YET I AM HERE. WHAT DOES THAT TELL YOU?
‘That I have brought back a spirit from Magoria?’
I AM OF MAGORIA, BUT ALSO OF ENNAE. I AM THE MEMORY OF ALL THINGS THAT ABIDE IN THE MINDS OF MAN.
Pagan felt the air leave his chest. ‘The Great Guardian?’ he whispered. He was speaking directly to the Great Guardian. ‘How may I serve the Four Worlds?’
THE GREATEST DANGER IS NEAR. YOU MUST PROTECT YOUR CHARGE FROM —
Pagan fell back with an arm over his face as a wall of fire dissolved the mist before him and huge flames licked upwards accompanied by a crashing hiss. He scrambled backwards, away from the heat, and through stinging eyes he saw a young woman of royal colouring and an old Plainsman step out of the flames. Neither wore a shred of clothing. ‘Here he is,’ she said to the old man, and nodded towards Pagan as though she had been expecting him to be there.
Pagan’s mouth had fallen open, and though he knew he should look away, her pale and perfect form was such a sharp contrast to the wrinkled brown body beside her, he could not stop staring. In fact, he could not think of anything while she stood before him. There was no room for reason in a mind so full of amazement. And it seemed only another amazement among many to see Noorinya’s talisman, the memory stone, hanging from the old Plainsman’s withered neck.
For the woman’s part, there was no trace of embarrassment in her manner as she stepped forward and took the satchel out of Pagan’s nerveless fingers. She opened one of the clear packets and took out a striped shirt which she donned, handing the trousers to the old man, whose movements were slow and trembling. Pagan should have risen to help them, to help the old man, but he was immobilised by shock.
The Plainsman, too, was staring at her. ‘You are older,’ he said, looking at her hands, ‘and your Magorian colouring is gone.’
Magorian? He looked at the woman anew. Snow hair and royal hued eyes, definitely a descendant of the Ancients.
‘I am the same,’ she argued, but when she looked at her fingernails a small frown creased her brow. ‘Yet I have changed.’ She closed her eyes for only a moment and then opened them again. ‘The map within my mind has changed. The slip has occurred. I have lost ten years.’ She turned to the old man.
‘I have lost sixty,’ he replied.
‘But time passed. You remember that,’ she said. ‘The only way this could have happened is if I did it to myself.’ She gazed into the mists, her eyes so distant Pagan wondered into what far reaches her thoughts stretched.
Who were these people? A woman of royal blood and a Plainsman who wore the leader’s talisman? Did that mean Noorinya was dead?
‘There must be unforeseen problems,’ the young woman said at last. ‘We must hurry to anchor the four points.’ She seemed to remember Pagan then, and turned to him. ‘You are the Champion of The Light’s child,’ she said.
‘Pagan of the House of Guardians, My Lady.’ He struggled to his feet and offered his formal bow.
‘Your charge is no longer your concern,’ she said and he heard the dismissal in her tone.
Pagan straightened slowly. ‘My Lady, we are not acquainted,’ he said politely, wondering what authority she held. Was she a secret royal child exiled from Ennae and now recently returned? And what did she know of his charge? Pagan knew nothing himself, but assumed he had acquitted himself honourably and had at least taught Khatrene’s son Glimmer the warrior way. ‘I was told to raise the child and I have,’ he declared. The letter in his satchel had said as much. ‘I will not abandon him now.’
‘He no longer requires your services,’ she said, silencing the Plainsman’s imminent question with a raised hand.
Pagan felt as though the ground had shifted beneath his feet. If he was not to Champion The Light’s child, what would he do? ‘But the Great Guardian said I must continue to protect Glimmer,’ he argued. ‘The greatest danger is near.’
She had been turning away and now glanced at the Plainsman before turning back to Pagan. ‘How do you know this?’ she demanded.
‘I heard his voice within my mind. It was clear and spoke with authority.’
‘Do you hear it now?’ she asked.
Pagan shook his head. ‘It ceased with your arrival.’
‘Interesting.’ She turned again to the Plainsman who stood patiently, his borrowed breeches bagging at the waist, his ankles and bare feet exposed. ‘Did you hear a voice within your mind?’ she asked him.
He shook his head, a wobbling gesture, then his trembling hand rose to cover the stone at his throat.
Pagan had to know. ‘Are you Breehan?’ he asked, wondering how the Plainsman had ‘lost’ sixty years and yet managed to retain the talisman Noorinya had given him.
‘He is a great shaman,’ the young woman replied for him, ‘and I am his assistant. There are no names. We travel together to Fortress Sh’hale while your destiny takes you to the Volcastle and your betrothed.’
‘Lae lives?’ Pagan’s thoughts were easily diverted. Despite that he had been unfaithful to Lae, the love he bore her still burned hot in his breast. But there was also duty. ‘Where is my charge? Will you at least tell me that?’
‘Do you trust the blood of the Ancients?’ she asked.
Pagan had vowed to do so when he had gone into service of the throne, ‘I do,’ he said.
‘Then trust that I speak the truth,’ she replied. ‘The child has grown into an adult of much the same years as you bore when you were exiled into Magoria, an adult who no longer requires protection. Glimmer must act independently now and your presence would be a dangerous distraction.’
Pagan frowned at this but it had the ring of truth to it. Surely a man who could join the Four Worlds would be powerful enough to protect himself. ‘I will take your words as truth,’ he told her.
‘Then your duty is officially discharged,’ she said. ‘After sixteen years of loyal service I give you leave until you are ordered again to serve the throne.’
‘If I am at liberty, then I will seek out those who have wronged my house and my people,’ he said, ‘Mooraz who killed my father, and The Dark who has taken our king’s life.’ The memory of those deaths was fresh in Pagan’s mind, though many years had clearly passed, even on Ennae, since their sad hour.
‘I give you leave to seek out Mooraz if you wish,’ she said. ‘However, The Dark will not die by your hand.’
Did this mean he was already dead? Pagan wanted to ask but he’d heard impatience in her tone. ‘I go to the Volcastle,’ he said, for at least there he could find Lae and love. Vengeance would follow, but first he must be sure of his beloved’s safety.
‘Good.’ She turned to the old Plainsman. ‘Come, shaman, we have work to do,’ she said and took his arm, her snow hair brushing the Plainsman’s stooped shoulder as she led him away. Thin grey hair hung in a tail down his bare back.
Pagan watched them go, wondering if he had seen Breehan in those watery old eyes, or whether he had been just another old man. Eventually they were lost in the mist and Pagan picked up the satchel at his feet and turned in the opposite direction. Weak sunlight came from the east and that’s where he would head. To the Volcastle, and Lae.
The letter fluttered in his hand and he was tempted to drop it onto the cracked floor of the Plains but found he could not. The woman, Sarah, had been right. Her revelation had prevented him from returning to Lae with a clear conscience. But return he would, and when he and Lae were reconciled they would decide together what must be done about his son in Magoria. Pagan knew it would be dishonourable to abandon the child, but bringing him to Ennae might endanger his life if the Maelstrom struck this world first. The matter would require serious thought. But first and dearest to Pagan’s heart was the security of his beloved, and to that end he set his thoughts and his feet.
The woman Sarah, and the child she had borne him, were the past.
Lae was the future.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Mooraz lay on the dirt floor in one of the Plai
nsman retreat caves, feeling sickened and yet unable to prevent his physical excitement as Eef uncovered him and began to touch him in ways that would make him amenable to her purpose. She was already carrying his child, the third he had given her, yet she still sought to take pleasure from him without his permission. It demeaned him in his own eyes, and he knew it would diminish him in Lae’s eyes whenever he was able to escape and go to her.
He still could not believe that years had passed and he had been unable to secure an escape for himself and Hush. The Plainsman leader had been clear. If he escaped, the Cliffdweller girl would die. Therefore he must create a way for them both to escape together, or at least for Hush to escape first. But though she was bound by night and on a lead-rope by day, Hush appeared to enjoy her captivity and willingly performed the task of caring for the small children and preparing their food. She argued with Mooraz that Lae was alive and well and that they must be patient. Soon one would come to relieve them of Mooraz’s duty and then they would be released. Until then he must be patient.
That was not what Mooraz wanted to hear. Yet he could not deny that they were well fed and he was allowed exercise each day. Perhaps if he could enjoy his duty as Hush had suggested, the time would pass more quickly, but his pride would not allow it. He had not lain with a woman before the Plainsman leader had stolen his seed. In his dreams he had imagined the first woman would be Lae and that their joining would be marked by loving whispers and tender caresses, not the harsh breathing of Noola or the grunting moans of the woman who straddled him now.
Though he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth against the sensations, Mooraz could not block them out. The feeling of her warm, moist flesh sheathing him was too elemental, like the cool relief of a draught of water on a scorching day. The pleasure that came with it was outside reason or sentiment. It was all of body and nothing of mind, and no matter how he tried to deny it, Mooraz could not still his response. Worse, in times when his thoughts had been distracted towards Lae, he had caught himself thrusting towards release, his bound and staked feet pushing against the hard cave floor to raise his hips. On more than one occasion a groan of shuddering satisfaction had been torn from his chest to echo around the silent caverns, exposing his vulnerability to any who could hear.
He tried to concentrate on stifling that now as Eef rode atop him, touching his chest and shoulders and neck. Touching herself. But the pleasure would not be denied. Though he told himself that they were thieves of his body and that he hated the very air that they breathed, he could feel the beginnings of a groan low in his chest. His breath hissed between gritted teeth.
Then Eef’s hot tongue rasped against his lips and he felt her heavy breasts rub against his chest, her hands in his hair. The sensations were too close, too wild and when her mouth moved across his cheek towards his ear, her hot breath ignited him to such excitement as would surely tempt a man to madness. The more he resisted, the more he held himself stiff, the sharper his ascent towards the goal of Eef’s torture. She sought not only her own pleasure, but that he would succumb to her knowing touch. That pleased her more, to know that despite his will she could manipulate his body. His insults only excited her, so Mooraz had learned to stay quiet.
Or at least to try. This day Eef was particularly attentive and her sliding fingers and hot mouth were more than a match for his resolve. Her thrusting hips merely pounded the lesson home. Mooraz was weak. It had nothing to do with a missing arm. He could not control his own body to serve his will. Even as he hated Eef and her tribe for what they had made of him, he heard the sound of his own guttural moan rising in his throat.
‘Yes … yes,’ she grunted close to his ear. ‘I am more of a woman than any you have met.’ The thrusts were faster and Mooraz lost his place. His mind filled with light and pressure as he cried out, barely aware of Eef continuing to move on him, finding her own convulsing pleasure seconds later and then collapsing in a shuddering heap on his chest.
Though shame burned through him, Mooraz knew worse was to come. As he struggled to regain his breathing and his pride, he wished vainly for the Great Guardian to take his ears. He would rather hear no sound again than to listen to Eef’s bragging. But the Great Guardian did not hear his plea. His hearing was crystal sharp.
‘So that is the pitiful way Be’uccdha men perform,’ she said. ‘Useless lump of flesh,’ and she slapped his thigh, although he noticed that she rubbed herself over him as she dismounted in a final attempt to take pleasure from his body. ‘You have only one piece of you that serves any useful purpose.’
Mooraz looked away, resting his cheek against his stretched and tied arm. In the beginning Eef’s taunts had caused him much grief. He had been inexperienced in the ways of joining and her ridicule had driven him to unmanly tears, thankfully after she had left him. Now he knew it was her way of punishing him for being Be’uccdha born. He was a symbol of the House that had all but annihilated her race, a chance to take revenge on The Dark through his ex-Guard Captain. Yet though Mooraz had explained that he no longer served The Dark in any capacity and had indeed been fleeing Castle Be’uccdha to assist The Dark’s enemies, Noola had not believed him.
They all resented the necessity to mate with him, although that did not stop Eef from appeasing her lusts on him at any time. His situation was unbearable, yet he must bear it. One day he would escape and only then could he find Lae and aid her. He must stay alive for her sake, if for no other reason.
His best course with Eef was to remain silent and pretend he could not hear her. Soon enough she would be gone.
‘As soon as we find another male we will kill you,’ she said, taking her short-knife from its chest sheath to press it into his armpit. ‘Or perhaps I will simply subtract your remaining arm.’ She sneered at him in happy contemplation of this act. ‘You will not last long then, unless your little Cliffdweller feeds you and cares for you. Although,’ she glanced down at his loins, ‘the girl will get precious little in return for her efforts.’
The thought of Hush copying Eef’s actions sickened Mooraz to his core, but he hid his disgust from the Plainswoman. She would only use it to taunt him further if she realised it had upset him.
‘I go now to check on her,’ Eef added. ‘If she has not cared for my children well, I will beat her.’
Mooraz shrugged but the Plainswoman wasn’t fooled. They all knew he must care for Hush or he would have attempted to escape by now. Still, he hoped that his apathy would one day undermine their confidence.
Then he stiffened in preparation for the shock of cold water and was not disappointed. Eef threw a bucketful carelessly across his lower body and pulled up his breeches. He would be dry by the time his evening meal arrived and Noola would be none the wiser. Mooraz knew he would not be believed if he spoke of Eef’s secret visitations so he did not bother to complain. For all he knew, Noola may have given permission for him to be tortured in any way they saw fit.
‘I may come back this afternoon,’ Eef said as she was leaving.
Mooraz ignored her. She said this often to bring anxiety into his mind — an expectation that she would come back and he would be humiliated again — when in fact she had no such intention. Although in truth, she was barely halfway through this pregnancy and it would only be in the later months that her voracious appetite for joining lessened. Mooraz could not wait until her discomfort diminished her pleasure in the act. Only then would she give him rest. Although by that time Noola may be ready to join with him again.
Their leader’s silence was a welcome relief after Eef’s taunting, yet the mechanical way Noola aroused him to readiness and used his body was no easier on his pride than Eef’s extravagant displays of lust. Once Mooraz had eagerly hoped for another man to fall into their clutches and take his place.
Now he wondered if that day would be his last.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
‘Sarah McGuire?’ A thirty-something tall, dark and interesting man held out his hand. His clothes gave him away.
<
br /> Sarah pulled herself together and took the hand, rising from the pew and setting her briefcase to one side. ‘That’s me,’ she said mechanically. ‘I’m the funeral director. You must be the new priest. Father …?’
‘Karl,’ he said smiling. Sarah didn’t have it in herself to smile back. ‘So glad to meet you, Sarah. It looks like we’ll be working together closely over the next couple of weeks.’
She nodded and tried to look suitably solemn. A mystery virus had swept through the local nursing home killing five already, coincidentally all Catholics. She felt sadness for the loss the local families had felt, but had to admit she was relieved to have plenty to keep her busy. It was that or lie around staring at the walls. Her crying days were over but the emptiness was worse.
‘Would you like to come and look over my premises this week?’ she asked, then started into her spiel with all the enthusiasm of a bored elevator operator. ‘The chapel caters for up to a hundred mourners, although that’s usually for the Protestants and celebrant funerals. Naturally, requiem masses are conducted here,’ she waved a hand around the small church, vibrantly lit with sunlight pouring through the predominantly yellow stained-glass windows. It was silent now, but come Sunday it would be full of humming parishioners — like the inside of a beehive, old Mrs Wiltshire used to say. ‘And the lawn cemetery has over two hundred interred, with room for a further two hundred.’
‘Very impressive,’ Father Karl said. ‘And you run this all by yourself?’
Sarah’s professional smile faltered. ‘I do now,’ she said, knowing he would hear it somewhere else if he didn’t hear it from her. ‘I had a de facto partner. He recently left with his daughter. She wasn’t mine. But I have a son.’
‘Your de facto’s son?’
‘Yes, Vandal was his son. He’s twelve now.’
‘Bad age to lose a father.’ The priest’s eyes had lit with something Sarah could only imagine was deep compassion. Had he heard this story before? It probably happened every day. But Sarah was sick of sympathy, sick of thinking about how tawdry her situation must look to outsiders. She knew Pagan was off saving the Four Worlds, but to everyone else she was just another abandoned wife, left behind while her young lover went off in search of someone new.
Daughter of the Dark: Shadow Through Time 2 Page 36
