have an animal called the Tasmanian devil,” Joshua started to explain, “and there's a
cartoon—”

“No! Let me! I loved Looney Tunes when I was a kid.” Stifling giggles, he teleped an ima
ge to her.

Tasmae gaped in astonishment. “And I gave you this im
pression?”

“Well…” Deryl started
teasingly.

Joshua smacked him with the comb. “It's a pun, a play on words. Tasmae. Tasmanian devil. Tasmanian she-devil. Humans have lots of fun with words and sounds. Puns. Word games. Poetry. Songs—words put to music.” Seeing Tamae's curiosity, he started singing one of Chipotl
e's songs.

Tasmae frowned. “So it's not another of your languages? It's not to communicate inf
ormation?”

“Oh, sure,” Joshua answered, and when Deryl looked dubious, sang, “A B C D E F G. Or, if you want to get more technical…” He sang another ditty, this one a rather technical one about C
-sections.

“You made that up?” Deryl asked,
impressed.

Joshua gave Tasmae's hair one last pass with the comb, then ran his hands over it, settling it into place. “Yup, for Sachiko when she was taking that Procedures for the Reproductive Systems class. But I do it all the time. Humans sing for lots of reasons, Tasmae. To memorize information, to entertain, to commemorate an event—” He sang a verse from “Battle of New Orleans.” “—to express an
emotion—”

Something pulled at Deryl, something he couldn't quite focus on. It made him lightheaded and closed his eyes against the dizziness. “To alter reality,” he murmured, though he didn't realize he was speaking. “To bend the world to y
our will.”

Then, the feeling was gone. He blinked as if waking up fro
m a dream.

Joshua was giving him an
odd look.

“What?” He asked h
is friend.

Before Joshua could reply, Tasmae asked, “Why did you sing while
confined?”

Joshua gave him a long look before answering Tasmae's question. “Comfort. I was scared, worried, lonely; after awhile, bored. I sang whatever came into my mind at the time. Lots of them were religious songs, prayers—asking for help and comfort, mostly, but there are a lot for praise, too.” He sang the chorus from “Sing to the Mountains” to illustrate his point. “And there are love songs—for God, for others, wanting to be loved, having loved
and lost—”

“But it is not a language,” Tasmae pursued. She twisted to face Joshua, her brows knit in conc
entration.

Deryl couldn't help but smile. Many times, he'd been put under the same interrogation. It was nice to watch her apply it to someone else for
a change.

And just to watch her,
a small part of his mind insisted. Her hair, detangled and sleek, settled itself on her shoulder with an alluring curve before draping down her back. His hands curled into fists against the desire to reach out and touch it. Her dark eyes shone with interest, her lips pursed slightly, her whole self so keenly directed on Josh that Deryl found himself mesmerized. It wasn't beauty, per se; it was too intense, too focused. Yet it
drew him.

“Yes and no,” Joshua was saying. “The language—I mean, the words themselves—are separate. There are hundreds, maybe thousands of languages on Earth, and each can be put to music. However, the music can change the language—songwriters bend some rules, like grammar, in favor of the rules of rhythm and meter. Music can also alter the emotional element. Change the tone and tempo of a song and you can change the meaning without altering the words.” To demonstrate, Joshua sang the slow, jazzy version of “Blue Moon,” then the rock-and-roll Beach Boys' version of the
same song.

“How do you humans keep track of it all?” Tasmae finally demanded in frustration. Joshua laughed, and Deryl, broken from her spell, joined him. “How do you can understand ea
ch other?”

“We don't,” Deryl told her, “not all of us, and not always. There are a lot of wars on ou
r planet.”

Deryl and Tasmae both fell into a brood
y silence.