Crystal Warrior: Through All Eternity (Atlantean Crystal Saga Book 1) (35 page)

Cronos knows when they'd last eaten cooked food. At first she'd spurned the idea of chewing on raw fish and vegetables but eventually hunger, and Taur's angry insistence, had overcome squeamishness. And she was so tired. Please Ist, let there be no more injuries for a little while, just long enough for me to rest, she prayed, closing her eyes and leaning her head back on the couch.

‘Golden One, Golden One, wake up. Holy Cronos! Gyn'a, please wake up!’

Her eyes were desperately heavy but she forced them to open and focus on Taur. His hair was tied back in a matted mess on his shoulders, a vivid bruise purpled round one eye, and a deep laceration scored his cheek. Moisture trickled from his hair, and his face and body were slick with it. The sheepskin cloak and leather war kirt streamed water onto the already water-slick boards of the floor.

As she registered the desperation of his appearance, she also became conscious of a more piercing scream in the wind above the shattering roar of the turbulent sea.

Taur gripped her hand between his huge wet palms and just gazed at her for a moment, then he said, ‘Can you understand me, Gyn'a?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘What is it?’

‘We've run into seas the like of which I've never seen. I deeply fear we'll not find Heceuda Harbor. The crystal direction finder has smashed. We've taken on so much water it's impossible for the pumps to keep up and the men are exhausted. The only advantage we have at this moment is that all three turbines are still working. It's midday but it might as well be the middle of the darkest night for all we can see. Alara, you must understand I did what I did for the best of reasons. I believed I'd bring you to safety. If we don't make it—I—just needed you to know that.’

Chapter 20

Alara. Beloved. Tears seeped beneath her lids.

The ship tilted alarmingly. Taur gripped the back-rail of the couch with bloodless fingers. Terrified shouts from above fused with the crash of mountainous waters and howling winds.

‘I'm sorry, Gyn'a. I never meant for this to happen!’ he rasped, clutching her with one hand. ‘Believe me—I'm—’

‘Taur,’ she cried above the clamor of the elements, her mind crystal clear. His use of the precious term, alara, had washed away all weariness. ‘You may be a King but you can’t command the elements! If we die, we die.’ Clutching at the sodden folds of his sheepskin cape, she dragged in a sobbing breath and continued. ‘I cry for what we could be to one another—yet never can be. I cry for what I want with you but can never have. I cry for us. If it's our time to join our wee Solon, then so be it. At least in death we can be together.’

‘Aah, Gyn'a.’ Dropping onto the couch, he wrapped her in his wet, cold embrace. ‘I had such dreams for us. Tell me of Solon. Quickly. I must go aloft and help the men. That night I came to Qrazil you said he was the image of me. Is this true?’

Unable to deny herself the luxury, Gynevra allowed her trembling fingers to trace the whisker-roughened contours of the visage that had filled her dreams for so long.

‘Yes. He was an exact replica of his light-sire. His hair was black and silky, his chin cleft, his eyes more hazel than green, and when he was angry his brows came together just like yours and—he—could bellow like a bull.’

The memories tore at her insides as the wind ripped at the ship. How she’d longed to share her grief with Solon’s true father. Clinging to him she surrendered to the pain and the sensation of sanctuary she’d only ever known in his arms. His presence made her feel safe—and complete. Not even in the early days of her partnership with Gotham had she known this sense of wholeness. What cruel fate could decree they must be separate? Taur’s arms tightened as if he knew her thoughts and supported her protest. A flurry of oaths and shouts reached them through the din of the elements. He loosened his grip and brushed the tangle of hair back from her cheek.

His voice rough with an emotion she knew he’d never voice, he said, ‘You'd better try and stay awake. If the worst happens I promise to come for you.’

‘Can I help?’

The shadows in his eyes lightened. He cupped her face in his palms and gazed into her eyes, memorizing all he saw.

‘Call on the might of Poseidon and Merea to bring us safely to port. Don't come out of here unless I call for you. We've already lost two men overboard. If it be Divine Will to bring us to port I don’t intend to arrive without you.’

Abruptly he released her and started for the door. She couldn’t let him go without telling him what was in her heart. There might never be another chance.

‘Taur?’

He turned.

‘I love you. I would've come willingly had I been able.’

His eyes glowed briefly down at her.

‘I know, Golden One,’ he answered. Then he was gone.

For some moments after the door slammed behind him, Gynevra sat hugging to herself the joy, and the exquisite pain, of what they’d shared. Then the violent tossing of the ship reminded her of the extremities they faced and his request she invoke the power of the Gods. Settling herself cross-legged on the couch, she drew a woolen cloak around her shoulders for warmth. Unlike the warriors, she wasn't trained to go naked in practically any weather.

Her hands fell to her thighs, palms up, thumb and middle fingers lightly touching, in the powerful meditation and invocation posture. All awareness of violence faded.

‘Poseidon, Father of the Ocean, Merea, Goddess of the Sea in all her tempers, Ist, Sacred Mother of all—’

Sacred Mother! A bolt of energy shot up her spine. Her mind was clear enough to raise the energy to apportate! She could return to Qrazil. She could save herself.

And leave Taur and his men to drown. Her chin dropped to her chest, her body slumped. Forgive me, Divine Ist, I cannot do that.

But she could raise the energy to save the ship and all aboard her. Couldn’t she?

Channeling a bolt of energy strong enough for such a mission was not normally undertaken by a lone channeler. But there was no time to consider any other course. If the energy stole her life force, so be it. She would give her life gladly to save Taur's.

Spine straight, eyes closed, focus inward, Gynevra began the invocation again, calling on the power of all the mighty ones, Great Ra, God of the Sun; Ist, Goddess of Life and her consort Asar, God of the Underworld; Poseidon, God of the Elements and Ancient Hallowed Father of Atlantis; Set, God of the Storm.

Reciting their names of power raised the energy within and around her forming a pyramid of protection within which all was calm, all was safe. With intense inward focus she slowly enlarged the pyramid, pushing its base and apex further and further out until it encompassed the whole ship.

Steadfastly she focused the energy, visualizing the calm sanctuary of Heceuda Harbor, raising the power, intensifying the vibration, until she saw on her inner vision the symbol of completion. The power-word of release issued from her throat in a scream as the vortex of energy swept from her heart center, up her spine and out through her crown chakra.

The main shaft of the front turbine had snapped like a cabotin! They were down to two thirds power and it was only a matter of moments before the extra strain took out the other two turbines. This was what he'd dreaded for days now. Without the turbines they were helpless in the clutch of the storm.

It was time to go to Gynevra. But first he must give his last orders to his men, thank them for their loyalty, their friendship, their efforts, their bravery. Turning to Lord Aronad, fighting at his side with the mighty steering shaft in a useless effort to control their course, he was stunned to see absolutely nothing, to sense a moment of complete calm. Before he could react or speak he had the craziest sensation of whirling through a wild vortex of color. His eyes had been wide open all the time, he'd swear, yet of a sudden there was Aronad again, standing beside him, face white, eyes startled.

‘What in Hyades—?’ Aronad began but words failed him as they stared at the calm waters and distant, mist-shrouded shoreline of Heceuda Harbor.

Taur spoke first.

‘I've been on some incredible journeys during Temple ritual and meditation but that was unlike anything I've ever experienced. Aronad, what do you say?’

Lord Aronad’s blue eyes had taken on the murky grey of the harbor waters and the storm-bitten sky above.

‘That was like being caught in an—energy—vortex,’ he said slowly, staring around as if to see from whence the bolt had come and what else might be in store for them.

‘Gynevra!’ Taur rasped, a sudden fear gripping him.

Turning for the stairs to below-deck, he leapt down them in three strides. Something was terribly wrong. The knowing was a slicing sword-wound in his chest.

She was slumped sideways on the couch, her face an ashen mask. He needed to go to her, touch her, know that she lived. But he couldn’t take the step from the door that would bring him to her. If she was dead the stark and awful truth was he had no desire to live either. The sound of footsteps on the stairs shocked his limbs into movement. To be found stricken like a clod over a woman was to simply give away his throne and his reputation as a sire. He leapt across the space, dropped to Gynevra’s side and took her urgently into his arms.

‘Gyn'a!’ he said sharply. His heart beating painfully in his chest like a runaway horse, he felt fear like he’d never known even on the eve of battle. ‘By all the Gods, you can't leave me now, just when we've gained haven!—Aronad!’

His roar brought Aronad instantly to his side, face blanched, eyes starting from his head. Forgetting formality, he cried, ‘What in Hyades happened?’

‘Cloaba! Aronad, I don't know! She's—she's dead!’

‘Dead?’ Aronad whispered, his eyes wide. Staring back at his lieutenant, Taur realized Aronad was as fearful as himself and the source of that fear could just as easily explain his own abject terror. It was one thing to kidnap the Archinus Elect but to have her die in their hands! Cronos, such a calamity was unimaginable.

‘She can't be,’ Aronad said, rallying.

Gently he laid his hand over Gynevra's heart. ‘Her heart beats.’ He laid his cheek by her face. ‘She breathes. She's not dead, Sire, but unconscious. Lay her down.’

‘She's not dead?’

Aronad looked closely at him and Taur dropped his eyes the better to hide the shades of terror that no doubt still lurked therein. Even now as he observed the signs Aronad had discerned so readily, he scarce dared to believe, to hope.

‘Ta’a. Something is very wrong, but she's not dead. It could just be that she's more susceptible to the energy vortex or whatever that was—or maybe she just hasn’t eaten enough over the last few days, Sire. Lay her down.’

For a moment his arms refused to release her. He was still in danger of exposing to his lieutenant the reality of his feelings for their captive. But at last his muscles relaxed and he laid her against the clagrenon.

‘What do we do?’ he asked roughly.

A wicked glint appeared in Aronad’s eye as he considered his King. Then he drawled, ‘Faced with a horde of screaming pirates with knives in their teeth and death in their eyes, the Bull of Nyalda would’ve known instantly what to do. Faced with a woman in a dead faint, he's helpless.’

At Taur's menacing glare, he hurriedly added, ‘If the ship's still mobile, run for the dock and secure a healer from Temple Hecanil.’

Taur nodded. The answer was simple enough yet fear for this woman seemed to have stolen his power to reason.

‘Get a report on the damage to the ship. If she's capable, take her in. I'll look after the Princess.’

That way he could be alone with her, touch her, hold her unobserved. He had to consider whether some of his fear was for his own sanity. Observing such behavior in another Son of the Dragon, he’d have been the first to cry, ‘Clod!’

In less than an hour they were underway, though to Taur, trying to warm Gynevra and breathe some vitality into her, it seemed much longer. Four huge emergency oars were retrieved from the belly of the ship and each manned by ten men. Before they'd come halfway up the harbor two smaller ships of the fleet met them and took them under tow to the docks.

Reluctantly he relinquished his post at Gynevra's side to Pog, his dwarf servitor who was never far from his master's heels. Cocooned in every rug he could find, Gynevra lay like a cold marble statue, Pog watching her every shallow breath. The sooner he got the ship to dock the better.

Gynevra pulled the thick woolen cloak closer about her shoulders and nursed the anger in her belly. With a warm hood drawn about her face she glared across at the onyx and crystal powerhouse on its rocky island in Heceuda Harbor. Dredging up every furious epithet she knew, she applied them to King Cadal Isidor. She'd not seen him once since she'd regained consciousness in this place. His rabon, Lord Maden, had visited. Dogon had delighted her by visiting and confirming his loyalty to Nyalda and Taur. Even the funny little dwarf called Pog had visited a couple of times but of Nyalda's King she'd seen nothing. Her anger on that account was merely pique she knew. He'd gone to the trouble of kidnapping her only to ignore her once he'd secured her in his prison.

It was this which stirred her anger. He'd effectively imprisoned her by using the powerhouse to activate an energy web so she couldn't apportate anywhere. What was worse, if it wasn't for the blood-nipping cold, she couldn't imagine any place she'd rather be than right where she was. Heceuda Harbor was a hidden paradise of quiet rippling waters where fish leapt and frolicked like children at play and toy-like bark canoes with colorful sails skimmed across the water. The city was a quaint tumble of half timbered, red roofed buildings on limestone or rose-stone bases, clinging to the cliffs like limpets to rocks at the seashore.

Trees grew above the walls of courtyards and clung to every rocky crevice between the buildings. Flowers bloomed in pots and boxes on window ledges and in wall niches. The contrast to Fyr Trephyr could not have been more stark. She'd spent most of the last three days sitting on the gallery watching the life of the city. Everything about this place was different. The people were so energetic, running up and down the steep, stepped streets, calling cheerily to one another, stopping to chat or to help someone with a heavy load. But perhaps the greatest difference was in the Temple. Both Qrazil and Ceabryn had been walled away from prying eyes, a place apart. Hecanil seemed to be in the very center of the business district and almost every chamber had a view over city, harbor, and distant mountains. Certainly, the inner sanctuaries would be secluded and sacrosanct but all other areas of the Great Healing Temple were accessible to all.

The mountains took her breath away. The tops were still white with last season's snow and below the snow-line tall conifers marched in serried ranks like warriors in formation. The lower slopes coming down to the far side of the harbor were rolling grassy downs dotted with trees and animals. She longed to explore them on horseback, to ride with the wind whipping at her face and stinging tears to her eyes.