by Candy Nicks
Her father was already dressed for the tournament, the perfect warrior in his leather body-armour. Sol stood solemnly by as his squire, Ancel's silvered helmet clutched to his chest.
"Has he woken?” Ancel asked, his gaze firmly fixed on the restraint holding the man in place.
"No.” Naima let go of the man's hand and bit back her opinions regarding restraints and the dying. I'm sorry Father, I completely forgot about the Festival. I'll go and change."
"It's important we all be there, Naima. The people need to know we are united in our commitment to the Settlements. And it's a chance for each of us to show off our best and finest. Come on. Let down your hair. Celebrate your heritage with us."
Ancel had long given up any notions of his women-folk following his commands to the letter. But, light-hearted as his tone was, Naima would be expected to grant him this request without question.
"Of course,” she said rising from the chair. “I need to wash."
"And to sleep, properly, in your own bed.” Carine made herself comfortable in the chair. “Go. The tournament doesn't start until mid-day. I'll keep watch here for a few hours. Tragiria will help too. We'll make a rota. He'll be in good hands, and you'll be of no use to him if you collapse from exhaustion.
"Come Naima. Kandar is waiting to crown you queen of love and beauty when he invariably takes the day.” Ancel opened the door and motioned her through, his face alight with mirth.
"Not funny, Father.” Lack of sleep made her snap back at him. Immediately contrite, she mumbled an apology. “You know I'm planning to refuse his marriage proposal?"
They stepped out onto the cobbled path surrounding the infirmary. Sol ran on ahead, anxious to show off the new helmet to a group of friends at the foot of the slope. Naima walked beside her father, relishing the warmth of the rising sun. Music and laughter drifted up from the town square. The same sounds she'd heard in her dream.
Why would an injured man trigger a dream about Lupines? Perhaps Carine would have some answers.
"Have I ever forced you to do anything?"
"No.” Naima stumbled on the stony path and caught Ancel's arm, his strength a reassuring constant in her life. “I would like, one day, what you have with Carine."
He righted her and continued walking. “I'm a lucky man,"
"Yes, I know. I believe there is someone special for each of us, and I'm happy to wait and see. Choosing a life-partner is a big decision. I want to be sure before I take it."
"Kandar left Eyrie to contribute something here. He's keen to settle and found his own dynasty. We need people like him. Give him proper consideration, at least promise me that?"
"I will,” she said. “For now, I'm content to stay just as I am."
"And I would have you at my hearth forever,” he replied. “You will fly the nest one day. Just don't go too far."
The closeness hadn't come immediately. She'd leapt at the chance to go with him, but getting to know this man, who she now so easily called Father, had taken perseverance and time, during which they'd learned through trial, error and experience what it meant to be family. Carine had been an invaluable mediator, bringing them together when they'd clashed swords and siding with her when Ancel stood behind his stubborn male pride. Because of Carine, she had been allowed weapons training along with the boys; something all the females on the Settlement now had without question.
She clung to him now, remembering how stubbornly she'd insisted he take her with him. Glad that he'd had the courage to listen to her.
"I will be there,” she said, nodding towards the brightly-coloured pavilions and milling crowds—a celebration of their diversity as much as their unity. “And you will win the day and crown your own queen of love and beauty."
Laughing, he let her go. “I'm only there as ornament this year. Time to let the younger men take the honours and show off their manliness to the ladies."
"Sol has talked of nothing else. I'll join you later, Father.” She turned for the Faylar house, smiling at the thought of her eight-year-old brother lining up with the older men. He'd flatly refused to enter the children's competitions, declaring that sparring with striplings was beneath his dignity. Tragiria would often shake her head and declare him Ancel reborn.
"Naima, wait."
"Father,” she said anticipating his words. “I will be careful around him, don't worry. We must help him heal and to return to his people. Or to wherever he was destined. If he asks for sanctuary, you will grant it?"
"We'll discuss that later. It's not what I wanted to say."
She watched his fingers moving over the ceremonial dagger sheathed at his hip. Noticed the way he rubbed his newly shaved cheek and avoided her direct gaze.
"It's Carine. There's something wrong. Since this man turned up, she's been preoccupied in a way I've never seen. Not even..."
"If you ever want to talk,” Naima said. “About the old days? I'm always here to listen."
"No,” Ancel shook his head. “I'm more concerned with the now. Something's troubling her. If you find out, you will tell me?"
Naima lowered her head to avoid her father's intense scrutiny. How Carine had kept the secret of her soul from him all these years, she had no idea.
"She's concerned about the injured man, as we all are. I'm sure that's all it is."
"Well, if you do find out anything, please, you must tell me. She takes too much upon herself. I'm worried about her."
Naima lifted her head and gazed up into eyes that were so much like her own. Her new life here, she owed entirely to this man. No one had worked harder than Ancel to help turn this remote patch of wasteland into the thriving community laid out below. Together they'd felled the trees to make cabins and fences. Ploughed the earth for crops. The old house, and the new one behind them, he'd virtually built with his own hands. Every day he laboured on the walls, hauling and laying the stone that would protect the community better than the old wooden palisades. Now she'd grown to know him, she loved him unreservedly and owed him no less than perfect loyalty.
"Father,” she said. “There's nothing to tell. Please don't ask me to spy on Carine. I could never betray a confidence. I owe her too much."
He acknowledged her words with an inclination of his head. “Here,” he said and slid the jewelled dagger from its scabbard.
She took it, gazing at him in question, her fingers sliding over the polished stones.
"Take it, and wear it to the tournament. It's time you had a dagger befitting a Faylar. I want only to keep you all safe. If there's anything I need to know, it would be better to tell me. However, you're right to remind me that honour is everything."
"I don't know what to say.” Naima held up the dagger, turning it so the coloured stones caught the morning light. One of the few mementoes he'd salvaged from his old life. Sent to him by his mother with Kandar when he'd left Eyrie to join them at the Settlement. Today finery was compulsory rather than something they had little need of. The gesture had backed her into a corner, of sorts.
"You could promise me not to flaunt it in front of Sol. He's been dropping incessant hints since he set eyes on it. I'll never hear the last of it when he sees you have it."
"I'll wear it with pride. But not too ostentatiously,” she added, smiling now at the way her father had diffused the situation with his usual dry humour. “Thank you. Know that I'm as concerned for everyone's welfare as you are. And always will be."
They parted ways, he to catch up with his over-excited eldest son and she to the house where she found Tragiria forcing a comb through her youngest brother's wildly curling hair. At six, Tallin was dark and sturdy rather than willowy and bright-haired like Sol; but no less of a handful. Tears streaked his cheeks and already his new tunic bore splashes of mud.
"You'll see Larissa at the festival,” she told him. “Brynn's taken her home to make herself pretty so she can be queen of love and beauty. See what Father gave me?” Naima extended the dagger.
Tallin grinned through th
e tears and held up the dagger. “Now Sol can't have it,” he said, his voice laced with glee. Wriggling free from an exasperated Tragiria, he slashed at the air with the knife and growled. “I'm the beast-man,” he declared. “Look at me and die!"
Naima shivered. For a moment, she felt again the imprint of long slender fingers, hot with fever, lying in her palm. Lupine. It meant wolf-like. She shook herself and managed an indulgent smile for her brother. The mystery of the injured man coupled with lack of sleep must surely be playing tricks on her mind.
Despite the reassurances, the sense of disquiet remained. The tournament passed in a blaze colour and cheering. The smell of horses, burnt sugar, spiced wine and pungent ale. The crack of the wooden lances on shields, the clash of swords as the men showed off their prowess to the women-folk. Familiar rituals harking back to times that were quickly being forgotten by the rest of the planet.
To embrace the future, they must celebrate their roots and give thanks to those who'd paved the way with their sacrifices. She heard Ancel's voice making the closing speech. Familiar words he believed in with a passion. They all stood while Brynn's wife sang the anthem.
Naima looked around in a daze. Where had the day gone? The sun lay low on the horizon, streaking the ocean with red and gold, the moons already on the rise. The music had slowed and, two by two, couples filtered down from the stands to dance the night away. Later, they'd wind their way home, arm in arm. She envied their easy intimacy. Her father and Carine, Brynn and the woman he'd found singing in a market square. Love wasn't something you planned. It just happened. Her mind drifted back to the man lying in the infirmary. Who was he, and why had he managed to make her feel such concern for him?
Kandar stood below in the arena, signing his name on the wooden horses and toy shields proffered by eager children, occasionally glancing up to catch her eye. She waved back half-heartedly, hoping he wouldn't take it as a sign that she wanted to dance. Would it be too early to excuse herself? Perhaps she should offer to go and check on the injured man, see if he'd awoken at last. Or died ... The thought made her heart lurch.
"Have you enjoyed the day?"
Carine moved quietly beside her and settled on the wooden bench, her two-year old daughter a sleepy bundle in her arms. Naima gently stroked back her sister's wispy blonde hair and nodded, trying to inject some enthusiasm into her expression. “Yes,” she said. “Kandar was kind to let Sol beat him in the sword-play. He's very considerate."
"Perhaps not the wisest of decisions. I hope Sol doesn't think this makes him a man. I actually caught him sneaking ale earlier. Oh, I see Ancel gave you the dagger. He said he would."
Naima touched the dagger in response, sensing that Carine wanted to do more than make small talk. Kandar had moved to join the throng of men intent on drinking and singing the night away. Naima spotted her father deep in conversation, a tankard of ale in his fist.
"Father is not on watch this year?"
"No. The Crystal bestows protection at Festival time, so fewer guards are needed.” Carine adjusted the sleeping child and smiled fondly. “I don't expect to see him back this side of the dawn. Naima, has the man awoken?"
"Not as far as I know. I didn't feel I could leave to check on him. Father wanted me here..."
"But you would have rather been up there, in the hut?"
"Yes, if the truth be told. The stranger intrigues me like no man ever has. Carine, tell me more about the Lupines."
"The Lupines?” Carine failed to conceal her surprise, or the glint of hope in her eyes. “Why do you ask?"
"When I was keeping watch I fell asleep. I dreamed ... at least I think it was a dream.” Naima closed her eyes, bringing the images back into focus, trying to remember the words she'd heard so clearly. “There were two men and they talked of a Lupine being born. It's probably just my imagination, the excitement of the man appearing at Festival time. Pay me no heed."
"No, it's important."
Naima turned to her stepmother and extracted her sleeping sister, silently scolding herself for mentioning the key to Carine's salvation so casually.
"I'm sorry,” she said. “I don't know whether it was a dream, or not. What does it mean?"
Carine breathed deeply and composed herself. Like someone not daring to hope, a precious goal might be in sight. “Since the man arrived, two other Moon-Children have indicated that he's here for me. The signals are mixed and, of course, they don't know the reason why. But my Crystal, too, has chosen to speak. After all this time, it chooses now."
"What does it say?” Naima bit her lip. So she hadn't imagined the scene she'd seen so clearly?
"I won't be sure until he wakes up. The Abbess spoke of a grander plan in which we all have a part to play. I have a feeling it's about to be revealed."
"So, you think my dream was significant?"
Carine slipped a hand into her pocket and took out a small crushed-velvet bag. From it, she drew her Crystal. The colourless rock sat on her palm, giving no hint of the power contained within.
"See this, Naima. I'm a soul-reader, but any power I have is dependent on the will of the Crystal. There are Moon-Children on the Settlement who have more power than I, and they are praying for the injured man, sending him healing. But you...” She slid the stone back into its bag. “Your healing powers are more than just knowing which herb to administer. Your power is deep inside you, instinctive, and you've yet to discover the extent of it. It is you who holds his destiny in your hands and with it, perhaps my destiny too."
Naima pulled her sleeping sister closer. “Back there at his bedside, I made such a strong connection with him. Who is he, Carine? What is he? Have you looked into his soul?"
"Yes, and it bears the scars of a hard life. I don't dare hope, Naima. Here, give Ayla to me, I'll have Tragiria take her home. Go to him, his spirit is calling you. Share your life-force with him, for you have that in abundance. Call him back, Naima. Call him back."
* * * *
They said that when you died, you walked towards the light and into the next world. To a place of peace and rest. He longed for it with an intensity that hurt, but the thread binding him to life would not break, no matter how much he strained at it. Standing in the corner of the room, the spirit-man watched his mortal body cling to life determined to stay here, in a world that had broken him beyond repair.
"Why?” the spirit asked, “Why are you keeping me here? It's finished. Let me go."
Watched anxiously by a young woman, the man lying on the bed struggled to suck in another painful breath. Each one a tentative step on the road back to life. A refusal to give in to this one version of his fate.
"Let me go,” his spirit said. “I have no place in this world. Let me join my people in the next."
"Stay with me.” The blonde-haired woman spoke aloud, giving conviction to her thoughts. Touching her fingers to the man's cheek, she said more softly. “Your life is important. Please stay."
For ten days now, she'd kept vigil at his bedside. While others had come and gone, she was constant. So determined to keep him here in this world. A tall woman, perhaps the same age as he, with bright hair that fell in a braid, to her knees. The spirit moved nearer, breathing in her unique scent, light and elusive, yet with a hint of the exotic. He stared into her clear grey eyes and saw himself reflected back, whole and strong once more. When he touched her, the vibrancy of her life-force seeped through his fingers.
Shivering, the woman looked around, eyes shadowed from lack of sleep. She grasped the hand of the sleeping body once more and reapplied herself to her mission of keeping him alive.
Never had anyone cared for his welfare as she did. He'd been a commodity to be traded, gaped at and recoiled from. Caged, with only the barest of essentials to comfort him, he'd grown used to a life empty of compassion. Violent beasts didn't deserve love. He was something to be feared, not someone who would inspire this inexplicable dedication. This woman they called Naima had become his anchor, a reason to stay in this worl
d.
As often happened, she fell asleep, her head close to his on the bed. Outside the room, the guard paced back and forth.
The spirit-man dared to touch her, light fingers on her hair, her face. Dipping his head, he pressed his lips to the tender skin of her neck and inhaled deeply. She shifted, and sighed, angling her head to give him better access. He kissed her again, marvelling at her easy acquiescence. Most women ran screaming from him when they knew what he was, their fear feeding the beast inside him. She would too, if she ever saw his other face.
"Naima.” He said her name and watched her mouth curve into a smile. Ran his fingers along her spine and was rewarded with a shudder and a breathy sigh. The woman shifted restlessly and rubbed her cheek over the sleeping man's hand.
The give and take of pleasure was a dance of which he had little understanding. Her responses to his tentative explorations fascinated him. In the past, he'd resisted the urge to mate as best he could, not wanting to give his captors more like him to exploit and demean, but there had been times of lust-fuelled frenzy when the need for release had been impossible to control. The memories shamed him.
The spirit withdrew to the window and gazed out. Where the City had been a place of despair, the township below, with its half-finished buildings and neatly ploughed fields, was positively bursting with hope. It buzzed with an energy that looked forward, not back to a time when others like him roamed the world.
To the west, a mass of water moved with serene grace. Its ever-changing shape and limitless horizon fascinated him. He'd heard that vast seas covered the planet, but had never thought to see the Great Ocean with his own eyes. The way it embraced the setting sun and merged with it in an ecstasy of colour, he found strangely moving.
Above the township, the tree-covered mountains kept their ageless vigils. Patches of yellow flowers, the same colour as Naima's hair, carpeted the highest peaks. So fitting. They grew with tenacity where no other flowers survived and she had that same determination in abundance.
