Spherical Harmonic Read Online Free Page A

bordered by wet moss. Smoke curled through a hole in the roof. The heat and humidity made the place like a sauna. A scrap of cloth lay among the coals. Charred cloth. Blue. It was all that remained of my clothes. Embarrassed, I tugged on my bonds, trying to cover myself. The roots flexed but showed no sign of loosening. If anything, they tightened. I quit fighting and concentrated on breathing, which had suddenly become a challenge.
     
     
After a moment, the roots loosened. "Come on," I muttered. "You can get out of this." I surveyed the cavity. It didn't contain much: a dish and cup by the fire, both red clay, and a pitcher with a spout. The pitcher smelled of water. Did the treeman intend to drink it? If he could, chances were I could too. I had to risk it; my thirst had become excruciating.
     
     
Moving with care, I straightened my leg. The roots pulled tight, until I struggled to breathe. I waited for them to loosen. They were curled around my torso, hips, and upper thighs, but their tangle didn't extend farther down my body. When I could breathe again, I stretched my leg to the fire pit. It took several stops and starts to deal with the tightening cords, but I managed to hook the pot with my foot. I pulled it toward me, first using my foot, then my knee, slowly so it didn't tip over. With all the pauses, it seemed to take forever. But finally I brought it to my body.
     
     
I bent my head between my arms, an awkward position with my hands bound. Straining downward, I managed to grab the pitcher with my teeth. As I straightened, the pot slipped, but before it fell, I caught it with my elbows. Frantic with thirst, I worked it up into my hands and tipped it to my mouth, not even waiting for the roots to loosen.
     
     
Water ran down my throat, warm and welcome. According to my nanomeds, it contained bacteria my stomach wouldn't appreciate, but nothing it couldn't handle. However, this water wasn't the same as that in the lake. It had probably been boiled…
     
     
    * * *
"…are you?" a deep voice asked.
     
     
I jerked. The treeman was sitting against a wall. Outside, night had fallen. Fear constricted my chest. Where had he come from?
     
     
He almost looked human. He wore green trousers woven with softened threads, perhaps spun from the plants. Vine designs lined their seams, flecks of bright green and blue beetle carapaces sewn into the cloth. Similar designs bordered the well-formed collar and cuffs of his tunic, and the lower hem that lay against his thighs. His belt looked like cured plates of plant armor, also inlaid with vine designs in red, blue, violet, and gold. His boots wrapped around his muscular legs, with thongs crisscrossing them from foot to knee. Other thongs ornamented with violet and red carapace-enamel hung from their upper edges, their tassels braided with red beads. His hair resembled moss again, curling to his shoulders, as if he had turned partially back into a forest creation.
     
     
"Cold, are you?" he repeated.
     
     
"Hot." My voice rasped. "Too much—" I searched my memory for the right Shay word. "Too much steam."
     
     
He remained silent, sitting by the wall, one of his long legs stretched out, the other bent at the knee with his elbow resting on it.
     
     
Despite the strange circumstances, this felt familiar. A memory came to me. A cold place. Freezing. A huge guard held me wrapped in his jacket, trying to keep me warm, though he shook with cold. All moisture had frozen out of the air. We were in a hovercar. The driver was dead, killed by the avalanche that had engulfed the car. The weight of snow would have crushed us all had the driver not braced himself against the roof, adding the final support that kept the craft from collapsing. He had given his life to save mine. My heart wrenched with the memory. What had I done, that they would make such a sacrifice?
     
     
A clue: both men had worn uniforms. Military. Imperial Space Command. ISC. They were my bodyguards. Why I, a