by C. N Lesley
“Having humored you, I don’t expect any nightmares. Go to sleep.” He shifted his shoulder into a more comfortable position and closed his eyes.
Ashira obeyed the familiar male authority, letting sleep come in a fume-filled fog.
Cold dampness woke her the following morning, leaving the dregs of a disturbing dream like a bad taste in her mouth. A dark, damp, closed-in sensation and the sound of dripping, together with something malevolent that lurked just out of sight, teased at the edge of her consciousness. Whatever it was . . . hunted. She rubbed her eyes, trying to clear the memory.
The duke’s cloak remained, a reminder of the night. Mist shrouded their camp, drenching her face with dew, and his deep voice shouted orders from nearby, jarring her aching head. Starting up, her hand touched something warm and scaly. A movement against her body brought her to her feet, forcing a cry of horror from her lips.
Men came running, the duke at their head. He looked around for a threat and finding none, raised his eyebrows in question.
“Snake.” Ashira trembled, pointing at his cloak. She couldn’t abide snakes.
The duke snatched at the edge of the garment to gaze in contempt at the reptile slithering for cover. He made a sudden grab, catching it just behind the head. “You fled from this?” He waved the thing. “Look at it. Can’t you tell it’s harmless?”
Ashira backed away shuddering, unable to take her eyes off the squirming reptile. The duke stalked off with the creature, throwing it outside their camp. Though he did not mention it again, his face still reflected irritation when they breakfasted on cold lamb.
Soldiers broke camp and the company prepared to set off without anyone finding a mount for Ashira. The duke lifted her onto his stallion and vaulted into the saddle behind her.
“Loosen up, girl. You’re as stiff as a post,” he said.
“I can ride. Why must I double? Since I am your possession, running back to Menhill isn’t an option. Where else can I go?”
“I don’t have any spare mounts, and you are light. Besides, it’s easier to talk thus.”
“More questions I can’t answer?” Ashira sighed.
“No, teaching you sense.” One of his arms wrapped around her waist. “The wilderness is not the place for frightened children. The scene you created back there could have alerted a predator. They smell fear. Lessons in wilderness skills will begin with that poor little reptile you scared. Grass snakes have black spots and a light collar, while vipers bear a distinctive zigzag along their backs. Snakes aren’t a problem compared with saurians. They are the reason we must all be on our guard.”
Instruction continued all morning, giving Ashira a new perspective on life outside a fort. Surprised at his detailed knowledge of nature, she began to enjoy his patient mentoring despite herself.
Just after midday, the company halted by a shallow stream to water the horses. A quartermaster handed out rations of flatbread and cheese to those not busy. Apparently more trusted now, Ashira was allowed to walk over to a flat rock slanting down into rushing water just upstream of the animals. She unbuttoned the top two fastenings on her gown to wash her face and neck, the cool water pleasant after the heat and dust of the ride.
A hand on her shoulder brought a stifled cry of shock. She hadn’t heard the duke approaching. Her hands went to fasten her dress, but he brushed them aside, pulling down the neck of her dress to bare her shoulders. She flinched when his hand touched a sore spot.
“This wasn’t my doing. These bruises are too old,” he said, his voice quiet. “Women don’t hit with such strength. That leaves your father as the only male permitted to touch a princess. Stay as you are while I get some liniment.” He returned soon after, squatting down behind her.
He knew what he was doing with his massage. A warm glow from the sharp smelling potion began to ease the soreness.
“If I can devise some sort of privacy when we camp tonight, I’ll treat the rest, the ones I saw lower down. Thrice damned weasel, there are other ways to discipline. You’ll never feel my hand, I swear.” Uther buttoned up her gown again to the highest bruise. His breath touched hot on her neck, and then his lips firmed against her skin in a swift salute.
“Maybe not your hand but I’ll feel the point of your knife if I’m judged guilty of offending against you.” Although aware of his right over her destiny, the memory of his kiss thrilled through her.
He nodded once. “Betray me and you will have a problem. Can I know why Hald was so brutal?”
She had never truly known. Maybe he had made her a War Maid because she resembled her mother; maybe so that she was in danger and might be accidentally killed without any repercussions. But now, had Uther’s coming seemed like the perfect opportunity to dispose of her? She looked away. Certain men, like her father, bitterly resented having a War Maid as a wife. Once again, Ashira wondered why her father had ever married such a woman, knowing that he hated what her mother was – a thought brought on by her own swiftly arranged marriage, clearly motivated by Hald’s own greed. What kind of bride-price had tempted him in overcoming his loathing long enough to convince the bride’s family the match was good? It must have been huge.
Uther moved round to sit at her side. He washed his hands in the waters, wiping them dry on his cloak. “Then I must assume you were caught with some unsuitable man. Reason enough for a thrashing and swift marriage.”
“I didn’t,” Ashira protested, burying her face in her hands.
“I am aware that someone who doesn’t know how to kiss is a total innocent. I shall assume Hald forestalled a potential liaison.” He slapped at a black fly on his cheek, squashing it, then cupped a handful of water to wash his face. A day’s growth of beard hindered his effort.
“There’s a bit by your nose still,” she said, hoping to turn a delicate subject.
“Get it off. I don’t want to look like an Outcast.”
Ashira wet the edge of her torn sleeve and attended to the mess. There was a tiny line in the stubble by his lower lip. She scrubbed to find an old scar. Odd that Uther hadn’t taken his wound to a priest for perfect healing. Only Outcasts bore battle scars, regarded as stigmas of evil, and yet he had just objected to looking as unclean as one of them.
When a soldier came to report all horses fed and watered, Uther lifted her onto his horse, taking care to avoid gripping her bruises.
Rain began to drizzle just as the trail dipped down from open moors into more wooded land. Uther called a halt to allow his band to change into wet gear. He wrapped his own cloak around Ashira, and then resumed his wilderness instruction when they set off once more. “See the sky? No birds or bird song are signs of a big predator.”
At sunset, a bare hill circled with concentric depressions of ancient earthworks came into sight. It gave a clear view from all sides, but the duke appeared uneasy; Ashira sensed his tension on ordering a camp here.
Just as the company cleared the trees, a commotion behind brought the duke around. Ashira froze, horrified, catching sight of a saurian mutant – one of the dangerous flying lizards. It had a wingspan of twenty feet, a length of at least two horses combined with the hooked feet and the curved bill of a raptor. In those talons now hung a bleeding soldier plucked from his saddle by a gliding swoop none had heard coming. His screams shocked his comrades into action. Arrows pelted the lithe reptile, but fell back to earth, useless against its scaly hide. It flapped for lift, clutching its struggling trophy. A loud honking call announced both its victory and its indifference to the puny, creeping creatures below.
“Aim for the man, damn you!” Uther yelled. “Give him mercy!”
The screams ceased when a second flight of arrows found their target. Swearing, the duke urged the company forward.
A detail of silent soldiers closed off a deep trench in the hill for animals with another higher up, sporting a canvas stretched across the gap and pegged down for people to shelter underneath. It made a protection of sorts from attack or unkind elements. The duke lef
t Ashira sitting under this crude dwelling while he detailed night watch.
After he’d gone, she unbound her sodden locks to towel the wetness out on the hem of her shift. The sight of the screaming man impaled on talons wouldn’t leave her. His death, a mercy killing, shocked her just as much. The thought that a flight of arrows from his comrades offered a better end than the saurian sickened her. She had just finished drying in the gloom when the duke ducked under the canvas, his dark hair curling from the rain.
“I’m taking first watch.” He pulled a rueful face, looking at her exposed legs with regret. “Look lively, girl. You’re with me. I don’t intend to waste time searching for you if we’re attacked again.”
“Surely it won’t come back,” Ashira objected, smoothing down her clothing. She didn’t want to stand in the rain after all her efforts to get dry.
“Saurians form pair bonds. At this time of year they’ll have a nest of young. Our poor lad won’t satisfy that brood.”
Ashira sighed, clambering to her feet.
The duke positioned three men on the high side of the animal trench, taking the lower side himself with two soldiers and Ashira. “Sit here, but any trouble and you get down with the beasts. Keep low for safety,” he said, already scanning the skyline. “Saurians make speed runs, bringing them in near the ground for a strike.”
Rain pelted downward from the blackening sky. When a bright flash snaked to earth, all resigned themselves to getting soaked through. Thunder rumbled while the heavens opened in fury. A soldier grumbled about the weather to a comrade across the ditch. At least, he reasoned, they were safe from ornisaurs in this deluge. Seconds later a flapping wet-leather sound had them peering through blinding rain. The soldier stepped forward just as a huge shape swung over the crest of the mound, catching him squarely in the face. A sickening click sounded as his neck broke.
Uther swung his sword, aiming a mighty blow against one huge wing as the saurian flapped for lift. The creature dropped its prey and landed, huffing in pain and frustration, jaws snapping at its isolated assailant. It stood a good four feet taller than the duke, an advantage offset by its clumsy movements on the ground, where it used its clawed wingtips both for balance and as weapons to keep all but its victim at bay.
Ashira grabbed the dead man’s sword. A shout behind brought her about, blade held ready. Another saurian crested the rise in a killing swoop. She leapt, aiming for its throat. The next instant both crashed to ground. The beast’s talons raked her arm when she struggled clear from under the astonishingly light beast. She blocked the pain, intent on the fight. The rank smell of reptile came to her with a hiss of agony from the creature as a soldier sliced into its neck. It shuddered from the mortal blow. She ran to the duke.
He circled, looking for an opening while he danced away from those snapping jaws. Ashira sliced into its tail. Using half-furled wings like another set of limbs, the beast turned to face this second threat, its breast exposed for Uther’s deep thrust to the heart. It swayed, legs buckling and blood gushing from its beak, and then it crashed down, to twitch and spasm in death throes.
A warm wetness trickled down Ashira’s arm as the thrill of battle ebbed. Uther strode to her side; he grabbed her shoulders and shook her. Men dashed round them, quieting mounts, making sure of kills, setting watch, leaving her isolated in an island of pain and angry voices. Uther’s face to faded back into an incredible distance. His mouth moved, but she couldn’t hear his voice. She stumbled, dropping her sword. Blackness dragged her down into velvet depths.
Chapter 4
Earth Date 3892
City lights reflected a blue haze off the plasglass dome separating Avalon from the ocean depths, his prison, the specimen jar where he would be studied until of no further value. Arthur settled down against an exhaust vent poking out of the flat rooftop.
Far beneath, railpods rumbled, ground runners hissed, intruding on his thoughts. Upon the rooftop of Sanctuary, the private citadel of the seers of Avalon, he sprawled in his place of refuge above the incessant motion. Images of the forbidden surface world mingled with the Outcast’s history. Her world held the same sights and smells as his dreams of the land – a disturbing discovery.
A signature of thought-patterns alerted Arthur to a stalker. “Rooftops don’t make good beds. Circe, your enthusiasm amazes me.”
“Hiding again?” Her voice carried the overtones of hurt. “We had an appointment.”
The skin-tight bodysuit she wore betrayed tremors in her delectable physique. She’d dressed to thrill: the emerald green color matched her eyes to perfection.
“Shall I ask Evegena to assign another breeding mistress to you?” Her lower lip sucked in, eyes brightened with unspilt tears.
Distressed to see her delicate features cast in such a sorrowful expression, Arthur opened his arms. She nestled down against him, her head over his heart. He stroked the smooth, golden hair that cascaded in waves down her back.
“How about we talk instead of arguing over my seed?”
Her eyes opened wide. “You want to talk? Other males prefer—”
He touched her lips with a finger to stop those ugly words. “I’m not others. I want your opinion on something.”
Circe’s brows drew together. She would have pulled away if he hadn’t held her.
She’s not happy, either. He offered comfort in the way he’d learned from her – not a sexual kiss, but a light touch that caressed, moving from her mouth to her neck for a leisurely return.
She turned away before he could recapture her lips. “Tell me what you wish to hear.” The brightness of her tone sounded brittle to his ears.
“Honest answers, based on your own opinion.”
She looked away. A single tear traced a path down her cheek. Arthur cupped her chin in his hand.
“Should I take vows to become an initiate?” He sensed her confusion in the peripheral thought-patterns streaming from her consciousness. In that moment, he was almost tempted to conform, until images of the surface world flooded his thoughts.
She raised one eyebrow. “Initiates can access the Archive at will.”
“That’s the catch.”
“I know you wanted to find your ancestry. That is why you are accessing Shadow’s records, isn’t it? In case she saw one of your parents.” Her brows drew together in a pretty frown. “Evegena’s gifts are double-edged. Acolytes change when they evolve into initiates. You probably wouldn’t be interested in who your kin are, or were, once you became an extension of the Archive.”
“If I don’t take the vows, I risk becoming addicted to sensory playback.” He paused. “You didn’t tell anyone I found a way to access the Archive, did you?” He had given up on finding his parents in the time he had left before Evegena’s ultimatum expired. What he needed was an escape from Avalon that researching Shadow might provide. Circe’s answer confirmed his fears and his resolution.
“No, but you must give up those sessions.” She touched his cheek with her small hand. “Are you near finding answers to your ancestry, or are you drawn more by the outer world sensations?”
Arthur drew her against his chest, happy to be with her. He inhaled the heady aroma of her hair, and her skin. The Outcast study gave him a frame of reference to judge himself. Shadow was accounted stable, despite her elevated psi-factor. Could he walk in her path? In this moment, he wanted the impossible: a life with Circe, but a life in the outer world. He would have to convince her to come with him if he left, yet he feared she would never agree
“Circe? Would you like to spend the night with me, in my room?” She ran one finger over his lips in a way that fired his loins.
“I’ll be prepared for the dreams this time.”
Arthur fought to keep his tone level. “Not a problem. They haven’t troubled me since the first Archive session.” Her relieved smile thrilled through him.
Later, Arthur held her until she slept, her mouth curved up in a sweet smile that did things to his heart. She knew he’d
withheld viability again, and yet she looked content. The thought of his continued deception troubled him. Evegena would reassign Circe if he refused to give viable seed. He didn’t want to think of her with someone else, and yet neither did he want to give up a child that would be part of them both, especially now.
The Archive’s call thrummed in his mind as if it had waited for this moment. Arthur intensified Circe’s sleep pattern; she wouldn’t know he’d left her for the hour a session would take.
He dressed in the dark and once more trod the path of temptation. However much Arthur stood to gain or lose, he deferred his final decision until he reached the small room and stood in the presence of the Archive, choosing to acquire more data in that moment. “How did the Outcast evolve into a war leader?”
“The human psyche can sustain a limited degree of misdirection.” The Archive’s vocalization echoed in an empty room. “Over-stimulation results in crisis.”
“People heal.” Arthur took his position. “It’s in their nature.”
“Biological intelligence is subject to change with each additional input of data, cause and effect.”
His doubts surfaced. Personalities didn’t alter overnight. He set controls for an interface link of one standard hour.
*
Earth Date 3874
A faint waxy tang of burning candles and the smooth crackle of clean sheets roused Ashira. Shadows danced on a high ceiling, strange leaping shapes on rounded buttresses. A black form unwound from a corner to stretch a terrifying height when illumination caught it, bringing the fragments of a dream memory into sharp focus.
“Welcome home,” a deep voice murmured.
The threatening shadow made Ashira ball her fists.
“Easy, I’m not starting a war. I just didn’t want you waking up alone in a strange place.” The black form lit a brace of candles.
Now she recognized the duke, fear drained into urgent thirst. A pitcher and a goblet rested on a bedside table. He poured water for her, sliding an arm under her shoulders to raise her while he held the vessel to her lips. Blessed moisture flooded her mouth, but he forced her to take sips when she wanted to swallow a river.
