“Great timing, Johan. Can I help you with anything in particular?” For some reason Blayne’s tone sounded sour.
Johan quickly released her hand. “Uh, yes. Dayamar wants to introduce Hope to the elders. He insists you accompany her.”
“Can we at least have breakfast first?” Blayne’s displeasure was clearly evident in his tight, clipped tone.
“Dayamar has arranged for you both to breakfast with the elders. I brought clean clothes for you, Blayne. Got them from your house.”
She heard the whoosh of something flying through the air. Johan must have tossed a bundle of clothing at Blayne. Heat crawled up her face at the thought of Blayne standing there, naked. She ducked her head to hide her expression.
“I asked Maya for some spare clothes for you, too, Hope.” Johan pressed a bundle into her hands. “She’s about your height. She said you’re welcome to keep them. She wants to meet you when Dayamar’s finished with you. Blayne will take you, I’m sure.”
“Thank you, Johan.” She hoped the other Dayamari she would soon meet would prove as kind as Johan and this Maya. Especially these important-sounding elders.
She unrolled the bundle and identified each garment. A tunic. A wraparound skirt with an adjustable waistline. A smaller piece of soft cloth, and a long band of supple material with tapered ends. She held up the band. It struck her as rather wide for a belt. “Where is the underwear?”
“You’re holding the breast-band,” Johan said.
“Oh.” Mystified, she felt around and retrieved the smaller piece of cloth. “What is this? How do I wear it?”
“Uh….” She heard scuffs as though Johan was shifting from foot to foot. “I’ll leave Blayne to explain. I’ll, uh, wait outside.” He made a hasty exit, yanking the door shut behind him.
A warm hand cupped her buttocks and squeezed.
She squeaked and batted Blayne’s hand. “We have no time for that. Will you help me with these clothes or must I ask Johan to dress me?”
He growled. “You’ll do no such thing.”
The smaller piece of cloth turned out to be a loin-wrap—deemed necessary when wearing skirts or dresses—which he showed her how to tie. By the time he got around to the fastenings of the skirt and tunic, she was on fire. She’d never imagined how sensual it could be to have a man help dress her.
“You’ll need new footwear at some stage,” he said when she sat to pull on her battered sandals. “And your own clothes are a little too, uh, different, so I’d advise you not to wear them. People will notice and rumors will spread like wildfire. Hmm. Better do something about your hair. Can’t have you meeting the elders looking like you’ve been dragged backward through a bush.” He knelt behind her to unbraid her hair, running his fingers through the locks to separate them before he combed them out.
Beneath his gentle ministrations, Hope felt her apprehension over meeting more of his people diminish. She hugged her knees and some of the tension that had plagued her since Johan had entered the hall diminished.
“You two ready?” Johan’s voice made her jump.
Blayne led her from the room and they trailed the healer through the settlement. She didn’t feel self-conscious at first. She was too busy listening to the passersby and imagining what they looked like, where they were headed, their plans to fill the day. And then snatches of conversation drifted to her ears.
“Who’s that?”
“—eyes like Dayamar’s.”
“—new Sehani apprentice.”
“—her eyes—she’s the one they’re talking about.”
She halted mid-step, dragging Blayne around to confront him. “People say things about my eyes. What is wrong about them? Tell me!” The tension she could sense in him was infectious. Dread enveloped her. What was wrong with her eyes?
“Hope, your eyes are no longer blue. They’re gold. Like Dayamar’s.”
“Gold? How can that be?” She barked a sharp laugh as she patted her eyelids, trying to imagine herself with gold eyes.
He squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry about what people are saying. It’s only— The color is rare for us.”
“Our eyes are usually brown,” Johan chimed in. “Not blue like yours are—were, I mean.”
Good God. They were serious. They weren’t playing some silly trick at her expense. What was happening to her? She desperately wanted to ask more but they had reached the Elders Hall and Johan was rapping on the door and requesting permission to enter.
Hope heard voices but the conversation was too muted for her to comprehend what anyone was saying. Johan patted her shoulder as he departed. “Everything will be fine—you’ll see.”
The hum of conversation ceased as Blayne led her forward. He whispered for her to sit and to her dismay drew back, leaving her alone. She craved the comfort of his touch but she understood his reasons if she was about to be introduced to the most powerful people in the settlement.
She sensed an aura of power emanating from the person directly in front of her. Strange multi-colored bands of light etched onto her retinas. Dayamar. But how could she know it was him? And what were those… those… rainbow-colored bands of light?
She blinked and rubbed her eyes, and didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed when the world reverted to its usual black-on-black. She snatched a breath to calm herself before speaking so she didn’t make any embarrassing errors. Public speaking wasn’t her thing at the best of times and knowing she was speaking another language only made it more harrowing. “I greet you, Dayamar.”
The room buzzed with whispers but she distinctly caught someone voicing shock that she hadn’t used the honorific of Sehan.
Dayamar must have demanded silence with a gesture for the room hushed. “How did you know it was me, Hope?”
“I, uh, sensed you—your power. I know it is you.”
Her words provoked another babble of conversation before one unpleasantly nasal voice shushed everyone. “Young woman—”
“My name is Hope.” She turned toward the voice and caught a sharply indrawn breath. She guessed he must have caught sight of her eyes. Wonderful. Obviously there’d be no hiding while she tried to figure out what was making everyone so jumpy.
“First Elder Varon,” he said. “I have a question.”
“Of course.”
“Sehan Dayamar tells us you are blind. Is this true?”
The way he said it—like an accusation. But… what reason could he have to disbelieve her? She swallowed her dismay. Keep calm. Don’t let anyone see how scared you are. “Yes, this is true. I lost my sight two years ago in an accident.”
Varon promptly began a heated exchange with Dayamar. “Blind, Sehan Dayamar. A mere slip of a blind girl. How can she be our next Sehan?”
Others muttered agreement. Hope ignored them to puzzle Varon’s usage of the word Sehan. It must have more significance than she’d thought. What could it mean, exactly?
Dayamar chose to ignore the First Elder. “Hope, have you had any strange dreams since you… came here?”
From the almost imperceptible pause and the deliberate phrasing, she hazarded a guess he was reluctant for her origins to be revealed at this time. Very well. She would play his game and tackle that issue with him later. In fact, she would insist on answers. “Dreams? I do not remember.”
“Think, Hope. Look deep inside yourself. Show me your dreams. Show me. Show me….”
The power of his hypnotic voice ensnared her. Her thoughts turned inward, swirling aimlessly before focusing on a hauntingly familiar scene.
“Show me….”
As the scene replayed in her mind she sensed another presence. His. Dayamar’s. He watched with her—inside her mind.
Power thickened and built, was reined in and controlled. And then released.
He was doing something—something magical. She felt it skimming her skin, raising the fine hairs on her nape. She smelled it, a rich, heady scent that tempted her to draw it deep into her lungs. She tasted
it, a tart fruitiness redolent of apples and apricots that exploded on her tongue. She moistened her lips with her tongue, craving more. She could almost see it forming around her. Almost. So close. Why could she not see?
And then she was looking through someone’s eyes. Dayamar’s. And somehow, her waking dream was visible to all present. Through him she saw a young woman standing statue-still, her eyes closed. All around her was blackness. A trio of beasts attended her. A black red-banded snake curled about her neck. Its head rested by her ear, forked tongue flickering. A huge silver wolf loped from the inky blankness to sit panting, tongue lolling, at her feet. A white owl ghosted down to perch on her shoulder. Without warning, the forms of the animals shimmered, each becoming a beam of pure golden light shooting upward into the night. High above in the starless sky, the lights entwined, merging into a beam that arced gracefully downward. The instant before it would plunge into the ground it spiraled outward and encircled the woman, swirling ever faster before flashing upward to hover before her face.
The vision-woman opened her eyes. The beam pierced them and they were forever altered. Her eyes gleamed in the inky darkness, radiating an inhuman golden glow. And the elders gasped as her golden gaze surveyed them, fixing upon each individual in the room in turn.
There could be no doubt. The vision-woman was Hope.
Her mind-link with Dayamar shut down and blackness reigned again. She fought dizziness. Whoa. There was some serious supernatural stuff going on here and she was rapidly becoming a believer.
“Blindness is no barrier when a Sehan is chosen,” Dayamar said. “You all saw her dream. The gods have chosen her. She will be our next Sehan.”
A hush descended. Not even First Elder Varon dared voice further concerns.
“She will reside at the Sehani Hall,” Dayamar continued. “I will personally oversee her training.”
Defiance howled through her veins, prodding her to climb unsteadily to her feet and face Dayamar as an equal.
“No! You will not tell me how to live my life.” Her voice surged, pummeling him with an almost tangible force. “I will not be treated like some disowned parcel. You have no hold over me—none of you. I owe you nothing. If I must remain in this place, I will stay with Blayne—if he will have me. If not I will manage on my own, as I have always done. And as for training to be a Sehan—what is such a thing, anyway? A person who does magic? Prepare to be disappointed, then, for I have no such abilities.”
Dayamar addressed Varon with a lilt in his voice that suggested fierce pride rather than dismay at her outburst. “Your ‘mere slip of a girl’ has spirit, Varon.” When the First Elder had nothing to say in response, he said, “I apologize for my rudeness, Hope. It was wrong of me to make decisions involving your future without first consulting you.”
She inhaled a few deep, calming breaths. She needed to explain herself further, to make him understand she wasn’t like him. She wasn’t worthy of awe. “I am not a Sehan. I do not even know what a Sehan is.”
“You are a Sehan, Hope,” Dayamar said. “You are able to See the future and the past, and your other abilities will be revealed in time. Nothing can change that now. For your own protection you must be trained.”
Her stomach gave a slow, sickening lurch. These people believed she had magical powers? God help her. God help them.
“I will stay with Blayne. Or I will leave.” It was no baseless threat. She’d ask Blayne—or maybe Cayl if Blayne wasn’t willing—to take her back to the cave. It wouldn’t be an easy life but it would be far preferable to staying here, letting others dictate the way she lived, shouldering the impossible weight of their expectations. Living a lie.
“I would not have you go—for your own sake as well as ours. I agree to your terms. But there I go again, making decisions without asking first.” He smiled at her. She knew he’d done so because of the pleasant warmth welling in her belly, the sudden desire to smile back in response. She stubbornly refused to comply with her body’s instincts.
“Blayne, will you take this woman into your heart and your home?” Something about Dayamar’s deliberate phrasing provoked gasps and shocked murmurs.
“I will,” Blayne said, his firm, ready response eliciting more excited chatter.
What was she missing? Too much was happening at once.
The old Sehan moved closer and took her arm. When she tensed, he whispered in her ear, “Everything will be explained in good time. Meanwhile, it would be best if you didn’t talk about how you came here. We will discuss that later.” He raised his voice again. “Will you break your fast with us now?”
Hope shook her head and summoned a degree of a courtesy she didn’t feel. “Thank you, no. I have no hunger now.” Her stomach was a churning mass of nerves. All she wanted was to distance herself from Dayamar and his precious elders and the supernatural weirdness. She wanted to be alone with Blayne. She wanted—needed—the comfort of his arms.
As if tapping into her thoughts, Dayamar said, “Go with Panakeya Blayne and familiarize yourself with your new home. Ask him to bring you to me when you’re ready.”
His kindly tone mollified her somewhat. He could have ordered her, after all. He could have forced her, too. The smile she offered in response was wary, and she only lowered her guard once Blayne had escorted her from the building.
They walked a short way before Blayne halted, turning her to him, cupping her face in his palms. “Are you sure you want to live with me, Hope?”
“What does it mean to live with you?”
“Living together is a Promise. It means a couple are serious about their intentions. It’s a time to get to know each other, and confirm compatibility as life-partners. Dayamar worded his request with the same phrasing used during a formal Promising ceremony. When I accepted, it was deemed the equivalent of me making a formal Promise to you.”
Like becoming engaged. Her disquiet segued to full-fledged misery. She’d placed him in an awkward predicament. And if the way she felt about him was not reciprocated….
“If you are not interested in me in that way, I understand. I will stay with Dayamar.”
He let out a whoop and swept her into his embrace. “Not want you? Have you no idea how I feel about you?”
A blush heated her cheeks. “Maybe?”
He laughed. “Foolish creature. There’s no ‘maybe’ about it. But we’ve only known each other a short time. Are you certain you want this?”
She sensed him gazing intently at her, seeking answers, but she was too overwhelmed to trust herself to speak. She hoped he understood what the tears welling in her eyes signified.
He pressed a kiss to her brow and even that brief caress made her body tingle. “Come,” he said. “I will show you my home.”
Blayne’s house was conveniently located near the Healing Hall. As befitting his status it was a large building, consisting of a roomy circular central space and four smaller living areas. He described the layout and helped her pace it out to fix it in her mind.
The house had two separate sleeping quarters and what passed for a bathroom. Carved wooden screens partitioned off storage areas in the main living space. The floors were paved with large slabs of stone that had been split and smoothed, and were strewn with hand-woven rugs. The central area would comfortably seat half a dozen or so people around a cooking hearth, and Blayne had stacked cushions to one side. Ceramic pots hung from a sturdy frame above the hearth, and kindling had been stacked nearby. He’d hung bunches of dried herbs from the eaves, and the shelves were crowded with lidded pots and containers.
Many of the day-to-day chores were performed by Degan, a young man who acted as Blayne’s quasi-housekeeper. “When I became Panakeya the elders insisted my time was too valuable to be taken up with what they termed ‘menial’ tasks like cooking, cleaning, washing and fetching water,” he told her. “But I didn’t want my dwelling invaded by some nosy busybody they’d chosen, so I picked Degan.”
“Why?” Hope asked, curious at the
undercurrent of anger she detected in his tone.
“He’s simple-minded, and his mother treated him as a virtual slave. He wasn’t physically abused but his situation appalled me. I was convinced he’d flourish given the chance, but none of the trade-leaders were interested in apprenticing him. My new status gave me the opportunity to help Degan. And deliver a few choice words to his mother so the woman understood I would not tolerate her maltreating her son.”
Degan was thorough and Blayne admitted his quarters had never been tidier. Plus, he no longer had to make late-night treks to the settlement’s foodstores for supplies if he’d been with patients all day and found he was running low on staples. In the afternoons Degan often helped out Maya with child-minding duties. He was popular with the young ones—perhaps because he was so childlike himself.
“Blayne? You there?” Cayl poked his head through the doorway with an invitation to share a midday meal. “Maya won’t leave me in peace until she meets you, Hope. Please come. For me? I have no idea what I’ll do if you don’t. Drown myself, I expect.”
When Blayne accepted the invitation Cayl dragged them off, loudly declaring himself to be starving and enthusing about the meal that had been prepared for them. “Of course I’m not cooking,” he assured them. “Maya would hardly risk me poisoning Hope before she has a chance to get to know her. She won’t even trust me to boil the water for your tea.”
His sly laughter cued Hope he was about to say something teasing. “You wouldn’t believe the stir you two have caused. A certain woman—who shall not be named for fear of calling down her wrath upon us—will be livid. I can’t imagine her being at all pleased to meet you, Hope.”
“Cayl.”
Blayne’s tone promised retribution, but Cayl was warming to his theme and paid no heed. “I swear he’s bedded every available woman in the settlement. Some of the stories I’ve heard would make your hair curl—if it wasn’t already curly, that is.”
“For gods’ sakes, Cayl,” Blayne growled, “shut your big mouth before I shut it for you.”
A muffled giggle escaped Hope’s lips.
Book One of The Seer Trilogy Page 6
