The Children of Anthi: Anthi - Book One

by Deborah Chester

  “Giaa!” he said in surprise. “What—”

  “You were not chosen!” Tuult seized her arm and pulled her roughly from the alcove. “It is not permitted that you be here, Henan!”

  “Release her,” said Blaise sternly, stepping forward.

  Reluctantly Tuult obeyed, and Giaa backed away from him, rubbing her arm, which had been marked by his grip. Her lips were trembling, but although her eyes betrayed fear, they also flashed with defiance at the Bban.

  He stiffened and turned to Blaise. “Leiil Asan,” he said with gruff vehemence, spreading his fingers. “It is not right that she be here. The law—”

  “The old law of the Bban’n is not served now!” said Giaa, with a toss of her head. Then she shrank back as he growled at her.

  “Enough!” Blaise stepped between them. “She may stay, Tuult.”

  “But she is Henan! Below caste! My Leiil is too quick to forgive this intrusion. There are other servants more fitting—”

  “She will stay,” said Blaise firmly. His eyes bored coldly into the Bban. “Dismissed.”

  Tuult’s jaw clicked rapidly behind his mask, and the sound made Giaa’s cheeks darken. But with an abrupt salute Tuult came to attention.

  “As my Leiil commands,” he said, not bothering to keep the anger from his voice. “I shall guard thee to the blood this night. None shall pass thy door save by thy wish.” With a swirl of his black cloak he left.

  Blaise snorted, frowning after him, then gathered himself and smiled. “I am glad you are here.”

  She still stood by the wall, looking as if she desired to press herself against it and disappear. Despite the warmth of the room she shivered, holding her arms tight about herself.

  “Here,” he said gently, not liking to see her cold or unhappy. Pulling the cloak from his shoulders, he walked over to her and put it around her. She had changed into a belted tabard such as the slaves wore. His hands lingered for a moment on her shoulders as he settled the cloak there, and his gaze moved down over the curve of her breasts beneath the thin leather, and the bared lean muscle of her thigh. Her sweet, smoky scent rose up between them. He drew in a deep pleasurable breath of it. But his touch also made him aware of the misery within her and the unhappiness that stirred beneath her fear.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he said.

  Her silver eyes, luminous, opaque, and shining in the flash of light, lifted to his, then dropped away. She shifted beneath his hands, and her cheeks darkened again as she suddenly became more conscious of his nakedness.

  “My…my Leiil,” she said in a whisper. “Forgive me.”

  He moved away, uncertain why she was here or why she was so distraught, but determined not to frighten her further. After walking across the room, he picked up a tunic and pants made of thin, silken green cloth and put them on. Then he seated himself and lifted the cover off the tray of food. Glancing at her over his shoulder, he smiled. “Join me?”

  Her eyes widened at the sight of such abundance. He saw the corner of her mouth quiver and knew she was hungry, but after a moment she put out her hand palm down.

  “I am to serve thee, my Leiil,” she said and averted her eyes. “To take thy food is wrong.”

  He frowned, but his own hunger was too great to be put off any longer. The eating implements were fashioned of polished animal horn and awkward to use, but he managed, gasping a bit from the fiery bite of the spices. After a while she came silently forward with an unaccustomed shyness and poured his wine for him. He drank, cooling the fire lingering on his tongue.

  He met her eyes. “Thank you. Now take this.” He pushed forward one of the bowls with the food he had saved for her. “I have enjoyed my fill. If you do not eat, this will be wasted.”

  She gasped. “Waste is not permitted.”

  “No.” Gently, as though he were coaxing a wild animal, he pushed the bowl a little nearer to her. “Take it.”

  She reached for it, trembled, then took it. While she ate he sat motionless, watching the light glint off the golden wealth of her hair. Her loveliness drew at him more than ever, especially since he was no longer distracted by illness. He longed to reach out and touch her hair, to feel its satiny texture, but he did not dare startle her. When she was finished and had put down the polished bowl he captured her hand in his before she could move away.

  “Don’t fear me, Giaa,” he said firmly, his eyes upon hers. “Why did you come here? Why is it wrong for you to be here?”

  She looked nervously away as she trembled in his grasp. “I no longer fear thee,” she said in a low, almost inaudible voice. It was a lie, and he was about to speak with more sharpness when she visibly steeled herself and looked up at him with a faint but practiced smile. She moved around the table, her scent again releasing with heady fragrance. “Please, my Leiil,” she said, her voice stronger now. “I came here to serve thee. Let me…”

  He felt as if something cold and repugnant had touched him. Annoyed by her falseness, he stood up and strode over to the brazier, warming his hands above the coals. He had Asan’s abilities now; conscious of that fact, he glared at her until her smile drooped and faded. A flicker of certainty crossed his mind.

  “Who told you to come here?” he asked sharply.

  She flinched. “No one.”

  “Don’t lie, Giaa! I know—”

  Without warning she began to weep in silence, shaking, her hands pressed to her mouth. “I do not wish to! I do not! Oh, please, Leiil, mercy!” Bowing her head as he stood there frowning, she sank to her knees and huddled there on the floor, rocking herself back and forth in the noiseless grief of Bban’n.

  His anger faded helplessly. Squatting down before her, he gripped her arms. “Giaa, don’t.” He gave her a light shake when she shut her eyes and did not respond. “Giaa! It’s still me, Bla—” Caution made him drop that reassurance. “Am I the leiil, Giaa?”

  Surprised, she blinked at him.

  He resisted the urge to smooth back the hair from her face. “Am I?” Slowly she turned her palm up.

  “Then you must tell me the truth. Who sent you here? And why?”

  She lowered her eyes, and for a moment he was certain she meant not to answer. Then she twisted a lock of hair in her fingers. “It is insult for Henan to approach one like thee. The elders wish revolt. They—”

  When she did not go on, he nodded to himself and stood up. More enemies, he thought wearily. Would this maze never end?

  “My Leiil?” she whispered, rising to her feet when he did nothing but stare thoughtfully into the fire. “Is it thy intention to spread my blood for this?”

  “Why should I?” he asked, puzzled.

  She spread out her hands, her silver eyes dull. “Because I am Henan, worthless…” Suddenly her lower lip began to tremble. “Oh, good Leiil, I have failed their will. I must die!”

  “No!” He seized her by the arms. “No, Giaa, that’s nonsense! No one can coerce you—”

  “I failed the command of the elders—”

  “Giaa, listen!” he said, frustrated as she looked away. “I command it!”

  She stiffened, her eyes returning to his.

  “That’s better,” he said sternly. “Now. Do you serve me, or your elders?”

  She hesitated, then inclined her head. “Thee.”

  “Then you have not failed. I am not insulted by your presence. You please me, Giaa. You are beautiful and intelligent. I owe you a great deal for the care you took of—” He swallowed, averting his eyes. “Of the n’ka.”

  A tremor crossed her face. “I grieve for his loss, my Leiil. Forgive me. He gave himself unto thee and—”

  “Giaa.” He put caution aside, deeply distressed to see her so miserable.

  She gestured quickly, turning away. “He did not know Anthi, or Lea and her sisters! He journeyed to Merdarai unprepared and shall spend eternity wrapped in torment!” She gasped. “I wish I might go there too. Oh, Anthi spare me this shame of being slave, of having no will—”

&n
bsp; “Stop it.” He made her turn around and face him. “You are no longer a slave. I free you.”

  For an instant something close to scorn shimmered in the depths of her eyes. “I am Henan and below caste. Slavery is not something man can give or take away.”

  “You can be anything you want to be, Giaa,” he said, wishing he could make her understand. “When your will is free, when you decide to make it free, then no matter what others may do to you, you are not a slave. I learned that long ago.”

  She lifted her finger. “I am what Anthi wills, my Leiil. Only one man I have known was as thou hast said, and even he died for thee.”

  A queer shiver passed through Blaise. She pulled at him in a way he had never felt before, and it was becoming impossible to ignore the sensation. Involuntarily he reached out to touch her forehead.

  “I am going to look upon you with my mind, Giaa,” he said, unable to stop himself from invading her privacy. “Trust me.”

  Her docileness told him she was well accustomed to such treatment. He frowned, then gathered his senses and extended them hesitantly over her. For a moment he was buffeted by grief and confusion. He drew back, uncertain of how to reach through. He dropped his hand, unable to continue.

  “My Leiil does not wish to look upon me with truth?” she asked in bewilderment.

  He shrugged, trying to sort out his confusion. Something deep and warm stirred in his blood, but this time he held himself back, rejecting the desire to extend his senses about her. Until he understood exactly what he was doing, he did not dare give way to these strange emotions within.

  “I am going to share a secret with you, Giaa,” he said at last. “I…The n’ka—Blaise—did not die. He is here, Giaa.” He touched his chest. “I am—”

  “Truly?” Her eyes glowed with such joy that he was dazzled, then she gasped and drew back. “I do not understand.”

  “Nor do I. But it is true.” He looked at her, wondering what had made him entrust her with a knowledge that could easily prove to be his undoing. “I may wear a new body, but I am still Blaise. And I wish to thank you for all the care you gave me these past days.”

  She drew in a breath. In the clear light her eyes were like deep silver pools of unfathomable water. “Oh, my Leiil, something inside bids me believe thee. And if it is true…” She sank down to kneel reverently at his feet, her face suddenly alive with emotion. “Oh, I am glad!”

  Again his heart seemed to turn over as he smoothed the shining strands of her hair. “You told me once you were sworn to purity,” he said, his voice a choked whisper.

  Her cheeks darkened, and beneath the thin leather of her tabard her breasts rose and fell quickly. “I…” She swallowed and seemed to suddenly dismiss what she had been about to say. Her eyes dropped. “Surely thou hast knowledge of the curse born upon every Henan, that they are all of nature and cannot raise themselves into the mind as can the Tlar and the Bban’n. They are sterile. They are waste. It is against law—”

  But he had stopped listening. “The Bban’n?” he echoed in disbelief. “Their powers are equal to—”

  “Yes!” She stood up, facing him directly for the first time that evening. “The tribes live in the wastes of the Outerlands to avoid Tlar oppression, but because they live the way of barbarians does not mean they are less. They can follow the power of Anthi as easily as they obey the older circle of the four moons. When I fled the dara of he who sired me to serve in the courts of the Tlar, the revered noble offered me a better life. He looked upon me with truth and said it was the will of Anthi that I serve her sacred purpose.” Suddenly her clear voice faltered. “If only thou couldst understand the shame to be as I am. Less than property, despised, without worth.” She beseeched him with her eyes. “I could not please thee, my Leiil, who holds the n’ka safe. I have not the way of the rings to offer thee.”

  He longed to kiss away her tears, to chase away the fear clouding her beauty. What she said meant nothing to him. He could not accept rejection now, and instinct—or perhaps his heightened senses—told him her own blood had been stirred in response to the forces causing his to pound through his veins. If only he could find some way to reassure her, to free her from the shame that bound her. More than ever he realized the inadequacy of his understanding of this race and its cultures. Mere words could not clear away ingrained superstitions and training. Then to his surprise his mind stretched forth in response to the urgency within him, freely, with none of his earlier hesitation. The rings comprising his strength, power, and wholeness spread and extended around her, not to question her as he had tried before, but to cherish her. To worship her. He quivered. So the rings were a part of this too. He had not realized.

  “Giaa,” he whispered, drawing her into his arms.

  She flinched as his rings encompassed her. But he was patient, holding them gently around her until she relaxed ever so slightly.

  “My Leiil,” she said softly, even as the stiffness of her body began to ease. “This is what the elders want. Is it thy—”

  “It is what I want,” he said, kissing her hair. “Is it what you want?”

  She closed her eyes, her musky scent filling his nostrils as he began to infuse her thoughts with his own, caressing her mind as his lips sought hers.

  “Yes…” she whispered.

  In response he held her even more closely, her slim body pliant and willing. As his own mounting passion swept through the rings, inflaming her in return so that she cried out in pleasure, he took her up in his arms and turned toward the shadowed alcove.

  “Asan…come.”

  The low call pierced the darkness, stirring him from slumber. At first he thought it was Giaa calling him, but she slept with her head pillowed on his shoulder, her breathing gentle and steady. He frowned, closing his eyes again.

  “Asan…”

  The call came once more from inside him. His frown deepening, he sat up, moving carefully so as not to disturb Giaa, and left the bed of deep cushions to stand tense and puzzled in the gloom. What was it? What did it want?

  The call was repeated, touching a deep elemental chord of response so that he took a step forward before he realized it. Angrily he stopped himself. But by now his curiosity was pricked, so that impulsively he decided to obey the summons.

  He padded across the carpet on silent, bare feet and found his clothes, shivering slightly in the chilled air of the alcove. In the larger chamber the fire in the crystal brazier had died to a scattering of faint embers in the ashes. He brushed his hand over a light cube, bringing forth a dim glow of illumination, and pulled on thin leather slippers before taking a cloak of white borlorl fur from a chair to throw about his shoulders. Then he hesitated, wishing for a jen-knife or a fire-rod to thrust through his belt. Leiil Asan might possess supreme mental powers, but he was still Blaise enough to wish for a more tangible weapon comfortably close to hand. But there was nothing here to use.

  With a shrug he gathered his cloak tightly and edged to the doorway, dropping a light cube into a pocket in the cloak as he did so. He paused, his senses spreading about him in an alert radius. Yes, Tuult still stood on guard, dozing, but with his senses fully activated. Blaise knew that if he lingered Tuult would become aware of his presence and awaken. Quickly he concentrated, compressed his rings tightly about himself until he possessed only a sliver of existence, then slipped out and past the Bban, not pausing until he was well around a bend in the dark passageway. There he loosened his rings back to normal and waited a moment without breathing. Tuult had not sensed him go by. Good.

  Satisfied, he drew the light cube from his pocket and held his thumb upon it until it glowed just enough for him to see by. In silence he hastened on, following the internal call that still insistently summoned him. As he wound his way through the warren of caves and passageways, sometimes squeezing through low, narrow places that reminded him uncomfortably of past ambushes, always choosing the path that led down, he grew certain he was heading for the very heart of the mountain. Bu
t he did not fear a trap from Picyt. Whatever this was had nothing to do with the priest.

  Though Giaa’s mind was closed to him in many ways, he still had gained a wealth of information from her, which, coupled with his own constant self-discoveries, put him on much surer footing than he’d been just hours ago. And what Picyt had planned chilled him whenever he thought about it. Worst of all, he could not make Giaa understand that the priests and their goddess were not to be blindly obeyed.

  “Asan…come!”

  He paused, startled by the intensity of the call. What was it? Deliberately he stayed where he was for a moment, alone in the black depths of the mountain. Somewhere in the distance water dripped with faint splashes. He shivered under his fur cloak, listening to his own rapid breathing. Then cautiously he went on. The passageway at this point had been bored and smoothed by engineers long ago; he slid his finger along a chisel groove in the wall. But not a footprint marred the white dust covering the ground before him.

  He came to a dead end, stopped by a wall of metal that shone green in the light from his cube. Corybdium! How was he to get past this barrier?

  He stared at it a moment, his keen eyes searching unsuccessfully for a seam or hinge. At last he set a hand upon the surface, only to snatch his fingers away from the warmth of the metal.

  “Come…!”

  The call reverberated through him, vibrating in his bones until he cried out. He fell against the wall, his hands clapped to his head, then struck at the barrier with a fist.

  “I am Asan!” he shouted. “Let me pass!”

  Something inside the wall clicked, but the barrier did not move. Impatiently he pressed both palms against it.

  “By the will of Asan,” he said, deciding his new name was a kind of magic passport, “open!”