Magus Star Rising
Chapter Twenty Two

The household is the family.

THE SCROLLS OF VANERA

The Return

There is something you should know about your sister, information that must not, under any circumstances, be revealed to the public. Trust me, this is very, very important and will, at least, prove to you I’m telling the truth. We need to replace Arshelle before she harms someone else. The Karda and the hospice, for various reasons, will be dragging their feet on this one, I assure you. Unfortunately, I, myself, can’t meet with you any sooner than tomorrow night. You must come. Now listen very carefully...”

Behoola’s mind whirled in confusion as she walked down the main hallway of the Honin-Zay house. The caller on her personal comm yester-sun had been Brother Luis Ortega, the hospice worker she had met before. He acted in an expressly unofficial capacity, he had insisted, and she should say nothing to anyone concerning his contacting her. He didn’t give away many details and was sufficiently secretive and mysterious, but there was no mistaking the significance of the call and the earnestness of the caller. Had she not known him, even in just a casual way, she wasn’t sure she would have agreed to his requests let alone believe him at all. For, at this point, disbelief was certainly the easiest path to embrace.

Was she doing the right thing? Shouldn’t she go to the authorities herself? Arshelle had killed someone in a public place!

Politics, she had been told. Even for something as terrible as murder. An entire sun had passed since Ortega had called her and she was amazed she had managed to keep her composure that long. Surprisingly, at least to her, she had received no official notice from the Karda or the hospice about the incident involving Arshelle although Ortega had warned her that this would be the case. She had checked the daily news sheets and comm posts. Nothing had been mentioned about the crime. Apparently, even the victim’s family had been kept in the dark.

According to Ortega, the hospice was initiating a cover-up to avoid any embarrassment until they knew more about what had happened. A lurid murder on hospice soil would not do in any case and since this was unprecedented in hospice history, there was some confusion on how to handle it.

Per Ortega’s instructions, Behoola had steeled herself to wait until this-moon, to pretend nothing was amiss. But, in the meantime, a whole sun had come and gone and Arshelle could be anywhere!

Shelle. What have you done?

Simon Weller had become her confidante in this. She had told him everything she knew in the garden earlier that day. The fact they had met at all convinced her she could trust him. But what would they do? How were they to resolve this?

Shrugging off these new concerns as best she could, Behoola entered the sitting-room at her mistress’ call and bowed. Only a few candles flickered in the dimly-lit chamber, their wavering ambience casting skewed shadows throughout. Behoola frowned. Apparently, her mistress had turned the interior globelights off and lit the candles herself. Why such darkness? Behoola thought. “Welcome home, Mistress. It is good to have you back.”

Like a shadow herself, Claudia Honin-Zay stood at the windows, a belted meditation wrap covering her from head to foot. Only her forehead and eyes were free of the voluminous garment’s wrappings but even those features were mottled in the checkered light. Her hand, adorned with several rings, held the collar of her wrap tightly almost as if she were afraid it might come undone.

“Thank you, Behoola,” she said, her voice low and, Behoola thought, tired. “I am sorry I am so late. The sessions lasted well into early-moon.”

“I understand, Mistress. We expected that might happen. May I get you something to drink or eat? Are you...?

“No.” Honin-Zay turned her back to Behoola and stared out of the window at the softly glowing oil-globes scattered throughout the grounds outside. Her heavily-clothed form seemed a shapeless blob against the dark of the window. A slight haze from the globelight surrounded her with a fuzzy radiance.

Like a Spirit, Behoola thought. Or one of Vanera’s Light Servants.

“Thank you. I am tired but I need to review the lessons learned at this season’s retreat. On the morrow, of course, I will be secluded in my room to fast and meditate on what new knowledge I have absorbed.”

“Very good, Mistress. Shall I...?”

“You may have the early-moon off. Kazrah has informed the other servants they are not needed either.”

Behoola paused, the words she was about to say stuck in her throat. “Mistress?” She couldn’t believe her ears.

The dark shape nodded. “Yes. Kazrah will stay. We have many things about the retreat to discuss. You will remember you and I did the same when you accompanied me. Like you, Kazrah attended many of the sessions with me.”

“Yes. Of course.” Despite her rising alarm, Behoola felt a twinge of envy. Reliving the last retreat her mistress and she had gone to had lasted well into mid-moon after their return. It had been a lively and fun discussion. Behoola remembered it with fondness. And now, Kazrah would be sharing that experience. It was an unsettling thought somehow.

Equally so, Mistress Honin-Zay didn’t appear to want to tell Behoola anything at all about the retreat. She almost seemed in a hurry for Behoola to leave.

“Thank... thank you, Mistress, but to only have one servant here with you for the night. Is that wise?” Though Behoola and Marka were the only servants who lived in the main house, the Honin-Zays’ personal guard were housed in a barracks on another part of the estate. It’s true, they would be close and could be summoned instantly. But Marka himself would be staying at his daughter’s home tonight, and Behoola had no idea when she might return from her own planned outing.

Honin-Zay simply waved a delicate hand as if to accent that unspoken observation. “I have the camera eyes and the security system,” she added. “And besides, as I have said before, Kazrah is quite capable.” A small chuckle. “There is my husband too, of course, though, at present, he is conspicuously absent, isn’t he? No, do not bother to answer. I know where he is and what he is doing.”

Behoola shifted uncomfortably. Her mistress sounded strange, not like her usual self. She had never remarked upon her husband’s comings and goings before. Ever. “Very well, Mistress,” she said. “Again, thank you.”

Despite her unease, Behoola breathed a silent sigh of relief. She still hadn’t figured out how she was going to leave the estate for her appointment this moon. Though she had had a whole sun to think about what reasons she could give, none seemed realistic or appropriate. She hadn’t wanted to lie to her mistress but, thankfully, the Spirits seemed to have taken care of that predicament for her.

Which was a problem. Behoola had never felt so uncomfortable in her mistress’ presence before. Somehow, before she left, she wanted to purge this feeling she had that all was not quite right. “Were any new teachings revealed at the retreat, Mistress? You had mentioned earlier the discipline of thought transference recently expounded by the priestesses.” She laughed, a little bit too nervously. “Did you learn to read minds at the communa this time?”

Honin-Zay whirled to face her. Behoola jerked, startled at the intensity of her mistress’ gaze. Even in the lowered interior light, Claudia Honin-Zay’s eyes were wide and staring. “Do not ridicule Vanera’s teachings,” she hissed. “You know better than that, Behoola.”

Behoola was taken aback. Was her mistress ill? Did something happen to her on her retreat to cause her to act in such an unfamiliar manner? “I... I am sorry, Mistress. I meant no disrespect. I was just making a joke.”

Honin-Zay took three quick steps toward Behoola. Behoola stepped back. Was her mistress going to strike her? “Never make such jokes again,” Honin-Zay said, her voice low and threatening. “Do you understand?”

“Yes... yes, mistress.” But I don’t understand.

It was then Behoola saw her mistress’ pale face, the drawn look about the eyes and mouth. She is ill, she thought.

Honin-Zay turned away from Behoola again. “You may go,” she said softly. “But I will require your presence later. Come to my bedchamber at mid-moon. I have something to discuss with you.”

So late? “Yes, Mistress.” Behoola bowed to her mistress’ back, turned and began walking out of the room. The thought of yet another long sun was daunting. It had been quite a week.

“Behoola.”

Behoola turned to replace her mistress leaning against her writing desk, her hands gripping the top of its chair tightly as if she might fall over. She seemed to be having trouble breathing. “I know I have not been myself these past few moons. I am tired and a little preoccupied. There are matters afoot I cannot really discuss. You must forgive my outbursts. Later, when we talk, everything will be made clear to you. I promise.”

“Of course, mistress.” At the sight of her mistress hunched over the chair and at the sound of those words spoken in her true voice, Behoola felt the need to go to her, to embrace her, to comfort her in some way. But though a small crack had appeared, a wall still surrounded Claudia Honin-Zay, not the formal, societal wall between servant and mistress but another one, one of her own making, that Behoola, as yet, could not breach.

“What is it, Mistress? What is wrong?” Behoola’s heart ached for the woman who had taken her in when so many had turned her away because of her halfer ancestry; for the one who had shown her innumerable kindnesses and opportunities. “Please. Let me help you.”

For a moment, Behoola thought her mistress was about to say something more but her features hardened at her Head Servant’s words. She stood straight, once again the mistress of the house. “Nothing is wrong. How dare you imply such a thing. Now go.”

Reluctantly, her face hot, Behoola bowed again and left. She stopped just outside the sitting-room’s outer anteroom and looked back toward the darkened chamber. The woman she had just been talking to didn’t seem like Claudia Honin-Zay at all. She seemed almost like two different people.

What should I do? she thought. What should I do? Behoola folded her arms across her shoulders, hugging herself as she once again thought of the purported madness linked with the Magus Star. Surely that is a myth, she thought. Surely this is explained by something else.

“Do you have an engagement this moon?”

The voice cut through her like a knife. Behoola jumped, teetering off-balance to such a degree that she had to grasp the edge of the doorway for support. Kazrah stood a few feet from her, his own dark-clad form blending into the décor like a statue.

“Kazrah! You startled me.”

Kazrah smiled. “My apologies. I did not mean to frighten you.”

Liar. This creature was her mistress’ problem!

Kazrah glided forward until he stood in front of Behoola. His eyes, as usual were unreadable, just blank orbs resembling stone more than flesh. “I was just wondering if you had somewhere to go this moon. It seems the other servants do. It is the first moon of the Magus Star Festival, after all.”

Behoola stared back at the attendant/bodyguard. “Of course. I’m going to visit an old friend. If it’s any of your business.”

Again, the smile. Behoola felt as if this one was more vipan than sentient. Her skin crawled. What was it about him?

“Good. Your mistress and I will probably be up very late.” He seemed to withdraw for a moment, as if thinking about something. “You do not like me very much, do you?”

Behoola continued returning his gaze. “We do not have to like each other to accomplish our mutual purpose, which is the care of this household and its occupants.”

Kazrah nodded. “Well put. I am glad you feel that way. You may need to remember that attitude later.” With that, he walked past Behoola, his floating steps taking him towards the sitting-room and her mistress.

“Remember my attitude later?” Behoola said. “What is that supposed to mean?” Kazrah stopped and turned slightly to look back at her. “My ‘motives’, as you so mysteriously put it, are in complete accord with those of your mistress. I urge you to keep that in mind.”

“And I urge you to forego your corrupting of my mistress’ heart.” Behoola grasped her knife, her own heart pounding. “I know that’s what you’ve done. I will do anything I can to stop you.”

Surprisingly, Kazrah did something Behoola did not expect, had not, in fact, ever see him do before. He laughed. “I suspect,” he said, a twisted smile still lingering on his face, “you should talk to your mistress about that. I believe she would disagree with you.” Like a spidertoad scuttling into its den, he turned and disappeared into the sitting-room.

Behoola felt as if the air around her had suddenly turned foul and unbreathable. Chilled, she took a few tentative steps down the hallway but stopped, unsure, her mind full of doubt. Her recent quandary concerning her mistress came back with a vengeance. She had thought the retreat might be good for her but Mistress Honin-Zay seemed more troubled than ever. And why did she want to talk to her later? Kazrah spoke as if he knew nothing of this request, that he and her mistress would be occupied until the morn.

“Everything will be made clear to you,” her mistress had said. This is getting to be too much, Behoola thought. She needed help. She must talk to someone! The Karda? No, surely this was a clan affair, not easily given over to an outside authority. At least not yet. Marka perhaps? Maybe even Master Honin-Zay. Surely the master wasn’t so preoccupied with his slag that he would ignore a possible danger to his household. Or would he?

Simon Weller again came into her mind. She had disobeyed Brother Ortega’s instructions to tell Weller of Arshelle’s escape and crime without even a second thought. It was almost as if their lives had been entwined through Arshelle for a very long time, though neither had known it. How strange is life! she marveled. And how unfair.

Yet the Terran seemed a logical choice to help her because of his relationship with Arshelle. Both he and Behoola’s ultimate goals were the same. And there was something intrinsically good about him. Behoola remembered their encounter in the garment district. Yes, he had frightened her but, in the end, had realized his mistake and projected a certain remorse.

Oddly enough, they seemed to work well together on a certain level. She and Weller had masked their feelings after their meeting in the garden yester-sun. Master Honin-Zay had already gone to meet with his so-called ‘business associate’ but had instructed Behoola on what the problem with his computer system was. She and Weller had said nothing more about their earlier conversation but simply acted very business-like as two employees would, slipping into an act for the benefit of the camera eyes. She informed him of the problem and he reassured her he could correct it with no difficulties.

He had, however, agreed to accompany her to the meeting tonight proposed by Brother Ortega.

But Behoola felt confused and torn on another front. Both her sister and her mistress were in trouble. Arshelle’s predicament was horribly obvious. Though her mistress’ wasn’t so evident, something was wrong and the situation became more unraveled every day. Behoola realized it now seemed to be coming to a head.

She had committed herself to this meeting tonight. She had to help Arshelle! Though Mistress Honin-Zay had treated her well, Arshelle was the only family Behoola had left.

But she couldn’t abandon her mistress either.

She paused then, lost in thought, juggling her choices and cursing the mysterious and frustrating ways of the Spirits. She had slept restlessly the moon before, wondering what to make of it all. To her shame, she still had not decided what to do.

Her head rose as laughter sounded from the sitting-room. It was her mistress’ laugh, unmistakable yet somehow different. Harsh, cruel. Behoola’s earlier observation about the Spirits providing her an opportunity for leaving the estate tonight came back to her. Perhaps they were trying to guide her.

A sudden Terran expression that seemed to apply abruptly came to mind. ‘Blood is thicker than water’.

Looking back once more over her shoulder, she made her decision. She would attend this meeting together with Simon Weller. She would return later this-moon and confront her mistress about Kazrah. If that accomplished nothing, she would go to Master Honin-Zay. If that, too, proved fruitless, she would organize the servants, talk

Behoola shuddered at the boldness of what she thought. So many problems. So many decisions to make. But to actually do it? she thought. Can I really do it?

Placing her fingers to her temples, she walked down the curving hall that would eventually, by many twists and turns, and hidden angles, lead to her quarters.

“Hooly.”

Behoola stopped cold as if a knife had pinched the small of her back. Icy fingers ran down her spine as she turned back to where the sound of that whispered word originated.

Terenio, Marka’s Second, stood in front of the sitting-room entrance, a tray of food and drink in his hands. Unseen by Behoola until this moment, he had, no doubt, entered the hallway from one of the several side entrances. Dressed in his off-duty clothes, short and burly with unusually close-cropped hair for a Senitte male, he stared at Behoola with a curious expression on his face. A cross between a smile and a sneer creased his features. His eyes seemed to look right through her, bright and piercing.

“Terenio,” Behoola said, her throat suddenly dry. “What did you just say?” Though Behoola and Marka were friends, she and the normally quiet and reserved Terenio were no more than acquaintances and fellow seconds. Nevertheless, Marka’s Second wore an intense aura this moon, one Behoola had never sensed before.

At that moment, Kazrah appeared behind Terenio from the outer anteroom’s doorway. “Terenio. Come. Your mistress needs to eat.” Kazrah gave Behoola a quick look. “Despite what she says, she has to keep her strength up.”

Without looking back at Kazrah or acknowledging him in any way, Terenio turned and followed him into the sitting-room.

Behoola practically ran down the hallway. Am I hearing things? She thought. Is the Magus Star affecting me also? ‘Hooly’ was a nickname her sister had called her when they were children. How would Terenio know that? And why would he call her that now?

I am hearing things, Behoola thought. Surely my imagination plays tricks on me. Arshelle has been on my mind. Yes, that’s it.

Then she remembered the look on Terenio’s face. I will speak to Marka tomorrow, she thought. About everything.