Daughter of the Dark: Shadow Through Time 2

by Louise Cusack

  ‘A rare find. My Lord,’ Tulak said cautiously, his shaved head catching the light of the sculpted candles on Djahr’s dining table. ‘A weapon of much power.’

  ‘Weapon?’ Djahr said, taking up a sliver of crumbed nesdai and sucking on it, savouring the sweet tang.

  ‘My Lord he appears as a mortal with the aspect of a Plainsman but is clearly enchanted, with a glamour that …’ Tulak paused, as though in thought, but Djahr suspected he was floundering. ‘He entrances the mind. And the body … responds.’

  ‘In what way?’ Djahr took another sliver and put it on his tongue, liking the salty tang, then paused to raise his eyebrows when the answer was not immediately forthcoming. ‘How does the body respond?’ he asked, with enough impatience to set Tulak’s tongue in motion.

  ‘As though … with great desire, My Lord,’ his Guard Captain replied.

  Djahr’s attention quickened and his thoughts immediately flew to his Shadow Woman. ‘This Plainsman has a glamour that attracts desire?’

  ‘Not only desire, My Lord,’ Tulak admitted, his expression now showing discomfort. ‘He transfixed my men into a paroxysm of stillness, whereon their … eagerness for him manifested itself in lost seed.’

  ‘Fascinating.’ Djahr was so enthralled by this story, he waved away a steward approaching with a bowl of fragrant liquored grasses. ‘Did he touch them?’

  ‘My Lord, no,’ Tulak replied, having difficulty holding his master’s gaze. ‘He simply stood a distance away, and they, upon seeing him, fell into this …’

  ‘Waking dream of joining,’ Djahr finished for him. ‘And neither touched the other?’

  Tulak shook his head.

  ‘Yet how did you escape this fate?’

  ‘My Lord …’ Tulak could no longer hold Djahr’s gaze and now looked away as though embarrassed. Or hiding a secret.

  Djahr quickly refreshed his memory on Tulak’s family and the information he had on them. ‘I discern from your aura that you were drugged,’ he said and Tulak looked back to him fearfully, confirming his guess. Even without the Shadow Woman at his side it was a simple matter to twist the unwary in their own lies. ‘Did the magoria weed your family hides from me protect you from the Plainsman’s glamour?’

  ‘My Lord, yes,’ Tulak replied quietly, his already dark face now tinted with the shame of his family’s vice. ‘I was emerging from the thrall when I first saw the boy. By the time I was fully returned to myself I had him covered. And gagged.’

  ‘Enchantment in his voice as well?’

  Tulak nodded, watching his master carefully, no doubt worried that he and his family would be punished. ‘My Lord,’ he added, ‘I thought to use him as a weapon against our enemies, yet I fear his power. I found him on the edge of the taboo lands, near the Forest of Desire. If he was born from that mystery —’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Djahr said, leaning back in his chair now, pondering these facts as he reached for a goblet of wine. All trace of his anxiety over disappointing the Fire God had fled in the face of this delicious intrigue. ‘Do you imagine that I have not foreseen these events?’ His voiced deepened into the ceremonial tone he used for pronouncements. ‘I allowed your kin to continue cultivating the forbidden herbs to this very end — that I might have the enchanted boy delivered to me safely.’

  ‘My Lord.’ Tulak bowed, clearly impressed. ‘I have placed him in the dungeon away from all others. Does this suit your purpose?’

  ‘For the moment,’ Djahr allowed. ‘I will visit him there, and yet first you will bring me a quantity of the drug to prepare myself with.’

  ‘My Lord,’ Tulak said again, and bowed with great reverence before departing his lord’s presence.

  ‘An enchanted boy …’ Djahr mused, toying with the rim of his crystal goblet. How fascinating the image Tulak had created, of his men entranced unto slow and silent death by the sensual attractions of a Plainsman. This would be a new and exciting project to embark upon, keeping Djahr from impatience while he waited for the wretched Guardian Pagan to return the child of The Light — his son — to Ennae.

  Torturing the silent and vacant-eyed Ellega had soon bored Djahr. Tales of how he had killed her beloved Mihale gave way to subtle physical tortures — awakening her to reluctant passion while conjuring verbal images of Kraal’s possession of her body. On many occasions she had swooned into a faint, from horror Djahr hoped, but even this amusement became tiresome, and towards the end of her pregnancy he left her to her maids who strove in vain to fatten her up. Yet it had seemed the more she ate, the more the child took from her, and each day she had grown thinner and more wan.

  Barrion, who had seen her only a moon ago, would be easily convinced that a bad birth had stolen his sister’s weakened life. And as they had agreed that Djahr would kill the child of her attacker, Sh’hale, he need produce no babe.

  Though Djahr struggled with his impatience to rule Ennae, in truth, all was going well. He had Barrion on his side, the Serpent of Haddash in his debt now that his child was delivered, and a mystery in his dungeon to explore.

  Except that the matter of The White was not resolved. The Northmen clearly believed there was another descendant of the Ancients on Ennae, yet Djahr could not fathom how. Unless Mihale had secretly fathered a child Djahr knew nothing about.

  Perhaps it was time to break through the Northman siege of the royal Volcastle? That would certainly gain him no friends among their brethren at Fortress Sh’hale, but that was his least concern. He should not send Barrion. If a descendant of the Ancients was hidden there, the Verdan lord might sway in his loyalty towards Djahr. Better to leave the Verdan lord at his hold and send Tulak, at least to reconnoitre. Perhaps he could convince the Northmen to stand back and let him pass. He would discuss this with Tulak when he returned with the drug.

  In the meantime Djahr waited contentedly for his meal, calling for a glass of fine red oceanberry wine to celebrate the death of his third wife. The night would be further enhanced by his visit to the dungeons, but for now he simply allowed himself to relish the anticipation.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Noola was being particularly obstinate and Breehan found his patience near to an end — he who had prided himself on his patience with Noorinya.

  ‘I am stronger,’ he said for the third time, ‘let me roll it away,’ and he waited for her to release the rock and step back.

  She remained crouched with her arms braced against the large boulder which had fallen in the night, blocking their access to the last remaining pieces of motherweed in the area. Trapped in caves on the fringes of the Echo Mountains by violent wind funnels that ravaged the Plains, their small tribe struggled to find food, and motherweed was their only substitute for mother’s milk. The babies would be crying of hunger soon. Breehan knew this was what drove Noola, but she was with child herself and should not strain. ‘I am a man. I am bigger than you are —’ he began before she pulled back from the rock and started signing, effectively cutting him off.

  You are not a man to fight and die. You are a storyteller, she gestured, adding nuances of distain in her posture. I can move the rock. Or do you think me a weakling? Not as strong as my sister was? She glared at him.

  Breehan realised then, that if this had been Noorinya, he would never have dared interfere. She would have been insulted by such a gesture, as Noola was now. Yet while he had admired Noorinya’s independence and had feared for her life, he had never sought to ease her burdens. Noola’s burdens were constantly on his mind. Did that mean he thought her weak?

  She pushed herself to her feet and Breehan looked at her; muscular arms grimed from gripping the rock, her travel tunic stretched with the weight of her impending motherhood, her eyes narrowed as Noorinya’s used to when she was angry. Yet in sharp contrast to Noorinya’s ragged hair, Noola’s was combed and soft, falling about her face and shoulders like a fast-flowing stream. Was that what made them appear so different?

  Why do you look at my hair? she signed.

&n
bsp; Breehan met her eyes, and suddenly knew, ‘I was remembering how I touched it when we lay together making the child you now bear.’

  Noola’s mouth opened, as though shocked, yet she did not berate him for raising the topic she had so studiously avoided until now. Instead she simply stared at him, and Breehan stared back.

  ‘I am sorry I gave you pain that night,’ he said, remembering how he had called out Noorinya’s name.

  Slowly, Noola shook her head. You gave me a child, she signed, then patted her swollen belly. And … She continued to gaze at him, but her hands fell to her sides.

  The memory stone at Breehan’s throat warmed and instinctively he closed his fingers over it. ‘There is a bond between us, Noola,’ he said, not sure where his words were leading him. ‘The memory stone knows it.’

  Again she shook her head. My sister stands between us, she signed, and pointed to the empty air between them, as though she saw Noorinya there. You will always want her first.

  Breehan could not deny that. His desire for Noorinya had been as savage as her temper. But he thought of Noola more often and with more solicitous care than he had ever thought of Noorinya. Could that be love, or was it simply that he had lost one mate and was determined not to lose another? The thought of Noola’s death was too horrifying to contemplate, yet Breehan had thought of Noorinya’s death often, preparing himself for what had seemed an inevitability.

  ‘There is soft feeling between us,’ he said, and took a step towards her. ‘My heart has moved on, even if my body has not.’

  Noola watched his approach, and there was a stillness to her Breehan had not seen before. He was frightened by it, and elated.

  ‘Do you care for me, Noola?’ he asked. ‘Is that why you see Noorinya between us?’ He stopped a pace away, to give her room to sign.

  Her hands rose slowly, but her eyes remained on his. I have always wanted your child, she admitted, and glanced away. Always.

  ‘Yet you did not come to me,’ he said. ‘I would have given it to you. I would have fallen in love with you —’ as I am now, he stopped himself saying. Noola wanted to hear these words and Breehan was growing more sure of his heart every moment, but he must not hurt her.

  Her gaze rose to the memory stone at his neck. If Noorinya’s memory is gone from your heart, it may be time to return the stone to your leader. She held out her hand but Breehan shook his head, knowing he must retain the talisman if he was to do the Fire God’s bidding and win Hanjeel’s freedom. Yet to tell Noola of his pact would only rouse her to anger. She would not let him go. She would say it was too dangerous.

  Noola’s hands dropped. She looked at him accusingly, yet before he could think to justify retaining the stone, the air between them began to sparkle. Breehan stepped back a pace and stared, horror large in his mind as a form took shape before him, solidifying into the image of Noorinya. They were on the very outskirts of the Echo Mountains, yet this minion of the Fireworld God was able to appear before them. Breehan hadn’t realised his magic would travel that far.

  ‘What do you want?’ he asked it, stepping further back, hoping to lure it away from Noola who now frowned at him. She slapped her hands together before pointing at him.

  Nothing from you!

  ‘No, I spoke to —’ Breehan stopped himself. ‘Can you see anyone with us?’ he asked.

  I have always felt my sister was between us, yet your words drove her away, Noola signed. Would you have her back?

  Noola couldn’t see it.

  Yet.

  ‘I must think on these matters,’ he said and backed away.

  Noola shook her head, twirled her fingers, Fickle, then crouched back at the boulder and ignored him. In her eyes, though, he could see the shine of tears wanting to fall.

  Breehan watched, horrified as Kraal’s minion, in Noorinya’s form, leant beside Noola and pushed. Together they moved the boulder easily. Noola stood and looked through her, still struggling to hold her emotions in check. She caught Breehan’s eye and signed. Bring the weed, then turned back to their camp. He watched her go, as did the vision of Noorinya.

  ‘She is a fitting leader.’ it said. ‘Yet I wonder, will she live to bear your child?’

  Breehan lost Noola in the mists and turned back to the apparition. ‘Do not think to taunt me with baseless fears. Noola has borne three sons. She will live to bear another’

  ‘What of your enemy? If he finds her, you will not he able to defend her from him. You could not save me …’

  Did the minion see into Breehan’s dreams? Did it know that he feared this above all else? ‘When I have done your God’s bidding and Hanjeel is returned to our tribe, I will destroy The Dark. He will not harm us again while I live.’

  ‘Yet what if you fail? If you die, he may still kill your woman.’

  Breehan stared at this counterfeit Noorinya, marvelling at its similarity to the original. Cruel, and yet truthful. ‘Can your God kill The Dark?’ he asked, wondering if this was why the minion taunted him. Was her God offering this service?

  She smiled, a slow curving of the lips that denoted utter confidence, and despite his knowledge that this was not his beloved, Breehan felt an instinctive desire to hold her, to kiss that cruel mouth. ‘Kraal has anticipated your will perfectly,’ she said. ‘Your people will survive.’

  Breehan should rejoice at this news, yet he knew that such generosity would not come without a price. ‘Hanjeel must be returned to us, unharmed.’

  ‘The boy will be safely returned when he is ready to father children.’

  ‘Then what price The Dark’s death?’ Breehan asked, knowing now that he must bear the cost himself. ‘Would your God have my life?’ Or was the memory stone the coin he required.

  ‘You are his harbinger. You will bring the one.’

  Breehan frowned. ‘The one …?’

  ‘You must travel to the southernmost edge of the Plains and be ready when a Northman arrives. He bears the one.’

  Breehan nodded grimly. He glanced into the mists where Noola had disappeared. ‘May I make farewells?’

  ‘No.’

  So like Noorinya.

  As though sensing this thought, the minion stepped closer to him and Breehan instinctively closed his hand over the memory stone. It was cool to the touch.

  ‘You will not be alone, bedmate,’ she said, close enough for him to taste her breath. ‘I will be with you.’

  This is not Noorinya, Breehan told himself. ‘I would rather be alone.’

  ‘Or would you rather be with her?’ the minion said, and as Breehan watched, she changed form; the ragged hair smoothing to flow over her shoulders, belly swelling, the dark eyes which so often showed him distain, now deep with desire. Breehan shook his head, but inside his chest, his heart sang and he could not still the hand that rose to finger that hair, to touch her cheek. She turned into the touch and kissed his palm.

  Breehan felt lost.

  Tell me goodbye and not farewell, she signed. Forever is too long to wait.

  He was not coming back. Despair overwhelmed Breehan and he knew then that he was not strong. His other hand rose to hold her and he took the lips that were offered, tasting the hot pleasure he had dreamt of each night since their joining. She kissed him back, clinging to his shoulders as she had the night he had given her their child. It was all awoken in Breehan’s mind and his heart was laid bare.

  Then she moaned softly against his lips. A sound he knew could not come from the woman he loved.

  He pushed her away and stepped back, his breathing ragged. She simply smiled and he couldn’t believe he’d let himself be tormented in this way. That he’d been so weak. ‘Do you take pleasure in this torture?’ he said.

  ‘My God does’ she replied. ‘When you enter his world there will be many … adventures’

  Breehan turned away blindly, struggling to find strength within himself to face the future, as he must if Hanjeel was to be reunited with his mother. Noola would want that above all else. She wou
ld choose Hanjeel over Breehan. It was her duty as a leader to ensure the variety of breeding lines of her tribe. And as a woman who felt that she would always be Breehan’s second choice, his disappearance would end her grief.

  ‘If I am not to return, I want Noola to think me dead,’ he told the minion. At least in that way her anguish, if any, would be brief.

  ‘Lay your coat on the ground by the fallen rocks,’ the minion instructed, and Breehan understood. He shed his thick travelling coat and placed it well away from the milkweed Noola had uncovered, then stood back, ‘Go south. I will cover your tracks’ the minion said and Breehan turned away quickly before he could reconsider, and ran towards where the Northman would come bearing the one. Behind him he heard Kraal’s minion creating the scene of his accidental death, the crack and tumble of rocks, deadened by the mist that soon encased him like a comforting blanket.

  Breehan used his Plainsman senses of physical discernment, which Khatrene had called their sonar, to keep the mountains on his right as he ran. No thoughts of his people entered his mind because he would not let them in. He thought only of the task he must fulfil. His heart grew numb and heavy in his chest but still he ran on, and at last he came to the southernmost point of the Echo Mountains. There he waited. It was harder then to keep his mind blank, and flickering images of Noola, of Hanjeel and even of Noorinya, invaded his mind. He pushed them out.

  Hours passed during which he thought he might go mad, but at last the Northman approached. Breehan sensed his presence long before he appeared out of the mist. The Northman was startled at first, laying a hand over his sword. ‘Are you the harbinger?’ he asked.

  Breehan remembered what the minion had told him. ‘I am. Do you have what the Fire God wants?’ His voice was calm but Breehan was not. He had never seen a Northman at close quarters before and this one’s strange copper-coloured skin and the threaded-bone shielding over his stocky body gave him a fearsome appearance. One side of him had been shaved, but Breehan suspected that had been several days ago as half his head and chest was covered in short stubble.