The Pillars of Creation (35 page)

“But…you can’t mean it.” Her words were a wall to protect her.

“I do,” he panted. “I do. I can’t help myself. I love you, Jennsen.”

His warm breath tickled her in a way that ran a scrumptious shiver up through the core of her.

For some reason, the memory of Tom came into her mind. She saw him, in her mind’s eye, smiling at her in that way of his. This would not be Tom’s manner. She didn’t know how she knew that, but she did. Tom would not approach the subject of love in this fashion.

For some reason, she felt a stab of ache for Tom.

“Sebastian—”

“Tomorrow, we leave to carry out our destiny….”

Jennsen nodded against his shoulder, marveling at how those words sounded somehow passionate. Their destiny. She held on tight, feeling the slick warmth of his back, feeling him push himself against her leg, feeling his arm lying across her belly as his hand caressed her hip, in a way hoping he would say something to thrill her, to frighten her, at the same time praying he wouldn’t.

“But this night is ours, Jenn, if you will only seize it.”

Jennsen
.

“Sebastian—”

“I love you, Jennsen. I love you.”

Jennsen
.

She wished the image of Tom would leave her mind.

“Sebastian, I don’t know what—”

“I never wanted to. It wasn’t my intention to allow myself to feel this way, but I do. I love you, Jenn. I didn’t expect it. Dear Creator, I can’t help myself. I love you.”

Her eyes closed as he kissed her neck. It felt so good feeling his intimate whispers in her ear, a whisper that in a way sounded close to a painful confession, laced with regret, anger, yet thick with desperate hope.

“I love you,” he whispered again.

Jennsen
.

Jennsen shuddered with the pleasure of the sensation, with the pleasure of feeling like a woman, of knowing that her mere existence thrilled a man. She had never felt particularly attractive before. Right then, she felt more than beautiful—she felt seductively beautiful.

Surrender
.

She kissed his neck as he shifted his weight. She kissed his ear and ran her tongue along it as he had done to her. His whole body felt afire.

She froze when his hand slid up under her dress. His fingers glided over her bare knee, over her bare thigh. It was her choice to make, she told herself. It was.

She gasped, eyes wide, staring up at the dark rafters. His mouth covered hers before she could say the word wanting to come out. Her fist pounded his shoulder, once, in frustration at not being able to say that one, short, important word.

She gripped his face to push him away, to allow her to say it. But this was the man who had saved her life. If not for him, she would have been killed along with her mother that rainy night. She owed him her very life. Letting him touch her in such a way was nothing in exchange for that. What harm was it? It was a small thing compared to the way he had opened his heart to her.

Besides, she cared for him. He was a man any woman would desire. He was handsome, smart, and important. Moreover, she was excited that he cared so for her. She was. What more could she want?

She forcefully banished the unwanted image of Tom from her mind by focusing all her attention on Sebastian and what he was doing to her. His touch weakened her in a way that made her ache.

His fingers felt so good that tears ran down her cheeks. She forgot the word, wondering why she would ever have wanted to say it.

Her fingers clutched the back of his head, holding on for dear life. Her other fist pressed against the sides of his ribs as she cried out at what he was doing to her. All she could do was pant as she squirmed, helpless, at the indecent delight of it.

“Sebastian—” she gasped. “Oh, Sebastian—”

“I love you so much, Jenn.” He forced her knees farther apart. He pushed himself between her trembling legs. “I need you, Jennsen. I need you so. I can’t live without you. I swear I can’t.”

It was supposed to be her choice. She told herself that it was.

“Sebastian—”

Surrender
.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Dear spirits, forgive me, yes.”

Oba leaned a shoulder against the red-painted side of a wagon set back out of the way. Hands in his pockets, he casually surveyed the busy marketplace. People crowding among the open-air stands seemed in a festive mood, possibly because at long last spring was nearly at hand, even if winter was not yet ready to relinquish its harsh grip. Despite the biting chill, people chatted and chuckled, bargained and bickered, purchased and perused.

Little did the shuffling crowds braving the cold wind know that someone important was among them. Oba grinned. A Rahl was among them. A member of the ruling family.

Since he had decided to become invincible, and over the course of his long journey north, Oba had become a new man, a man of the world. At first, after the death of the troublesome sorceress and his lunatic mother, he was aswirl in newfound liberty, and hadn’t given any thought to coming to the People’s Palace, but the more he considered the pivotal events that had taken place and all the new things he had learned, the more he had come to realize that the journey was vital. There were still bits missing, bits that could lead to trouble.

That Jennsen woman had said that quads hunted her. Quads only hunted important people. Oba was concerned that they might turn to hunting him, too, since he was important. Like Jennsen, he was also one of those holes in the world. Lathea hadn’t explained to him what that meant, but it made Oba and Jennsen both special in some way. It somehow linked them.

It was possible that Lord Rahl had learned about Oba, maybe from the treacherous Lathea, and he feared having a rightful rival who could challenge him. Oba was, after all, also a son of Darken Rahl. An equal, in many ways. Lord Rahl had magic, but Oba was invincible.

With all the potential trouble brewing, Oba thought it best to look after his own interests by traveling to his ancestral home to learn what he could.

Even before he had decided to travel north, Oba had had his concerns. Still, he enjoyed his visits to new places, and had learned many new things. He kept lists of them in his head. Places, sights, people. Everything meant something. In quiet moments he would go over those mental lists, seeing what things fit together, what revelations he could divine. It was important to keep the mind active, he always said. He was a man on his own, now, making his own decisions, choosing his own road, doing as he pleased, but he still had to learn and grow.

But no more did Oba have to feed the animals, tend the garden, mend fences and barns and houses. No longer did he have to haul and fetch and obey every foolish whim of his lunatic mother. No more did he have to endure the troublesome sorceress’s loathsome cures, her furtive glances. No more did he have to listen to his mother’s tirades, her taunts, or be subjected to her venomous humiliation.

To think, she had once had the gall to order him to pick away at a frozen mound of muck—him, the son of Darken Rahl himself. How Oba put up with it, he didn’t know. He supposed that he was a man of remarkable patience, one of his many stellar traits.

Since his maniacal mother had always been so harshly adamant that he never spend money on women, Oba had celebrated his freedom from her tyranny, once he reached a good sized city, by visiting the most expensive whore he could find. He understood, then, why his mother had always been so dead set against him being with women—it was enjoyable.

He had found, though, that those women, too, could be cruel to a man of his sensitivity. They, too, would sometimes try to make him feel small and unimportant. They, too, would fix him with that calculating, callous, condescending gaze he so hated.

Oba suspected that it was his mother’s fault. He suspected that even from the world of the dead, she might still manage to reach into this world, through a whore’s cold heart, to vex him in his most triumphant moments. He suspected that her dead voice whispered vicious things in the women’s ears. It would be just like her to do that; even in her eternal rest, she would not be content to let him have any peace or satisfaction.

Oba wasn’t a spendthrift—not by any means—but the money that had so rightly been his did bring him some well-deserved pleasures, like clean beds, good food and drink, and the company of attractive women. He tended his money carefully, though, lest he end up without it. People, he knew, were only too covetous of his wealth.

He had learned that just having money, though, brought him favors, especially from women. If he bought them drinks or small gifts—a pretty piece of cloth for a scarf, a trinket for their wrist, a shiny pin for their hair—they were more likely to cozy up to him. They often took him somewhere quiet, where they could be alone with him. Sometimes it was an alley, sometimes it was a deserted wood, sometimes it was a room.

He suspected that some of them just wanted to get at his money. Still, it never failed to amaze him what entertainment and satisfaction he could derive from a woman. Frequently with the aid of a sharp knife.

Being a man of the world, Oba knew about women, now. He had been with many. Now, he knew how to talk to women, how to treat women, how to satisfy women.

There were a number of women still waiting, hoping, praying he would one day return to them. Several had even deserted their husbands, expecting they might win his heart.

Women couldn’t resist him. They fawned over him, delighted over his looks, marveled at his strength, moaned at the way he pleasured them. They especially enjoyed it when he hurt them. Anyone less sensitive than he would fail to recognize their tears of joy for what they really were.

While Oba enjoyed the company of women, he knew he could always have another, so he didn’t become entangled in long love affairs. Most were brief. Some very brief. For now, he had more important matters on his mind than women. Later, he would have all the women he could ever want. Just like his father had.

Now, at last, he could look upon the soaring stone splendor of his true home: the People’s Palace. Someday, it would be his. The voice had told him so.

A hawker pushed in close beside him, disturbing Oba’s pleasant thoughts, his imagining of what lay ahead for him.

“Charms, for you, sir? Magic charms. Good luck for sure.”

Oba frowned down at the hunched hawker. “What?”

“Special charms with magic. Can’t go wrong for a silver penny.”

“What do they do?”

“Well, sir, the charms are magic, sure. Wouldn’t you like a bit of magic to ease the terrible struggles of life? Make things go your way for a change? Only a silver penny.”

Things did go his way, now that his lunatic mother wasn’t around to pester him and keep him down. Still, Oba did like to learn new things.

“What will this magic do? What kinds of things?”

“Great things, sir. Great things. Give you strength, it will. Strength, and wisdom. Strength and wisdom beyond any normal mortal man.”

Oba grinned. “I already have that.”

The man was at a loss for words for only a moment. He looked over each shoulder, making sure no one was close before he leaned in closer, pushing against Oba’s side, in order to speak confidentially. He winked up at Oba.

“These magic charms will help win the girls for you, sir.”

“Women already can’t get enough of me.” Oba was losing interest. This magic promised only what he already had. The man might as well say that the charms would give Oba two arms and two legs.

The filthy little man cleared his throat, thick with phlegm, as he leaned close again. “Well, sir, no man can have enough wealth or the most beautiful—”

“I’ll give you a copper penny if you can tell me where I can find the sorceress Althea.”

The man’s breath stank. Oba pushed him back. The hawker lifted a crooked finger. His wiry eyebrows rose as well.

“You, sir, are a wise man, just as you said. I knew I saw something keen about you. You, sir, have ferreted out the one man in this market who can tell you what you need.” He thumped his chest. “Me. I can tell you all you need to know on the subject. But, as a man of your wisdom will no doubt realize, such obscure and privileged information will of necessity cost you a great deal more than a copper penny. Yes, sir, a great deal more, and worth it.”

Oba frowned. “How much more?”

“A silver mark.”

Oba grunted a laugh and started walking away. He had the money, but he didn’t appreciate being played for a fool.

“I’ll ask around. Decent people can offer such simple help as directions to the sorceress and they will expect nothing more than a tip of my cap.”

The hawker scurried along at Oba’s side, eager to renegotiate, speaking hurriedly as he struggled to keep up. Loose ends of his ragged outfit flapped like flags in the breeze as he dodged people dodging Oba.

“Yes, I can see you’re a wise man indeed. I’m afraid I’m no match for you, sir. You’ve bested me—that’s the simple truth of it. But there are more knotty matters you don’t know about, matters a man of your rare sensitivity should know, things which could very well mean your safety in such a dangerous venture as I think you may be about to undertake, things which not many folks can tell you true.”

Oba was sensitive, that much was true. He gazed down at the man shuffling along sideways, like a dog begging for a scrap. “A silver penny, then. That’s all I’m offering.”

“A silver penny, then,” he conceded with a sigh, “for the valuable information you need, sir, which I warrant you will hear nowhere else.”

Oba halted, satisfied that the man had caved in to the superior intellect. Hands on his hips, he stared down at the hopeful fellow licking his cracked lips. It was against Oba’s nature to part with money so easily, but he had plenty, and something about this intrigued him. He fished around in his pocket, slipping two fingers into the leather purse he kept there, and drew out a silver penny.

He flipped it to the scruffy fellow. “All right, then.” As the man caught the coin, Oba caught the hawker’s bony wrist. “I will give you the price you ask. But if I don’t think you’re telling it true, or if I suspect that you’re holding back on me, I’ll take back the coin, and I’ll have to wipe your blood off it before I return it to my pocket.”

The man swallowed at the dangerous look on Oba’s face. “Sir, I’d not cheat you—especially not once my word is given.”

“You’d best not. So, where is she? How can I find Althea?”

“In a swamp, she lives. But I can tell you how to get in to her, for only—”

“Do you think I’m a stupid oaf!” Oba twisted the wrist. “I’ve already heard that people go to see this sorceress, that she receives visitors in her swamp, so something more than the way in to her place had better be included in the fair price I’ve given you.”

“Yes!” The hawker gulped in pain. “Of course it is.” Oba eased up. Still wincing, the man was quick to go on. “I was going to say that I will tell you the secret way to get to her through her swamp for the generous price you’ve already paid. Not just the regular way in, which folks know, but the secret way in, as well. Few, if any, know of it. All included in the price. I’d not hold anything back from a fair man like you, sir.”

Oba glared. “Secret way in? If there is a regular way, a way people use to see Althea, why would I care about this other way?”

“People go in to see the sorceress Althea for a telling. She’s a powerful one, this sorceress.” He leaned closer. “But you must be invited before you can go see her for a telling. None dare to go without being invited. People all go in the same way, so as she can see them coming—after she’s invited them in and withdrawn her bloodthirsty beasts that guard the path.” A sly smile spread on the man’s twisty face. “It seems to me that if you were invited in, you wouldn’t need to ask people how to get there. Have you been invited, sir?”

Oba gently pushed the reeking hawker back. “So, there is another way in?”

“There is. A back way in. A way to sneak up on her, if you’re of a mind, while her beasts guard the front door, as it were. A smart man might not choose to approach a powerful sorceress on her terms.”

Oba glanced to the sides, checking that people weren’t listening. “I don’t need to go in a secret back way. I’m not afraid of the sorceress. But as long as I’ve already paid for it all, I’ll hear it all told. Both ways in, and everything else about her, too.”

The man shrugged. “If you’re of a mind, you can simply ride due west, as the folks who was invited to Althea’s place do. You travel west across the plains until you come to the largest snowcapped mountain. Beyond the mountain, you turn north and follow along the base of the cliffs. The land goes lower until it finally enters the swamp. Just follow the well-kept path on in through the swamp. Stay on that path—don’t wander off. It leads to the home of the sorceress Althea.”

“But the swamp would be frozen, this time of year.”

“No, sir. This is the wicked place of a sorceress and her menacing magic. Althea’s swamp does not bow to winter.”

Oba twisted the man’s wrist until he cried out. “Do you think me a fool? No place is a swamp in winter.”

“Ask anyone!” the man squealed. He swept his other arm around. “Ask anyone and they’ll tell you Althea’s place doesn’t bow to the Creator’s winter, but is hot and boggy all year round.”

Oba let up on the man’s wrist. “You said there was a back way in. Where is it?”

For the first time, the man hesitated. He licked his weather-cracked lips. “It’s difficult to find. There are few landmarks, and they’re hard to spot. I could tell you how to find the place, but you might miss it, and then you’ll think I lied to you when it’s only that it’s tricky to find by directions alone if you’re not familiar with the land in these parts.”

“I’m already thinking about having my coin back.”

“I’m only looking to your safety, sir.” He flashed a quick, apologetic smile. “I don’t like giving a man like you only part of what he needs, for fear I might live to regret it. I believe in giving the full measure of my word.”

“Go on.”

The hawker cleared his wet throat and then spat to the side. He wiped his mouth with the back of his filthy sleeve. “Well, sir, the best way to find it is if I take you there.”

Oba checked an older couple passing nearby, then pulled the man by his wrist. “Fine. Let’s go.”