by Lisa Rector
By the stars, it hurt.
***
Only the scrabble of loose stones rolling before their feet or the call of a bird high above the pass broke the awkward silence of their march. Though the air was humid and cool, no breeze stirred. The rain might hold off for the rest of the day, to Meuric’s delight.
They stopped for breakfast at Catrin’s insistence.
Meuric leaned against the wall, his shoulders sagging, while he turned a marble-sized pebble in his hand. He couldn’t meet Catrin’s eye. How much had she seen? How deep had she prowled into his memories? Meuric ripped into his jerky and drank his water, dripping it down his chin.
He couldn’t resist the draw to her face.
“Three more days, Meuric. We’ll pass through the gap in three more days.” Cross-legged, Catrin tilted her face to the sky, and her lips parted slightly.
“What’re you doing?” Meuric asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You look thoughtful. Are you meditating?”
“Well, yes. It clears my mind—focuses it on what’s important.”
“What is important to you? Finding your way home?”
Catrin shrugged and sighed. “That’s important, but that’s not what I was thinking about.”
He waited for her to go on.
“Tell me about your sister.”
What? “You want to know about my sister? Don’t you know enough?”
“I know she’s carrying Einion’s child. Einion saved her when she was dying after a lightning strike. Leaving them together, thinking I could trust Einion, was my own shortsightedness.” Catrin said these statements calmly, as if she were laying the facts out before herself. She didn’t break her meditative stance.
“Are you blaming yourself?” Meuric moved in front of Catrin, blocking the light on her face. The shadows made her appear sad. He wanted to reach down and caress her cheek. Instead, he knelt on one knee.
Her eyes popped opened, emphasizing their almond shape. Her lips carefully formed the words, “You’re blaming yourself.”
Meuric shook his head. “My story is different.” He squeezed the pebble—anything to keep from reaching out. “Do you want to know what Rhianu told me?”
“Yes, I do.” Catrin looked like a child, wide-eyed and beseeching.
“She said it was a ‘fit punishment.’ The Dark Master punished her for not carrying out his plans. He used the fey to cast a spell on Rhianu and Einion, bringing their union together. The experience broke her. She was scarred by it, Catrin. You can’t hate her. She never wanted a child, and she never wanted to fall in love.”
“So she does love him.”
“Yes.”
“And he loves her.”
“It appears so. I felt his love and saw it in his eyes. He truly loves my sister.” Meuric rolled the pebble over each of his fingers.
“It’s impossible to escape fey magic.”
“We don’t have them in Morvith. Rhianu had no idea.”
Catrin dipped her head, acknowledging his statement. “I still love Einion. Moving on will take time. A heart doesn’t heal overnight.”
“You’re willing to do this?”
“Yes.” She bit down on the word. “And you should forgive yourself. I’m sure the deaths of those you love had nothing to do with your inability to wield light.”
Meuric dropped the pebble. “You’d never understand, emrys.” She couldn’t know the imbalance of light and dark inside him. She couldn’t know how he forsook the light until it was useless, until it withered away. When he needed the light’s grace, the power was too far diminished to save Mara and Arya. They were dead because of him. “Forgiveness is not easy.”
“Has time taught you nothing?” Her voice rose. “You’ve lived for ages, and you continue to blame yourself. Let go. Let it go!” Catrin pushed to her feet and brushed past Meuric.
He had a vague sense she was yelling at herself. Stars. He’d let her take her frustrations out on him. That’s who he was, a pushover for broken women.
Shaking his head, he watched her braid swish behind her.
I guess it is time to move on.
***
The day passed slowly, and the drudgery of their travels echoed how Meuric felt. He didn’t let Catrin lie against him that night, but she held his hand. Meuric was toasty, but Catrin tossed and turned, preventing him from sleeping well.
“How was your night, Meuric?” Catrin hefted her pack. “Mine was awful. Thanks for asking. My back aches. And what’s this?” She indicated her right arm. “The impression of a thousand tiny pebbles cutting into my skin all night!”
Meuric didn’t say anything, but sucked in a breath through his nostrils. Of course she accused him if she was grouchy in the morning from lack of sleep. He hated pushing Catrin away, but he couldn’t allow her into his heart.
They trudged with short tempers. Anything that caused conversation ended in a rude retort.
“Meuric, do you have to drag your feet?”
“Catrin, quit complaining about the jerky.”
He couldn’t believe how immature they were.
Finally, late in the afternoon, he said something. “This is ridiculous. We’re too tired.”
“It’s not my fault. You’re to blame on all accounts.”
Meuric brushed his hands over his spiky hair. Give me patience. “What’s that supposed to mean? If you have something to say, say it.”
“You brought us back through time. We can’t sleep in a soft bed every night because your powers work by dark energy. You’re too uncomfortable with women, so I can’t use you as a pillow!”
“Come on now!” Meuric growled. “That hardly seems fair. I can’t control any of those issues.” Returning to Beli’s house each night was practical. They had lost the Dark Master. What could it hurt?
“And I can’t control my company!” Catrin stomped ahead.
Dragon’s fire! Meuric calculated Catrin’s emotions carefully to see which ones were carving through her control. She tolerated him. She didn’t quite loathe him. Catrin was just plumb tired.
She’d probably rather gouge her eyes out than march with Meuric day after day.
His shoulders dropped. He thought he was growing on her, but he’d been wrong before.
He told himself he didn’t care. At least that was the agenda.
***
The last night in the pass, Catrin threw down her bedding and scrambled inside. Meuric rolled his out without a word. His limbs folded slowly to the ground, watching Catrin, scrutinizing her every breath—her every sour huff and dismayed sigh. Catrin hadn’t talked to him all day. Her lagging steps pierced him like a splinter to his core.
A string of curses rolled through his head. He was going to give in. At this point, he wanted sleep more than he wanted to go home. With a deep breath, he reached over, grabbed the edge of her blanket, and yanked it toward himself.
Her woolen, lump stirred, and she hissed, “What are you doing?”
“Shut up,” Meuric said. He pulled Catrin on top of himself with her head against his heart. He wrapped his arms around her. “Keep me warm, and I promise you can use me as a pillow. Please, I want sleep. For the love of dragons, let me sleep!”
“All right, all right!” Catrin squirmed until she was comfortable. She even threw a leg over his.
Her heat surged, and their protective bubble of light flickered. Catrin was a little smug, but more excited than anything.
He girded control around his heart-center. She wouldn’t sense any inkling of his feelings, and he’d squelch any untoward impulses. By the fires of Uffern. Help me through this night.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
EASY PREY
Meuric was relieved to reach the end of the pass with several hours remaining until sunset. The pass opened as they strolled into a thick forest on the west side of the mountain. The magic of the tegyd had not reached this far. Catrin informed Meuric that, in their time, the trees would eventually grow a
s massive as the trees in the east and be home to another clan of Eilian.
“Where to now?” Meuric asked, holding back a branch for Catrin.
“We turn south. There’s no road. We’ll cut through the forest and follow the base of the mountain until we reach the Great River. We’ll have to find a way to cross—or swim it. The current is swift, and the river will be overflowing its banks with the spring rains. A huge waterfall gushes down a cliff, coming from the highland.”
“How much longer until we reach Gorlassar?”
“A little over a month. We’re making good progress with just the two of us.”
“A month?” He shrugged. “Why not two? Or three? Let’s stretch this out until next winter.”
Catrin rolled her eyes.
“I’m joking,” Meuric said. “Would be nice to find horses though. Are there wild horses?”
“I have no idea.”
Meuric lowered his voice when a peculiar sensation drew his shoulders up. “We should proceed with caution. This forest feels evil.”
Catrin stopped and grabbed Meuric’s arm, digging her fingers into his bicep. “You have no idea.”
Meuric followed Catrin’s stare. A man moved silently from behind a tree—a fierce warrior with a shaven head, except for the hair wrapped together at his crown with leather straps. Stones and feathers dangled from his earlobes. In his hand, he gripped a wooden club, whose end was embedded with razor-sharp rocks, making a deadly weapon.
“Perfect,” Meuric mumbled.
“Now you can have your battle, Meuric.” Catrin grinned. “Don’t kill him; just make sure he leaves us alone.”
This one man would be easy to take care of. Meuric cracked his knuckles. “‘Don’t kill him,’ she says. Fine, have it your way.” He edged closer.
Several more fur-clad men moved out from cover. Their extreme hairstyles were shaved in various areas so their scalps shone.
“We must look like easy prey to them,” Meuric said.
“They don’t know of our abilities. I can knock them unconscious with one blast.”
“No, Catrin, as you said, this is my battle.”
“Maybe they don’t want to fight.” Even as she said this, the fiends flashed their weapons. Not a sword among them, but instead, they carried modified weapons of wood and stone.
The rabble closed in. The first man gestured to another and thrust his club toward Catrin.
Meuric sent Catrin a look. “I think they plan on killing me and taking you. You’d be a fine catch for these savages.” Meuric winked at her.
Catrin raised her voice and lifted her arms, preparing to fight. Her light flared inside her. “I’m not easy prey. Think you can overpower me? Come on!” She beckoned with a movement of her fingers.
One of the wild men burst out laughing and spoke something in a language Meuric didn’t comprehend. A few of his companions joined in on the private joke.
“This is not at all strange,” Meuric said to himself. Louder, he shouted, “Why don’t you back away before I kill you?”
A savage lunged at Catrin, but Meuric cut in front of her, grabbing the wrist of the man who held the cudgel.
“Don’t use your power, Meuric.”
Meuric grunted and scuffled with the man. “I… don’t… intend… to.” He whipped the man’s arm backward, and a CRACK echoed across the clearing. The screaming warrior dropped his weapon and clutched his arm, backing away.
It had been ages since Meuric fought someone with only his strength—without the dark power. A heady rush swallowed him, egging him further.
Another man advanced on him, but Meuric threw him off. The enemies’ circle tightened, their confidence unwavering. A savage grabbed Catrin and wrestled her into his arms. He yelped when she burned him. As the man pulled away, he pointed and gestured frantically.
“He thinks I’m some otherworldly evil.” Catrin cackled. “Told you I’m more than I seem.”
Meuric fought with three other men. He kicked one in the ribs and punched another under the chin. Moving with fluidity, he ducked a club swing on his right. Each strike instinctual. It felt good. He was made to do this.
Catrin blasted men unconscious left and right. They were down to a half-dozen men. Oddly, Meuric couldn’t help but think what a grand bonding experience this was, and he finally saw Catrin in action. As he twisted over rocky terrain, dodging and punching, each glimpse of Catrin whirling gracefully through combat filled him with elation. Her braid swung. Her tunic spun out. Light shot across the sky with green sparks, matching her eyes.
“Let me finish this, Meuric,” she yelled. “One blast to all of them. You just have to move out of the way.”
“One minute… Cat.” Years of practice had honed his skills. One sure way to blow off steam was by sparring with his men, and right now, Meuric was enjoying a splendid adrenaline rush—a fine feeling after all the dreaded days on the road and after one much restrained night with Catrin in his arms.
Meuric aimed a solid kick, meant for his attackers stomach, but the man sidestepped, throwing Meuric off balance. He recovered with a swivel of his body. As soon as Meuric’s feet were square on the ground, his assailant smashed a wooden club into his shoulder.
The sharp stone on the club’s end ripped into his flesh with a sickening crunch of bone.
Behind him, Catrin screamed.
He started at her cry. Shouldn’t I be the one screaming? Funny, his arm dangled limply at his side as the club tore away. Meuric was momentarily stunned. His shoulder didn’t hurt. Or at least, he didn’t register any feeling.
Ignoring his butchered arm, Meuric recovered with a quick palm thrust to the chin of the attacker, forcing his neck back sharply. The man slumped down.
Meuric staggered. The jolt of energy he experienced from the fight dropped, and his world spun around him.
“Catrin!” His voice faltered and revealed his panic. Fear roared through him. Pain broke through his initial shock, searing up his arm as spots appeared in his vision. He dimly perceived Catrin rushing toward him.
She took out two men on Meuric’s right with a blinding blast of light.
His world lurched with a sudden slowness.
Mara hovered at the edge of Meuric’s vision. She glided among the trees, moving in and out of view. She curled her lips, and her checks rounded with mischief as she coyly dipped her head.
No. As much as he loved her, any vision of her would only lead to her death. Meuric didn’t want to see that ever again.
“Catrin!” he repeated with earnest. Meuric was experienced with pain, but losing grip on reality was frightening beyond measure. “Cat—”
Hands supported him as he dropped to his knees. She’s here. She has me. She’ll pull me through this. “I’m slipping, Catrin. Help me! Don’t let me. I don’t want to see it.”
He didn’t forget how, because of their passion and as pregnant as Mara was, her labor started in the middle of the night. She woke, touched her swollen belly, and doubled over.
Just as she was doing behind Catrin’s back.
“Mara!”
“Shh, Meuric. I have you.” Catrin lowered him, gingerly, coddling his shoulder.
He had forgotten about his injury until his body began spasming.
Mara cried out.
Meuric writhed, trying to sit up, but Catrin pushed him down.
“Let me go. I must help her.” He grasped Catrin’s arm.
“I’m going to help you. What must I do?” Catrin’s voice was strangely in control.
Meuric grimaced, and his spastic twitching slowed. When he spoke, his voice, cavernous and surreal, rattled throughout his head. “Bring me to the present. Hold me in this moment. Keep me here. Please, don’t let me go.” He blinked up at a hazy Catrin.
She patted his chest. “How do I—”
Her lips fell on Meuric’s mouth.
He jerked, pleasantly startled, but readily accepted her gift. Time teetered for a gut-wrenching twist but drove forward
again. Meuric grabbed the back of Catrin’s hair with his uninjured hand and pulled her in deeper as he devoured the taste of his savior.
Mara was nowhere to be seen.
Catrin pulled away, and Meuric groaned—from pain or disappointment? From the break in contact? From missing the way her lips sizzled against his?
Her hand moved at his waist, groping for the knife on his belt.
“Are you with me?” She didn’t wait for his reply. Catrin cut open his coat at the shoulder.
As she worked, Meuric watched her face, which was composed and focused, though slightly pale.
“I can’t heal you completely,” she said. “The injury is too extensive. I’m too depleted after the fight, but I’ll stop the bleeding and take away the pain. The gash is gaping, and your shirt is soaked with blood.”
Meuric smiled. Catrin must be the most stunning creature he had ever seen. Stars, she’s radiant.
She stuck her hand into his sleeve over the injury, and the pressure caused more pain. Wincing, Meuric lifted his head, but Catrin pushed it back and placed her palm on his forehead.
She closed her eyes.
Meuric mused over the way Catrin tasted. Like sweat and rain and dirt, with a hint of jerky. The way her mouth fit against his and the hard pressure, which he still felt on his lips, held him together. “Cat…” He mumbled, forgetting what he was going to say, distracted again by her face.
As the pain subsided, his mind cleared. Catrin’s features screwed up, turning even more ashen while she continued to heal him.
Finally, she pulled her bloody, shaking hand out of his sleeve, promptly crawled a few feet away, and retched into a bush.
“Cat…” Meuric attempted to sit, but his arm didn’t help him. He couldn’t even roll onto his side. “Catrin! Are you all right?”
She coughed and wiped her mouth as she turned back to Meuric. Her voice came out in a whisper. “That’s all I can do for now.” She crawled over to him and picked up his knife. “I stopped the bleeding. I’ll heal you more, later.” Catrin stoically cut a wide length of cloth off the bottom of her cloak. She laid Meuric’s arm across his chest, brought the cloth around it, and tied a knot above his shoulder. Her hands shook the entire time. “Can you walk?”
