Gambit of the Gods

by Ashley, Angela

  I imagine the golden light of my spirit moving back slightly to make room for his to enter. His luminous rainbow spirit moves slowly toward the door…

  When it begins to cross the threshold, my mind convulses—there is no other word for it—trying to slam shut against the intruder. I desperately try to hold onto the image of the open door, but it is tinged with dark red, like blood, and my candle flame begins to gutter as if caught in a strong wind.

  This is normal, Mah’ue’s mind-voice says reassuringly, though it seems to come from far away. Keep trying to hold your mind open.

  My body begins to quiver all over and flush hot, the small hairs on my body standing on end. If Mah’ue weren’t supporting my head, I would fall to the ground. Teeth gritted, I doggedly imagine the door open and the rainbow light floating slowly in. I have to do this.

  My body flashes from burning hot to freezing cold and my heart labors in my chest as if forgetting how to beat. The blood in my veins seems to slow, and pressure builds behind my eyes, as if my head is about to shatter apart. Still, I picture the open door. I will do this.

  At last, after an agonizing eternity, his light comes to rest beside mine. Like a strange flower, it takes root in my mind. His radiance reaches to bolster my fading flame. The doorway disappears and I somehow feel his mind inside mine, telling my heart to beat regularly and my blood to flow normally again. The pressure behind my eyes eases. My blood pumps through me, warming me.

  You did it, he cries triumphantly. It’s almost like I’m having a conversation with myself, except his mind-voice sounds the same as it did before. Thank you for trusting me, Little Squirrel. I and my followers will do everything in our power to make sure you escape and find your loved ones. I can feel the deep love you have for them now as if it is my own. And you…

  Yes. I know his thought before he finishes it. I can feel his love for the S’en and his own people, his love for his home planet and her red sun, and yes, his love for me and my people, too.

  It’s all there; he holds nothing back. I see and feel it all. I feel his ancient pain and his unspeakable joy at being joined once again, in his natural state of being at last. I experience, in an instant, the lives of the countless hosts he’s had through time beyond measure. I witness each relationship: how it was unique, watching it mellow as time passed into a beautiful melding of two spirits in a loving togetherness, each spirit intertwined with the other, becoming something greater than they would have been apart.

  It reminds me of two plants holding each other up toward the sun, like corn and beans do in our fields. The beans climb the cornstalks, which provide support, and in turn, the beans stabilize the stalks, making them much less likely to fall in the face of strong winds. Mah’ue ‘sees’ the image, and his mind smiles.

  What a beautiful example of a mutually beneficial relationship. I know it seemed unnatural to you, but it is not unlike a human friendship, a parent/child bond, or a mating bond. Each of these make the heart more vulnerable, yet stronger at the same time. Each life is made so much richer and fuller for the sharing. There is much that we can learn from one another, and twice the love to give to others. In fact, you have had the benefit of another kind of symbiotic relationship since the day you were born, though you never knew it.

  I blink up into his eyes, confused, then catch a glimpse of movement behind him. His followers fill the skies behind him, bowing their long necks to me in graceful welcome, and through Mah’ue’s mind I hear them singing. It’s a beautiful and unearthly song. I know from his mind that this is the song they have sung for thousands of years, every time a new bonding is complete.

  The strange and haunting music transfixes me, so at first I don’t notice the two human shapes standing to one side by the edge of the cliff: a woman and a boy in strange clothing. I can see through them, I realize, when I focus on them. Are they real?

  They are as real as I am, Mah’ue assures me. I told you when last we met that you and your friends have been given special abilities by unseen helpers who watch over you. As I explained, they have chosen to live their lives through you since their own have been taken from them. They love you as if you were part of their family. Now that you can see as I see, including the spirit realm, you can see them too. They are very excited to meet you.

  The two step forward tentatively as if unsure of how I’ll react to them. But I smile warmly to reassure them.

  Greetings, and thank you for the gifts you’ve given us. Without them, Whisker’s creatures would have surely killed us.

  The woman and boy smile as one and seem to relax. They both have strange, almost white hair, green eyes, and pale skin—coloring I’ve never seen in another person before, though I’ve heard that some of the Ladies of the Queensrealm have similar coloring. I can’t help but stare. Their hair reminds me of cornsilk, I think with amusement, quickly smothering a giggle.

  My name is Lark, and this is my son Jacob, the woman says, still smiling. You are my Chosen—that is, the person I have chosen to live through—and Jacob’s Chosen is Artan. My daughter Jade chose Spark, and my love Gideon chose Miklos. I lived through Miklos’ wife Tiana, who passed away just a few moonturns before you were born. I thought you should have a mother to watch over you, she adds shyly, even if you couldn’t see or feel her. You’ve become like a daughter to me, Little Squirrel.

  My heart warms toward these seeming strangers.

  That is kind of you. I struggle for something more to say and my curiosity wins out. If I may ask, how did you become as you are now?

  That will be hard to explain, but let me try, Mother, the boy—Jacob—breaks in. His gaze is intense but not unpleasant, reminding me unexpectedly of my heart-brother. No wonder he chose Artan, I muse.

  Go ahead, Jacob, she encourages.

  He begins to pace and gesticulate rather comically, much like Miklos does when teaching me and Artan.

  My mother, Gideon, and four others were scientists, which is much like being a healer. They hoped to discover the secret of eternal life.

  I marvel. Why would anyone wish to live forever, with the Spirit Over All waiting for them up above?

  My sister and I were visiting Mother for the midday meal that day. Something happened that should not have, and as a result, we—disappeared. That was before Miklos’ grandmother was born.

  My eyes widen in surprise. What would it be like to never grow older?

  We don’t want to live forever if it’s like this, he continues. We can’t eat or sleep, and we can’t touch anything or anyone, even each other. We’ve had no one to talk to except each other. So you can imagine why we’re so glad you can see and hear us, and why we’ve clung to a semblance of a real life through you and the others.

  I nod, my pity for them deepening. Some among my people believe in ghosts; what they’ve described is a ghostly existence. It sounds like a very lonely and empty one.

  But there’s more to our story, he adds, still pacing, head down. Just before you went on your Quest, one of our number—an evil woman named Malyse—came to us and challenged us to a ‘game’, as she called it. She told us to give each of our Chosen a special ability to protect themselves with, while she and Kai would do the same with theirs. Then she would send their Chosen after our Chosen. He stops pacing abruptly and looks at me.

  My mind makes the leap before he can say more. Whisker, I whisper.

  Yes, he affirms, looking angry. We couldn’t even warn you. All we could do is give you the best abilities we could think up, and pray.

  Unfortunately, we don’t know who their other Chosen is, though we suspect that he or she lives in the Queensrealm. There are two others on our side who chose a man and a woman in the Queensrealm: the woman has been attacked by three strange creatures, though like you, she survived.

  You will wake soon, Mah’ue cuts in. Some of the others are beginning to stir, according to my watchers. I will coordinate with the animals as we planned and let you know when it is happening so you can be ready.
<
br />   I’m so glad we were able to talk, Little Squirrel, Lark says softly. I feel her love for me like an unexpected embrace. It feels so strange, coming from someone I just met. We will be with you.

  I’m shaken awake. When I open my eyes, I can still see them, standing off to one side, watching. Mah’ue is still in my mind, so I tell him as we walk outside into the early morning sunlight to break our fast, I’d like to suggest a few changes to our plan…

  Chapter 31: Kella

  There’s a feeling of warmth on my face, pressing gently on my eyelids. My eyelids flutter open, my head spinning for an agonizing moment before the feeling at last subsides, though my headache from before has worsened.

  The warmth is coming from a fire burning in a fireplace I don’t recognize a few steps away, the branches it’s consuming reminding me with a quick thrill of terror of the three strange creatures who attacked me. Was it a dream? I reach up to my forehead, seeking the blood I had found there earlier but finding a bandage instead.

  “Try not to move,” a voice says from across the room, and then a face moves into view. It’s Jaereth.

  “How—” I ask him, but he hushes me, kneeling beside me with a skin of water in his hand. He bids me drink and I do, then sits near me.

  “How did I find you? Your horse came back to the stables at a dead gallop, all lathered up and shaking. I recognized her as yours and took a horse out to find you, following the churned up earth she left as she fled. Did she buck you off? You seem to have hit your head pretty hard on something.”

  “She didn’t buck me off,” I say quickly, defending my horse. He raises an eyebrow and waits.

  “There were…three…creatures,” I say haltingly, my voice wobbling with emotion. Jaereth senses my fear and leaves his seat to kneel in front of me, taking my hand in his to lend his support.

  “They appeared to be made of branches lashed together and filled in with dried mud,” I continue, my voice strengthening with every word I speak, “but some strange magic had transformed them into real beings with glowing, red eyes. One spoke inside my mind. Two had a human shape but much taller, with human skulls for heads, and one was in the shape of a giant bird and had a bird skull. The bird hit me from behind and knocked me from the saddle. Then they surrounded me, but I did something I didn’t know I could do and called not just wind, but a storm. I called down lightning, and they went up in flames. Didn’t you see the burnt piles of branches around me?”

  “I didn’t notice. I saw you lying there so still and thought you were dead,” Jaereth whispers, his face inches from mine. His emotions are there on the surface: panic, sorrow, and something else I can’t name.

  “But then I touched you, and you whimpered a little. So I brought you here. I was able to stop the bleeding, but thought it best to let you come to your senses in your own time. And here you are.”

  He reaches out tentatively to trace the arch of my eyebrow. I close my eyes, comforted more than I would ever admit by his touch. When I open my eyes, his lips are descending on mine.

  His mouth is gentle, not like his kiss from before. It almost feels like he’s trying to transfer some of his own life-force into me. His lips are warm, his hand coming up to cup the back of my neck lightly. Once again his emotions swirl up around me—I sense relief, contentment, and something akin to joy—before his lips leave mine.

  His eyes are warm and shadowed, with the fire behind him. He reaches up with his other hand to brush his close-trimmed beard with his hand in that way he has when he’s nervous or thoughtful, making me smile. Smiling back, he reaches out to smooth my hair away from my bandage.

  Before I know what I’m doing, I take his hand and press it against my cheek, closing my eyes as I nuzzle against it. I hear him sigh and open my eyes again, still holding his hand against my face. His pupils are huge, devouring my lips, my eyes, my face hungrily. I let down my walls and let him sense what I’m feeling—a contentment and joy akin to his—and pull his face down to me again.

  He chuckles, pleased at my boldness, and surrenders his lips to me. I sigh against his lips and open my mouth a little, letting his tongue find its way inside. My tongue touches his and then moves aside to let him explore my mouth, which he does eagerly. The feeling and taste of him is exquisite, like the best sparkling wine. I open my mouth wider and pull him to me, wanting to explore his mouth in kind. He chuckles again and lets me, his hand caressing down my hair to my shoulder and then down my back, his fingers kneading my sore muscles gently.

  My hands are in his hair, at the back of his neck, reveling in its thickness and softness. They trail down his neck to his chest, and without thinking I begin to unbutton his shirt. He groans, kissing my chin, his lips raining hot kisses down my neck to my shoulder. I bury my fingers in his chest hair and he groans again, biting me gently on the collarbone and drawing a small gasp from me of intense pleasure.

  Nibbling my neck as my hands move down his hard, muscled chest, unbuttoning his shirt, I finally find his waist and reach around to grip the small of his back. His mouth nuzzles open the neck of my shirt and he kisses the skin just above my breasts, making me shudder. His hands are around my waist, reaching up under the back of my shirt to gently, sensuously caress my back with his strong hands. My back arches in pleasure under his working fingers, but his lips move back up my neck to my mouth and linger there for a moment before he pulls away.

  “You need to rest, Lady Kella,” he tells me regretfully. I give him a small smile, knowing he’s right.

  “Stay with me, please,” I whisper, my eyes already drooping with exhaustion. He lies down beside me, wrapping his arms and body around mine protectively as I drift off to sleep.

    

  When I wake, Jaereth is still fast asleep beside me. I smile at the softness his usually strong face has in sleep, admiring the line of his jaw beneath the red-brown stubble. He’s dreaming, I see, his eyes moving beneath his lids, but his emotions are peaceful so I know it’s not a nightmare. Speaking of nightmares…

  My mind goes back to those terrifying creatures, but I shake my head and push the memories away determinedly. There’s nothing I can do about it now. Looking back down at Jaereth, I see his lips softly curled in sleep and think about the kisses we shared. Why I am so drawn to this slave, this man, a creature I’ve been taught all my life is far below me, like a cow or a pig? Isn’t it a sin to be with him like this? Am I evil, or fallen? Is the Goddess looking down on me with great disappointment or grave condemnation? What’s wrong with me, that I could so twist the morality of my people in this way, and enjoy it so much?

  Jaereth’s eyelashes flutter once, and then he’s looking up at me. Sensing the turmoil of my thoughts, he sits up and reaches out to me, but I flinch, and his hand falls away.

  “What’s wrong, Lady Kella?”

  I try not to look at his handsome, naked chest, revealed from under the blanket we shared when he sat up. Looking into those eyes isn’t easier, I find.

  I look down instead. “It’s just—I’m wondering if I’m a terrible, sick person.”

  He puts his finger under my chin and tilts it up until I’m looking at him. He isn’t hurt or angry—in fact, he’s smiling slightly.

  “You’re far from either of those things,” he reassures me firmly. “There’s something you need to know.”

  He reaches for his shirt and puts it on, giving me a moment to take in his statement. What could he mean?

  “What you Ladies and most of my fellow slaves have been taught about our history is incomplete,” he begins, startling me. Curiosity wins out over outrage. I allow him to continue.

  “Many years ago, before we came to this place you call the Queensrealm, our species mated male to female, with the male being the dominant one in the pairing.”

  Shock and indignation seize my heart. I raise my hand to slap him before I realize what I’m doing. He just calmly looks at it, then at me.

  “How dare you voice such blasphemy!” I say heatedly, standin
g up so I can leave.

  “What he’s telling you is the truth, Lady,” says a gruff male voice from the other room. A tall man with a greying widow’s peak and a kind, weathered face enters the room and bows to me.

  “I am Kisto, Lady Kella. I’m Jaereth’s Mentor.”

  His gaze meets mine with unusual self-possession for a slave. I sense urgency from him, and a certainty that Jaereth’s emotions mirror. They both strongly believe what they’re telling me.

  Kisto… I’m thrown into confusion by the realization that this man is related to me—he appears to be near the age of my mother, and I can’t help but wonder whether it was grandmother or one of her sisters who gave birth to him. We sell male babies to other Houses so we won’t have to be confronted with this kind of situation. Yet here he is. He looks so much like my mother and her sisters that I have to swallow hard and look away.

  “But—that’s ridiculous,” I protest, to hide my discomfort. “I know the history of the people of the Queensrealm far better than you do. The eleven Goddesses raised us up to rule over your kind and the rest of their creation because we were superior to you in all ways.”

  Kisto and Jaereth both shake their heads solemnly in unison.

  “I know that’s what you’ve been taught, Lady Kella,” Kisto replies. “That falsehood has been spoken through so many generations now that young and old alike believe it to be holy truth, but I’m sorry to tell you that your faith is built on a lie. Otherwise, why wouldn’t the Goddesses create females able to procreate with each another, rather than causing you to sully yourselves by lying with ‘lesser beings’?”

  He says all of this slowly and carefully, like I’m a youngling visiting the Gathering Place for the very first time.

  This was the question I’d often asked myself whenever a sister or cousin announced herself pregnant and I unwillingly imagined what she’d gone through to achieve that status. I also asked myself this question whenever a sister or cousin gave birth to a male child and I looked into his eyes before they took him away to be raised by slaves, recognizing the telltale moss-green eyes of House Klia gazing blankly back at me as I do now, looking into Kisto’s eyes. It’s the one question I’d never been able to answer; the one that the holy Ladies of House Chalaena, the spiritual leaders of my people, had never bothered to address during our worship services. It’s the question we learned from an early age not to ask.