VirtualHeaven

by Ann Lawrence

  “Forget politics for a moment. How does he feel about the lady’s rejection, personally?”

  “Relieved,” Vad stated emphatically. “Relieved that he would not be brother-by-mating to Samoht.”

  Maggie linked her fingers about her knees. “It would be hard to be lifemates under those circumstances.”

  “Aye ‘twould test all seven levels of awareness.” Vad fell silent, then he cleared his throat. “Of course, there would be compensations.”

  “Compensations?” Maggie wondered what Vad could mean.

  “Oh, aye. They do not call her the fair Einalem for no reason.” There was an easily detectable bitterness in his voice. “She is beautiful. As breathtaking as one of the ancient goddesses. Her hair is like the silver snow on Nilrem’s mountain.”

  “But Ker doesn’t really want her, does he?” Maggie tried to control her jealousy.

  “It matters not. Einalem rejected him,” Vad said, closing the subject.

  Maggie struggled to her feet and tiptoed past Kered’s sleeping form to Windsong’s side. She leaned her head on Windsong’s warm neck. The scent of his dusty coat raised memories of home, of currying her grandmother’s horses, of sweeping out the stables.

  I hope this quest is over soon, she thought, as she stroked her hand along Windsong’s neck. I have to go home, I have to—before I fall in love.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Every muscle of Maggie’s body ached from the punishing pace the men set. Surely, she had calluses on the calluses on her rear from the hours of riding.

  Maggie became aware of a change in Kered’s posture. Where he had been relaxed, at one with his mount, now he had grown rigid, every muscle she leaned on taut in expectation. Vad rode up from his position behind them to shout, “The sea.”

  Stretched before her lay an amethyst sea. Lacy edges embroidered the waves. Gentle, lapping waters met a white sandy beach. The stark contrast of colors against black cliffs took her breath away. They came to a halt at the edge of a cliff, giving her a panoramic view of the shore.

  Dark shadows in the nearly black cliffs might be caves or a lichen or mossy covering. The shadows made a patchwork of the sheer rocks. They faced a horseshoe of a beach, standing at one leg, looking across to the other. She put her hand on Kered’s shoulder.

  “Is it here? The cup?”

  “No,” he said, extending his arm and pointing out to sea. “‘Tis there.”

  Maggie looked where he pointed and saw it. A craggy island. Small and lonely in its violet sea.

  “How will we get there?’’ she asked, gulping.

  “The orbs course the sky at their farthest point tonight. ‘Tis then the tides turn and a land bridge appears from this beach to N’Olava. The sea will be flat and calm. Usually, this beach is awash, the waves as high as a ship’s mast. If we had delayed, we would have needed in wait for the coming and waning of yet another conjunction.”

  “Thank God, then, that we’ve come in time. Do we cross on this land bridge?” she asked.

  “And be cut down by the famed N’Olavan archers? No,” he said with a hint of amusement. “My plan is to make them think an army awaits the coming of the bridge.”

  “How will you do that?” Maggie asked.

  “The turn of season leaves much debris on the shore. We will gather any dry brush we can and set fires here,” he swept out his hand to indicate the top of the cliff, “and here.” He pointed to the beach far below. “Alight, they will appear as a camping army. As the guards on yonder isle await attack from many, two men will stealthily row out and come from the other side.”

  “Has anyone tried that before?” Maggie worried her lip with her teeth.

  “Not in recorded history.”

  “How will we get there?” she asked him.

  “Vad and I will use a boat, of course.” There was an unstated “idiot” in his tone.

  “We will have to get down there before you men can go anywhere.”

  He grinned. Reluctantly, she thought. He slapped his reins, urging Windsong along the cliff’s edge. They came to a steep path and Maggie was grateful that Windsong was sure-footed and rested. Vad’s white mount picked his way almost daintily behind them. Maggie squeezed her eyes closed and pressed her face into Kered’s back. He laughed and she pinched his arm. What seemed an interminable time later, they reached the sheltered beach.

  The wind whispered and Maggie welcomed the salt-scented air that lifted her hair and dried the sweat on her brow.

  Kered wasted no time. He strode along the cliff base and finally chose a cave at the shoreline with a draped rock face that gave them a small sheltered area to spend the day. The men tethered their horses, spending time praising them for the long journey. Kered played a game of head shaking with Windsong, both tossing their tangled manes and snorting at each other. Maggie found herself laughing at the two of them. The head tossing became buffets and soon Windsong and Vad’s mount were churning the sand in mock battle with Kered.

  “Enough,” Vad shouted. “Warok will be hopelessly soiled.”

  “As are you, my friend.” Kered approached his irate companion, whose golden splendor had wilted somewhat. There were streaks of dirt down one side of Vad’s cloak and his boots were dusty from toe to knee. “We will have need of the bathhouse on our return.”

  “If we return,” Vad muttered, looking out at the sea. The isle was as hidden from them in the folds of the cliffs as they were from it.

  “We will prepare our fires and search for their boat,” Kered instructed.

  “What makes you so sure a boat is around somewhere?” Maggie asked, scanning the beach. Here and there, black rocks rose like hulking beasts, covered with a gray residue that she found on closer inspection was a crust of tiny barnacles.

  Kered stood and faced the waiting sea, hands on hips. “The men who guard the cup must come and go somehow. They need provisions. Fresh water. I would imagine they have several boats. One here and at least one there.”

  “How many guards?” She went to his side, putting her own hands on her hips as he had, mirroring his stance and demeanor.

  “Who knows? Their archers make keeping a full company unnecessary.”

  “Great,” Maggie muttered, remembering how close the Wartmen’s fletched arrows had come to killing them. “Why is the cup out there?” she asked, shading her eyes with her hand.

  “The cup was stolen from Tolemac and has remained guarded on N’Olava by Tolemac’s enemies. ‘Tis a symbol that we are powerless against outside forces. We can only defend, not extend.”

  “Who stole the cup?”

  “An ambitious man with help from a treacherous female.”

  “Ah, of course, the treacherous female. What part did she play?”

  Kered turned from the sea and frowned down at her. “She played the seductress, what else?” He stomped past her and hunkered down, opening his pack and tossing her his brush. She took it and began to brush her hair. It felt wonderful, but the enjoyment was tempered by his statement. Vad busied himself with their saddles and cloaks, setting himself apart from their conversation.

  “Do you think all women are treacherous?”

  “Hm. Enough that men must be wary.” Kered scanned the sea.

  Maggie remained where she was, standing, brushing her hair out in long, sweeping strokes. “You don’t have a very high opinion of women, do you?”

  He shrugged. “They are most often a burden.”

  “A burden?’’ She clamped her hands into fists to prevent herself from hitting him over the head with the brush. Then she relaxed. Perhaps he was baiting her. “Seems to me women can be pretty useful.”

  “Aye, for pleasure and, of course, for barter.”

  Maggie pictured women lined up in rows being exchanged for swords and horses. “Barter!” she shouted.

  “Lower your voice, Maggie, else the guards on the isle will have no need to see us—they will hear us!”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. She knew how w
ell sound traveled over water. “But barter. You can’t barter a human being.”

  “Perhaps the word offends you, yet that is what happens when a father gives his daughter as lifemate in exchange for political power. If the woman is not honorable, the bargain is ill-met. There are many examples in history from which to choose; the cup is but one example.”

  “Not all women are treacherous, Kered. Many are loyal, steadfast, and an asset to the man they choose.”

  “Choose?” He looked up. “Men choose.”

  “In my world, women and men choose. They both choose and they both refuse.”

  Kered rose and stepped close, taking the brush and giving a few quick, negligent strokes to his own tangled mane. “In my world, the men choose and the women accept.”

  “My experience has been the opposite. The men are the seducers, the ones who don’t honor their promises.”

  He touched her cheek. “I sense a lecture.”

  “No, I’m not going to lecture you, but you have to understand that every individual is different. There are loyal men and rotten men, and the same goes for women.”

  “What rotten men do you know?”

  “My grandfather, for one. Or rather my mother’s father.” Maggie began to walk along the cliff face, away from Vad and the isle. “My grandmother is a Navajo.”

  “I do not know this chiefdom.”

  She swept her hand out in exasperation. “It’s beyond the ice fields.”

  “Ah.” He linked his fingers through hers.

  “Anyway, Gran’s a Navajo. When she was sixteen, she went with a church group to this religious retreat—’’

  “She was pledged to the gods?”

  Maggie thought about how to describe a youth retreat of her century to a man who was medieval in thought and action. “No. Not pledged, just very active in religious work.” He grunted and began to swing her arm back and forth. They could have been a couple strolling the beach of Ocean City, enjoying a summer evening. Suddenly, Maggie no longer found the white sand appealing and wished for the gray of New Jersey. “Gran met this soldier. There were many soldiers about then; a war was going on. They fell in love, or Gran fell in love. The soldier went off to war and although he made many promises, he never wrote or came back.

  “My Gran’s life was hard after that because she had a baby—and no husband to support them. The People, the Navajo, made life pretty hard for her. See, the soldier wasn’t a Navajo. I learned a lot from my mother about intolerance and being an outcast. She grew up well loved by Gran and Gran’s family, but the community never accepted her.”

  “Your mother, she found a lifemate, did she not? You are here.” He stopped and smiled down at her.

  “Yes, my father’s wonderful, but not Navajo. Mother wanted that acceptance from her mother’s people, but never found it until her later years. They live on the Navajo lands now, teaching, helping out.”

  “So this Gran, she was betrayed by a man.”

  “And her whole life has been doubly difficult as a result.”

  “I think there is more than your Gran’s hard life behind these words of male treachery.” He gathered her in, close to him. “Tell me what your master did to you.”

  Maggie grew stiff in the circle of his arms. Then before she could stop herself, she let thoughts held inside spill out. “I almost made the same mistake as my Gran. Listening to empty promises, believing in lies.”

  He hugged her, but remained silent.

  “I was so sure that Tony loved me. So sure. We had this continuing stupid argument. I wanted to wait for—never mind. He promised me that we would get…life-mated. One night, this man I thought I knew so well made love to another woman.” Kered gripped her tightly. She could barely breathe in his embrace. “I-I left him and went home to my parents’ place. He promised me he would never hurt me again—ever. I believed every word…then I found him with another woman. He made lots of promises—all meaningless.”

  “This is the man from whom you run, is it not?”

  Maggie jerked out of his arms. She imagined it would be easier to just say yes. “I’m sure Vad is wondering what became of us.” She turned to run.

  Kered grabbed her wrist. “Expend your fury in gathering the shore debris.”

  She almost quivered with her anger. He’d heard nothing she had been trying to say. “Anything else you need done?”

  “Aye,” he answered, releasing her. “There is a rent in Vad’s cloak that needs repair.”

  Maggie bit her lip to keep from shrieking. She moved along the shore, bending and gathering the clumps of dry seaweed and straw that littered the beach. The hard work released her pent-up anger. As much as she wanted to fault the two men, they worked twice as hard as she hauling the debris they gathered up to the top of the cliff. When the task was done, small fires waited to be lit all along the shore and across the cliff top. Both men were sweaty and rivulets of grime ran down their faces. Their shirts clung to their backs.

  Neither complained when she tossed them dry bread. They passed around the gourd and drank greedily.

  The two men squatted near the horses and Maggie watched them make their plans, drawing in the sand with sticks. Occasionally, Kered looked up. Each time, Maggie made sure she was bent industriously over Vad’s cloak. Her first thought when Vad had handed it to her was to tack it carelessly, so Kered would not assign her such work again, but the cloak did badly need mending. The hem might catch on Vad’s sword, or on a tree at some inopportune moment. Her anger would not allow her to neglect the task and cause the blond warrior some harm. Instead, she stabbed the needle through the cloth, satisfying herself by imagining she was pricking someone else all the while.

  Finally, the men rose and approached her. Vad wrapped himself in his newly repaired cloak after giving her effusive thanks.

  Kered crouched near her. Maggie waited for him to speak. She longed to climb into his arms, but her disappointment over his lack of response to her emotional outpouring made her keep her distance.

  “Maggie,” he began.

  “Yes. Is there some chore you need performed? Some woman’s task that needs doing?”

  He frowned. “Have I done something to disappoint you?”

  She met his eyes. To tell him the truth would make her vulnerable. “No. What do you want?”

  “Should Vad and I die on the morrow—” he began.

  She flew into his arms, encircling his neck and hugging him with a ferocious need. “Don’t say it. Don’t say it.”

  He pulled her away and shook her. “I must say it. If Vad and I die tomorrow, take Windsong. If you ride under cover of darkness and keep the moons to the east at night, you will eventually come to Hart Fell.”

  “I can’t do it. I can’t.” She trembled, not from fear for her survival, but for him.

  Kered smoothed her hair from her face. “Where is my worthy warrior woman who called the sword from the Sacred Pool?” His words were soft and beguiling, his hands gentle. “When the land bridge disappears, wait one sun-rising. If we are not back—go on alone. Loose Warok to find his own way.”

  Maggie shook her head in vehement denial. “You had better come back, because I’m not going anywhere. If I have to wait forever, damn you, I’ll wait.”

  He drew her hands to his mouth and kissed her palms. “You will go. I command it. Wait one sun-rising, no more.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Kered nudged Vad’s leg with his boot. Vad shook himself awake, groaning and plucking at his wrinkled tunic.

  ‘“Tis true, I look as woeful as the two of you.”

  Maggie smiled. There was amusement in his tone and she suspected that little dampened Vad’s spirits.

  The men began to hone their weapons. Maggie knelt by Kered and watched the easy, practiced motions of his hands as he whetted his knife and his two swords—the everyday one, and the sword of Ruhtra. She was struck again by the beauty of the engraving and its resemblance to her own work. “I assume you expect fighting,” s
he said.

  “We are expecting bloodshed, aye.” Kered continued at his task.

  “That doesn’t have to be,” Maggie stated emphatically.

  “Why?” Vad cocked his head to the side and dazzled her with a bright smile.

  Kered looked at her belt and the weapon concealed in the loose folds of his shirt. “Maggie, hold your tongue,” he ordered.

  “No. This is life and death.”

  “Aye, your life or death. You will keep your weapon to yourself—for your own protection. I have no need of it,” he finished.

  Vad spoke into the strained silence. “Maggie has her own weapon?”

  Kered ignored him. “You must hope that we are successful, else you will need your weapon—returning to Hart Fell.”

  Maggie grabbed his arm, alarm coursing through her. “You have to take it. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you.” The gun fell from her waist.

  Kered groaned, dropping his head into his hands. Vad snatched the weapon up. “Nilrem’s knees. What is this?” Vad asked, crouching at Maggie’s side. Unlike Kered, who had had to play with the gun right away, he gingerly returned it to her.

  Kered plucked it from Maggie’s hand and tucked it into her belt. “‘Tis a weapon from beyond the ice fields. It sends invisible destruction, but how much we do not know. Only Maggie is proficient in its use.”

  “Invisible destruction? How is it Tolemac has no knowledge of such a thing?” Vad turned to Maggie. “Is she a witch?”

  His words sent a chill down her spine.

  Vad looked from her to Kered and back again. “Has lust made you blind? Do you shelter some evil here?”

  Kered lunged forward and grasped Vad’s arm, and for a moment Maggie thought that he would strike his friend. “Maggie is not evil. You have heard the legends of the lands beyond the ice fields—fine legends, wondrous tales. Why would you think a weapon from there would be evil?”

  Vad’s posture stiffened. “Then show me how it works.”

  “Show him,” Maggie urged. She wanted Kered to take it with him, and perhaps Vad could help her persuade him.