Destiny of the Light: Shadow Through Time 1 (33 page)

‘I
have not visited your Hold before, Verdan,’ Bhoo said. ‘I find it intrigues me.’

‘We are honoured by the presence of so important a guest. You are welcome to stay,’ Barrion replied expansively, gesturing at the reception chamber they now inhabited which had been carved from bare earth, and beyond to the labyrinth of chambers his ancestors had created — the Verdan Hold.

A week ago he would not have tolerated such a visit, yet with Ellega strengthening and his anger diminished, Barrion was prepared to make peace with his King. For indeed, the safety of Verdan now depended upon it.

‘Your intellect is dizzying,’ his guest commented, strolling the room to gaze at the walls where drawings hung; plans of mechanical contraptions Barrion intended to build. Timber and iron models of war-carts adorned the side tables while the model of his latest contrivance, a wind-catching fibre-pulper, had pride of place on the low table between their couches.

‘More ale?’ Barrion offered, raising the jug.

‘Thank you, yes, Verdan,’ Bhoo replied. ‘I shall make a toast.’ He raised his mug. ‘To our Lord and King’s new bride.’ Barrion’s mug halted in mid-air, yet before he could make an angry noise at this statement, Bhoo added, ‘To Ellega of Verdan, future Queen of Ennae.’

Shock, followed by a wide smile, broke over Barrion’s face. ‘To Ellega,’ he agreed, and they both drank, Barrion not taking his eyes off the King’s Counsel as he struggled to accept this granting of his sister’s dearest wish. ‘Yet, how did this happy occasion come to be considered?’ he asked, setting down his ale.

‘My Lord and King Mihale requested my advice, and I gave it,’ Bhoo replied, a look of smug satisfaction on his moon face which Barrion was quite disposed to allow.

‘You are a friend to Verdan indeed,’ Barrion said, thinking of his sister at the peephole watching this exchange, no doubt hugging herself for joy.

‘My Lord and King is young,’ Bhoo allowed. ‘As is your sister, yet she is the one he has chosen and no time need be wasted waiting through a betrothal.’

‘The wedding will be soon?’

‘Immediately after the Ceremony of Atheyre,’ Bhoo confirmed.

‘But … that is only weeks away,’ Barrion protested. ‘My sister is young, yet she is a woman and will want all the finery of preparation I can afford.’

Bhoo smiled at this, yet the distortion of his lips was so hideous Barrion was forced to suppress a shudder, reminding himself that Bhoo was his guest. And one who had brought joyous tidings.

‘Please return our good wishes to the King,’ Barrion said graciously. ‘We will be prepared at the appointed time and I shall ensure the dowry Ellega brings to court will be worthy of a king.’

Bhoo waved this away. ‘The groom requires no dowry apart from a symbolic offering to meet the demands of tradition. Your sister’s hand is treasure enough for any man. Even a king.’

Barrion took pride in these words, yet not long ago that pride had been wounded. ‘I am glad to hear that our Lord and King esteems my sister as he should.’

Bhoo merely nodded his bulbous head at this and tactfully said nothing. Barrion therefore turned the conversation to where he might voice his current fears for the safety of his Hold. ‘Matters at court must be all peace and goodwill if your services are not required urgently by the King.’ Barrion knew that the King’s Adviser cultivated an air of being indispensable at court, and he now played on that vanity. ‘Though these are momentous tidings, you do us great honour to bring them yourself when your wisdom is so often required at the King’s ear.’

Bhoo smiled graciously. ‘This is a peaceful time in Ennae,’ he said, ‘and our Lord and King spends his hours in the library and the sword rooms.’ Barrion had, in fact, heard rumours of a mistress but clearly the infatuation was over if Mihale was ready to take a wife. ‘He has little need of counsel,’ Bhoo added. ‘For the moment.’

‘Do you see trouble in the days ahead?’ Barrion asked, mindful of Bhoo’s penchant for prediction, and his own recent experience of finding Northmen in his forests. ‘I hear that The Dark has a mighty force on the Plains. Surely he is not returning his wife to her brother?’ Barrion remembered well the embarrassing scene as The Light had left the Volcastle with her new husband, only to be waylaid by the distraught young King who clearly loved his sister as Barrion loved Ellega. Yet when the time came, Barrion knew he would release Ellega to a husband’s care and not burden her with his loneliness or sorrow. For that would only bring grief at a time when happiness should be all that lived in her heart.

‘The King will be too busy with a wife to care for his sister’s companionship,’ Bhoo assured him. ‘The Dark merely ventures on a hunting party with his men, for his duty to his wife is discharged. This is the other news I bring,’ he announced. ‘The Light of Ennae is with child.’

Barrion touched a palm to his forehead and said, ‘These are glad tidings, Lord Counsel. I know not which brings the greater joy.’ This much was true, for the fears Barrion held for the kingdom’s safety would be swept away when the child of The Light joined the Four Worlds. He had not thought to see such miracles in his lifetime, yet here events were unfolding which were as pleasing as they were momentous.

‘The Dark and the King are both well matched,’ Bhoo said, and smiled again his hideous smile. Then a profoundly strange transformation occurred. As though sliding beneath water to reveal a distorted image, Bhoo’s face underwent a subtle shift, his very skin appearing to alchemise into a younger and more feminine countenance. This new facade smiled at Barrion and the horror of the effect went beyond a shudder. ‘You, however, Verdan,’ Bhoo said, as though nothing had occurred, ‘why have you not wed? Do you not desire heirs? The luxury of a wife to cater to your needs?’

Barrion glanced at the door, outside which his attendants waited, then returned his gaze to the face of his guest, thinking he must not have seen rightly. ‘I have bedmates of my own choosing,’ he replied with a shrug. ‘They suit my whim. I see nothing in my acquaintances’ marriages to make me wish for a wife.’

‘And the matter of heirs?’

Barrion simply shook his head.

‘Perhaps your desires lie in other areas,’ Bhoo said, and his body undulated silently on the couch, a sinuous rippling that Barrion had not imagined a man’s body could achieve.

Stunned at this unexpected agility possessed by the Counsel, yet revolted by the invitation it implied, Barrion allowed his first reaction to escape.

He bellowed with laughter so fierce that he spilt his ale. It was a long time before he could stop, and when finally his merriment had settled, he said to his guest, ‘You jest with me, Counsel, and after the anguish of my rift with the King I find that pleasing. You are in good humour.’

‘As you are, Verdan.’ Bhoo’s smile, by some bewitchment, appeared genuine now. ‘We are two jesters,’ he said

‘Both in the King’s service,’ Verdan added, reminding the Counsel that his loyalties had returned firmly to the throne.

‘The King’s,’ Bhoo echoed, in satisfaction.

They continued to smile at each other, yet nothing more was said. Barrion raised the ale jug and Bhoo held out his mug. Barrion filled it, and then his own. They drank, time passed, and finally Bhoo said, ‘I am tired now.’

Verdan raised his hand and an attendant came to escort the King’s Counsel to his chambers. The Verdan Hold housed many suites and Barrion rarely left its confines. In fact, he had not seen sunlight until his tenth year. This accounted for his pale skin and his distaste for the open vistas of the Plains. It was a comfortable home, though, and Barrion wished for no other. ‘Please enjoy the hospitality of my Hold as long as you choose,’ he said as Bhoo rose from his couch.

‘I leave tomorrow,’ his guest replied. Bhoo appeared older now, his wide eyes half-closed with exhaustion. ‘I have what I came for.’

Barrion smiled at this, thinking of the excitement his sister would share with him the moment their guest had retired. ‘Then I will instruct my kitchen to prepare a hearty breakfast for your party and we shall speak again in the morning. Another joke perhaps, before you return to the King?’

Bhoo bowed low, then straightened and left with the attendant.

Barrion stared after him, then reached forward impulsively for the model of his pulper. Idly, he spun the windcatcher and watched it twirl. Then he lifted it to his lips and blew on it. Faster it twirled, and faster until it was snatched from his hand.

‘Ellega!’ he said, as she dropped it back onto the table.

‘Queen Ellega,’ she retorted, and danced around the room while she sang, a smile of such sweetness on her lips that he could almost forget how frightening her illness had been.

‘If you dance this madly before the King he will think you have no courtly skills,’ Barrion admonished.

Ellega immediately stopped, a frown of concern on her wide brow. ‘Then I must prove to him that I can dance first,’ she said.

‘You must prove many things,’ Barrion replied. Despite his angry words to Laroque at the Volcastle, Barrion feared that Ellega’s fawning adoration had not endeared itself to the King, and this was the cause of his suit being withdrawn. Barrion would counsel her to maintain a certain reserve while in her husband’s company. For was it not true that all men were intrigued by mystery? Barrion suspected that a gushing fountain of love could soon become tiresome. ‘Come, we will speak of the marriage at length later,’ he said. ‘Tell me first what you made of our guest?’

Ellega writhed in a parody of Bhoo’s sinuous action and soon both were in gales of laughter. ‘I think he wanted a bed-partner, brother. You show little generosity as a host in refusing him.’

Barrion pulled a face. ‘You would spoil the digestion of my late night supper with your jokes.’ Eventually their laughter subsided and both brother and sister were silent. Barrion looked at Ellega’s distant eyes and saw that her mind was full of gowns and jewels and wedding day plans. ‘Go now,’ he said, and waved her away. ‘I wish to be alone with my thoughts.’

She kissed him then scampered to the door where she gifted him a parting smile. Of an instant she was gone and the room felt hollow with the lack of her presence.

Barrion remained on his couch for some time, gazing at his models, then roused himself and passed silently through the polished stone tunnels that led to the surface. The sound of the bellows that brought air into the Hold grew louder until Barrion reached the enclosed platform, holding tightly to the side rails as the attendant at his back cranked the wheel. The tiny elevation chamber with its attached bridge soon rose to the surface of the loch that covered the Hold and as the water fell away, Barrion opened the door and looked out into the night.

Clear, open sky greeted him, as did instinctive fear, yet holding fast to the edges of the doorway he steadied himself, then stepped out onto the bridge to stand alone. For a moment Barrion swayed, fighting the sensation that the thin air spreading out in all directions would not support him. Yet he did not fall, but awkwardly lumbered his way across the bridge to the Altar Platform which rested on the loch’s still waters.

Behind him the elevation chamber door closed, and then began its creaking descent to the bottom of the loch, taking the bridge with it. The attendant knew to return after an hour, during which time he believed his Lord would commune with the spirit of the loch and learn its secrets. The forest around him was well guarded by his men, so there was little danger in his solitude, yet though Barrion made the journey nightly he had learned no truths, and had no answer for why his men had captured three Northern scouts in the past week. In the excitement of his sister’s happy news, he had not mentioned this to the King’s Counsel either.

Seeking answers now, he leant forward and placed his hand within the loch’s embrace, his other firmly grasping the iron ring at his side. Immediately the spirit of the loch caressed his palm and Barrion felt his mind calm. Tiny currents quivered against his wrist and Barrion’s eyelids fluttered and closed.

‘Tell me about the threat that comes from the north,’ he asked. ‘Should the King beware?’

Beware
, the loch echoed into his mind, yet Barrion felt no emotion come with the word and did not know not whether it was a warning or merely an echo until it added,
A minion of evil works for the Northmen’s ally, yet the forces of good stand beside your King.

‘I serve my King,’ Barrion said. ‘He will soon be my brother by marriage.’

The loch tightened its grip on his hand and Barrion struggled to stop it being sucked deeper.
He will not marry your sister
, the loch said and Barrion felt astonishment, and then anger burn in his blood.
She will grieve again.

‘No!’ In a moment of inattention, Barrion felt his arm dip as it was sucked lower, yet he managed to wrench his hand free and sit panting on the platform, gazing over the still, dark water. ‘My sister will not die,’ he said, for surely that would be her fate if the King went back on his word now.

The silent loch said nothing, for it would give no counsel without the touch of the one who sought it. And this day Barrion would seek no more.

‘The King has said he will marry my sister. Having given this consent, he cannot refuse,’ Barrion told the still water. ‘You will not trick me as you tricked my father.’

Barrion remembered well the foolish rantings of his father who had died in the war after casting aspersions on the character of The Dark. Truths, he had called them, yet later Barrion’s mother had told how her husband had become enamoured of the loch’s touch which she believed had addled his brain.

Rising to look down upon the dark water, Barrion said, ‘My sister will marry the King and bear his children. And the child of The Light will join the Four Worlds …’ Before attack from the north can destroy us, he wanted to add.

Yet he did not, for in this matter there was only hope and no assurance in his heart.

T
alis was on perimeter duty again, but Khatrene approached the communal fire with considerably more confidence than she had the week before. She might not have slept with Talis yet, but he was most definitely hers and not Noorinya’s.

The desperation in his gaze had become daily more evident, and yet, incredibly, he would not touch her until she had declared her love for him, despite what it was obviously costing him. The dark rings under his eyes were a testament to his nightly restlessness — and his temper with his cousin was on a dangerously short fuse. Their battle-practice had grown so heated, Pagan was forced to practise self-healing on a daily basis.

Khatrene wasn’t a fool. Talis’s attention was focused completely on her. He wasn’t about to go knocking on the tent of an arrogant Plainswoman with personal hygiene problems.

Like her marriage to Djahr, the business of Noorinya’s joining with Talis was best put behind her. Khatrene had decided to look on it as one of the main unpleasant duties that were part of Talis’s battlefield existence: killing people, wearing the same clothing for weeks on end, putting up with Pagan’s companionship. Having done that, she found her attitude to the Plainswoman markedly changed.

‘So, Noorinya,’ she said, winking at Breehan behind her back, ‘still mooning over Mooraz? Or have you decided to take Pagan up on his offer?’

The cook of the evening handed Khatrene a hunk of sour bread and a mug of stew as she passed him. She smiled her thanks and sat across from Noorinya. Far enough away to ensure she wasn’t casually stabbed.

‘That boy!’ Noorinya snorted and made a derogatory gesture with her little finger that raised laughter around the fire. Noorinya laughed herself, yet Khatrene saw a glance pass between the Plainswoman and her lover; not reassurance so much as possession.

‘Noorinya has her hands full with Breehan!’ one of the Plainsmen shouted and this time the laughter was louder.

‘Is that right?’ Khatrene said, smiling at Breehan who was ruefully shaking his head. This line of banter was sure to anger Noorinya and he’d have to put up with her temper, but Khatrene was feeling the need for some revenge. ‘I thought I heard a noise last night. Well, several noises in fact.’ Khatrene hadn’t heard a thing, but by the laughter around the fire it sounded as though she’d scored a direct hit. She tried not to smirk as she munched on her bread and waited for the return volley.

‘The sound you heard outside your tent was snoring,’ Noorinya replied, putting her arm through the fire to snatch a hunk of bread out of the cook’s hand. Khatrene caught her breath in astonishment as she stared at Noorinya’s arm, now safely back on her side of the fire. There wasn’t a singe or a scorch mark to be seen. Talis had told her the Plainsmen had thick skins but she’d thought he’d been speaking metaphorically. ‘Your prattle and laughter is so boring,’ Noorinya went on, ‘he finds sleep a better companion.’

The Plainsmen laughed for Noorinya’s benefit but it sounded forced.

‘Right.’ Khatrene kept munching. She didn’t feel the need to counter that particular accusation.

‘At least in sleep he may find his dreams realised,’ Breehan put in softly. Khatrene looked up at him. She liked Breehan’s smile. Quietly confident. He’d need to be, around Noorinya.

She smiled back and nodded.
‘Touché.’

They continued to smile at each other until Khatrene realised silence had settled around the fire. Noorinya rose and stalked around to stand towering over Khatrene, hand on her short knife.

‘Do not look with those smiling eyes at my bed mate,’ she said, her voice as dull as her knife was sharp. Yet rather than feeling afraid, Khatrene felt a sudden urge to laugh out loud. The boot was definitely on the other foot now.

‘It was just a joke, Noorinya,’ she said carefully. ‘I’m not interested in Breehan. He’s yours.’ She was sure that sounded outrageously sexist, but she wasn’t about to risk an apologetic glance at Breehan.

‘Beware of my temper,’ Noorinya said, as though anyone who’d ever met her needed to be told that.

Khatrene nodded. ‘I’ll keep my eyes to myself,’ she said, and went back to eating her stew, eyes glued to the mug.

Noorinya stalked off in the direction of her tent and Khatrene figured it was lucky there were no dogs on Ennae, or the Plainswoman would have kicked one for sure. From the corner of her eye she saw Breehan rise shortly afterwards to follow her. That made Khatrene feel a little less inept. She wasn’t the only one having difficulty handling a relationship.

‘My kinswoman will kill you,’ came a small voice from behind her.

Khatrene turned and smiled. ‘Weedah.’ She patted the ground and Noorinya’s young nephew plopped down at her side. She poked him in the ribs. ‘I hear your pranks have been making my Champion’s life a misery.’

He raised an eyebrow, eloquent comment on just who was making Talis’s life a misery, and said, ‘I am a welcome distraction in his life.’

‘Clean clothes and a bath would be a welcome distraction,’ Khatrene said. ‘Healing little boys who cut themselves for fun is a nuisance.’

‘I am training myself for a warrior’s life,’ he said and puffed out his nine-year-old chest. ‘One day I will lead the tribe and I need to know the ways of pain.’

‘Right.’ Khatrene could see why Noorinya was fond of Weedah. He was so much like her it was frightening. ‘Isn’t it past your bed time?’ she asked.

He gave her a scornful glance and rose, but a moment later she heard him yelping and giggling as he played a game of tag-and-run with his ‘band’.

The conversations around her resumed in the wake of Noorinya’s stormy departure and when Khatrene had finished her food, Weedah’s mother Noola came to sit with her. Mute since birth, Noola had resisted Talis’s recent offer of healing and as Khatrene watched her speak with her hands, she understood why. The gentle smile and graceful gestures, so unlike her sister Noorinya’s manner, were what made Noola unique. To take away the need for them would be to make her into a different person.

Yet much as Khatrene enjoyed Noola’s company, she often didn’t understand their ‘conversations’. Plainsman sign language was complex, and important not only for Noola. The tribe never spoke while travelling and thus avoided detection by slipping silently through the mists, using some kind of internal sonar to avoid walking into their enemies. A series of warbling high-pitched whistles were used to send messages from one sentry to another over long distances but Khatrene had given up trying to learn them after one too many jibes from Noorinya.

This night Khatrene was trying to follow Noola’s tale about the birth of her baby, and having heard it was harrowing, was pleased to be understanding only half of it. Luckily she was given a reprieve by the arrival of Noola’s eldest son, Hanjeel, with the newborn infant who was apparently ready to be fed. The antithesis of Weedah, Hanjeel was quiet and respectful like his mother, and as he sat holding Noola’s new baby carefully in his arms Khatrene couldn’t help but remember the poor infant squealing in pain the day before when Weedah had given it a Chinese burn ‘to teach it the ways of pain’.

Wisely, Noola had chosen Hanjeel as the male relative to care for her child in its first week of life. Another interesting Plainsmen custom, this one had been designed to conceal the gender of newborn infants from their mothers during the crucial bonding time. With no gender cues, new babies stopped being sons and daughters, and became simply young warriors in the tribe. It seemed awkward to Khatrene, but she could see how it would contribute to the equality of the sexes which had helped the Plainsmen to survive.

Soon other mothers came to sit with them, regaling Khatrene with enough delivery stories to make her feel squeamish. When she wanted to leave, they demanded a retelling of the story of her entrapment and subsequent escape from The Dark. Although Khatrene had been unconscious for the most exciting parts, Pagan had filled in the blanks for her so she was able to describe his gory sword fight with enough details to satisfy the bloodthirsty Plainsmen.

At last, when the fire was burning low and the second moon had risen, she was allowed to excuse herself to return to her small, crude tent and collapse after her long day of walking and talking. Sleep, however, proved elusive.

She couldn’t stop thinking about Talis. About how tortured he was by her inability to say three simple words. Say them and mean them.

Khatrene rolled over and kicked off her rough blanket. It was hot. She wished they had sheets, then she wished she could stop complaining, even if it was only in her own mind. The Plainsmen had kept her alive. Safe. It wasn’t their fault if the bedding was hard, or that bathing could only be done with water pulled up from the ravine in buckets.

Still, to be fair to herself, it wasn’t only the physical discomfort. There was emotional discomfort as well. She hated that she couldn’t feel what Talis wanted her to, and why was she holding back? It couldn’t be fear of rejection. Talis would love her forever. She knew that. Was it fear of losing him? Of falling so deeply in love that if he died, which was always a possibility, she couldn’t bear to live?

Why can’t I love him?

Y
OU CARRY ANOTHER MAN
’
S CHILD
.

No.
That didn’t worry Khatrene any more than it did Talis.
It’s my baby. Nothing to do with Djahr.

Y
ET HE IS THE CHILD
’
S FATHER
,
AND STILL YOUR HUSBAND.

Maybe legally, but not in my heart.
The only feelings Djahr inspired in her now were fear and revulsion, before she blocked them out. One day she’d have to deal with her feelings, talk to Talis about just how evil her husband had been, but not now. It was too close, too horrifying. Every time the thought came into her mind that she was carrying the child of her mother’s murderer she went blank in self-defence. She simply couldn’t deal with it.

H
E IS SEARCHING FOR YOU
, the voice said.

Khatrene’s fingers tightened on her coarse gown.
He wants the baby. Not me.

W
HAT DO YOU WANT
?

Khatrene frowned, pushing Djahr from her mind.
I want my baby to be safe, and …
let’s be honest,
I want Talis.

W
HILE HE LIVES HE WILL GUARD YOU
.

That’s not the kind of wanting I meant
, she said frankly.

I
F YOU WOULD LIE WITH HIM, YOU MUST TELL HIM OF YOUR LOVE.

Which love is that?

A
SK HIM WHERE YOUR MEMORIES ARE.

Khatrene felt a stillness come over her.
My memories? My childhood memories? Are you telling me that Talis had something to do with me losing them?

T
EST THIS FEELING OF
‘
RIGHTNESS
’
YOU HAVE FOR HIM AND SEE IF IT IS LOVE.
A
SK HIM.

Khatrene said nothing more, but lay staring at the ceiling of her tent. Two hours later she heard Talis arrive and felt a slight breeze as he pulled back the flap to look in on her.

‘Can I talk to you?’ she said before he could withdraw. She sat up, pulling the blanket around her shoulders. The night was still warm but the chill of her thoughts had penetrated her bones. Even the moonlight coming through the opened top of her shelter felt cold.

‘Certainly,’ Talis replied. He entered and sat across from her, his eyes wary, as though he had heard the suspicion in her voice.

‘Where are my memories?’ She’d had two hours to work out how she was going to approach this. Straight out seemed the best way.

Talis never blinked. ‘Your childhood memories live within my mind,’ he replied, as though he was telling her what they were having for dinner. She would have been incredulous if she hadn’t seen his Adam’s apple move violently a second later. He wasn’t as calm about this as he appeared.

Khatrene was far from calm.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ she asked.

Talis simply stared at her.

Khatrene stared back.

His Adam’s apple moved again. ‘Do you love me?’ he asked.

‘Do I love you?’ For some reason Khatrene was having difficulty holding his gaze. ‘Funny time to ask.’

‘If you love me, you will forgive me.’ He looked as though he seriously believed that.

‘I am …
so
not feeling romantic,’ she said.

‘Not …’ He looked down to his hands, then back to her face. ‘It is not romance of which I speak,’ he said softly, ‘but of love, whose patient heart forgives the most … errant transgressions.’ His eyes pleaded for understanding and Khatrene felt the familiar tug of attraction.

She took a deep breath. ‘I really want to be angry with you about this,’ she said, her gaze shifting away to the warrior plait on one side which had come undone and was starting to unravel. ‘But you’re making it hard. Tell me how you got my memories and why you haven’t given them back.’

‘Why will you not look at my eyes?’

‘Tell me what I want to know.’

‘I will not,’ he said quietly.

She struggled to meet his eyes and then wished she hadn’t. He looked as though his very life depended on her next word. ‘Why not?’

‘You must forgive me first.’

Khatrene shook her head. How could she forgive him? He’d stolen her childhood with no apparent intention of giving it back.

‘If you can forgive such a crime I will know that you love me.’

So this was why the voice had told her to ask. ‘You’re testing me.’

Talis looked like the one being tested. ‘The pain of your husband’s betrayal comes between us at each turning—’

‘This isn’t about him.’

Talis frowned, his expression so earnest it hurt to look at him. ‘You fear I will prove untrustworthy. As he did. The accusation lies in your voice.’

‘Well, haven’t you —’ Khatrene stopped herself, pushed Djahr out of her mind and thought about what Talis had just said. Had he betrayed her? She looked into his eyes. Really looked. Talis remained still under her inspection. Finally she said, ‘I don’t believe you stole my memories. I must have given them to you.’