by Katy Winter
"I'll look after you, Myme Chlo, and I'll care for you. You can trust me." It was as if a knife was turned inside Lian.
"I know you will, Lian. I trust you as much as I always did," whispered Chlorien. "Oh, brother, let the pain ease now we're together again, where that love and trust can grow and be as it was."
Lian sank back in the chair, his hands twining in Chlorien's hair as she let herself sink to his feet, her head rested against his knees and a hand rested against his calf. Lian threw back his hair and actually smiled up and across at Sarehl. It was a crooked and tremulous smile, but it was there.
Lian sensed someone moved next to them and turned his head to see who it was. He saw it was a tall man with copper-tinted hair who was familiar. Chlorien lifted her head.
"This is my mate Nikos, Lian."
Nikos had watched the interchange without emotion, still and silent. Now he read an appeal in the violet eyes, but his own remained unreadable. Lian stared up at him before speaking in a subdued voice.
"You came to me." An odd smile touched dark eyes that Sarehl thought could look stern and unforgiving at unexpectedly odd moments.
"So you remember those times, do you, lad?" Lian shook a little.
"You told me to be comforted," he stammered. "You were kind. I wish to thank you for those times when I was so very lonely." Very few people heard those words, but Sarehl did. The Strategos' eyebrows contracted. He just continued to watch and listen.
"It's right to see you back with your own, lad." Nikos stooped to lift one of Lian's hands that he held briefly. "We hope our promise to you eventuates, child. I pray that it's so."
"Nikos," murmured Lian, his eyes following the tall figure that crossed the pavilion so he could return with a chair he placed beside Chlorien and Lian. He touched Lian very tenderly, Sarehl thought, before he saw Nikos gesture to Chlorien that he wished to be alone with the young man.
When Sarehl saw Nikos touch Lian, the young man's response was immediate, the blond head lifting and the eyes meeting Nikos' clear and lucid, but most of all, vitally alive. Lian's shoulders relaxed. A smile touched the rather sad face, before Lian quietly rested his head on the older man's arm. Sarehl saw Nikos' expression as he looked down at Lian while he talked. Lian made no move, though clearly he listened. Sarehl almost jumped when a voice spoke next to him.
"Have you decided who or what Nikos is, boy?"
Sarehl turned sharply to see Bene's faintly mocking expression become one of tolerant humour. Frowning a little, Sarehl shook his head.
"No, Sire, I haven't. At first I thought he was a mage, but he clearly isn't. There are too many differences between him and you. He isn't one, is he?" Bene almost grinned.
"No, boy, he's not a mage. Think in other dimensions, Sar. You can, you know, and you always could. You, too, have untapped potential. Let your mind open, lad."
With that parting shot the Archmage walked away, Sarehl's thoughtful expression an arrested one. He felt a tug at his jerkin and glanced down to see Chlorien.
"Your mate cares for our half-brother, child," he observed, his attention back on Lian who still hadn't moved.
"It was only days ago Nikos told me he talked with Lian while he was ice-bound," admitted Chlorien. "He says Lian deserves to be treated kindly and with consideration. My origins make him distraught. I'm sorry now I spoke of it."
"No," countered Sarehl quickly. "Though there's distress, at least it gives Lian a reason for why he was treated as he was and that'll help give him some peace of mind."
"I guess," came the disconsolate answer. Sarehl stooped and gave his sister a squeeze.
"He's had no comprehension why he was chosen to be sacrificed in such a cruel way and though he understands little of what all this is about - gods help us, Chlo, I find it all incomprehensible and keep coming up against blank walls - he can now see what Malekim did. He knows it was so you'd be beguiled into trusting him. He could then betray you. He has an answer at last. He needed that, Chlo."
"That's what Nikos said," murmured Chlorien tiredly. "You're more like him than I realised, Sar."
"Ah, little sister!" Sarehl tightened his grip. "Are you tired, Chlo?"
"A little," she confessed.
"Then walk awhile with me," suggested Sarehl, linking his arm through hers and drawing her forward. "Fresh air helps clear minds and walks make me feel better."
Outside they wandered away through the trees lost in conversation as they threaded their way among dells and flowering meadows. In one, Chlorien sat among the flowers as she did so long ago with the scholar one summer's day in Ortok, the day she recalled with a wistful sigh because it was when she learned the scholar could enter her mind.
Herbal flowers could be gathered and harvested so Chlorien set to, collecting and sorting as she talked until finally she had a huge bouquet, the scent heady. She set to on another selection that Sarehl could carry, her brother lying lazily beside her, his black eyes far distant to where he knew the southern army was camped. He thought of Luton and Bethel. Gently prompted, he brought himself back to the meadow with a sigh.
"You've told me so much, Sar, about how the army was formed and about Dase and Brue. You speak often of Kaleb and Ensore, but you say little of yourself. I would know what was done to you, big brother. It's important to me that I hear it from you and not piecemeal from others, or know from what I was shown."
It was still difficult for Sarehl to speak of the early days after Ortok. It wasn't that he was overwhelmed with tearful emotion. It was just he was a deeply reticent man who found speaking of himself trying. Once, however, he began, his speaking became fluent and he gave Chlorien a blunt and viciously cruel, graphic description.
While she listened, tears dripping from her cheeks as she worked, Chlorien heard the guilt Sarehl still felt over Bethel and now she understood it, her free hand going out and touching his. She sensed his continued anguish over Luton and Bethel, and thought she now understood properly, because, though he didn't yet know it, Sarehl lived the suffering of others in a unique way.
"Sar," she whispered. "Sar, such things you've lived through. Don't grieve so for Bethel, big brother – I have so much, too. The dreadful suffering and agonies have mostly passed. I know he's still a slave to an unpredictable master who has terrible tempers he takes out on him, but try to be comforted by the knowledge that he's loved and cherished. His life isn't easy - it never will be until he comes home to us - but the cruelty, they tell me, has eased. Bethel's a warrior bard. Did you know that?"
"Yes."
"No, Sar, a southern Masterbard. Not just a musician. He's properly trained. He has the jewelled headband, chain and belt that only the few bards who reach junior master status have. And he's very young to have achieved this. Most southern bards are considerably older. The warlord ensured this for Bethel."
"Who told you this?" asked Sarehl, astonished and rolling carefully so he didn't put too much weight on his left hip.
"Ah," smiled Chlorien, roughly tying a very large bunch of flowers that she held out to her brother. He took them in silence, his expression quizzical.
"Chlo?"
"Our greatsire told me," she disclosed. She paused then added, "Lute worries you."
"Yes, he does."
"He worries Bene, too."
"I guessed that," replied Sarehl, awkwardly clambering to his feet and stumbling a little until he got his balance. Chlorien was beside him, an arm out to steady him. "And you, little sister?"
"Me, too," she confessed. "Though you and I've talked much about him, his unpredictability and conditioning make him an unknown and dangerous quantity. I like to know who I'm facing when confrontation comes, Sar."
"Must it come to that, Chlo?" Chlorien heard yearning in the deep voice and her smile went awry.
"Malekim will make sure it does," she said softly. "He'll use Lute as bait to draw me out, so he can evaluate me before he decides his next step."
"It'll hurt Lute," said Sarehl helplessly.
<
br /> "Yes," whispered Chlorien. "Sometimes, Sar, I wish I'd never been born."
"Ah now," scolded Sarehl gently. "We'll have none of that, little Chlo. We're all here, for whatever reason, and we must cope as best we can. Lute's continuing anguish won't leave us - you know that as well as me - because we think of him all the time but we can just hope and pray for him."
"Do that, Sar," advised Chlorien, in a suddenly hard voice. "He'll need all of that and more if he's to survive."
They began to walk. Sarehl asked her questions about her experiences, deliberately trying to change her mood. She responded, answering in a way that confirmed for Sarehl that his guesses over the cycles were highly accurate. He was fascinated by the Wildwind tribes and the Gnosti, asking her to tell him more when she hesitated or stopped to think. Laughing, she'd shake her head at him, then relent and tell him more. Her references to the Shadowlands, Sarehl noticed, were fleeting. All she'd say was that she'd met Nikos there and it was where Kasphros was born.
When Sarehl asked tentatively where Nikos was from she cocked her head to look intently at him, before the shake of the head that was final. As they headed back to the camp Chlorien touched fleetingly on their mother, answering any questions Sarehl had with alacrity, her violet eyes moist.
"Do you miss Mam, Sar?" she asked finally.
"Aye, little sister, I miss her. So does Dase. I think Brue was too small to remember her."
"I remember her," said Chlorien clearly.
At Sarehl's pavilion they were greeted by Kasan carrying Chloris and Kalbeth who was hoisted up on Daxel's shoulders. The two stopped, Chlorien hardly able to see over her enormous bouquet.
"Where on Ambros have you been?" demanded Kasan, staring at the flowers.
~~~
Sarehl finally learned the truth about Chlorien and Nikos. It was early morning that saw the Strategos wake, somewhat disoriented, from a thoroughly disturbing dream that he'd struggled to break free of for several hours.
Mentally tired but unable to go back to sleep Sarehl tossed restlessly, conscious of the faint whimper from Kalbeth now disturbed and turning to curl up against Sarehl more tightly. Sarehl stared down at the child so trustingly tucked in beside him and again he saw Bethel in the shape of the head, the flawless skin, the tumbled curls that framed the very pretty face, and he gave a wry smile at how unlike Kalbeth was from his father in so many ways.
Kalbeth was a decided mischief, his big blue eyes full of wicked charm when he tried to wheedle out from trouble he was in or if he was caught out in any way. He'd stand like a young Bethel, but where the father was dreamy and far away much of the time, Kalbeth was more like quicksilver, his expressions covering a wider range of emotions. Where Bethel would succumb to his elder brothers with helpless and gentle resignation, Kalbeth was nowhere near as passive, the child quick to defend himself and to take the initiative. There was, reflected Sarehl, his grin a tad rueful, much of Dase in the young Kalbeth.
Where the father and son were identical was in the playing of music. Then Sarehl and Daxel saw their younger brother as if Bethel was physically present, an ache coming to each brother's heart as he watched and listened to a child, who looked a clone of the father, with the falling black curls, the sensual mouth in the same attitude of concentration, the big velvety eyes animated, and the long sensitive fingers moving with grace and speed. Sometimes Daxel precipitately left the pavilion. Sarehl often preferred just to sit alone.
Now Sarehl ran a finger gently across the lovely face in repose, the mouth a little open and the thick black eyelashes flickering as Kalbeth went into a deep dream. The Strategos saw a thumb snake into the mouth. He smiled as he gently eased himself out of the bed without further disturbing the boy, or Kasan who slumbered blissfully, Chloris snuffling beside her. Sarehl envied them their rest.
He found he shivered as he crawled out from the covers and groped desperately in the dark for some clothing he could pull on in haste. His fingers numb he fumbled with boots that were oddly recalcitrant, thinking as he hauled at them that it was foolish getting dressed when he'd retire again very soon. Shrugging at his whimsy, Sarehl hauled a heavy fleece-lined cloak about him that he secured with a belt. He was conscious of aches in his hips and legs with the chill that seeped into him. He could almost smell the damp.
With a faint sigh he limped carefully across the pavilion to stand quietly at the entrance, his eyes wary, his perception heightened. He was quite unaware of the guard who straightened imperceptibly and turned his head the better to observe the Strategos. Sarehl felt an odd sensation that prickled his skin. Pulling his cloak tighter, he shivered, his eyes trying to pierce the gloom. The guard noticed the Strategos made no effort to move, the man's eyes just scanning the darkness about him. The guard came closer, his stance alert.
Then Sarehl saw them, four dark eyes that looked directly at him. The guard saw nothing. The only movement he noticed was Sarehl pulling forward a wooden bench that he sat on, hunched against the cold. Relaxing, the guard lounged against a tree.
Sarehl didn't flinch, though a warning shot through his mind advising him to be extremely cautious. Still he shivered, his eyes magnetically held by the four shining orbs. Though he didn't want to move he felt drawn forward until he stood in front of the flickering eyes, his hand going to his mouth in the old gesture. The guard saw nothing and sank down against the nearest tree. Sarehl felt a surge of anxiety as he waited, the thought coming to him that perhaps his end had come after all. Patiently he stood.
Then, for some reason, he sank clumsily to his knees even though that hurt him. As soon as he did first one creature, then the other, padded quietly close to him, sitting beside him so he was flanked by them. He looked into dark copper-flecked eyes on one side of him then into violet dark-rimmed eyes on the other. With that came swift understanding and impulsively his hands went out to each creature, his hands sinking into luxuriant soft fur. A sigh was sucked from him as he sank to the ground.
Sarehl had no idea how long he slept cradled between the huge furry paws that offered such warmth and comfort. All he was conscious of, as he stared into each pair of eyes, was that he experienced emotions he wouldn't have believed possible.
His essence soared with theirs when they took him with them, their essences streaming through and fusing with his. He was swept beyond Ambros to where he saw two Rox cubs, the larger male cub, dark with copper-tinted hair, but the younger one completely dark. When the cubs flickered in translation to Ambrosian form, Sarehl saw a boy who was the image of Nikos, his eyes curious and big, while the girl was a child-Chlo with wide purple eyes that were as soulful as Bethel's.
Sarehl called to the children. Kasphros grinned delightedly at him and Amaris ran towards him with pleasure before they were again rollicking cubs. Sarehl watched them romp at play, barely aware he was among these extraordinary creatures who accepted him so naturally and unreservedly.
From there, he was swept across planes and places he never knew existed, though they'd been abstrusely hinted at in ancient texts and on parchments he'd pored over cycles before and on his northern travels as Strategos. He was humbly grateful for this sharing with the Rox.
Then he knew he was suspended in time, not quite alone, while a succession of scenes and thoughts assailed him, one after the other in extraordinarily rapid succession. He missed much that rushed past, but found enough to satisfy a mind that had craved comprehension since the day Ortok was sacked. He moved again, only to waken, warmly supported by deeply breathing flanks of fur. When he stirred reluctantly, the Rox opened sleepy eyes, their heads turned to look at him.
"It wasn't a dream," he whispered. Their warmth seeped through him. He stroked each flank. "May I be blessed to see you standing? Legend tells us you're very beautiful."
He saw a flicker in the kindly eyes of the male, the ears pricked forward, while the female tilted her head, her eyes decidedly mischievous. Sarehl sat clasping his knees as the Rox stood together and extended their membranous wi
ngs in luxurious stretches, the soft down on the wings catching faint slivers of light, even in the denseness of the dark. Entranced, his eyes wide, Sarehl sat spellbound.
For only a moment they stood thus before they folded in their wings. The female nudged the male tenderly and the male stared down at his mate with an expression in the copper-flecked eyes Sarehl couldn't hope to describe. As quickly as the look was there it was gone, the two translated, Nikos urbane and amused and Chlorien tentatively eyeing her brother. The guard didn't see the man and girl go slowly to their pavilion. He just saw Sarehl sigh deeply and walk quickly into his.
Over the following days, Sarehl began to discover the truth of the world he inhabited, stunned by the knowledge of his relationship with the Shadowlanders. He yearned to meet Soji who was with those people. With expanding awareness, his insight developed. He'd grown to adulthood in a society that valued culture and learning and now his well-informed and scholarly mind absorbed knowledge like a sponge.
He recognised the truth of actual reality. He came to a slow comprehension that there wasn't just one reality, but indeed, there were many of which he was an infinitesimal part of the one. With the Rox he went from one to the other with increasing ease, his disorientation less as time progressed, and, by doing this, he gained increased wisdom and learned about the need for rational, balanced judgement in all things, not just on Ambros. When his intellect became more fully attuned to his instinct, Nikos crooned in the Rox way with satisfaction.
Sarehl began to comprehend his sister's power a little. He knew he may never fully understand it. He realised just what a rare being she was and why it was necessary for the scholar to ensure the exceptionally talented child was saved at the expense of her brothers, though they, too, had rare gifts. He learned the scholar's name, noting that, though it was coincidental, it was pronounced the same as his home city-state. It struck him as an absurd irony.
Sarehl saw his family in a new way though he had no answers as to the future. He saw himself as talented, with an uncommon gift of enhanced imaginative penetration and possessed of practical knowledge that could see through difficulties or obstacles as though they didn't exist. Though he couldn't know it, these were gifts that would be sorely needed in the cycles ahead in Ambros. He had another powerful talent but that, as yet, was unrecognised.
