by Taki Drake
Light burst from Ruth’s skin like fiery fingers coming from a prism. Sound followed quickly in an expanding shell of resonant, deep vibration, shattering surfaces and structures as it rippled away.
Her body felt like it was going to break apart from the force of conflicting emotions that slammed inside her. There was no way to contain the immensity of those emotions, the power of her feelings overwhelming the environment around her. Adrift with no way to ground herself, the Mage felt the fraying of her control and the strain on her identity as the wave of power grew.
Dimly, Ruth heard people shouting, and drafts of cooler air as something moved close to her. Caught in her maelstrom of angst and fury, the Mage prepared herself for an explosive end to her existence.
I am sorry, my son. Cal, remember that I love you, and tell Troyer and Techla that their Grandma tried. It is just that I am so tired, exhausted to the point that I try desperately just to remember to breathe.
I miss your Dad, and I feel like I am betraying him by caring about Pawlik. Everything is so strange, and I can’t seem to cope. I am so sorry that I could not be stronger and better.
I love you. Always.
Crushing herself into an even tighter ball of flesh bound by sorrow, Ruth sobbed soundlessly, crying dry tears of regret, and aching with inarticulated need. Usually a well-centered, calm woman, at this moment, the Mage fully embraced her agony.
Rather than fight any longer against the powerful emotions, Ruth let the pain of those feelings radiate through her entire being, searing flesh and sinew as it went, shattering joints and twisting limbs. The pain that she accepted from the damage to her body was only a tiny whisper of complaint against the screams of her memories.
If she were going to die, the Mage vowed to let herself simply and finally experience those feelings. The woman made a split-second choice. It would be a testament to her dead, the last sacrifice she could offer before her life was over.
Ruth would let the agony, fear, and anger loose to announce itself, sear its presence in everyone’s mind. It would live and expound its existence, announcing to the world, the universe, what it meant to lose one’s life, one’s love, and the planet of one’s birth.
Suddenly, the Mage was yanked away from the center of her emotional tornado by an irresistible force. Helpless to prevent the action, the Mage was drawn against what appeared to be a tree of strength and shelter, protecting her from the buffeting of the pitiless wind.
For a moment, Ruth resisted, struggling in the grasp of the tree limbs. They appeared to be built out of sheer power, impervious to the wind, and flexible enough to gather her in. After a moment, the woman began to cling to the branches rather than trying to escape.
The Mage could feel the hold the tree had established, stretching its roots deeply into the planet. It was a strange comfort, one that gave Ruth a reference point in the chaotic turmoil of her mind.
The sorrowing woman felt her pain diminish. The grief and sorrow that resonated through her mind did not disappear but instead was transmuted into something bearable. Something survivable.
Anger. Sorrow. Regret. These emotions burned through the tree’s channels and down its roots, leaving no damage in their wake. The planet took the fire of the woman’s agony, made molten by the Mage’s power into itself. It was a sacrifice of pain, springing from a loving woman’s heart and soul, given without reservation.
Ruth could sense that the tree knew what she was feeling, that it understood and accepted her angst and sorrow without diminishing it. Likewise, the world opened its arms to Ruth, consuming her contribution of self without judgment or disapproval.
The Mage’s body vibrated with the power of the emotions flowing from her to the tree. She became aware of the many places that ached and hurt. Sharp burns and cuts were accent notes against the bone-deep pain of physical trauma. Ruth’s consciousness began to reconnect her mind and body until even the beating of her heart nearly overwhelmed her senses.
<< <> >>
Ruth drew a shaky breath but couldn’t hold it. Coughing in reaction to the acrid air, the woman suddenly became conscious of the world around her. For a moment, she couldn’t make sense of what she was perceiving. Then, the Mage’s awareness snapped outward, and she was once more totally integrated with the world around her.
Sound as penetrating as the sharpest dagger assailed her eardrums. Small children’s voices screaming in terror jolted her adrenaline and kicked old reflexes into action.
“Grandma, Grandma, please don’t go away!” “Grandma, I love you, please don’t leave!”
Names, I know their names, Ruth said to herself. Why can’t I remember their names?
<< Troyer and Techla are frightened for you. When you have fully come back to us, call to them because you are their stability in this world. Do not abandon those of us that love you, >> said a voice speaking through the throbbing of her head.
After a moment, Ruth found her voice, saying, “Hunter. I know you’re Hunter.” Her voice and her words sounded strange, harsh and broken. It was an emotional and physical reaction to the firestorm she had just transcended, directed at the body upon which she was resting her head.
How did Hunter get in front of me, and why am I resting my face against his back? the Mage thought.
<< I can hear you, you know. The answer to your question is that when you decided to renovate the entire wing of the castle, I stupidly came running in to make sure you were all right. When I saw you were about to go from a hedgehog to face planting yourself onto the ground, I decided to provide a buffer. After all, there is enough blood soaked into these stones! Instead of letting me just soften your collapse, you chose to use me as a sleeping post. >>
<< Thank you, my friend. I am sorry to have alarmed you. >>
<< Yes, I was frightened and frantic in my fear. However, there was someone else who went beyond frightened to terrified. Even though he only has two legs to my four, he still managed to get to you faster than I could. In fact, there is no wall between your room and his, only a shattered portal. >>
Ruth made a strange sound, a cross between a laugh and a hiccup. << The door was not even locked! >>
<< Remember, I told you about foolishness as it is associated with males. Your mate was honorable enough not to test the door lock last night but in his fear was so desperate to get to you that a thick, solid door was ignored as if it were a fragile curtain of air. >>
Squinting her eyes against a light that was too sharp for her senses to tolerate, Ruth raised her head and looked around her. At that moment, she realized that the bands of strength surrounding and supporting her that she had perceived as tree limbs were, in fact, Pawlik’s arms.
The Lord of Borachland was a mess. The morning light filtered through clouds of dust and drifting smoke to touch on his battered skin and smoke-smudged expression. Blood trickled from small cuts on his head and dotted over every square inch of exposed flesh. Ruth knew that the multitude of injuries hurt, but her Anchor’s attention was locked firmly on her.
Ruth opened her mouth but then paused as she realized that she didn’t know what to say. Her gaze was drawn to a trickle of blood from a small cut by Pawlik’s mouth. She was stabbed with guilt, echoing through her core. Her face drawn in concern, the woman raised her hand gently to his face and brushed the congealing drops away with a featherlight touch.
“You are hurt. I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Pawlik Sarratt Avant Borach, 103rd Lord of Borachland, Duke and Nobleman of Arkken, trembled. Fearless in battle, cool under pressure, all of his painfully acquired control was in shambles. Raising a shaking hand, he captured Ruth’s fingers in his and drew them closer to his mouth, carefully saluting each one with a tender pressure of his lips.
Still holding her hand, Pawlik looked Ruth in the face with a naked expression, exposing his feelings to all. The woman held her breath, knowing that whatever passed his lips would define the shape of their relationship forever. The split second be
fore he spoke seemed like an eternity to Ruth.
Swallowing in a convulsive effort, the Lord of Borachland chose the branch that he and his Mage would follow when he said, “I was an idiot. There is no excuse, and I have no explanation. Please, please don’t leave me. My heart, my essence is in your hands. Please, do not leave me, my love.”
Chapter 13 – After the Storm
Borachland Castle
Ruth’s senses flashed as she switched from exhausted slumber to hyper-awareness of everything around her. The Mage knew that she was not in her own bedroom, but for a split second could not remember why.
With a barrage like the firing of an automatic weapon, snippets of memory hit her semiconscious awareness, each arriving with the power and pain of bullets. The impact blows felt muffled, lacking the sharpness that she expected.
Why don’t I hurt more, she thought to herself. The woman felt strange as if she was floating and only partially present in her body. She slowly realized that the wrapped-up feeling was a product of exhaustion, both mental and physical. Ruth knew that it was the reaction to a mind and body that had been overtaxed.
Lying there quietly, the Mage concentrated on reassembling what happened the day before, anchored by the deep even beating in the massive, warm chest her head rested on. Ruth knew that Pawlik was awake. His body had that slight tension that always thrummed through a fighting man.
Ruth realized that he was giving her time to feel safe enough to come back to this place and time. Even though our relationship was formed in the fiery furnace of pain and danger, he still tries to extend me every courtesy and kindness. I just don’t understand this man.
Bracing herself against expected pain, Ruth opened her eyes and slowly started stretching. She ignored the aches and stiffness of unhappy muscles and continued to move the different parts of her body until she had a pretty good inventory of what damage she had taken. Finding less than she expected, the woman sat up and looked around.
“Good morning, Dearling. How are you feeling today?” Pawlik asked in a gentle voice.
“Better than I have any right to feel if I remember yesterday correctly.”
“Yes, you certainly pushed a lot of boundaries, and your impromptu redecorating effort must’ve taken a lot out of you.”
Ruth started to laugh, her mirth erupting in a hoarse chortle that eventually smoothed out to her normal rippling sounds of amusement. “I’m sure at some point both of us will think it’s funny, even though I still feel ashamed.” After a moment, she continued, “I didn’t mean to lose control and can’t say it won’t happen again, Pawlik.”
All traces of humor erased from Ruth’s face as she turned to stare her Anchor squarely in the eyes, “I think it was a reaction to all of the things that keep happening so quickly. I got overwhelmed, tensed up trying to regain control, and some minor thing set me off.”
“I suspected that you might have this happen. I have seen that reaction in many of our combat soldiers.”
As close as Ruth was to her Anchor, she clearly saw the pain in his face, and the shadows of painful memory, as he spoke again, “When they have been through repeated engagements without a break to resettle their center, it does not take much to set them off. They react as if they’re still in a war zone, even if part of their mind knows that they’re not.”
Ruth’s eyes welled up with tears and her face heated with embarrassment, “How can I be trusted with anyone or anything? I’ve always been able to calm things down. I am very unsettled right now and do not even know exactly what caused that storm of fury and pain.”
Pawlik’s eyes were deep wells of understanding and empathy. Ruth felt like she could get lost in those violet clouds, sink into his warmth, and just be at peace. His voice, a whisper that slid directly into her soul, told her, “I understand because I’ve been there. Those of us that have responsibilities feel like we cannot fail. Any weakness, any shortfall on our part betrays those that depend on us.”
“Yes! Cal, the babies, everyone is looking to us, and me. I can’t keep everybody safe, as much as I try. I don’t know enough to protect them, and I’m not sure I can handle more people dying for me.” Ruth sobbed soundlessly, scorching hot tears pouring down her face.
Pawlik slid his arms around the anguished woman and drew her against his chest again. His hand stroked her hair gently. Ruth could feel the curling softness of his chest hair caressing her face, and the syncopation of his heartbeat. The warmth of his embrace enclosed her and wrapped her with a blanket of protection and caring. Her tears slowed, and the tension she felt eased.
“My dear Mage, you did not put any of us in danger. Even amid your emotional flood, you directed your fury at inanimate objects. Do not be too hard on yourself!”
“Pawlik, that is not totally true. I saw you! You had cuts all over the place. There was blood! And dust! It was a huge mess. I frightened the children, and they were crying.”
“If you remember Troyer and Techla crying, surely you remember that you reassured them, even as you were being carried out of the room.”
Taken aback, Ruth recalled her exhausted voice murmuring reassurances. Telling the children that she was fine, and not to be afraid had failed to calm them down. Both youngsters had insisted on touching her and holding her hand, even as she was carried away.
Even now, the Mage remembered the humor in the adult voices as people joked about her need to redecorate as she was carried to a different room and laid on a soft bed. There had been the gentle hands of the healer then, followed by warm water and other nurturing touches. Dimly, she once again experienced the comfort of having her bruised body washed and someone brushing and braiding her long hair.
“Pawlik, where are we?”
The Lord of Borachland let loose a loud shout of laughter, saying, “I was wondering when you’re going to ask that.”
“And…?”
“We are in the other wing of the Castle. It is the one that is normally reserved for guests. Since you didn’t appear to like the decorating in the North Wing, we will be staying in these rooms until the arrangements of minor things like walls and floors meet your approval once again.”
<<<>>>
It took a while for Ruth to be ready for the rest of her day. Moving slowly, she made her way down the staircase to the main floor. The Mage couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that seemed to intensify as she moved toward the sunny breakfast room. She knew others would be taking the day’s first meal at the same time and that they would need reassurance from her that all was well.
The woman’s steps became slower as she got closer to the doorway. She could hear the light, happy voices of Troyer and Techla as Mary teased them. There were others in the room, for she could make out the lower rumbling of male voices.
Ruth stopped and stood frozen in the middle of the hallway. She jumped as a mental voice addressed her.
<< Lady Mage, I find myself unable to deal with the noise of breakfast with the others. Perhaps, you could see your way to joining me for breakfast in a quieter location. >>
It was Hunter, appearing suddenly next to the Mage. Ruth was beyond quick reactions, slowed and dulled by the exhaustion that clouded her thinking. The Catog leaned his big body against her side, and she convulsively grabbed hard onto the fur of his shoulder, so conveniently the same height as her armpit.
There was no answer from the Mage, though Hunter continued his half conversation, saying, << Come with me. This is the fastest way to a quieter dining area. >>
Hunter smoothly guided Ruth to the main kitchen. The overstressed woman flinched at the noise of the preparation going on there and steeled herself for anxious queries and comments. The kitchen was too active, and Hunter could tell that the Mage knew that everyone was looking at her. He could almost see the level of her panic start to rise, and the urge to flee surged.
The Catog’s upper lip retracted in a snarl, and his impressive incisors were displayed. Whether in response to his nonverbal language or out of conside
ration for the Lady of the Castle, no one said a word as Hunter and the Mage made their way through the kitchen and out the door that led to the kitchen gardens and other parts of the inner keep.
It was a short walk through the vegetables and herbs that were tended so carefully by one of the gardeners. Ruth relaxed in the area crowded with busy honeybees and the smells of growing things. The slow-paced, relaxed movement seemed to help her also, as her body finally became convinced that she was not under attack. Her thoughts grew calmer, and her mind began to clear.
The pair moved through a sturdy gate, and the lushness of the gardens gave way to a fine-graveled surface. The difference in the sound of her shoes hitting the ground pulled Ruth out of her reverie, and she looked up, startled.
Chapter 14 – Breaking Bread
Borachland Castle
The single-story long building that met her gaze was very utilitarian. It took Ruth a few moments to realize what she saw, which was the guard mess hall. Thoughts darted through her head, << I think I was here once before, but only briefly. If I remember correctly, this is where all the guards get their meals. >>
<< That is correct, Mage. A place where food is served, and the conversation is not as intense or as intrusive. >>
Hunter could feel Ruth tensing as they moved through the doorway into the mess. So close was he to Ruth’s side that he could feel the exact moment when she saw Margot and Jenna sitting at a table with the off-duty security staff.
The Catog could pretty much fill in the argument the Mage was having with herself. It would be an exchange something like, “I am safe because they are here.” “But they will want to talk to me.” “I suppose I have to go over there, but I really don’t want to.” “Maybe we can just find someplace to eat by ourselves.”
<< Ruth, let’s sit at a table by ourselves, or at least one with no one that we know intimately. That way we can have a pleasant, quiet breakfast. >
