‘You’re looking pale all of a sudden,’ Sarah said, an admission that she had been watching him again.
‘Travelling the way between the worlds is taxing on the body,’ he replied, remembering the lessons he had taken from his cousin Talis. ‘Even for a Guardian.’ Most especially for a Guardian newly out of his apprenticeship who had not fully mastered his powers. Yet Pagan did not admit this for there was still some pride left to him.
‘We’re nearly there,’ she said, gesturing at the stilted structure. ‘You can have a cold drink and a lie-down when we get there. I’ll look after Glimmer.’
Pagan nodded. It was all he was capable of. His energy and attention were focused solely on moving his feet now, yet the closer they came to rest, the more lethargy and disorientation took hold. His Guardian power failed him.
Over the buzzing in his ears he heard her say, ‘What’s going on? Tell me your symptoms, I know first aid.’ The practicality of her tone calmed Pagan and reminded him of the healing women among the Plainsmen they had lived with. Women whose skills he had treated as inferior because of his Guardian birthright. How arrogant he had been. How young and stupid.
‘Symptoms,’ Sarah snapped when he swayed.
‘Dizziness,’ Pagan said, his lips suddenly dry. ‘The colours … hurt my mind. My world is brown. I …’
‘So your pool portal didn’t adjust that in your mind?’
‘It should have’ Pagan struggled to think. ‘I am not royal. Only those of royal blood have traversed the Sacred Pool. Perhaps —’ He swayed and felt fear clamour inside his mind. He was losing control of himself.
‘Shut your eyes.’ She grasped his arm and led him forward ten, twenty paces then said, ‘Stop here. Grab hold of this railing and wait.’ He heard her footfalls rise in front of him and a moment later she was back, taking hold of his arm with one hand and placing the other around his waist for support. ‘Keep your eyes shut. Lift your feet, we’re going up stairs.’
Pagan obeyed, feeling his sodden boot slap onto a wooden plank. One. Then another. Soon they were up out of the sun but Pagan felt he could go no further. She tugged, but he was spent.
‘You need to lie down. There’s no bed on the verandah. Just a few steps more.’
Though he doubted it could be done. Pagan forced himself on, lifting leaden limbs until he felt Sarah’s gentle push on his shoulders. ‘Bed,’ she said and Pagan fell upon it, his sword slapping his leg. She straightened him and removed his boots and sword-belt, then covered his wet form with a light quilt.
Self-pity rose large in his mind — alone and helpless on a strange world — yet duty worked within him yet, and with his last breath he said, ‘Take care of my charge.’
Sarah’s voice came to him as though from a great distance. ‘As if she were my own.’
CHAPTER TWO
‘More! More bodies!’ Kraal bellowed and Kai of the Northmen could only nod in horror as he watched the physical manifestation of his God gorging on the bodies of their dead, his talons and scaled claws ripping flesh from bones, his serpentine belly swelling as his rapacious appetite fed on the people who worshipped him.
Kai could not understand why their God did not eat the bodies of their enemies, the Southmen, which also lay fallen on the battlefield, nor why his hunger was so fierce. Legend named him a benign, slithering, slow-speaking deity whose fiery breath warmed the cold mountain nights and whose wings brought cool breezes in the heat of the day. Yet having left the Fireworld of Haddash, his home to come among them at last on the Earthworld of Ennae, Kraal had proved those words to be lies. The serpent God was a true demon; quick tempered and voracious.
‘More!’ he bellowed and the scent of the blood combined with the furnace heat of his breath dizzied Kai with thoughts of his own mortality.
‘Bring more bodies!’ Kai shouted to his lieutenant. ‘The dead and dying,’ he added, lest there not be enough and his God looked to those around him to appeased his hunger. The lieutenant ran towards the edges of the fading battle, signalling warriors to take hold of the nearest bodies and drag them to their God. One of the fallen was from Kai’s own Side Clan, his hair shaved from one side of his body as was their clan’s birthright, his smooth arm struggling against its captor’s grip. Kai turned away.
‘Faster,’ Kraal said, his razor-sharp teeth dripping with blood and shreds of flesh, his roving eyes, like the blackest fire of Haddash, pausing to look into Kai’s soul before he turned to see the newly constructed pile of bodies. His huge clawed feet crunched bones as he stepped over half-eaten clansmen to snatch up the jerking form of a decapitated warrior.
Kai closed his eyes, yet could not escape the wet snapping sound, the crunching splinter of bones. His God would be pleased with these new offerings yet Kai felt no peace, only an odd jittery longing for the sharp peaks of their mountain home. His elation at seeing their God appear among them only hours before was now gone.
To calm his mind he surveyed the blood-soaked Plains where they had met the Southmen in battle. This was familiar to Kai and held no fear. To die in battle was to win glory. To die in the service of Kraal would be the greater glory. Yet Kai did not fear dying as much as he did living in the service of his God.
His people’s War Chief could be seen at a distance striding towards them, triumphant, the heads of many enemies tied to his belt. This was the first battle in their conquest of the Southlands, yet it had been won with such ease that none could doubt their invasion would this time prove successful.
The traitor they called The Dark was no longer required as an ally while their God played an active role in their ascendancy. Kraal himself had ordered his Northmen to leave their rocky mountain promontories and claim the fertile Southlands in his name. There were rich castles to plunder and slaves to be taken. The coming weeks would be filled with battles and bounty.
Kai’s own clan had led the Northmen into battle against the forces of one of the southern castles. Soon afterwards they had been distracted from their fight by a column of white light which had appeared and then disappeared in the area of the Southmen’s shrines. At the instant of its disappearance Kraal had materialised before them in a ball of fire. ‘The White are gone!’ he had bellowed, and though they had been shocked by his fearsome appearance, the Northmen had cheered their God, louder as his fiery breath cleared away the mists which were wont to envelope the Southlands. Kai’s people had seen the enemy placements clearly then and the advantage had been won.
While the battle raged anew, Kraal had looked upon them to find a favoured one, and Kai — only a clan leader and not the War Chief — had been chosen to stand at his God’s side and do his bidding. Was it because Kai had been first out with his clan? A reward for his bravery? The War Chief believed so and had accepted Kraal’s choice. The honour in this appointment was great, yet as he watched his God gorging on the bodies of their dead, Kai struggled to keep his horror from being the stronger emotion.
Although he had been denied the clash and roar of battle, Kai felt no deprivation. His men had fought well and their people had won. Soon the approaching War Chief would ask Kraal’s bidding and there would be honour for Kai who stood chosen at their God’s side. Honour enough, perhaps, to take a daughter of the War Chief to wife. At two and twenty, Kai was of an age to marry, and the lineage of the Tree Clan, to which the War Chief belonged, was among the most noble. There were four daughters in that line and any would make him a good wife. Kai wondered if he dared demand two.
‘Servant, come to me,’ Kraal said and Kai felt anger at himself that his personal ambition had distracted him from his duty to his God. He turned from his contemplation of the bloodstained Plain and stepped over the bodies of his clansmen, ignoring the squelching beneath his sandals and the warmth of their blood which oozed between his toes.
‘My God and Master,’ he said and bowed when he stood beside Kraal’s large claw foot.
‘Servant’ Kraal acknowledged formally, the furnace heat of his breath billowing
over Kai like the fires of Haddash themselves. ‘You are my chosen’ he said, ‘and now the chosen of your people. Here comes your leader whom you must kill.’
Kai looked into the large black eyes of his God. ‘Kill?’ he said softly, for fear that he had not heard aright.
‘Drink his blood, now, before me, and claim his women for yourself.’
Kai gazed into those volcanic eyes and felt the hot jerk of violence inside himself. He nodded once, then turned to face the War Chief who had knelt, arms clasped behind his back in supplication as he bowed. Around him, his entourage had done likewise. Kai moved as though slowed in time, yet the shock and violence of his mission throbbed within him. His bright sword caught the sun as it swung high, then down in an arc that jarred at the neck of his leader before continuing to the ground, taking the head of his War Chief with it. The supplicant men of his clan rose angrily behind him but Kraal roared and they fell to silence, watching as Kai stepped forward and cupped his hands at his chief’s neck, filling a palm with hot blood which he then raised to his lips.
‘For Kraal!’ he shouted, and drank the blood which soured his throat with the metal tang of unkempt iron, and sat in his stomach like a handful of rocks.
‘Your new chief,’ Kraal rumbled, and swept a claw up to rest delicately on Kai’s shoulder.
Though he felt the honours heaped upon him, Kai could not help but shudder at that touch. ‘I claim the women of the War Chief for my own,’ he said. ‘And henceforth I will be your chief in times of war and peace.’
Kraal’s claw patted his shoulder once, twice, then rose. Their God’s scaly body with its glistening otherworld hue rippled with muscles and was fanned by the thick membranes of his wings. His long jaws were lined with cruel teeth; dagger-sharp talons hung from each foot, and the breath of fire that emerged from his mouth could incinerate the fiercest warrior long before a sword touched him.
From among all the Northmen, this fearsome God had chosen Kai.
Power sang in Kai’s veins, thrumming with the glances of awe his clansmen cast on him. Yet also within him there lived the sure knowledge that one day he would disappoint Kraal and find his own death. He could only hope that day would not be soon.
CHAPTER THREE
Sarah stood next to the bed gazing down at her sleeping house guest, his sword-belt on the chair beside her with a section of blade exposed and glinting in the morning light, his sodden boots on the floor.
A warrior with a baby. And she’d brought them into her house. A couple of runaway aliens.
There was no doubt in her mind that Pagan and Glimmer were not of this world. From the moment she’d heard that crash and turned to find them rising out of the middle of her billabong —
The whipper-snipper.
Sarah blinked. She’d dropped it near the memorial plaques she’d been trimming in the lawn section. She should go back and get it. If it rained …
Her hand slowly rose to cover her eyes. What was she thinking? Mundane nonsense about garden tools when she had a real-live alien lying in front of her. Maybe her mind was trying to distract her from the terror that was sure to come when her common sense caught up with her actions.
She took a deep breath. Another two breaths. Still didn’t feel calm.
She lowered her hand. Was he really an alien? How else could you explain someone with no pink on them? Tan lips, palms. His tongue was probably brown too. Not that it looked ugly. Nothing about this guy was unattractive. It was just … weird. Of course she’d met weirdos before, she’d been to university, but Pagan was beyond that, way beyond normal, in looks, ability — that healing touch of his … Sarah thought about the dead people who came through her funeral home every week, and their grieving families. Could some of them have been saved by —?
No, she mustn’t get ahead of herself. She had to be sensible, work out why she’d brought them into her house in the first place instead of ringing the police, and why she wasn’t racing to the phone right now. It wasn’t just because he was good-looking. She wasn’t that much of an idiot. Was it trust? Did she trust Pagan? He said he wanted to stay. For a few days? Maybe longer …
Or is that wishful thinking, Sarah?
But even if that wasn’t potentially dangerous, how could she hide aliens in her house? Wouldn’t people notice?
She looked back at Pagan. So many unanswered questions. To risk or not to risk? And if she let them stay, what would the consequences be? A change in her life of quiet desperation, locked into a family business she’d never wanted to inherit in a town she’d outgrown? No more spending Saturday nights playing chess and debating world politics on the internet with faceless strangers because the only conversation she could get out of the local men was cattle farming and the annual kangaroo cull — not a philosopher among them.
What woman wouldn’t want a gorgeous man and his equally beautiful baby dropped into her lap? So what if they were aliens …
Did she really mean that?
Sarah leant forward to have a closer look at Pagan’s face. His glossy dark hair had fallen back to reveal smooth olive skin stretched over cheekbones Michelangelo could have sculpted, eyelashes straight out of a mascara ad, lips … She drew a slow breath and straightened up.
Okay. Slow down, girl. You’re slipping into hormonal overload.
The swing. She nodded to herself. That’s what she needed. She turned slowly and walked out of the room, didn’t look back. Taking only a moment to stick her head into her bedroom and see that the baby was still sound asleep, she let herself out the back door and ran down the steps to the yard swing. Twenty-eight years ago as a baby strapped to her mother’s chest she’d learned to relax on their backyard swing. Hung between two huge mango trees, the rope was vintage hemp and the solid ironbark seat would still be swinging when her grand-daughter came along.
If.
Sarah slid onto the seat and grasped the thick ropes in her palms. She pushed off, closing her eyes as she always did, working the rhythm, feet out on the upwards swing and lean back, lean forward and tuck them in on the downward. Soon air was rushing past her ears and the world seemed to be gone. There was only Sarah. Flying up, falling back. Flying up, falling back.
She stopped pushing then and let herself glide with her head thrown back and toes pointed out in front of her like the ballerinas she’d adored as a child. Up, back. Up, back. And somehow amid that seductive rhythm the craziness of society slipped away, money worries disappeared, and Pagan and Glimmer ceased to exist. There was only Sarah, and in that vacuum of thought she found herself again. The Sarah that lived inside her. The Sarah who could never be influenced by other people’s rules or expectations. The Sarah who simply did what she knew to be right.
The swing slowed eventually and she opened her eyes, adjusting to the moment of vertigo as the world swung into focus again, swaying slowing with her dying momentum. Her sneakers skidded on the soft earth, once, twice, then the swing stopped and she sat there for the longest time, just gazing out across the farm orchard and vegetable patch she had no time for, grown over with six years of organic decay. She loved gardening, but her work was on the other side of the house, all functional design and clean sterilised surfaces. This was her life. In Katanga, a little country town in the middle of Queensland. Middle of nowhere. Her childhood home. Her prison.
Should she share that? Could she, after living alone for so long?
Share.
It was the voice of the Sarah she’d found on the swing, the Sarah who did what she knew to be right. Pagan and Glimmer needed help and she could help them. Whether it turned out happily or ended in tears, she couldn’t send them away.
It simply wouldn’t be right. And for all she knew this might be the chance of a lifetime; to learn about an alien culture, to teach him about hers. She’d be like Earth’s ambassador — no, what had he called Earth? Magoria. She’d be Magoria’s secret ambassador to the stars. What a role. Her drama school aspirations were going to be useful in the real world after a
ll. How she’d love to rub her father’s nose in that!
Having made her decision, Sarah rose from the swing and stretched, exposing her midriff to the tickle of a breeze. She rubbed the spot and then smiled, for no reason she could discern. It was simply good to be alive. To actually feel like you were alive.
She loped up the stairs and padded quietly across the back verandah and in the back door, checking on Glimmer who lay peacefully in the middle of her bed. ‘No nappy,’ Sarah whispered to herself, gazing down at the fluffy towel that encased the child. She didn’t want a wet mattress. A quick trip to the bathroom and she had a shower cap. Tearing the elastic off it gave her a sizeable square of thick plastic. She slid it carefully under Glimmer’s lower half and the baby opened her eyes, gazing straight up into Sarah’s.
Sprung.
‘Well hello, little lady,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t have any food for you yet. Can you go back to sleep?’ This was asked hopefully. Glimmer’s eyes closed again and Sarah watched in amazement as they remained that way, the baby’s gentle breaths rising and falling in her tiny chest as though she’d never woken up. Maybe she hadn’t. It might have been an autonomic reaction to being moved. Sarah didn’t have enough experience with babies to know, so she simply brushed back the thin strands of blonde hair on Glimmer’s tiny head and got quietly off the bed. ‘You stay asleep until I come back and wake you up,’ she said, not in any real hope that the baby was obeying her, but simply because it made her happy to have someone to talk to, someone who needed her.
There was someone else who needed her too, but before she checked on Pagan again, Sarah was determined to call Reg’s store and order some baby formula. Have it delivered. She headed up the hallway past the guestroom door and really meant to keep going, but one glance inside and she found herself stopping. Staring.
Daughter of the Dark: Shadow Through Time 2 Page 3
