Crystal Shadows

by Joy Nash

  His face was deathly pale. Danat could tell his injuries had drained him even more than he’d admitted. She took the food he offered and choked down a swallow of ale. Icy tendrils of dread curled in her stomach.

  “Do you hear that?” Ariek asked suddenly.

  Danat cocked her head. “Horses, coming from the city,” she whispered, her gaze fixed on a dark curve in the road. They drew their mount into a thick copse and waited.

  Five riders appeared. Two men, dressed in white, held torches aloft, while the others peered into the thick undergrowth along the road’s edge. Danat caught a glimpse of their faces and shrank back into the shadows, not daring to breathe. They were Servants of Lotark.

  After what seemed an eternity, the priests moved on. Ariek grimaced and turned the horse to the open countryside. The moonlight cast a deathly pall over his features.

  “I’m going to cut across Lord Garlik’s estate and pick up the road to Sirth where it cuts inland. With any luck, the priests will abandon the chase before then.”

  They made slow progress through the open country, across fields ravaged by Blight. It was well past midnight when they rejoined the road.

  “We’ll go to my father’s estate. There’s a lodge in the hunting park. We can hide there for a few days.”

  Danat twisted in the saddle. Blood soaked the shirt he’d taken from the stable. “Is it far, Ariek?” she asked, wondering how long it would be before he collapsed.

  “Farther than I’d like it to be.” He urged their mount forward.

  The road skirted the edge of a forest decimated by the Blight. The odor of decay hung in the air. Ariek tried to stay hidden in the shadow of its bare trunks and splintered limbs, but his mount skittered, shying away from the smell of death.

  Danat bent over the horse’s head and whispered in her native tongue. Though the animal had most likely been bred in Galena, she was sure it understood the language of its sire’s homeland.

  They rounded a sharp turn in the road. Ariek uttered a foul oath and jerked back on the reins. Danat’s head snapped up. Three men on horseback, Servants of Lotark, had halted on the road some distance ahead, and were talking among themselves. One looked up and gave a shout.

  “Tarol’s blood.” Ariek dragged the reins to the left, grunting at the effort. The horse took two steps toward the dead forest then reared up on its hind legs. Danat clung to its mane. The priests whirled their mounts about and plunged after them. Ariek brought his crop down hard on the horse’s flank. The beast shot forward into the trees.

  Brittle branches clawed at Danat’s clothes as the Blighted forest flew past. The priests gave chase, but Ariek’s mount tore through the trees in a panicked frenzy, slogging into an oily swamp. By the time he was able to bring the animal under control, Danat had lost sight of the pursuers.

  “The priests say the Blighted forest is cursed by Lotark,” she whispered. “It is blasphemy to enter.”

  “I’ve heard that as well.” Ariek’s breathing came in short bursts. His grip on the reins loosened and he sagged against Danat’s back. The horse shied to one side and shifted. She grabbed the reins. The moon cast a dim light through the tangled black lace of the dead canopy and shone dully on the stagnant water. She guided the horse to a lone patch of dry land. Once there, Danat slid from the saddle and pulled Ariek down after her, staggering under his weight.

  He dropped to his knees. His face had gone from white to gray, and he was so weak he could barely hold himself upright. Danat eased him to the ground. Ariek tried to smile, but the effect of his effort was closer to a grimace. “I’m sorry, Danat. I just…need to rest.”

  Terror squeezed her heart. Ariek needed much more than rest, of that much she was certain. He closed his eyes. When she pressed her head to his blood-soaked shirt, Danat could barely make out the beat of his heart.

  “Please don’t die, Ariek,” she whispered.

  Far above her, a dead branch snapped, sending an echoing crack through the forest. The horse reared, then bolted, crashing through the swamp in a blind panic, until she could hear it no more.

  Danat kissed Ariek’s cold lips. She curled up by his side, silent sobs racking her body.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  A woman’s laugh, low and sultry, brushed across Derrin’s awareness like an intimate caress. He shut his eyes and tried not to listen. The enticing sound yielded to a moan. A man’s voice this time, hoarse with need. Derrin gave up. It was impossible to escape the muffled rhythm of the lovers, slow at first, then growing in urgency.

  It was impossible as well to ignore his own painful arousal. Stifling a groan, he rolled onto his back and stared at the sloping roof of the roundhouse. Soft light fell through the smokehole, illuminating the cross of beams and ties. He scrutinized the pattern of light and dark with exaggerated interest, but to no avail. He couldn’t help but be acutely aware of Malia and Standing Deer making love under their furs less than three strides away.

  He turned toward Gina. She lay beside him, her breath rising and falling with a deep, even rhythm. Her lashes cast dusky shadows on her cheeks. He thought of rousing her to make love in the crowded roundhouse, where the cover of darkness afforded the barest privacy.

  Derrin had a good idea what his partner would say to that.

  His partner. His wife. It was so easy for him to think of Gina that way. So easy to pretend a lifetime spread out before them—days of joys and sorrows, children and laughter, trials and tears stretching into the future, vanishing far in the distance. A dream that had little to do with who they were—two people who never should have met, let alone become lovers.

  Malia and Standing Deer neared their climax. Derrin let the muffled sounds of their final pleasure wash over him, then let out a sigh of relief as the silence of sleep overtook the lovers. He willed his eyes to close, but after a futile attempt to find a comfortable position, he gave up any pretense of rest. Rolling onto his side, he propped himself up on one elbow and watched Gina while she slept.

  She kicked off her covers and rolled onto her back. The soft doeskin of her dress clung to her skin, rose and fell with her breasts. The hem had bunched at her thighs, leaving her legs bare. Her knees fell open. Derrin sucked in a breath.

  Experimentally, he touched Gina’s arm, tracing a featherlight line down the inside of her elbow to her palm. She shifted in her sleep with a soft sigh, but didn’t awaken. Her lips parted, revealing the pink tip of her tongue.

  Derrin’s need grew unbearable.

  He eased the hem of Gina’s dress higher, until the dark triangle between her thighs and the silky moist petals of her sex were exposed to his view. He gazed at her for a time, enjoying the play of moonlight and shadow on her skin. Then he loosened the lacings at her throat and drew the soft material back, revealing one breast. Gina looked so beautiful and vulnerable lying exposed while she slept. Lust and a fierce need to possess her raced through him.

  His breathing quickened. He caressed Gina’s breast with feathering strokes, then moved his palm lower, to her soft inner thigh, tangling his fingers in the dark thatch of curls before easing away. She shifted and sighed. He watched her for a moment longer, wavering on the point of indecision. Then, his mind made up, he loosened the knot of his kilt and tossed the garment aside.

  He covered her, his body braced above hers, but not touching. Bending his head, he brushed the lightest of breaths across her lips. Gina arched against him. He deepened the kiss, running his tongue along the contour of her lower lip. She stirred again. One arm came up around his neck, pulled him closer. He lowered himself slowly, surrounding her, pressing his body to hers. She sighed, rubbing against him, her slumber unbroken.

  He shifted to one side, settling his hip on the ground beside her, still raining kisses on her lips. His hand slid over her bared breast and teased the dusky pink nipple into a tight nub. She let out a soft moan against his mouth and kissed him back.

  His good fortune didn’t last. An instant later, Gina stiffened. She broke the
kiss and tried to push him away. Derrin didn’t retreat. He continued stroking, his fingertips brushing over her hips, teasing between her legs. She was slick there, ready for him.

  “Derrin! What are you doing?”

  “Can’t you tell?” He sank one knee between her legs and kissed her again, sucking her lower lip, trailing kisses across her jaw, burying his head in the hollow of her neck and licking the salt of her skin. He eased his other leg between her thighs and pinned her against the furs with his lower body. His arousal throbbed against her cool skin.

  “Are you crazy? We can’t do this here!” She struggled to free herself.

  Her efforts made him grow even harder. The head of his cock prodded the creamy softness of her sex. He gritted his teeth held himself still. “Why not?”

  “Let’s go outside.”

  He raised his head and focused on the outline of the doorway. Impossible. He’d never make it that far.

  “There are at least ten people between us and the door,” he said. He returned his attention to her breast, taking her nipple in his mouth and grazing it with his teeth, hoping to distract her. No such fortune favored him. Gina stifled a gasp and renewed her struggle.

  Derrin fought an urge to bury his cock inside her with one swift stroke, making any further discussion pointless. He contented himself with suckling her breast instead.

  She shoved at him. “Cut it out! Someone will hear us.”

  His head came up. “They will if you don’t stop talking.”

  She went still at that. Derrin drew a deep breath and pressed his forehead against hers.

  “Gina,” he whispered with a patience he didn’t feel. “Please. I’ve lain awake half the night. At least three other couples took their pleasure. No one will care if there’s a fourth.” He gave a tight smile. “Besides, it won’t take long, I assure you.”

  He was rewarded with a low laugh. Gina’s arms came around him, stroked his back. She softened and he slid into her, losing himself in her heat. She pulled him closer and wrapped her legs around his waist.

  The roundhouse and the sleeping clan dissolved. A dark fire enveloped them, pulsing and returning over and over, the promise of forever trapped in each instant. He felt Gina’s climb, mirroring his own. He caught her cries with his mouth and surrendered himself to the flame.

  * * * * *

  A woman sobbed. Gina fought through a fog of terror, desperate to reach her. But when she did, the figure vanished and Gina realized the shout had come from her own lips.

  A strong hand shook her shoulders. “Wake up. Gina, wake up.”

  She struggled to the surface of her dream, gasping at the effort it took to disentangle herself from its snare. She opened her eyes and tried to focus.

  The world outside her nightmare undulated in a sickening wave. She squeezed her eyes shut again. “Give me a minute.”

  Derrin’s arm tightened around her. She drew a deep breath and the dream images retreated. When her eyes opened a second time, everything stayed put.

  Sunlight streamed through the smokehole of the roundhouse, casting an oval patch of light on the far wall. Derrin and Malia sat on either side of her, wearing twin expressions of concern.

  “I’m sorry.” She gripped Derrin’s arm and fought to keep the hysteria out of her voice. “It was just a dream, but it seemed so real. I’m all right now.”

  Malia laid one hand on her shoulder. “What made you cry out so, Gina?”

  She shuddered. “Nothing, really.”

  “A strong vision must never be ignored.”

  Gina waited for the worst of the terror to drain away, then raised her head and nodded. “There were trees,” she said, her voice trembling, “dead trees. Oily muck covered the ground. I heard a woman sobbing.”

  She drew a deep breath before going on. “I saw her sprawled in the mud, clutching an injured man. Blood soaked through his shirt. He tried to talk, but couldn’t. The woman was so young—just a girl. She had long red hair, and an odd mark on her forehead that—”

  Derrin’s fingers bit into her arm. “A mark? A blue circle?”

  “Yes! How did you—”

  “The man—was he blond, with blue eyes?”

  “I…I think so. Yes. Yes, he was.”

  Derrin swore under his breath.

  A rush of dread twisted Gina’s stomach. “It was only a dream,” she whispered.

  Derrin and Malia exchanged glances. “Not a dream, Gina,” Malia said. “A true vision.”

  “A vision?”

  He nodded. “Blight decimated the bogs near the city of Sirth last spring. I know the woman you described. The man with her is Ariek.”

  “Your friend? The wizard you shared an apprenticeship with?”

  Derrin rose with a swift movement. “Yes. I don’t know what’s happened, but I must find him before…” He started to pace.

  “Wait a minute.” Gina’s voice shook. “Are you telling me I dreamed something that’s happening right now? That’s impossible!”

  “No,” Malia said. “The People often have such dreams.”

  A sharp tingling began in Gina’s palm and ran up her arm. She looked down at her hand. Her fist had closed on something sharp. She uncurled her fingers and saw Lasha’s selenite crystal pulsing with white light.

  She gasped and jerked her arm back.

  The prism rolled across the ground. Derrin snatched it up, but the light was gone. Gina stared. Derrin had insisted a natural stone couldn’t be used for wizardry, but he’d been wrong. She was sure the selenite had precipitated her vision.

  He frowned at the stone. “The dead swamp lies on the edge of the wilderness. If I go by river, I may be able to reach it by nightfall.”

  “All will be ready for your journey within a hand of time,” Malia said. She hastened toward the door.

  Gina stood up. “I’m going with you.”

  “No. Sirth is too close to Balek’s power.”

  “But you can’t go alone! Balek would find you once you traveled beyond the range of the shadow crystal.”

  Derrin’s jaw clenched. “I’ll take that chance.”

  “No. I won’t let you. Besides, you’ll find Ariek quicker if I go with you. I can lead you to him.”

  He gave her a searching glance. “Are you sure? How do you know?”

  “I can’t explain it.” Gina repressed a shudder. “But I feel the red-haired girl’s pain, even now. I know I can guide you to her.”

  Derrin nodded. “All right, then. We’ll go together.”

  * * * * *

  A short time later, Derrin pushed a small bark canoe into the river, his chest tight with worry. Provisions of dried meat, roots and berries, along with firemaking tools and several full waterskins, were stowed behind the bow. He sat in the stern and stroked the paddle into the clear water. Hold on, Ariek, just a few hours longer.

  Gina knelt in front of him, paddling with the second oar, the muscles in her arms and back flexing as she added her strength to his own. His shoulders relaxed a fraction. Her presence steadied him, gave him hope.

  The riverbank moved past at a swift pace. By midday, the canyon walls had yielded to a wide valley, but the journey’s speed wasn’t enough to stem Derrin’s near-panic. From Gina’s description, Ariek had been close to death. Would his friend be alive when they found him? He stabbed the water with the paddle.

  Gina shifted, looking back at him. “Why does the red-haired girl have a tattoo on her forehead?”

  “Danat is no ordinary woman. She’s the Bride of Lotark.”

  “Lotark? You mean the god?”

  Derrin nodded. “Danat is a slave of the Temple. She bears the mark of the One God and the high priest, masked as Lotark, lies with her in church ceremony. For an exorbitant price, any True Believer can wear the mask and take his place.”

  “That’s horrible!”

  “Yes.” He told her of Ariek’s secret visits to Danat’s chamber. “He talked of stealing her from the Temple. He must have done it.” He g
ave a short, humorless laugh. “It appears the Servants of Lotark didn’t approve.”

  He thrust his paddle into the water, working the oar without pause until the afternoon sank into a dull twilight. At last, he paused long enough to light a torch.

  He handed it to Gina. “Feed the strip of bark through the slit in the stick as it burns. It should last well into the night. The dead forest isn’t far. Already the trees show signs of Blight.”

  The canoe sliced through the water. Derrin paddled close to the shore, searching for signs of an inlet. After several long minutes he found one. He steered his craft into the shallow waterway.

  The torch filled the night with flickering shadows, black against a darkening sky. Bare branches hung low, scratching the surface of the water. The smell of decay grew stronger and the edges of the channel took on an unnatural sheen. A fallen tree slowed their progress. Derrin muttered curses under his breath.

  The banks of the channel widened until the passage spilled out into an oily swamp. An acrid stench rose from the mire. The scent of death.

  Derrin pushed the thought from his mind. “Which way?”

  Gina pointed into the darkness on her left. He sank the paddle into the muck, steering the canoe through the deeper channels of the swamp. Once or twice he called out, but silence absorbed his shouts.

  “They’re nearby,” Gina whispered. “I feel it. I wish this light cast further.”

  Derrin pulled a thick tangle of dead vines from a branch overhead and wrapped it into a tight knot. “They’re damp,” he muttered, “but maybe they’ll burn.” He touched the vines to the torch, and with some difficulty managed to ignite them. The knot blazed for several seconds, illuminating a wide circle of barren swampland.

  “There!” He peered in the direction of Gina’s outstretched arm, but saw nothing. “That high patch of ground. That’s where they are.”

  Derrin shot her a piercing glance and dropped the smoking clump into the water. Her intuition was uncanny, yet he didn’t question it. Had Gina indeed drawn power from the ice cave’s crystal? If so, the implications were vast.