The system worked. Everyone had a say and important issues were voted upon. A few still yearned for their old way of life, but they were usually the ones that preferred not to pull their own weight. There weren’t any slaves among the A’tril, and the only servants were those willing to serve in exchange for other favors. But even they were treated as equals.
The council had a simple plan in mind. The race attracted every uban of notable worth. Using the unicorn to enhance her own power, Sahra could psychically bond with the leaders of the clans, exposing within moments the inevitable course of their demise if they didn’t change. At the same time, they would be exposed to a different way, a way that would ensure a future for their children without risk of enslavement or loss of family.
Showing them the truth might not ensure they would change, but according to legend it was a psychic storm that would force the clans to unify. The council saw Sahra’s potential as that storm immediately. Few others could tame wild beasts. There were those who mind-melded with domestic animals and stallions, but no one had ever heard of a psychic link with jaguars, bears or baboons. Sahra hadn’t found a creature capable of resisting her bond.
Yet there was no real proof that she was the storm of legend, or even that the legend held any truth. It was a desperate measure for a people who refused to tolerate any more bloodshed.
After a brisk toilette, she dressed in attire similar to what she wore the day before except for color. She wound a lavender-colored scarf about her head and another of the same color and fabric about her insignificant waist. In contrast, her robes consisted of a darker purple hue trimmed in gold braid. A thick, gold bangle decorated each wrist and was her only adornment. In their own encampments, the A’tril wore whichever color they chose irrespective of their previous clans. Quite a few mixed colors in odd and ludicrous ways in defiance of the monochromatic dress code of the clans.
She studied her reflection in a freestanding, silver-framed mirror. Something about her was different, something around the eyes. She appeared more mature. She and her new husband hadn’t even completed the mating act, yet her introduction to passion showed in the confident tilt of her chin, in the brightness of her gaze. There was something more, something she couldn’t identify. Or was it that she didn’t wish to identify it?
During the long night, Sahra had formed a plan, a plan that couldn’t be executed without the help of her new husband. Upon exiting her tent, she noted a hushed shimmer along the encampment, caught the uncertain gazes directed toward her. Some lacked the respect they once held, others contained curiosity, still others hostility.
Ja’rah had wanted to hoist Ry up in the cage positioned in the center of the encampment and reserved for suspicious visitors or known enemies, clansmen like Ry. Although Sahra knew he had to be a prisoner for the time being, she refused to make a spectacle of him and not just because he was her husband, but because he deserved better. She had seen into his mind and knew he wasn’t as savage and bloodthirsty as his reputation suggested. Now, she amassed the wariness of her contemporaries.
They watched her move toward Ry’s tent when she should have been heading toward the council chambers, where she should seek the council’s wisdom before taking matters into her own hands. But the A’tril were all about independent thinking, the same sort of thinking that had ousted her from her own clan. The council, though, never banned anyone. She doubted they’d start with her.
At Ry’s tent, she mentally urged the jaguars to her, ran her fingers through their sleek golden fur, experienced their raw energy and for an instant felt the pangs and flashes of insight only wild animals possess. "Go," she coaxed, knowing they needed to hunt.
She watched them for a moment as a residual of their instincts remained in her mind, urging her to run, seek, capture. She mentally shook it off and entered the tent.
Ry strode across the tent in much the same way as the cats moved, with bold confidence and unquestionable command. She didn’t flinch at the intensity in his gaze or allow herself to show fear when his hands wrapped around her throat and applied pressure.
"I should kill you and be rid of you."
"The A’tril despise murder, but they will hunt you down if you do so."
"Do they not plan to kill me anyway?"
"There are those who’d feel more comfortable with you dead, and those whose need for revenge would be sated, but most would rather see you join us."
He blinked, stunned into releasing her.
"The rumors of the A’tril’s insanity are true."
"We aren’t insane," she said, and offered her hand as if his hadn’t just been about her throat. "Come, I wish to show you something."
She took his hand and led him out of the tent. He gazed down at their joined hands as if he held the tail of a serpent, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he took in the camp, obviously searching out escape routes.
"There are guards hidden in the trees," she said. "And there are my pets. They’re off feeding now, but a thought would bring them running."
"The jaguars?"
"Aye, Fuzz and Tote."
He tilted his head and said, "What?"
She shrugged. "I was but a child when I named them. They were so small and fuzzy."
"Never a thought to the ferocious animals they would become."
"They’re gentle creatures."
"Certainly, that’s why I thought they’d disembowel me when I attempted to step out of my tent last evening."
"They would have probably just gone for your throat."
"So, they would have just killed me, not eaten me alive."
"They don’t care for the taste of man," she said simply.
"I never met anyone like you," he said, surprising himself for admitting that. "You train vicious animals to kill, have the respect of grown warriors and yet haven’t had your first cutting."
"It is due, but part of clan tradition. When I choose to cut my hair, it will be with a looking glass and shears, not a ceremony to announce I am of age to be courted."
"Aye, it would be rather ridiculous now, considering you are already mine."
She stared at him for a moment, her guard temporarily down, and he suspected she somehow like being called his as much as he liked saying it. As they approached Ja’rah she shook off her momentary discomfiture.
"Good day, Ja’rah," she said, walking up to the brutish looking man as he fed Dagda oats. "And fine morning to you as well, Dagda."
The stallion snorted and stomped the dirt with his hoof. Sahra laughed. "He says it would be a better morning if the beast allowed him to graze."
"Beast?" Ja’rah said.
"That would be you, my friend. Unicorns consider themselves civilized beings. We are the uncivilized beasts. They prefer not to associate with us. They can’t decide what offends them more, our stench or that we kill our own breed."
The unicorn whinnied and stomped again. "He excludes me. He feels if I allow him to work with me, there is hope that I can become an enlightened if still inferior being."
"I thought you said the unicorn had no true language," Ry said, intrigued.
"He does not … precisely. And yet I am able to comprehend much of what he thinks. The link between us is difficult to describe, but the meaning of his thoughts is clear enough."
Ry lifted a hand to stroke the unicorn’s brow. "And what does he say of me?"
A distinctive flush crept into Sahra’s cheeks. "Um, I’d rather not say."
"I insist."
Looking directly at Ry, cheeks still flushed, she said, "For a beast, your endowment is better than most and you will please me well."
"Insolent creature," Ja’rah muttered as the couple started away.
"Observant is more like it," Ry said with a laugh, his first genuine one in far too long.
"Let him graze," Sahra said to Ja’rah over her shoulder. "He won’t run off. We have an understanding."
"You do?" Ry said curiously.
"Aye, we will release him onc
e he has accomplished what is needed and we will leave his kind be."
"And how do you intend to enforce that?"
Sahra didn’t respond. Instead she started to point out various things to
Ry about the encampment. "Notice there are no beggars? No one here goes hungry or wears tattered clothes. Nor are illnesses left untended. There are many healers, and they heal better than your most practiced technicians in most clans, for they are free to experiment and to use nature as a guide. The children are taught letters and numbers. Most are versed in various dialects by the time they are teens. Both genders are taught domestic chores as well as the use of weaponry. Disputes are settled by the council, and slavery is banned."
Ry saw evidence of her words everywhere he looked. Silk tents of various colors and sizes spanned the encampment. Children’s laughter chimed like summer drizzle. Singing could be heard in the distance along with the sounds of vendors and the everyday workings of a village.
"How do you handle crime?"
"When people have everything they need, they don’t have reason to commit crimes."
"Are you telling me there are no crimes?"
"There are and they are dealt with, but they are rare."
Ry thought of his own clan and the frequent occurrence of thievery, rape and murder. Though there were few beggars, the villagers emulated the warring clans. They settled disputes with a sword. No one seemed to ever have enough and the demand for slaves seemed endless.
She guided him back to the tent, releasing his hand as she closed the flap behind her. "That was just a sampling of what I want to show you. Give me just two moons. If you aren’t convinced of the wisdom of our cause, then I will go back with you, be a loyal wife, and help you bond with Dagda so you can win your race."
"Why should I believe you?"
"Why would I lie? What could I possibly gain from it?"
"Last night, when we…."
"Aye," she said, not wanting to think about the passion that burned just beneath the surface, that refused to be extinguished. "Our minds linked. You know I’m not lying."
He grinned as if the grin cost him. "You’re not averse to lying, like that little speech you gave about being alone for years and needing Dagda for companionship, which makes me wonder why you went after the unicorn in the first place."
She ignored the latter part of his statement, knowing it was too soon to reveal the council’s plans. "But there are telltale signs when I lie. I know you perceived that in the link."
"Aye. Your body tenses and your eyes darken, which is exactly what will happen when you are on the brink of fulfillment."
"Fulfil…." Her voice broke and she couldn’t halt a deep flush.
Again he grinned and ran his thumb over her cheek. "You truly are still a child, an innocent."
She smacked his hand away. "After last night, you should know I am no longer a child."
He grabbed the back of her hair, yanked her close and smothered her mouth with a brutal kiss, taking what she didn’t offer. Still, she responded to his strength, to the passion, to the irresistible responses of her awakening body. His strong hands were under her robes, loosening them.
She should have resisted, but she didn’t have the will. The more aggressive his advances, the more she surrendered to them. She leaned into him, moaning, relinquishing her limited hold on sensibility. Her hands were in his hair, her mouth opening as she returned his roguish attack with equal vigor.
Barriers fell away, inhibitions followed. It was her turn to loosen robes, slipping her hands over taut muscles, thumbs finding and flicking over tight nipples. He sucked in a startled breath and released her as abruptly as he had claimed her. "Your having the heat of a woman is not in question, but the passage has not been completed, and I have no intention of doing so until we are home. I refuse to claim you…." He paused, looked about the luxurious tent as if it were a serpent’s lair. "…here."
The scalding disdain in his deep, resonant voice irritated her, but her own tone lacked the annoyance she felt, for there was still a great deal of passion oozing from her senses. It took all her will not to beg him to complete what he started. She adjusted her clothes, casually, as if his urgent kiss had meant nothing "This might not be a castle, Ry Trall, but it is my home, and you will take me here, or not at all."
He walked the length of the tent, fingered a colorful, hand-woven wall hanging, then let it drop as if it were a dirty rag. "Let it be part of the bargain. If I find your cause worth noting, I’ll claim my right wherever you choose. If not, you will come to me on your knees in my chamber, in my castle."
For an instant, Sahra doubted her own psychic abilities. Perhaps he wasn’t as honorable as she sensed. Perhaps she had been bonded to an unscrupulous beast. She thought of her jaguars. If she could tame them, surely….
He tilted his head to one side, studied her from under lowered ebony lashes, and shifted his weight in a stance of such male domination that her toes literally curled as she watched him. Then again, perhaps she would be the one to be tamed.
Mustering as much authority in her tone as she could, she said, "It’s a deal, Ry Trall, but you will be the one to kneel on the sand of Balmairl, pledged as a loyal A’tril before being led to my tent, by my hand."
The gauntlet had been thrown and each had the look of one not used to losing. Sahra, though, knew that sometimes in winning there was nothing left but loss.
* * * *
In voluminous, multi-hued robes, the council stared at her from half covered faces. Sahra could only discern gender by their eyes, the length of feminine lashes, the harsher line of male brows. Still she knew each by name, had broken bread within their personal tents, had even succumbed to tears in their presence. They knew her as she knew them. They were family, more like her parents, grandparents and siblings than her birth family had ever been.
Today, though, they weren’t in the position of family. They spoke to her as the council, the governing power of this encampment and the secondary council of all A’tril. Positioned in the middle of the clearing, the tent lacked adornment, except for various weapons hung on supporting poles and torches that lit the circumference. The tent’s ceiling had been elevated above every other dwelling in the site and could barely be discerned within the shadows. A snapping fire, doused with spices that permeated the air, was the only other light. Council members, positioned around the fire, resided on over-sized, oak chairs. the backs carved like tree branches and highly polished supported cushioned seats and lengthy arms that dripped with gold-tipped leaves. Sahra wasn’t offered a seat. A sign of the council’s displeasure.
They ruled by equality. There wasn’t any leader or sole spokesperson, but dominant personalities emerged and she knew Sonders, the one who stubbornly remained in the A’tril color of black, would give her the most difficult time.
"You made this agreement without our consent?"
"Circumstance lent itself to such an agreement."
Sonders stood, his slow gait suggesting his advanced years, his steady gaze stern with conviction. "You over-step yourself, child."
Sahra had just about enough of being called a child. "Whatever I do is for the advancement of our cause. I want peace and I will do anything to obtain it, and if you do not know me well enough by now to understand that, then none of you know me at all. At all. And, I am not a child."
"Considering the compromising state our people found you in with the r’uban, I’d say you are certainly a woman."
Sahra heard the laughter behind Torella’s feigned severity. Torella, one of the two women on the council of seven, felt an affinity to Sahra. They had both chosen the A’tril way rather than submit to clan demands. Sahra knew Torella would understand Sahra’s decision and her reluctance to put it to a council vote. There were some things the council had no right to vote upon, and how Sahra interacted with her husband, enemy though he be, was one of them. She needed to give him this chance, and wasn’t about to risk losing that chance to caution.
"Then it is done?" Sonders asked. "You’ve bedded the man?"
Sahra hadn’t believed the council could ever say anything to make her blush. She was wrong. As heat invaded her cheeks, she adopted an insolent stance. "It is done."
She didn’t know why she lied. She doubted they’d ask her to undo a brand. Not only would it be painful, it marred the reputation even of an A’tril.
She wanted them to see this as a true union. Perhaps because she saw the union of an A’tril and a clansman as a step toward the future. If they could make it work, then perhaps one day all would be equal, every clan, every mortal being. Some would call her an idealist, but she had nothing to lose. She had committed herself to a new world of peace and would not rest until that was accomplished.
"But to take him to Balmairl and allow him to see our true riches, our true strength?" asked the even-toned voice of another. "Not to mention showing him the location of our prime compound?"
"We are mated. I trust him," she said, not really believing her own words.
"You barely know him," reprimanded Sonders. "This is not a wise move."
"If we can convince the r’uban of the first of all clans that this is the only way to save our society, then the others will follow all the more swiftly. Our goal is do this without bloodshed, with mutual consent and cooperation."
Unicorn Quest Page 4
