“The sorcerous Powakas had turned the hearts of the people. The rains stayed away and the rivers dried. Some of the People remembered however; their ko’pavi remained open to the Creator. So Taiowa sent Spider Grandmother to bring his true sons and daughters out of evil to the Fifth World. She told them to dance and call the rain.
“Soon the winds cooled and the sky darkened, all except for a sipapuni high above. The clouds released their rain, but it didn’t fall to quench the thirsty earth. It spread on the wind and a rainbow ladder appeared; and so the people began to climb.”
Cele sucked in a sharp breath. A rainbow!
“People who remembered their father Taiowa came from all over, but the Late Comers dallied along the way. ‘This land is not so bad,’ they said. ‘Let’s rest here awhile.’ They tarried too long. Taiowa pulled up his rainbow ladder and closed the sipapuni.
“Many years passed before they saw their error. The evil of the Powaka sorcerers grew strong and the land lay sere and parched like a bone in the drylands. The children of Taiowa were dying and cried out for help. Spider Grandmother heard and pitied them. She drew the sign of the rainbow ladder on the bones of the Mother and opened a way for the Late Comers.”
Cele remembered the drawing of the arch, the footholds, and the climbing men. Is that what I saw carved on the rocks?
“The People rejoiced and climbed into the Fifth World. When they arrived, they hung their heads in shame because they hadn’t answered the first call. They didn’t join the Tewakwe or the Bahana, the white men who had heeded the summons. Instead, the Late Comers traveled far to the south. They live there still.”
Loloma’s speech returned to a conversational tone. “Spider Grandmother must have shown you her drawing of the ladder, Lady Celia. You are the latest to come, but you are welcome.”
“Thank you.” Cele hesitated, then asked, “There’s no way back, then?” Anticipation pulled her tight as a bowstring. The Tewakwe were her last hope of home.
Loloma shook his head. “We have no magic to send you back. A babe cannot return to the womb, nor can you return to Tu’waqachi. Spider Grandmother brought you here because your ko’pavi is open to Taiowa. This is your place. Sing the Creator’s praises and listen for his whisper; he has work here for you to do, as we have seen today.”
Loloma’s words ripped the last of her hope away. All the things of home, big and small were lost to her now. Her job. Her friends. Her life.
Yet something in her felt lighter. Loloma’s words held hope; she had a place here. She glanced at Dahleven, then back at the Tewakwe leader. Maybe she could let the past go. She could move forward.
Loloma spoke again. “But if it is Taiowa’s will that you return, perhaps the Katsinas can show you the way.”
*
Distress tightened a fist on Dahleven’s heart. Celia still wanted to leave. He shouldn’t be surprised, he knew, but he’d hoped he’d given her some hope of happiness here, enough to want to stay.
“You would, perhaps, like to rest now, Lord Dahleven, Lady Celia,” Neven said. “Father Ragnar, would you make arrangements for them?”
Ragni stood and bowed first to Neven and then to the Kikmongwi. Loloma gestured to his man, who also rose. It was a courtesy for the Kikmongwi to forego the assistance of his Truth Sayer in the absence of Ragni, and it boded well for the trust the two leaders needed to have in one another.
“I will have my daughter send a dress to you,” the Kikmongwi said to Celia. “Kon Neven has no women with him.” His tone implied that he thought the fact strange.
“My thanks, Loloma,” Neven said.
Celia smiled and curtsied deeply before following Ragni out of the pavilion.
*
Several paces from Neven’s pavilion Ragni asked with feigned innocence, “Shall I secure two tents for you, or will one do?”
The thought of sleeping with Dahleven again quickened Cele’s pulse even while she felt anxious about what others would think. She felt herself blushing and was surprised to see Dahleven coloring, too.
“One then,” Ragni said, chuckling.
Dahleven’s face grew stormy.
“Actually,” Ragni hastened to add, “we haven’t many tents with us, Lady Celia. I shall give you mine and Dahleven and I can share Father’s, if that will suit?”
“Thank you, Ragni,” Cele said. “I’m surprised you have tents set up at all. Everyone looked so ready to fight when we got here.”
“There was good chance of it, as you saw. But luckily you were here to set us straight.” Ragni grinned, but Cele could tell he meant it more sincerely than his words implied. “We defeated the Renegade’s ambush yesterday afternoon and established a temporary truce with the Tewakwe. There was no reason not to make ourselves comfortable, especially if we might be fighting again today.”
“The Kikmongwi mentioned the Katsinas might know how to send me home. Who are they?” The word probably didn’t mean the same thing it did back home.
“That’s what the Tewakwe call the Elves.” Ragni frowned. “I wouldn’t hold out much hope of that, Celia. The Elves don’t have much to do with us, and that’s a good thing.”
Celia couldn’t help flicking a glance at Dahleven.
Ragni’s brows rose as he looked between them. “There’s a tale there, I’m thinking.”
“Later,” Dahleven growled.
“What can you do about bathing arrangements?” she asked as they paused in front of his tent.
“Not much, I’m afraid. A basin of water is the best I can offer.”
The details were worked out. Ragni and Dahleven cleared his belongings from a pavilion that was tall enough to stand in, and nearly five paces across. The water had just been delivered when two Tewakwe women arrived. One introduced herself as Na’i, Loloma’s daughter. The other carried a folded bundle and a soft basket slung from her shoulder.
Na’i wore tall suede boots and a calf length dress of brown, finely woven cloth. Though cut differently, it was just as carefully tailored as what Nuvinland women wore. Graduated strands of polished amber hung around her neck, and multiple earrings pierced her ears. Her straight black hair was caught back in a braid. “Please accept this gift,” Na’i said. “Momo’a will assist you since you have no women of your own.”
The girl with Na’i stepped forward and bowed her head.
Even folded, Cele could see that the blue, doeskin dress Momo’a carried was beautifully decorated with polished lapis and sparkled with beads of blue crystal.
“You’re very generous,” Cele said. “Thank you.”
“You honor me,” Na’i said, and left.
Cele stripped and Momo’a began sponging off several days of grime. As she bathed, the Kikmongwi’s words sank in and took root. The door home was closed, the matter finished—unless the Elves knew a way. She could try to find them. If she really wanted to go. Did she? Maybe Loloma was right. Perhaps she was meant to be here. She knew Dahleven would say she’d already made a difference. But what about the future?
Momo’a used a wooden paddle to scrape the beaded water from her back. Cele’s attention turned to the quiet girl helping her. “When did your people come to the Fifth World, Momo’a?”
“Over five hundred summers ago. But it has been only two hundred summers since we found the Bahana, our light-skinned brothers.”
“I didn’t see any of your people in Nuvinland. Do you ever visit there?”
Momo’a hesitated, then said, “We trade, but the passes are closed by snow most of the year. Travel between us is difficult. We don’t visit the Bahana often. Some of them have forgotten that we are all Taiowa’s children.”
Cele winced inwardly. That sounded too familiar. “Are there very many Tewakwe?”
Momo’a patted her dry with a cloth. “The Confederation has settlements all up and down the northern face of the range. We have prospered since Taiowa brought us here. Loloma is Kikmongwi for all.”
Momo’a rubbed a spicy scented oil into her
skin, and Cele’s muscles softened under the girl’s skillful hands. She hadn’t thought she’d need help dressing, but when the dress was unfolded, she realized she’d never have managed the lacing alone. Momo’a pulled the ribbons tight in back so that the soft doeskin molded to Cele’s curves. The hemline was slightly higher than on Nuvinlander dresses, just above her ankles. Matching beaded ankle boots completed the outfit, replacing the slippers she’d worn to shreds scrambling through the forest and over rocks.
Momo’a finished by braiding blue ribbons in Cele’s hair.
She was just wishing for a mirror when there was a scratching outside at the tent flap. “I forgot a sheaf of paper,” Ragni called. “Could you slip it out to me?”
Cele found the roll of paper and stepped out into the afternoon sunlight.
Ragni’s reaction was better than a glass. He grinned and his eyes glowed with not so subtle lust. “Had my brother not already come to his senses and claimed you, I wouldn’t allow him another chance. I regret not pressing my opportunity with you.”
Cele blushed but smiled at the praise. “How did you know? Did he kiss and tell?”
“Dahleven?” Ragni huffed a soft laugh. “No. My Talent is Empathy, my lady. To my eyes, you and Dahleven are glowing with affection—and other feelings. It’s not difficult to guess the reason.”
Cele hardly knew what to say. “Oh.”
Momo’a emerged, with the basin of used water supported on one hip.
“Thank you for your help, Momo’a, and convey my gratitude to Na’i again, please. I wish I could repay her generosity, but I have nothing to give in return.”
Ragni leaned close and whispered, “Your ear jewelry, perhaps?”
Cele touched her ears. She’d worn the diamond studs for so long, she’d forgotten she had them on. They were the only things Jeff had given her that she’d kept. “Of course!” Cele removed her earrings. “Please give these to Na’i for me, along with my friendship.” She lay them in Momo’a’s palm without a twinge of regret or loss.
Momo’a’s eyebrows lifted as the sunlight flashed brilliantly in the gems. “I believe she will be pleased to accept both, Lady Celia.”
Dahleven arrived moments later. His muscles strained against a borrowed russet leather tunic and ivory shirt. Parts of her started to tingle as she admired the way his too-tight leather leggings showed off his thighs and rear. She also liked the heated look in his eyes as his gaze swept over her.
Ragni cleared his throat and muttered, “Have pity on me.”
“What?” Dahleven asked, as he continued to look appreciatively at her.
Ragni held the paper low and discretely adjusted himself. “Never mind. I’ve got to go.” He strode quickly away.
Dahleven didn’t give his brother a second look. “Will you walk with me?” There was an oddly diffident note in his voice.
“Of course.”
They climbed up the hill, hand in hand. The sun slanted through the tall trees, tipping the needles with gold, and birds chirped in the branches overhead. An unseen raven cawed. They found a wide, flat rock to sit on, sheltered by a brake of young trees. Cele knew there must be sentries not far away, but couldn’t see them.
Dahleven sat close to her, not quite touching. She wanted him to take her in his arms, but instead he leaned forward, hands knotted tightly together, elbows resting on his knees. Something was definitely bothering him.
A feeling of dread stole over her, but she laid a hand on his shoulder. “Just tell me.”
“A Jarl shouldn’t act impulsively, or only to please himself. He has his people to think of,” he stated flatly, not looking at her.
Gudrun’s warning surfaced in her mind and Cele’s throat tightened. What had she been thinking? That they had a future together? She hadn’t even realized she’d drifted into considering long-term possibilities. Here was her wake-up call. Dahleven knew his duty to Quartzholm and Nuvinland. He might want to sleep with her, but his honor would force him to make sure she knew what the rules were.
“Don’t,” Cele said, pulling her hand away. “I understand. I’m a wildcard in this world. All of your choices have political consequences, including who you sleep with.”
Dahleven nodded. “Nevertheless, I want you by my side, Celia.”
Cele’s breath caught in her throat. By his side. As his elskerinne?
She loved him. She wanted to be with him. An official mistress was, according to Gudrun, a respected person among the Nuvinlanders. They could be together—if she didn’t mind sharing him with a wife.
I can’t.
Maybe half a loaf was better than none, but she couldn’t settle. It wasn’t enough. She wanted it all. Marriage. Love. Commitment. “No.” Her chest felt so tight she could barely breathe, but somehow she got the words out. “I won’t be your mistress.”
Dahleven straightened, his eyes wide, mouth agape.
Is he really that surprised at being refused? Abruptly, she stood and walked away from him, stopping beside a massive pine, blinking back tears. She couldn’t stay here and watch him marry someone else. She’d Find the Elves. They might be able to send her home. The image of Galendir’s pale gracefulness and lithe strength rose in her mind. At the thought, her Talent pulled at her, tugging her attention up-slope. He wasn’t far. She could go to them now.
She imagined Elaine’s welcoming hug at finding her alive. All the big and little things like movie nights and microwave popcorn, the convenience of cell phones and cars, tampons and modern medicine would be hers again. She’d sleep in her own bed and have meaningful work to do. And if she somehow kept her Talent for Finding, she’d volunteer with Search and Rescue. She’d have a full life.
Why didn’t that seem like enough?
“Celia.” Dahleven caressed her upper arms, sending an intimate shiver through her body. “Being an elskerinne is an honorable thing—”
She opened her mouth to retort, but he didn’t give her the chance.
“—but I do not ask it of you.”
Confused, Cele turned to look at him as he took her hands in both of his.
“I will sacrifice and serve the people of Quartzholm in all things but this. I will choose my wife for the sake of my heart, not my position. I love you. Will you wed with me?”
Cele’s heart exploded with surprise, hope, and joy, but her mind couldn’t quite take it in. “What?”
Dahleven laughed. “I love you. Will you be my wife?”
She searched his face and saw only warmth and—nervousness?
She wanted to accept, but how could she marry someone after knowing him for two and a half weeks? I knew Jeff for two years, and look what happened. But Dahleven wasn’t Jeff—or her father.
As if he read her mind, Dahleven said, “I’m no Oathbreaker, Celia. I won’t leave you alone with my babe in your belly.”
Cele’s heart fell. “Is that what’s behind this? You think I might be pregnant?” Was he just trying to do the right thing? “Don’t worry—Thora gave me some of that tea to brew. Besides, you haven’t made me any promises. Your honor is safe.”
Dahleven looked taken aback. “A babe wouldn’t force our marriage, though I would stand by the child in any case. My offer is to you, and it is a promise.”
Hope threatened to choke her. She pushed it down ruthlessly. “Your mother won’t like it.”
Dahleven smiled. “How could she not welcome the woman who helped save Quartzholm from earthquake and fire? That’s what Jorund had planned, after all.”
“She’ll welcome me, all right.” Cele couldn’t keep all of the bitterness out of her voice. “As your mistress.”
“What?”
“She doesn’t think I’ll make a good wife for you. She thinks I should be your elskerinne since I don’t know all the ins and outs of your politics.”
“And what decision did the two of you come to about my future?” he asked acidly.
“I told her that since you hadn’t asked me to be either one I couldn’t agree
or disagree…She didn’t like that answer.”
A smile tugged at his lips. “I expect not.”
“Then I told her I was going home, so I would be neither.”
Dahleven’s smile faded. “If that is your wish, I will help you seek out the Light Elves. Loloma is likely right. The old tales say the Fey once passed freely between Alfheim and Midgard. Though we have no magic to send you back, the Elves must know a way.”
Cele sucked in a sharp breath. There it was. She could go home. He would help her. She looked up the mountainside, into the forest, where her Talent told her the Elves lingered not far away.
Then she realized the enormity of what he offered.
“You would do that? For me? But if you took me to the Elves, everyone would know you’re Fey-marked!”
Dahleven spoke in a voice tight with emotion. “I can do no less. You saved my family and my home from death and destruction. I will do whatever it takes to see you happy—even if it means losing you.”
Cele stared. He would risk his rank and privilege, would risk everything to make her happy? On the mere chance the Elves could send her home—if that was what she wanted.
Did she?
Dahleven swallowed. “I know this world is strange to you, but I would have you stay here with me. I love you, Celia. Is it unfair of me to ask you to choose a new life so soon?”
The world expanded with joyful possibilities.
Then reality contracted painfully again. She shouldn’t let her judgment be overwhelmed by one that one little word. Love. It didn’t guarantee happiness. Jeff had used it often enough. “You hardly know me.”
“I know your character. I know you’re brave and compassionate and honest. The rest is detail. Detail I’d like to spend my life discovering.”
Cele was silent, overwhelmed by Dahleven’s unreserved declaration. “You’ll be Jarl one day,” she protested weakly. “I’ll want you to change things. Give women greater freedom and opportunity. Can you accept that? And Gudrun has a point. I don’t know how things work here. I won’t bring the strength of a political alliance with me.”
Dangerous Talents Page 44
