Destiny of the Light: Shadow Through Time 1 (13 page)

Then came a moment of stillness. Lying captive beneath him, Khatrene looked up with love-drugged eyes, her hands slipping from his body to lie at her sides. Talis let his gaze cherish her pale beauty, even as he poised himself to cleave to the woman of his heart.

I know you will not hurt me, Talis
, she whispered, and he paused. Holding his strength in its grasp, the Forest urged him on, but Talis knew he must stop. If he followed his vision and took the fierce pleasure the Forest offered him he would be bound to the Princess more surely than if they had exchanged a wedding vow, and in the world they must inhabit, that could never be.

‘I will not,’ he gritted, teeth locked together, but he could not stop the onrush of sensation the Forest had teased from his loins. Like a river dammed too high, it lay ready to break past its captor and flood liquid warmth to the far reaches of its domain. In desperation he shouted, ‘I call on the intercession of the Ancestors!’ clutching at the threads of his self-control as the incantation caused the forest to fall quiet around him.

Mercifully, the Princess faded from his view and he found his eyes were open, staring up into the night sky. The clarity of the air stung his tensed nerves and he trembled as he made to rise, knowing he had only moments before the Forest awoke. A shudder passed over him as the clinging plants slid from his body and their more intimate embraces fell away. Then he was on his knees, stumbling forward to clear land where he struggled into his breeches, fighting the powerful forces leashed within him which still ached for release.

The chill of Rue Marsh drifted around him and Talis let it seep into his bones as he lay trembling on the ground. An hour passed, perhaps two, then at last, with the deadening of his desire, came rational thought.

Despite the weakness of his body, the Guardian power was strong within him and he had not succumbed to the temptation of the Forest. Thus the bond between himself and the Princess was not solidly formed. And yet neither was it destroyed as he had hoped. The too real vision of her willing surrender made him believe Khatrene his, when soon enough she would belong to another. She would bond with another, as he should … must bond with Lae.

And yet now, he could not.

Lae was as dear to him as any sister would have been, and she deserved the love of a husband. Talis, with no love, no desire to give her, could not be that man. All that he had belonged to the White Princess, and though she would never be his, he could do nothing to change his heart.

While Khatrene lived he would not lie in the bed of another woman. This was the harsh truth the Forest had given him, and it was best known early, before their marriage vows brought Lae anguish.

Born a warrior, sacrifice was not unknown to Talis, but the depth of what he must now relinquish lay heavy on his heart. It would be difficult enough to release Lae from her betrothal vow, but to tell his uncle he would not father sons to continue the Guardian line …

Then came the unwelcome thought of watching his Princess find love and children in the arms of the husband destiny had decreed should be hers. For all the years she lived he must stand at her side as her Champion, coveting what belonged to another.

In that moment only duty stood between Talis and despair. That and his Champion’s vow.

Serve. Honour. Obey.

To this he must hold fast. And so he did as he donned his clothes and set off for the Deep Sanctum, there to face the woman who had won his heart and would never know.

‘T
he vapours of Rue Marsh lie heavy on the heart,’ Pagan said to Khatrene, nodding at his cousin who trudged through the clinging mud ten paces ahead. Talis’s short blade rose and fell, hacking a path for them through rope-vines that hung like Christmas tinsel from thick fungus trees. An odd, clinging mist lay on the water and hovered just above their heads, narrowing their field of vision to man height.

Khatrene and Pagan followed behind Talis, Pagan occasionally having to catch her arm when one of her boots stuck and she overbalanced. She hadn’t toppled over yet, but if they didn’t reach dry land soon Khatrene was sure she’d collapse into the cold slush and never be seen again.

‘So that’s his excuse for being grumpy?’ she said. ‘Rue Marsh?’

Pagan shrugged and Khatrene went back to watching her feet. Their conversation had kept her mind off her aches and pains but she didn’t believe for a minute that Pagan knew what was going on in his cousin’s mind, and she sure as hell didn’t. Her usually charming Champion had woken up on the wrong side of the stone floor and all she’d been able to get out of him were monosyllables.

He was acting as though there was a space around her he didn’t want to penetrate. It was almost as if… ‘Pagan?’ she said, then paused to concentrate on her foot which had become stuck. She wrenched it out and began moving again. ‘Is my breath getting furry?’

Her young companion smiled and shook his head, his own feet rising and falling with none of the exertion hers seemed to require. ‘My Lady,’ he said, ‘Your breath is as sharp and sweet as the nesdai you consume.’

‘That reminds me.’ Something else to take her mind off her aching legs. She held out a hand and he rifled through the bag slung across his chest before handing her four small, soft leaves. Khatrene popped one into her mouth and munched as they slogged forward. ‘This is so like peppermint,’ she said, then stopped talking for a moment to catch some breaths. ‘If I could blow bubbles with it I’d feel like I was back home.’

‘Home, My Lady?’ Pagan gave her a slow, thoughtful glance. ‘Do you speak of Magoria this way?’ His hand came out to steady her as the same boot stuck again.

‘Yeah.’ She frowned, wrenching the boot out and continuing. ‘I guess I do. I know this is supposed to be my home, but it doesn’t feel like it.’

‘I was sorry to hear from my cousin that your memories were lost, My Lady,’ he said and was silent a moment. Then he added brightly, ‘But there is good in that. I was caught once taking a lock of your hair and —’

Khatrene realised she had enough energy to grin. ‘Why on earth would you want some of my hair?’

‘I would have been a man among boys with such a possession,’ he said, his chest rising to mock himself, ‘but you were so vexed with me you ordered my father to beat me twice.’

Even though she was laughing, Khatrene put a hand to her mouth in shock and stumbled into Pagan. He righted her and they looked at each other. ‘Did I? Talis told me I was a sweet child.’

Pagan shook his head. ‘Perhaps with your Champion, My Lady. But to his apprentice cousin …’ He trailed off with an elaborate sigh.

‘Poor Pagan,’ she said, patting his arm and then hanging on to it as she wrenched a boot out and started forward again. It suddenly seemed a whole lot harder to keep her legs going. ‘And I’m sure you didn’t deserve a bit of it.’

He had the decency to shoot her a guilty grin. ‘Yet now to my joy,’ he said, ‘I find you have no memory of my trespass and likely bear no grudge for past ills.’

‘Ills? Plural? So cutting my hair wasn’t the only thing?’ She kept a hand on his arm now, not sure if she could stay upright without it.

‘All behind us now, Princess,’ he said cheerfully.

Khatrene had to agree. ‘I certainly can’t hold grudges for things I can’t remember.’

‘So I am pleased that you do not remember your childhood.’

‘I wish I could say the same.’ She glanced at the stiff back of her Champion, wondering whether his silence was because of something she’d done or some expectation she hadn’t lived up to. Not that she should care. She barely knew Talis. Still, it hurt. And she didn’t want any more hurt. She simply wanted to be taken to her brother so she could feel loved again. Was that so much to ask?

Tiredness suddenly overwhelmed her and she came to a swaying halt. Pagan was forced to hold her shoulders to keep her from falling.

‘Princess, your footsteps grow weary,’ he said softly. ‘Your strength is at an end. You must be carried if we are to clear the swamp.’

Khatrene couldn’t even raise her head.

‘Cousin,’ Pagan called, ‘the White Princess grows weary. Shall I carry her?’ Or will you? was the silent question Khatrene heard in his voice.

At that point she couldn’t have cared less. Pagan was right. She couldn’t walk another step.

Talis sloshed to a stop beside them and she dragged her head up. He was looking at Pagan’s hands on her shoulders. ‘I will carry the White Princess,’ he said, not even looking at her.

Good for you, she wanted to say, but instead she closed her eyes, thinking this whole undignified episode would be better experienced asleep. Khatrene barely felt herself being swept up into his arms, just blessed relaxation as her limbs realised they no longer had to support her. Without conscious instruction her body went limp and within seconds she was taking the soft even breaths of sleep.

Talis stood with Khatrene in his arms, feeling the complete surrender of her body to his care. Her cheek lay against his chest, her lips hung partly open and her shoulders curled towards him like a child to her pillow. Such trust lay in that surrender. More than he’d held in himself.

In fear of touching her and racked with a violent jealousy that would not allow his innocent cousin to carry her, Talis had forced his Princess to far exceed her reserves of energy. He could feel how depleted her strained resources were through the small tremors that ran down her leg muscles, even while she slept.

Pagan moved ahead to clear their path but still Talis looked at his Princess, his heart not full of the fierce desire he had feared, but a rush of sweet tenderness. Her physical vulnerability weighed heavily on him, and he thought to gift her some portion of his own strength to ease the burden on her slight body.

A palm against her forehead would hasten the rite, yet he paused to brush away strands of loosened hair, pale and soft against the darker skin of his hand. A smile touched his lips and it took him a moment to concentrate on his task, so content was he to stand with her cradled safe in his arms. Finally he began, drawing first to himself the power within and then channelling that to his hand, and on to her mind.

‘With Guardian power do I bestow the strength that you have lost.

Into your body, take it now. My own to bear the cost.’

The glow of gathered strength departed from his mind and he felt a moment’s weakness. Instantly, the tremors in Khatrene’s legs ceased and he felt her vitality grow stronger. Yet he felt something else, a sense of wellbeing that was caught fast to a memory.

He made to leave her mind in privacy, for a Guardian may not use his powers to satisfy his own curiosity, but only to heal. Yet before he could withdraw, a vision came to him of The Dark. This surprised Talis who had thought his Princess devoid of childhood memories and he bade himself watch, half in fascination, half in guilt. In the shadows of a darkened room, Djahr of Be’uccdha moved towards her, yet though his mouth moved, no sound came to Talis with the memory, which was strange in itself.

As he watched, this much younger version of The Dark he knew well came closer still and reached out a hand to the face of the Princess. At this gesture, Talis felt sharp anger rise. The Dark’s eyes, framed on one side by his sacred tattoo, were now deep with desire, his mind clearly set on the path of seduction. Then he smiled. The smile of a man who expects satisfaction.

At this, the memory abruptly ceased and Talis pulled back his hand, unsettling the Princess enough for her to murmur in her sleep.

For The Dark to look on the young Princess this way and dare to lay hands on her was cause for much anger, but into that turmoil bled some reason. In this memory, The Dark was not much older than Pagan, an age when the Princess Khatrene had likely not even been born.

Whose memory then was this, and how did it come to be in Khatrene’s mind? Talis closed his eyes and saw again how Djahr’s mouth moved, made the same movements himself searching for the sound, yet found no sense in it.

If only he had the Plainsman skill of reading silent lips.

‘Cous?’

Pagan’s call was soft, but it roused Talis from his thoughts and urged him forward. The pleasure of having the Princess in his arms now contrasted sharply with foreboding. This evening they would reach the King’s Volcastle and the destiny of the White Princess would unfold. How then would her Champion protect her from that which could not been seen, but only sensed?

K
hatrene lay snuggled against Talis’s chest, feigning sleep. She’d been awake for half an hour and felt so refreshed she was sure she could walk three days without a rest. But she was playing fox. And why? For —

C
OMFORT.

I was just going to say that. Where have you been?

W
ATCHING SPARROWS FALL.

Khatrene let that go over her head.
Why did you tell me Talis was going to sacrifice his future? Nothing happened. He’s fine.

H
IS BODY IS WHOLE
, the voice agreed.

Khatrene’s ear was against Talis’s chest and she could hear his heart; solid, even beats. He’d probably been carrying her for hours and yet she could sense no tiredness in his arms or his breathing. Physically, he seemed fine. But that had her wondering …

Then what did he sacrifice?

‘Look, Cous,’ Pagan said. ‘The marsh breaks. And there. The lowlands of Volcastle mountain.’

Talis stopped and Khatrene thought this might be an opportune moment to wake up.

‘We will wait here under cover until nightfall,’ Talis said. ‘The sun’s light is too … harsh for the White Princess.’

What?

‘Cous?’

‘Fetch kindling for a fire. We camp here.’

Khatrene heard Pagan move away, muttering, likely the same thing that was going through her mind. What sort of light could be too harsh to walk in?

D
O YOU NOT TRUST YOUR
C
HAMPION?

Is this a test?

The voice said nothing.

Khatrene opened her eyes, slowly, and found Talis already gazing at her, a slight frown creasing his brow. ‘Where are we?’ she asked.

‘A four hour march from the Volcastle, My Lady,’ he replied. ‘You will find your brother’s welcome arms this night.’

‘Just four hours?’ Khatrene couldn’t believe they were so close. After all this anguish, only another four hours. She felt so excited she wanted to run all the way but as Talis set her to her feet and stepped back a pace, his solemn expression smeared the happiness from her heart like a bug on a windscreen. Wait a minute. This wasn’t … ‘When we reach the Volcastle, will that be goodbye?’

He simply looked at her, and Khatrene felt hollow, sick. Once he’d delivered her to her brother she was never going to see him again, and suddenly, incredibly, the idea of exchanging Talis for Mihale was terrifying. How could she survive without Talis? He made her feel so safe, so …

At last he spoke. ‘I am your sworn Champion, Princess,’ he said. ‘Only death will take me from your side.’

It was a couple of seconds before his reassurance sunk in. He would still guard her. She could have Talis
and
her brother. But she’d heard something else in his voice. Reluctance? She remembered the voice’s prophecy, ‘he will sacrifice his future for you’. Would her security be bought at the expense of his happiness? Could she live with that?

Could she live without Talis?

‘I’m glad you’ll be my Champion,’ she told him, then realised that was probably the most selfish thing she’d ever said. So much for remembering how to be a princess.

He nodded, said, ‘And this nightfall you will find a brother.’

She nodded back, and was unable to suppress her own excitement. It kept bobbing up and pushing her lips into a silly grin. ‘I can’t believe he’s so close.’ She wanted to hug Talis for happiness but had the sense not to do that. So she just grinned at him and though he clearly didn’t want to smile, eventually he couldn’t help himself. In fact, she almost saw his dimples. Almost. ‘I can’t wait to see Michael,’ she said.

M
IHALE.

‘Sorry. Mihale.’ She grinned again. ‘How many hours did you say?’

‘Four, but we must wait until dark.’

‘Why —’

T
RUST
, the voice warned.

‘Okay,’ she held up her hands. ‘I can wait.’ But her legs were restless. She couldn’t stand still. In four short hours she’d have her brother back. She could watch that slow smile travel from his lips to his eyes, count the freckles across his nose, hug him until her arms felt sore. And talk. She had so much to tell him. So many things to ask.

Pagan returned and started setting up the fire.

‘I’m starving,’ she complained, and he shot her a long-suffering glance.

‘I will hurry, My Lady,’ he said, then turned back to the fire, muttering something about chopping heads instead of vegetables.

Khatrene barely noticed. ‘I can’t just stand around. I feel like I’m going to explode. Can we go for a walk or something?’

Talis nodded, and this time she saw the dimples. ‘We shall expect a hearty meal within the hour. Cousin,’ he said to Pagan, ‘the Volcastle path is steep and taxing.’

Khatrene snatched Talis’s arm and headed towards the sunlight, wanting to bound over the exposed tree roots and rejoice in the mere fact that there wasn’t six inches of mud between her and solid ground. But Talis kept her at an even pace and before they reached the edge of the trees he steered her back into the shadows, intent on protecting her, apparently, from anyone who might be watching. Although, heavily cloaked as she was, it was hardly likely that anyone would recognise her.

Still, Khatrene was too happy to care and she contented herself with snatching glances at the sunlit grass and singing
Somewhere over the rainbow
far too loudly.

Finally, when some of her restless energy had burned off she slowed down and said to Talis, ‘Do you know, I missed my brother so much that I ached for him.’ She shook her head slowly, remembering. ‘Ten years of aching. Can you imagine how good it’s going to be to see him again?’ The grin came back. ‘I’ll probably crack his ribs hugging him.’

Talis’s smile softened. ‘I know something of love, My Lady,’ he said.

‘Of course you do. Oh, and listen …’ She’d been feeling guilty about this, ‘I hope I didn’t upset you the other day, talking about Lae, and … love. It really wasn’t any of my business.’

He brushed her concern aside. ‘The Princess is expected to take an interest in the lives of her subjects.’

‘Yeah, but that was too personal. It wasn’t polite’

He stopped walking and gave her an unexpectedly penetrating glance. ‘Neither is the topic, My Lady’

Khatrene halted beside him, still holding his arm. ‘Love isn’t polite?’ That was a novel idea. ‘What is it then?’

‘Rude, overwhelming, unmanageable.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Sounds like Lae.’

He let her go and sat on a long flat rock. She sat beside him.

‘If you wish to know of love, My Lady, I could tell you an old tale.’

Khatrene was intrigued. ‘Do tell,’ she said.

Talis seemed to settle himself, gazing out through the trees towards the sunlight. Then he began to speak. ‘Many generations ago,’ he said, ‘there was a warrior of my House who fell in love with a woman he could never take as wife.’

‘Was she married already?’ Khatrene asked.

He paused and she was about to apologise for interrupting when he said, ‘She was betrothed.’

‘And you can’t get out of that?’

‘Not this betrothal,’ he said sadly.

Khatrene didn’t know what to say. ‘The poor guy.’ For some reason she thought of the tattooed man then, and of the trouble she’d be in when her welcome was over and she told Mihale straight out that he wasn’t choosing her husband.

Oblivious to her inner dialogue, Talis went on, ‘Worse, the pain of love was doubled for this warrior. For not only was he unable to ask for her hand, he could not reveal his devotion to her.’

‘But why?’

‘He knew she would not return his love, and thought of him only with fondness.’ Talis glanced down, his eyes as sad as his story.

Khatrene felt moved to lay her hand on his, forgetting her own worries for the moment as she gazed at her Champion. How had a trained killing machine like Talis managed to retain such a sensitive soul? ‘So he didn’t tell her?’ she asked.

He shook his head, then looked back up into her eyes. ‘He would not threaten her happiness to satisfy his own desires.’

‘That’s noble. And sad.’ She was silent a moment. ‘So what happened to this warrior? Did he tell her in the end?’

Talis hesitated, but held her gaze. ‘No,’ he said.

Khatrene nodded, sighed. ‘It was the honourable thing to do, I guess. But I’ve done the “life of quiet desperation” and it’s not good. It eats you up.’

They were both silent then, Khatrene returning to her thoughts of the tattooed man. The closer they came to her brother, the more she struggled with the idea of telling Mihale about him. Was it fear of finding out the truth? So many hopes rested on a vague memory. For all she knew the man of her dreams might not even exist. And realistically, how likely was it that he was alive, available and even remotely interested in marrying her?

She sighed again. Sometimes life was just too hard.

‘Your mind is troubled, My Lady,’ Talis said. It wasn’t a question.

He looked so concerned she didn’t have the heart to remind him he wasn’t supposed to be using her title when they were alone.

‘Well, I’m happy to be seeing my brother again, but apart from that I don’t know what to expect. For all I know he might be arranging to marry me off in exchange for —’ she glanced at the monotony of brown around her, remembered where she was. ‘Not ten camels, that’s for sure.’

‘Camels?’

She looked at Talis for a second, then waved it away. ‘Too complicated. But the point is, I’m not some chattel he can offer to the highest bidder.’

Talis was wearing his usual patient expression. ‘You must trust that your brother loves you and will do what is best for you.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘What’s best for me? I see it’s not only the technology that’s backwards here.’

‘Mihale is a teenager, who hasn’t seen me for ten years. And you’re telling me he’s the best person to choose a husband for me.’ Pause. ‘I don’t think so.’

Yet rather than justify his King’s power over her, Talis nodded, as though in agreement. ‘And if you could choose for yourself, Princess?’ he asked. ‘Would you choose from love?’

Clearly, women weren’t the only ones who liked to match-make.

T
ELL HIM
, the voice said.

What? About the dreams?

Y
ES.

Hmm.
‘Listen, I wasn’t going to mention this,’ she said, ‘But I’ve been seeing this man.’ She pointed at her head. ‘In my mind, I mean. He’s got a tattoo, and I’m sure —’ She broke off at the expression on Talis’s face. ‘You know him? You know this tattooed man? I knew it!’ She sprang to her feet, exultant. ‘I knew it was a real memory. He’s here, isn’t he? In Ennae?’

‘My Lady, this memory —’

She held up a hand. ‘No, listen, Talis. If this man is from Ennae, that means my memories are coming back. I’m probably going to remember it all.’

Talis was shaking his head, reaching out a hand to her. ‘My Lady, I must speak to you about this now. I fear you will be angry but —’

‘No, I
was
angry. Don’t you see?’ She took his hand in both of hers. ‘I hated growing up with no childhood, never understanding why I didn’t fit in. I was furious about not having my memories. I couldn’t accept it and I wanted someone to blame. But now I remember this man, and …’ Just thinking about him brought a wistful smile to her lips. ‘He’s given me hope.’ She focused on Talis again. ‘Do you understand what I’m saying?’

Talis was slow to nod. His gaze seemed to encompass her eyes, her smile, her fallen-down hair. ‘All too well, Princess,’ he said.

‘Then you’ll understand why I’m not going to let Mihale pick someone else for me when …’ She looked away, embarrassed for a moment, then forced her eyes back. ‘Just tell me if he’s married. That’s all.’

Khatrene bit her lip as she waited for Talis to reply. It seemed to take forever.

‘The man of whom you speak is widowed and may take a wife if he chooses.’

Khatrene felt her shoulders sag in relief. ‘I knew it.’ But there was more. ‘Is he … old? It’s just that he looks twentyish in the memory, and I’ve been gone such a long time —’

‘My Lady,’ Talis said quietly, ‘You have been gone only three of our years and the man of whom you speak celebrated thirty lifedays the year of your exile.’

‘So he’s thirty-three.’ She looked away. ‘He must have been older than I thought.’ She looked back to Talis. ‘Thirty-something is good.’ They gazed at each other in silence a moment before she added, ‘Is he a suitable —’

Talis nodded. ‘Eminently suitable, My Lady. Such a man as your brother may well choose.’

‘Great. That’s great,’ she said, but with less conviction than before. She wanted to be happy about this. Desperately wanted to. But something in Talis’s manner gave her pause. Some hesitation or … something he wasn’t telling her. ‘I’m wondering … what if he doesn’t want to?’ she asked. ‘Marry me, I mean. What if …’
He doesn’t like me
, was the unspoken part. The unspeakable part.

‘I cannot know his heart, My Lady,’ Talis said, and she suddenly realised why he had come over all stiff and proper.

‘Oh.’ She covered her mouth. ‘Look at me, fishing for compliments. I’m sorry, Talis. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.’ After all, he could scarcely tell her she was wonderful and beautiful even if he did believe it. He was betrothed.

She had to try and remember this was a different world from the one she’d left where compliments were tossed off as easily as fast-food wrappers.

‘My Lady.’ He lowered his head in what she’d come to think of as his minimalist bow. Then he stood and gestured for them to return to the camp.

She fell in beside him and they were companionably silent as they followed their noses back to the fire and Pagan’s delicious stew. Talis kept to himself after that and the hours crept slowly as they waited for nightfall.

Finally they were packed to go. Her Champion was tense, she could feel that through the hand that clasped her upper arm. Khatrene didn’t know whether his concern about stray Raiders was warranted, but she ran obediently out of the cover of the trees to cross the open space at a sprint.