by C. E. Murphy
Aroz nodded once. "Then we have no real quarrel. Much as I would like to stand in your place, I haven't got the heart to deprive Ghean of her groom mere hours before the ceremony." He lifted his sword, leveling it at Lorhen. "Do not betray her," he said flatly.
Lorhen smirked. "I'll expect to find you waiting, if I do." He took two steps backwards, effectively dismissing the other Timeless. Aroz nodded again, and turned his back, walking swiftly from the gardens.
Lorhen waited until Aroz was entirely out of sight before releasing a slow breath. Some day he wouldn't be able to avoid that battle, and it might be better to force it now, when he knew he could beat Aroz. But he would no more divest Ghean of Aroz's presence at the wedding than Aroz would deprive her of Lorhen's own, and so they would remain at a stalemate a while longer. With a sigh, Lorhen turned back to the house. He'd taken only a step or two when an indistinct tingle shivered down his backbone. He lifted the bared sword blade instinctively, searching the darkness for the Timeless whose presence he'd been warned of.
"It's only me." Ghean stepped out from behind a tree barely two feet away from him, a blanket clutched around her shoulders. "I thought I was being quiet."
Lorhen lowered the sword, slipping an arm around Ghean's shoulders. "You were. How long have you been out here?" The awareness of her potential Awakening thudded at the back of his head, a headache timed to match his heartbeat.
"Just a few minutes," she answered, snuggling against his side. "You'd been gone too long to get water, so I got up to look for you."
Lorhen encouraged her to begin walking with a brief squeeze. "I didn't think you'd really woken up at all." Hesitantly, he asked, "You were listening to us?"
Ghean nodded against his ribs. "I'm glad you didn't have to fight him," she said softly. "I love you both."
"I know," Lorhen said, equally gently. "I'm glad too." He pushed the door open, escorting Ghean inside. She padded back into the bedroom, dragging the blanket up onto the bed with her, and curling into a small lump in the center of the bed. Lorhen laughed quietly, leaving his sandals by the side of the bed as he climbed in with her. She rolled over sleepily, looking up at him with half lidded eyes.
"You won't fight him?" she asked drowsily.
Lorhen laid his hand along her cheek, smiling down at her. "I will try not to," he promised. "Someday I might have to, but I'll try not to."
Ghean smiled contentedly, eyes drifting fully closed as sleep claimed her again.
She hadn't heard, Lorhen concluded. Had she heard the debate of whether or not to end her mortal life, he was quite sure Ghean would be entirely awake and full of angry questions. He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her against his chest, and let sleep find him again, as well.
Twenty-four hours later, at just past daybreak, Ghean kissed his cheek and told him to find something to keep busy for the morning. Thus far, Lorhen's method of entertainment had been nervously pacing the outer wall of the temple, repeatedly dismissing the urge to peek through the windows. A quick glance at the sun told him he'd been at this task for almost four hours. He was relatively certain he would wear a path in the stone tier the temple sat on before the sun reached its zenith and it was time for the ceremony.
A burst of giggles from inside nearly forced him to break his vow to not spy on the women inside. They had been doing that all morning, and Lorhen's curiosity was eating him alive. He slowed next to a window, then fixed his gaze on his toes, finally smiling at himself. He would think hundreds of years of practice would reduce the apprehension of getting married, but then, he might also think that hundreds of years of warfare would numb someone enough that each new battle wouldn't send a surge of adrenaline through the body. He would be wrong about that, too, and, Lorhen decided, he should probably not pursue the comparisons of marriage and warfare any further. Grinning, he resumed his methodical walk around the building.
Minyah appeared from within the temple, hazel eyes merry. "Ghean tells me that it is time for you to bathe and dress for the ceremony," she announced.
Lorhen shot another glance at the sky, eyebrows lifting. "It's not for almost two hours," he protested.
Minyah nodded solemnly. "True," she agreed, "but Ghean is certain that you are wearing a path in the stone and that you will trip in the groove when you enter the temple. Such an ignominious entrance would be insult the Hunter." The words were delivered with utter sincerity, the smile developing across her face completely at odds with her tone. "Had she realized you would occupy yourself by carving a new riverbed with your feet, she would have given you specific tasks to do." Minyah's voice gave way to the laughter showing on her face. "I told her men never know what to do with themselves on the day of the ceremony. I see that age makes no difference, and I was correct." Minyah looked distinctly pleased. "That is always satisfying."
Lorhen threw his head back and laughed. "Minyah, are you ever wrong?"
The scholar grinned. "Rarely, and on those occasions that I am, I do not admit it. Go and bathe, Lorhen. Here." Minyah stepped forward, holding her hand out, palm up. "This is for you."
Curious, Lorhen lifted the package out of Minyah's hand, raising an eyebrow for permission to open it. She nodded, stepping back again with a small smile.
The box was not unlike the one the Book was kept in, though simpler in design. Lorhen studied it a moment, finding the pressure points that slid it open—three of them, not seven like the Book's box had—by the faint indented marks in the wood. It popped open, revealing a length of soft leather slipped through a silver pendant. Lorhen picked it up, turning it over in his hand to examine the delicate replica of the Hunter’s symbol. Sunlight bounced off tiny stones set into the hourglass’s four corners and across its glittering belt, and silver studs that represented the Houses gleamed around an encompassing circle.
"It is a hair tie," Minyah explained, gesturing at the short leather strip. "Our House laws only allow necklaces to be worn by those born or adopted to the House, but there are no laws against other versions of the symbols being worn as jewelry. I hoped it might welcome you to the House properly. Your hair is quite long enough to wear it."
Minyah sounded anxious for the first time since Lorhen had met her. Smiling, he offered a smile and an extended hand. "Thank you, Minyah. This is the first time I've ever received a gift from a parent who knew the truth. It means a great deal to me." Lorhen closed his hand protectively over the piece. "Thank you," he repeated. "I will treasure it."
Minyah clapped her hands together, dismissing sentimentality with the sharp sound. "Excellent," she said, clearly pleased. "Now you must go and bathe. Take your time," she advised. "I am not certain the priests would appreciate you returning to wear a rut around their temple."
A little while later, Lorhen closed his eyes, sinking into the bath until only his hair floated on top of the water, a black spider's web hovering above him. Heat seeped into him slowly, and he drifted in the darkness, listening to the sound of his blood coursing in his ears. Tension ebbed out of his shoulders, and he smiled sleepily into the water. One of the overlooked advantages of immortality—at least, Timeless immortality—was the ability to submerge himself until all his cares filtered away in the peculiar silence of underwater, without ever having to come up for air. The Atlanteans were the only people he'd ever met who bathed with at least weekly frequency, a habit he found blissfully luxurious. The cleverly-laid pipes that carried both hot and cold water from the mountain springs made private, heated bathing extraordinarily easy, and Lorhen wholeheartedly approved. Perhaps he could stay in Atlantis until the rest of the world caught up to their level of civilization. The thought made him laugh, and he surged out of the water, hair streaming over his face.
"I thought you were never going to come up."
"Yagh!" Lorhen leapt backwards, half scrambling out of the bath in a frantic search for a blade before the voice settled into a familiar place in his mind. Edgily pushing wet hair out of his face, Lorhen glared at Ragar, who laughed openly.
Lorhen settled back into the hot water, ducking his head under to smooth hair back from his face before muttering, "You scared me."
Ragar laughed again. "Evidently. I really didn't mean to, but I must say it was worth it. I've never seen anyone levitate out of a bathtub before. I got your note. I can't decide if you're astonishingly arrogant or painfully humble."
"Probably arrogant," Lorhen said. "Why?"
"Because after telling me a story which is outrageous and difficult to believe, and after I've abandoned you to think seriously about this absurd story and try to draw conclusions about it, you send me a note asking me to stand for you in your wedding. The day before the wedding. That is not usual, my friend."
"Oh." Lorhen took a handful of soap, scrubbing it through his hair. "I didn't know I was supposed to have someone stand as a witness for me until yesterday morning. You were the only one who came to mind. I don't make friends particularly easily, Ragar, but I'd consider you a friend."
"Would you?" Ragar asked curiously. "Can a thousand-year-old man make a mortal friend that quickly?"
Lorhen smiled wistfully. "A thousand-year-old man has to, Ragar. Taking time to make up my mind could too easily take the rest of your life. I have to decide very quickly if I want to be friends with someone." He ducked his head again, rinsing his hair. When he sat up, he added, "If I didn't consider you a friend, and trustworthy, you can be sure I wouldn't have told you about myself."
"How can you be certain I'm trustworthy?"
Lorhen shrugged. "Nobody's pointed at me and started telling stories yet. If you tell people about me, I'd have to run, and then you'd never learn the stories I have to tell."
Ragar pulled a face. "Sometimes being a scholar is too transparent a calling. You're right: your secret is safe. But this wedding thing—"
Lorhen leaned forward. "I'd be honored if you'd stand as my witness, Ragar. I know it's presuming to ask, given we've only known each other a month and I only asked yesterday, but I would very much appreciate it. It would be the first, and probably the last time that nearly everyone intimately involved with the ceremony would know who and what I really was. That's something I'd like very much."
Ragar pursed his lips as Lorhen spoke. "It's all about you, isn't it?" he asked curiously. "Nothing else really matters."
"Other things matter," Lorhen said stiffly.
"Just not as much."
Lorhen was silent a moment, mouth flattening as he looked for a way around an honest answer. After a moment he shrugged. "Just not as much."
"Mmm." Ragar folded his arms, thinking. "I'll stand for you," he said after deliberation, "but I want to ask something equally greedy."
Lorhen twisted a grin. "And what's that?"
"Remember me," the mortal scholar said. "In your journal, or however it is that you keep the days and years and centuries straight in your mind. I would like someone, a thousand years from now, to remember Ragar the scholar, even if he never did anything particularly spectacular with his life."
"You earned the trust of a thousand-year-old man," Lorhen said dryly. "That's not something that happens every day."
Ragar shook his head, not to be put off. "That's what I want in exchange, Lorhen. Remember me, and live, so that I will have made some small mark on history, even if it's through just one man."
"I will remember you," Lorhen promised softly. He glanced at the water, a small smile reflecting back at him. Out of all the promises he'd made over the last weeks, it was the only one he was sure he could keep.
Ragar nodded, satisfied, then stood energetically. "Well, get out of the water," he ordered. "You have a wedding to dress for. It's only an hour away!"
Butterflies rattled Lorhen's stomach, swinging the pendulum into an iron-cast nervousness. You're ten centuries old, he scolded himself. You should be able to handle this.
"Five more minutes," he mumbled pleadingly to Ragar, and sank underwater again to the sound of laughter.
21
Minutes before noon, Lorhen stepped into the temple, flexing his fingers restlessly. His hair, only just dried, was smoothed back from his face, bound neatly at the base of his neck with Minyah's gift, the silver glinting under the direct sunlight as he entered the temple. The tail of hair hung to his shoulder blades, falling over bare skin. A golden sash held cream pants tightly at his waist, a thin double-belt of leather buckled over it, hanging down one hip slightly to hold the steel sword he had gained from Aroz.
The sword had caused some hours of debate. Atlantean men traditionally went unarmed to their wedding ceremonies, though the other men in the ceremony were expected to wear theirs, to fight off potential invaders. Lorhen flatly refused to go unarmed when others would bear weapons, holy ground or not. Ghean eventually relented, her revenge being a six hour modeling session while the women squabbled how best to arrange the ceremonial robe over an inconvenient sword. Lorhen stood through it stoically, preferring the wait to being caught without a blade. Eventually a discreet slit was decided upon, and Lorhen given strict instruction on how to move to make certain the sword wouldn't cause his robe to fall in ungainly folds.
The floor was warm under his bare feet. For a moment he frowned at his toes, then glanced to the side to see if others were unshod as well.
Minyah was, at least. Standing to the side of the temple with a gentle smile, she wore a sleeveless dress the same cream as Lorhen's pants, belted at the waist with an identical golden sash. Her heavy silver pendant hung to below her breastbone, on a silver chain for the ceremony instead of its usual leather strap. A gold cloak, a few shades lighter than the belt, fell from her shoulders, and her hair was bound up in a delicate golden headdress, curls falling loose down her back. Lorhen shot her a quick smile, glancing away before his attention snapped back to the slender woman. The cloak she wore was mid-length, lightweight, and he suddenly suspected he'd seen it before. His eyebrows rose questioningly, and Minyah winked, very deliberately, before looking away again.
Lorhen nearly laughed aloud, scanning the temple for the Timeless he knew Ghean had invited. Karem stood across the room, arms folded over his chest. Out of all the occupants of the temple, he was the only one not wearing the deep gold of the Hunter. His tunic and pants were dark green, emphasizing his eyes, and the only belt he wore was to support the blade at his hip. Lorhen nodded a greeting, letting the excitement of the day be the reason for the smile he couldn't stop. One of the precious immortality artifacts was right under Karem's nose, and he would never know. Lorhen's smile grew wider, and he finished looking around the room.
Ragar and Aroz stood side by side, the stout scholar with a pleased grin plastered across his face. Aroz, on the other hand, looked much as though he were trying very hard to look pleasant, the result being a somewhat alarming glower, confused by his mouth turning up when he remembered to smile. Dressed in the cream of the wedding party, his robe already over his shoulders, he made a striking contrast to the smaller man beside him. Like Lorhen, he wore a sword, though his was sheathed across his back, the dark leather of the harness a black streak across the golden robe and all but blending in against his bare chest. He looked decidedly dangerous. For a moment, Lorhen cast his eyes to the pillars that supported the temple dome, offering brief and remarkably sincere thanks to the gods represented that he stood on holy ground.
He was left grinning at the temple gods. Someone had climbed up among them and left wreathes of wildflowers tangled about the heads and shoulders and tops of the creatures portrayed. The Hunter was littered in the gold worn by all the House members, flowers rakishly dangling from his staff and barely kept in place by tumbling over his shoulder. It gave the sculpture a gentle air, and Lorhen smiled again before examining the rest of the temple.
Sunlight spilled between the pillars, highlighting the flower-braided rope
s that held in place sheets of brilliantly colored wildflowers which cascaded down the temple's inner walls. Woven with unfathomable patience, the symbols of Atlantis were splashed in white against the vivid rainbow of flowers. Each was minutely detailed with a myriad of tiny, pale flowers, different shades picking out eyes and nostrils on the animals, or shading the curve of a shoulder to render the illusion of three dimensions. Lorhen rocked back on bare heels, inspecting the weavings with admiration. It was absolutely impossible that Minyah and Ghean had done it all themselves. He would have to ask, later, who had done them, and seek the artists out to compliment the crafting that went into them.
Aroz cleared his throat. Lorhen spun, eyebrows elevated, and went still as Ghean padded into the temple from the glare of the noonday sun. For a few brief seconds, the dazzling light back-lit the tiny woman, creating a halo that glowed warmly before fading as she stepped away from the temple entrance. Her steps were dainty, the dress brushing the floor so nearly that a more normal stride would cause her to step on the hem. Bare toes peeked out from under the gown as she came forward.
Unlike any of the others, Ghean wore red, the gown dyed a deep crimson, darker than blood. The sash at her waist was Hunter gold, and trailed down the back to blend with a wide slash of gold inset into the skirt. The back of the dress was cowled, crimson warm against the smooth olive tones of her skin. Ghean's waist-length hair was bound up in a perfectly smooth bun, surrounded by a delicate tiara of gold, the symbol of the Hunter worked into the metal at the crown of her head. A length of the thick black hair was left to swing free, washing down over the back of the tiara, creating a glittering mark where the gold suddenly appeared. Smiling shyly, Ghean offered her hand to Lorhen, over-full sleeves of the dress falling away to expose her fingertips.
"You are positively radiant," Lorhen whispered as he took her hand. Ghean's smile exploded with pride. Together, they knelt before the altar as the priest circled around to stand in front of them. Dressed in pristine white embroidered with the symbols of all the Houses, he beamed genially down at the couple, gesturing Ragar and Minyah forward.
