Fire Sanctuary

by Katharine Eliska Kimbriel

  “I love you. But I cannot love you.”

  She was right. That hurt most of all.

  oOo

  They posted no guard, for no katt prowled so far from the mountains, and they could not defend against human attack. Braan tossed at the threshold of sleep, forced to lie on his stomach, stirring sand and gravel in his pain. He had the strangest dream; he heard a voice in it.

  “You are keeping me awake. Do you know you are kicking rocks? Trust me, I know what I’m doing.” The pressure on his spine and ribs was firm but not hard. And sleep spun away.

  When he awoke at vespers, the ache in his back was gone.

  BLOODSAND

  TWOHUNDRED FIFTYSEVENDAY, VESPERS

  Kee was dropping in the western sky, but the night wind had not yet come. Lyte was silent, twisting a broken piece of whip, watching the fire burn low. Moran seethed beside him, his anger barely under control. It was he who had broken the hazelle whip. They had found the young Atares at Bloodsand and dispatched their Cied guards, as Jaac had predicted. The twins were alive ... just barely. Dehydrated, and Kavan bleeding internally from a beating administered after an escape attempt. Moran was furious—with the Cied, with Corymb, with how long it had taken to find the Atares. Now Kalith watched the fire as well—grim, silent, almost menacing in his scraggly beard, but no longer detached from them. There was calculated thought in his movements.

  No longer afraid ... of anyone or anything, including appearances, public opinion, or the future. And when a man fears nothing, he becomes dangerous, Lyte thought, studying the young Atare. Nearby, Kavan slept, oblivious to pain and the rising wind.

  “May I intrude?” Jaac stood before them, a ghost in the moonlight.

  “Of course,” Lyte said graciously.

  “We must speak of tomorrow.” The woman dropped to the sand. “The Atares must be returned to Nuamura. My original plan, if we found them strong and healthy, was to continue on to the clan mountains. There I hoped to accomplish what the first party set out to do. But Kavan needs immediate medical attention, more aid than I can give him. However much I wish to go present our case to the Dragoche, even to help my Atare, I have in my hands the lives of the heirs.”

  “Must we all go?” Lyte asked. “I was thinking of trying to find Braan.”

  “I was going to send you two back with the twins. But we are deeper in the ciedär than I thought. It is easier to explain how to find the Dragoche tribe than how to retrace our path home. Therefore I must return to Nuamura. Moran must come with me. He is the Ragarr, and his safety is as imperative as Kalith and Kavan’s. Also, I need help with them. To the life shelter, Kavan’s injuries are simple to attend to, but if we are too late returning, he could die of blood loss within. That leaves you to journey on, Lyte. You must take three gourds, for there is no water between this camp and mountains, unless you stumble onto a spring.” She stood and pointed east. “Do you see, by the light of the three, the deep slash in the distant range? It grows more obvious as you journey closer, and a free well lies just inside it to the left. That is the mouth to the Dragoche tribe’s domain. You must choose your entry—announced, by the slash; or stealthy, through the valleys running south. Braan may need your assistance. The range grows immense as you see more of it. Do not be dismayed. Keep your eyes on the slash!”

  “Roe is not in Nuamura.”

  Jaac turned to Moran at this, her eyes narrowing slightly. “What did you say?”

  “I don’t think she’s there. I know that sounds crazy, but I have the strangest feeling she’s ahead of me.”

  Lyte was suddenly very worried about Moran, but Jaac only studied them both, her gaze unflinching. “Strange are the bonds between sworn lovers, and they are strong. But whatever madness has come upon Ronüviel, I remind you of your children and ask you to return with me. I think we must be up at lauds and journey until high sext. Then we rest until vespers and travel the night through dawning. Summer approaches, and we do not have the countenance of the Cied to travel in this heat.”

  “I think I’ll leave at the same time. Let’s all get some rest,” Lyte suggested, bothered by Moran’s tratore face. Not like him...

  THE CIEDÄR

  TWOHUNDRED FIFTYEIGHTDAY, LAUDS (MOONSET)

  Jaac was up with the false dawn, tending a low fire and checking the water gourds. Some were already missing. She had heard Lyte in the night, gone with the stars. She had walked past the sleeping twins and counted bodies; there had been only one by the small boulder. He had been eager to leave then. The missing hazelle was the one with a white ankle. It was the strongest of the group, one of the Cied’s beasts, so adapted to desert life it was more tazelle than hazelle. A good choice.

  She was preparing a solid firstmeal and packing the rest of their supplies when she heard someone stirring behind her. “Let us finish packing the gourds. I want to leave as soon as we have eaten,” she said.

  “Fine by me.”

  Jaac froze at the voice. Standing slowly, she turned to face Lyte, who briefly returned her glance and went to pick up a mug. Then she sprang away to the boulder. Using a smaller rock as a step, she quickly reached the top. In the faint light of the coming dawn there were few shadows across the sand. Their group approached the deep desert, and little was found here except sand and rock. Jaac could barely make out hoofprints leading away east. He was long gone.

  “Sear the Path!” exploded from her lips. “Fool! Idiot!” She leapt back down.

  “What?”

  “Moran has gone.”

  Lyte’s face passed swiftly from incredulity to fear to fury. “I’ll kill him.” He ran to the hazelles.

  “No! Stop! You cannot, especially without water.”

  “Then get me some gourds fast. I want to catch him before starrise—”

  “No. He is kilometers from here. You cannot hope to find a commando when he does not wish to be found! He took a Cied hazelle, a beige one. You could pass them and never know it!” She snatched the reins from him, fearless in the face of the frightened, plunging animal. “Calm yourself and the beast! I cannot get Kavan back alone. Kal can barely support himself. Our path is sundered from his, Lyte. I need your help.”

  The man was silent, but the hazelle settled into a light prance. Dismounting, Lyte stepped out of the pack line to face the dawn. When he finally spoke, his voice was thick with harnessed anger: “I would have gone with both of them, but it’s beyond me.” He switched to Nualan. “Let us head for Nuamura.”

  “We shall make straight the path of their return.”

  Chapter Twenty

  THE CIEDÄR

  TWOHUNDRED FIFTYEIGHTDAY, COMPLINE

  Braan adjusted the fire once more and settled against the hazelle. The beast tossed its head impatiently at the confinement of the cave. Cursed sandstorm! This one sounded like a Diablo: narrow, treacherous and scraping the rocks above them to sand.

  The woman was sitting over in a crevice, her gaze on what could be seen of the opening. The evening was already cool, but she had not bothered to put on her outer robe. Braan found himself following the intricate knotting of her tattered caftan, which gave the material more shape and caused it to pull in closer to her body. He had seen the Cied wear such involved garments, but where ... ? She must have thought it up independently. It had not occurred to him that her inner outfit might be ragged as her outer. He had given her his extra embroidered outer robe, but he had only one inside wrap. Three pairs of joqurs; could she wear one—?

  For almost a fourday they had continued on, not talking except at meals, avoiding the obvious topic. Now that the subject had been brought up, no matter how confusingly, Braan felt strangely at ease. Much of his tension had left him, and he was no longer disturbed by Tay’s physical closeness. His mind strayed often to his sojourn among the tratores, and the lifestyles of the hustlers. So many things he had never understood. One memory disturbed him. The youth had been one of the preeminent hustlers of Mercury 7. His eyes—they had had no life, no spark in th
em....

  “Is this entire world desert? Except by the sea, where the mountain tropics prevail?”

  Braan showed no surprise, though it was her first question in days. “No. There are mountains, prairies, swamps, deserts, tundra, glaciers, tidewater—everything you can imagine is probably found here.”

  “I would like to see it someday, if we live.”

  “I am planning on it. I would enjoy showing you the magic of Nuala.”

  She did not look at him. “Have we lost much time?”

  “More than I care for; tonight and tomorrow. We need a full night for this step of our journey.”

  “Couldn’t we leave when the storm quits and walk until dawn?”

  “It is a full twelve hours to the next shade. We should not be out by day at all. Even the Cied avoid the daylight during summer, and the hot time comes early this year.”

  “At least we can talk. I know a diablo is more dangerous, but it’s quieter!”

  Braan smiled. “We are deep in these rocks. They would muffle the sound of a normal sandstorm.” He reached to remove his thigh-high boots and set his feet near the fire to warm his toes. He glanced clandestinely at Teloa and saw that she was distracted, staring off into space. There was something familiar about the way she was sitting. Not the hair; she had twisted it up into a loose figure eight. His insides congealed as he realized it was an ancient hustler pose, an invitation to disrobing. She did it instinctively. What were her thoughts? Confused? Had her body retreated into the known and accepted? “All we need is a bottle of wine,” he heard himself saying.

  She reacted by turning her head slightly, a flush on her cheek. “Wine? On a life-or-death expedition?”

  “It does not feel that way right this moment. I am tired of ciedär rations already. You must be sick of them. The owner of the Minotaur restaurant has opened up again, within the mountain. We can go there for an excellent meal when we get b—”

  “No!” He was startled at her abruptness. “There’s no use in—We shouldn’t pretend it can be something it can’t.”

  “Shall we start at the opposite end? I will seduce you first and romance you later.” At those words she did look over at him. Braan’s smile was so wicked, she laughed, and it was her own laugh, not forced. “Better yet, you may seduce me. I am yours.” He folded over dramatically in a heap next to the hazelle.

  Tay muffled her giggles, shaking her head in disbelief. Then a sad expression crept across her face.

  “Thank you. But I could not accept what our relationship would do to—”

  “Have you ever thought that each individual is responsible for his own life?” She stared at him. Braan popped himself up on one elbow. “Tay, is it wrong to be happy?”

  She stared at him a moment longer and then looked into the fire. “Perhaps things, perhaps people are different here. Maybe I am the one who does not understand. You are really willing to take this chance?”

  “The whole chance. We cannot give up if things are difficult at first. I have learned happiness is fleeting. I will grab it any place I can find it and hang on tenaciously.”

  “Very well.” There was pause in her voice, a neutrality.

  Braan started grinning again. “You sound as if I just sentenced you to life imprisonment. Come on over to my side of the fire any time you want to talk about it. Or do anything else.” He flopped down on his back.

  A while later there was the rustle of material, and she came and knelt down next to him. She reached up to pull out the comb holding up her hair.

  “Wait. Why are you doing that?” Tay looked puzzled. She clearly had not thought about it. “You only do things like that when you want to.”

  She managed a ghostly smile and touched her wrap collar. “And clothing?” she asked.

  “Same thing. Do not remove it until you want to ... or it gets in the way.” He sat up then and turned sideways, facing her.

  She studied him for a long time. Finally she leaned over and brushed his cheek with her lips. Braan did not move. He held himself so tightly in check, he was afraid to breathe. She started toward him again and stopped herself short. Casting her gaze down in embarrassment, she spoke, and there was a tinge of wonder in her voice. “The last time I impulsively kissed a man on the cheek, he beat me.”

  Controlling the sick rage that rose up in him, Braan understood that they had a long way to go. No matter how successful the surface recovery, some things never healed. “I think we might do better if I seduced you,” he said gently, slipping his arms around her and drawing her close. An orgasmic ripple passed through her, and then she tensed, her face scarlet beneath her tan, not looking at him. Braan was stunned and pained, first by the realization she had so successfully masked her physical attraction to him, and then by the fact that she had lost her control so abruptly. He had not even brushed her back, the safest erogenous zone he could think of. This time the pain was more personal: Sweet Lord, she thought I was going to hit her! Carefully—the wrong words ...

  “Has it been that long?” he said very gently. Her answer was falling tears, bright against the fire before they vanished into folds of material. He cradled her closely, privately thinking every violent and obscene thought he could manage, all directed at the tratore worlds. A few well-placed luna bombs and—no, too many there did not know the evil they perpetuated. Was ignorance a permissible shield?

  He did not know how long it had been since his thoughts started wandering away from him, but a peep from the akemmi brought him back to the moment. Something was different. Teloa had relaxed a bit, one hand resting lightly on his arm. He bent over and kissed the top of her head. She did not flinch—good—or she did not feel it. He had his own theory on how to draw her out of her trained passive state.

  “Tell me, belaiss, have you ever been kissed on every square centimeter of your body?” He could not keep the smile out of his voice. She looked up at him, half puzzled, half amused. “Or has no one ever bothered?”

  “Can’t say that I have.” Pink touched her cheeks and throat again. A modest hustler—Lord, the galaxy may collapse into a black hole.

  “Do you wish to say good night and place the fire between us? If you ... object, I shall be able to tell, you know.”

  “Just remember, it’s not you. It’s ... memories.” She faltered, meeting his gaze.

  “I shall try to remember.”

  THE CIEDÄR

  TWOHUNDRED FIFTYNINEDAY, NONE

  It was very warm in the small cave when Teloa awoke. And quiet; the storm was over, the animals dozing. The subtle scent of the hazelle reached her nose. She lay still, orienting herself. Then she stretched for Braan’s gold timespot, lying on top of the pack. Almost vespers: time to build up the fire and start packing. But it was so pleasant not to move. Of course, the strangeness ... She became fully conscious and knew Braan was lying beside her; indeed, had an arm draped loosely over her ribs.

  Ah, the ribs; the problems that scar had caused. Her heart ached for his unvented fury at the perpetrator of the deed, a man dead so long only his bleached bones would be found. That had helped her emotional flood start, when she immediately tried to reassure him that there was no longer pain, physical pain. How foreign to wake next to a man. Never in her life, not even at home, had she done that. Always slipping off by herself or being left in the dark alone.

  I must not become a parasite, she thought suddenly, fiercely. Expect nothing, hope for nothing. She reached out to touch his back, her fingers as light as blown seed. My love, do you know the fire you dare to play with?

  They had tried to talk, as night wove into day, but Teloa discovered that the pain was still too fresh, even after all this time, and spent most of their conversation sobbing. Braan had asked no more questions. He merely accepted each strange revelation as it came out. And when this trek was through, then what? She sighed. Back to sneaking down corridors, probably. She no longer cared. she knew she would have no rivals, at least until he took a wife. She could not say it aloud, but
with this man it was enough to be loved.

  “Do not stop.” Surprised, she glanced over and discovered she was massaging his neck. One green and brown eye studied her. “I had a dream about such a massage.”

  “Oh?”

  “The day we discussed it. When I woke up, I felt better.” Teloa started silently laughing. “So it was not my imagination? I thought not, but I saw fit not to bring it up. Now I can say thank you.”

  “You are welcome.”

  “I am not done saying thank you.”

  Her smile was heartfelt, and she was able to force herself to relax before he embraced her, so he never knew what that kiss cost.

  NUAMURA — THE GROTTO

  TWOHUNDRED SIXTYTWODAY, PRIME

  For the first time in his life Lyte saw a guaard on duty register surprise. The dark, narrow-faced man gestured, and the woman across from him nodded and vanished.

  “Send for the healers, bring a stretcher!” Jaac called.

  “You are victorious?”

  “We have accomplished what we set out to do,” she answered, leading Kavan’s hazelle forward. Kal dropped the reins of his beast and rushed to help the guaard, who was untying Kavan from the cloth saddle. “We need a legion of guaard to unpack and watch over these items. It is imperative. And I need six guaard on each Atare.” Her voice lowered. “Two outside the cubicle, the others within,” she murmured to one as she gestured to Kavan.

  Suddenly guaard were everywhere, swarming over the animals, easing Kavan down on a stretcher, inquiring about everyone’s health. Lyte remembered that some guaard were also healers. One of them, a young man, stepped up to Kal and knelt. Slipping a hand into his own shirt, the guaard produced the Nualan chain of office. Kal started to shake his head negatively.

  “It was his wish, Atare, that you should hold it until he returns.” Kal did not move at first. Then he reached out and held the chain in his right hand.