Miami Days and Truscan (35 page)

Because of these two things, it seemed almost destined that they became our Roving Ambassadors, and when they had sufficiently recovered, they became Dalph’s emissaries to our neighboring countries, assessing the damage to each caused by Pria, determining how and what they needed to recover, and how Trusca could best help them do it.

Carlos accompanied them quite frequently; another restless spirit born to be Indiana Jones but imprisoned in a corporation for most of his adult life. I thought there might be another reason, though. He was a Miami native, and I surmised he craved the sound and smell of the ocean which, we all agreed, had to exist somewhere in this world.

I knew I was right the day he sighed. “We’ve lost our tans, Tess.”

“Hate to break this to you, darlin’, but you are
never
going to lose your tan. You were born with it.”

“Well, I could still get darker. And you’ve definitely lost yours.”

“True on both counts. But you know, my tan used to come out of a bottle, not from the beach. It’s called self-tanning body lotion. Wonderful invention.”

“Are you
kidding
?”

“No. When did you think I had time to go to the beach? And anyway, I freckle if I get a real tan. Now
that
looks professional. Sorry you’re here, Carlos?”

There was no hesitation. “Oh, no! Not at all. But things are kind of tame right now, you know?”

“Then I think it’s time to start a new quest. Go start one.”

“Quest?”

“You’re a Knight of the Truscan Round Table. Go find the ocean. In fact—” I paused, considering. “We don’t actually have a map of this world, you know, we have no idea of its size, or who else is living on it with us, besides Andovia, Motravia, Tarn and Frescia. How big are they, really? How big are we, really? Why don’t you start finding out? Go ye forth and find ye quest. I’m sure you can find some willing companions. The boys are getting restless, too, you know.”

Dal and Crayton and Cretor, having been baptized so young in Prian blood, were visibly bored stiff. How do you keep ’em down on the farm after they’ve seen Gay Paree?

He looked thoughtful for a moment and then nodded slowly.

“I believe I’ll do just that,” he said, and so began his personal search, an on-going and years-long quest to smell the briny air again. And whatever else he might find on the way.

The stones fulfilled their prophecy with Madeline’s birth, along with a bonus I didn’t discover until she was six months old.

Dalph and the Tornans were out during the full moon. There was no longer any necessity for the roving border patrols, but they still needed to run, and I think the Night Patrols had become the Tornan equivalents of “Boys’ Night Out.” I walked into the nursery and found the most adorable little fur-ball in her bed. When she saw me, she jumped on her hind-legs and placed her front feet on the bed rails, yipping in excitement.

I laughed as I picked her up, touching her nose to mine, and she proceeded to wash my face for me. “Well, well, sweetie, so Women’s Lib has come to Trusca! And aren’t you just Daddy’s girl?”

She licked harder and wiggled onto my shoulder in affirmation. I couldn’t wait for Dalph to get home.

“Did the stones tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“That your daughter was going to be a Tornan.”

“Maybe.”

“We’re not through, I’m assuming?”

“Oh, no.”

The next year, Madeleine welcomed her baby sister, McKay, named for Johnny, of course.

“Did you know she was a girl, too?”

“Maybe.”

“Is she a Tornan, too?”

“Maybe.”

I laughed. “Well, at least I won’t be surprised this time.” And I wasn’t, not when she was joined by her sister Cara, named for Carlos, or her sister Reese, named for me at Dalph’s insistence, the name derived from my given name of Teresa. I’d tried, unsuccessfully, to get him to agree to Rana, for Randalph, but he refused.

“We already have a child named for me.”

“Okay, but you’re going to be really sorry for this, I just have a feeling. Now, we’re not breaking the chain here, she’s a Tornan, just like all her sisters?”

“Yes.”

“Are we
done
yet?”

“Actually—” He bent over and kissed the top of my head. “Actually, yes. We’re done.”

“We can’t be! I don’t have a boy!”

“I told you, Tess, the stones said we needed more women from Beyond the Door. So we made our own.”

I didn’t say anything, but my expression must have worried him.

“Tess, you always said Dal was your son.”

“He’s my
grown
son. He’s been grown since he was ten! I miss my little boy!”

And I did, but as the girls grew and their individual personalities came out, I knew that I had as much on my hands as I could handle and was actually grateful that the stones had decreed I could stop at four. So was Dalph, as Reese almost did him in, and he swore that she caused more worry by herself than Dal, Madaleine, McKay, and Cara together had ever done.

“I
told
you not to name her after me!” I reminded him, but he just groaned.

Last night, during Dal’s eighteenth birthday celebration, I looked out from the head banquet table onto the hall, so full of life and laughter. Everyone’s here right now, which is something to cherish, as Brenden and Madison and Carlos are truly rolling stones, with Dal and Crayton and Cretor giving every indication that they are, too.

I looked out at all of them and thought of the Round Table, both Round Tables, in two different worlds. One did not fare very well in the end, and in my mind I saw again the words of Sir Bedivere, according to Tennyson saying good-bye to Arthur as the Lady of the Lake conveyed him to Avalon:
“For now the whole Round Table is dissolved, which was an image of the mighty world, and I, the last, go forth companionless, among new men, strange faces, other minds.”

I know he would be comforted by the knowledge that in this world, the whole Round Table is restored, and is an image of the mighty world, from whence her Knights go forth in unity, to seek new men, strange faces, other minds.

But those are stories for another day.

About the Author

“A paralegal by day, she strives for justice.  A weaver of words by night, she creates new worlds…”  Yeah, that’s me.  A fairy tale would start like that.  In real life, I run up and down the halls of my law firm in a frantic attempt to meet deadlines. And at night, I field the family’s cries of desperation that they are hungry with my new battle cry.  “There’s the kitchen!  Help yourself!”  I have a similar response for most every desperate call.   

At last, in my late fifties, with children raised, I’ve given in to the call of the computer screen.  To the Muse, as it were.  Rather than fit writing into my evenings, I fit the rest of the evening into my writing. I hope y’all like the results.  I’m Southern by the way, which fact is a major influence in
Down Home,
my next release coming in September.  And I hope you’ll be back after
Down Home
for a few other surprises I have planned for the coming months, including another tale of the Truscan (K)nights!  Y’all come back now, you hear?

Also Available at MuseItUp Publishing

Betrayal’s Price

A Fantasy Romance by Lisa Blackwood

For Ashayna Stonemantle, a second chance at life is not a reward. It's duty come back to haunt her.

Excerpt:

She prowled along the stream, scanning the ground for more clues. A few steps from where the phoenix tracks first emerged from the water, something glimmered in the dappled light filtering through the canopy. Ashayna edged closer until the mystery resolved itself into a bit of silver and a bright slash of indigo. Reaching down she plucked the silver chain from the mud.

An indigo feather the length of her hand dangled from a silver clasp. Frowning, she stroked a finger down its silken length. A surprisingly pleasant scent, reminiscent of heat, spice, and the crisp fresh air of a mountain plateau, tickled her senses.

And it wasn’t the only thing tickling her senses. An alarmingly familiar mix of heat and cold was stirring in her blood again, tightening its bands of control. Numbness spread across her palms. Her fingers tingled with a frosty ache. When she tried to drop the necklace, her hand wouldn't obey.

Even as she backed up the slope to solid ground, the hairs on the back of her neck stood. Desire so strong it robbed her of her breath rose. Power radiated out like tentacles. Not again, she moaned at the sudden rise of the sentience.

Like a hound on a scent, it flowed below her skin, alternately caressing, and then probing forcibly at her mental barriers. A second wave of energy crashed against her shields, buckling them. The sentience invaded her mind. Where fear and desire had been its favorite tool, it now flooded her with joy. Delight, elation…those feelings seemed too small, too insignificant to encompass what she felt beneath her skin, within her mind.

Her possession was now complete – every sense was alive with the feelings, even as she watched it from afar. Almost against her will, her hands looped the medallion around her neck.

Silvery flames burst to life along her arms to pool between her hands. It didn't hurt. Agony she could have dealt with, this…this new sense of rapture was so much worse.

A cloud appeared in the air, to hover an arm's length from her. Faint as smoke, it thickened, swirling and rolling like fog. Churning and spinning, colors danced until it had grown in size.

Vivid greens, muted grays, sun-bleached whites. They formed a stone courtyard adorned with fountains, statues and lush foliage. Then darker whorls of indigo mixed with lustrous browns, coalescing into the handsomest man she’d ever seen.

He was tall, bronze-skinned, bare-chested and wore some kind of bright, indigo-colored cloak. The cloud of magic spun itself larger, revealing more of the man. He had…wings. Oh, but he wasn’t a man at all, he was phoenix.

She glanced at the indigo feather hanging from the necklace, then lifted her gaze to what or rather who must be the source of the feather. While she’d spent a dumbfounded moment staring down at the feather in her hand, he’d turned, his back to her as he looked out over a stone-tiled courtyard. His fingers tapped against his thigh in clear agitation. From behind he looked less human.

A stiff breeze ruffled his crest feathers into disarray and plastered a long, fan-shaped tail against his calves. He whirled around, whipping his tail out of the way, and paced in her direction. She focused on his face. His strong brow, well-defined cheekbones, and firm jaw surpassed human beauty. Still, the intensity of his gaze would give a wise women pause. She wasn't sure if his frown was a normal fixture or just a reflection of some inner conflict.

Her gaze roamed his broad shoulders, down the naked expanse of his muscular chest to his waist where a paneled-leather kilt hung low on his hips. He truly was majestic, exuding a sense of raw masculinity in his every move. "Hmm, perhaps I'm not the wisest of women."

She sighed, mentally pushing aside the faint hint of longing. There would be no place for such feelings. It was war, and those who commanded armies had already decided their species would be adversaries. “Yes, he's attractive, but you must have other reasons for revealing him to me."

Magic swirled faster through her blood. "Guess that's a yes."

Wincing at the throb in her head, she concentrated on his image.

He paced in a semi-circle, his frown deepening as he searched his surroundings. When his gaze locked onto something in her direction, tension rippled along her spine and lodged between her shoulder blades. Graceful, predatory he stalked toward her and swiped the air. Nothing happened. He continued to look perplexed, his feathered brows furrowing into a frown.

Sweat dampened her skin in a sudden cold flush, her breath grew shallow. Ashayna scooped a handful of debris and heaved it at him. It flew through the image and smacked into a tree trunk behind it. Was just a vision?

His expression turned thoughtful. Tilting his head to one side, he closed his eyes. His lips moved, shaping unknown words. Instantly, the sentience flared in response, sending a wave of its foreign wanting through her. She clamped her will down, determined she wouldn't be enslaved. A rush of power surged through her mind, expanding out, breaking past her control.

For one horrifying moment she felt her body gathering itself to move closer to the strange window...

Acknowledgements

Tanja Cilia, editor beyond compare and friend beyond price—thank you, my sister across the ocean!  Greta Gunselman and Suzannah Safi—to new partnerships formed! Lea and Litsa—I give thanks every day that you formed MuseItUp and gave so many of us a home.  And finally—thanks to all my Muse girls and guys.  Strangers become family, all believing in each other. 

Miami Days & Truscan (K)nights © 2012 by Gail Roughton