Resenting the Hero by Moira J. Moore

Author:Moira J. Moore [Moore, Moira J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Science Fiction/Fantasy, General, Fantasy, Fiction, Fantasy Fiction, Magic, Fantasy Fiction; Canadian
ISBN: 9780441013883
Google: QJjrw1-uYCkC
Amazon: 0441013880
Publisher: Ace
Published: 2006-02-27T07:00:00+00:00

The crazy Source was on the loose. In Middle Reach, of all places. What was he doing out there? They weren’t supposed to let him out of the academy unsupervised until he was bonded. And if he was so old he was no longer considered dangerous, he should have been sent somewhere to work. One of the staff at the academy or at the very least out looking for undiscovered Shields and Sources.

Of course, he could be doing that in Middle Reach, but Middle Reach already had Pairs who would, in their spare time—and I imagined they had a lot of it—perform that task.

And why was he writing to Karish? In such a sickeningly submissive manner. Your talent, your breeding, with the word “noble” used at least half a dozen times. They couldn’t have been friends, could they? It was impossible that Karish, with his enormous circle of acquaintances, could feel any sort of attraction to someone as twisted as Creol.

Hold on, there. Remember to think a little before you make a judgment. You relied on reputation with Karish, and look where it got you. You have never even spoken to Creol; you can’t possibly know what he’s really like.

Still, it was odd that he was, apparently, urging Karish to leave his post, and me, which would be an illegal act on Karish’s part. And not just for a vacation, but permanently. Very strange. And to Middle Reach.

Why was he in Middle Reach? No one chose to go there. Everyone who lived there had been forced there by one unfortunate set of circumstances or another. Or had been born there and couldn’t get out. The only reason I could think of for Creol to be there was if the Triple S was punishing him for something, but that was an unusual punishment for someone who wasn’t even Paired yet, and nothing had come through the rumor mill.

I set the letter aside with plans to look at it again later.

I suffered through a long series of love letters. Some embarrassed me, they were so blunt in their expressions of desire. Some made me laugh, because surely no one really believed Karish was an actual son of a genuine god. One disturbed me, for the author was piteously pleading for forgiveness for some unnamed crime, his words filled with such self-loathing that I almost squirmed in discomfort.

I went through a series of letters from relatives asking Karish to use his influence over his brother to encourage him to give them money, positions, introductions, and other forms of assistance. The tone of these letters ranged from embarrassed and apologetic to petulant, demanding, and even a little threatening.

There was a letter from a Reanist, asking Karish if he would like to be the religious group’s next sacrifice and earn his place in the garden of the gods.

More love letters. Ho-hum. Another letter from Saint-Gerard, which made me laugh except for one line: “I’m happy for you, that things are going better with your Shield.”

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