“Tell me something, Bowen. What would happen should someone discover who I really am? That I’m Shona’s youngest daughter?”
“That would depend on who the someone is. The Goddess has many followers here, but she also has her enemies. There are many who blame her for the rise of Dracha and his brotherhood. They believe she has forgotten and abandoned them.”
“Meaning you really can’t trust anyone with that knowledge, can you?”
“I trust Miranda.” He flipped the flap on his bag closed and faced her. “And it is to her I will take you. You should rest. We will leave come morn.”
* * *
“What exactly was it that you gave me to eat again?”
Bowen glanced over his shoulder to where Clara trudged behind him kicking through the ankle thick brambles and vines covering the direction he’d chosen. He had attached a thick branch of Ferringold flowers to a staff to light their way through the seasonally dark sky. The normally glowing leaves were still huddled together and curled, hibernating until the moon rose back to its zenith.
“Tashiri eggs.” They would have spoiled long before he returned to his dwelling—if he returned to his dwelling. Therefore he had cooked enough to feed them both and left the rest for the nika birds that would come scavenging in a few hours’ time. “A bracing breakfast that will keep your energy up as we have much land to traverse.”
“If that’s your way of saying they’ll stay with me a while, I’m about to prove you wrong.”
Bowen stopped and peered at her as she covered her mouth and turned a bit green.
“You are unwell?” He pulled out the animal skin flask from under his pack and held it out for her. “Drink this.”
“Unless that’s Pepto, I don’t think I...um. I’ll be right back.” Bowen moved to follow her behind an outcropping of deadened trees, only to stop when he heard her retching. Their quest to reach Miranda by nightfall was not looking promising. Especially as the old wise woman was in the opposite direction of the keep, Dracha and...Rivalin.
Rivalin...
“That’s water, right?” Clara called weakly.
“Yes.” He withdrew another container from his pack and walked it over to her. “Drink as much as you like. There’s a river nearby and we can stop for more.”
“Great.” She held out her hand without looking at him. “Always good to stop on the road for a pick me up.” She gagged. “Give me a few more minutes, here. Go...away.” The retching began again.
Bowen reluctantly took up a post a few feet away, unwilling to let her too far out of his sight. This time of day, far earlier than he normally rose, most everything in the forest would be asleep or at the least, not prowling for prey. Creatures and animals he could manage easily. It was forest dwellers like himself they needed to be wary of. One reason he’d chosen a spot closer to the keep. Fewer people dared to come within a day’s distance of Dracha and his men.
He’d been grateful Clara had fallen asleep after he was certain the soldiers had moved beyond the borders of his cave. Since he knew he would never do the same, he’d given her his bed and stayed awake, standing guard and listening to her soft breathing.
It had felt good, invigorating, life affirming, to slip back into the role of protector. A role that had brought him both accolades, gratitude, and eventually, disgrace. He would do whatever it took to erase the latter. And make certain he was remembered for his devotion to the Goddess and her kin.
But...he was out of his element. He needed guidance. Miranda would know what to do. If anything, he could count on the former high priestess to talk Clara into staying with her. Bowen shifted uncomfortably. And if she couldn’t, he’d insist the old woman use whatever magic Miranda had at her disposal to...convince her.
Once on his own, he could fulfill his duty. Not only to retrieve the book.
But to save Rivalin..
Even it it meant he had to kill him.
Anger and confusion continued their battle deep inside him as he wondered what had happened to his friend. To be in service to Dracha meant one of two things: either Rivalin had switched allegiances or he was under a spell. Either way, Bowen owed it to the man he’d called brother to end Rivalin’s disgrace and return his honor—by allowing him to fight to the death. He could only hope Rivalin had been forced to live this way, to have betrayed the oath he took, the promises he’d made. After all they’d been through together, he owed his friend everything. Including an honorable death.
“Well, since I think I just puked up my esophagus, I should be good to go for a few miles.” Clara stumbled out from behind the tree into the dimness of the morning. The forest had been cast in its graying silver splendor, illuminating the thick colorful foliage and blossoming trees. The pink had returned to her cheeks and she drank greedily from the soft flask.
“You appear to be feeling better.”
“Just no more eggs. Of any kind.” She patted a hand against his chest as she passed. “You hear me?”
“I do indeed.” He let her take the lead this time. Not that she gave him much of a choice. While independence and stubbornness were ingrained in the fabric of the matriarchal society he came from, strong-willed women weren’t necessarily qualities he found appealing in those he wanted to bed. But there was something intriguing, not to mention intoxicating, about Clara MacQueen that had him thinking she was more than worth the challenge of exploration.
He watched the gentle sway of her hips beneath the odd sleeved cloak she wore. He enjoyed the way she whipped the edges of the fabric together and clutched it between what he knew were full, round breasts. She was a lush woman, with curves that tempted a man’s fingertips and electrified a man’s desires. Kissing her had been both the greatest pleasure he could remember and the worst mistake he’d ever made. Because all he wanted to do now, aside from protect her from Dracha, was tip her into his bed and make love to her until she cried out his name.
Her red hair flashed against the reflection of the glowing florescent flowers dangling over his head. As if he needed a reminder she was off-limits to him. A woman like Clara, descended of the Goddess herself, a daughter of the girl he’d sworn his life to protect...he would have been unworthy even if he hadn’t failed in his duty.
“You’re awfully quiet back there, Bowen. You trying to figure out a way to ditch me and go on this quest alone?”
“I am quiet because I don’t wish to attract attention. And I promised to take you to Miranda. From there it will be up to you if you continue on my journey,” he lied.
“What exactly is this place, anyway? One of the realms?”
“The Forgotten Realm, yes.” Bowen nearly tripped over her when she stopped.
“If I remember my bedtime reading, that’s like your version of hell.” She craned her neck and looked above them. “How can something so beautiful, even in all this darkness, be considered hell?”
“It’s each person’s individual hell.” Bowen seized the opportunity to regain the lead. “Upon arrival, it robs us of that which we prize the most. In my instance, it was my magic that vanished. My connection to whatever world I inhabit. My control over...everything.” He flexed his hands around the staff as if he could reignite the flame inside of him. How he missed the simple task of thinking to light a fire, or being able to slip into an enemy soldier’s mind to avoid detection or anticipate a battle maneuver. Not so long ago a snap of his fingers would have provided enough light so the darkness receded permanently, at least around him, or provide him a meal with little more than a flicker of thought. The only reason he was still alive was because of the extensive training he’d undergone upon taking his oath. Magic, he’d been told, can be fleeting. Skill and strength would always light the way, even in the darkest of times.
Words he realized too late had been all too prophetic.
“What did you do?” She asked. “Why are you in this place?”
“I disobeyed my orders. We all did.” It was the first time he’d spoken of his misdeeds out lo
ud. “We went against our commanders and took Shona where we believed she’d be safe. Once she was, we found ourselves here. Keane was taken immediately, captured by a cherellian water beast and dragged to his death. Rivalin and I were attacked soon after by Dracha’s soldiers. The last thing I remember was seeing a blade being driven through his heart by Dracha himself.”
Clara rushed to catch up with him and Bowen prepared himself for the sickening sympathy he was certain he’d hear in her voice.
“But you survived.” She touched his arm as if wanting to remind him she was there. (As if he needed reminding. Every nerve in his body was well aware of her presence). “How?”
“I have no idea.” He shook his head. “All I asked for was an honorable death. A death I should have achieved at Dracha’s hand had I been deserving. Instead, I awoke near the Cosanta Baile with Miranda tending my wounds.” And a shame that had nearly driven him to madness.
“How long ago was that?”
“I have lost count. Time passes differently here.” He’d learned early on not to dwell on the unending passage of time. Only death at another’s hand would release him from this hell and in that, perhaps he had something to gain from confronting Rivalin. Otherwise, like Miranda and the thousands who called The Forgotten Realm home, he’d live for as long as the Goddess dictated. Until then, he was cursed to exist as he was. “Time is its own force here. There’s no way to decipher it. We can only move with it.”
“Well, when the time comes, ha ha, you can always come back home with me.”
Bowen came to a halt, uncertainty hitting him with the force of a fireball. “That won’t be possible.”
“Don’t tell me you love this place? I mean, okay, it’s great for camping and a few magical nights under the stars I suppose, but I could really do without the evil soldiers and all the creepy skittering in the bushes...” She halted, turning to look at him. “What?” She circled a finger in front of his nose and narrowed her eyes in a determined expression he was beginning to recognize and dread. “What does that expression on you face mean?”
“I should have been more precise, Clara. I am sorry, but no matter how I might wish it, I can never leave this place.” He took a deep breath. “And neither can you.”
* * *
Clara heard Cosanta Baile before she saw it, but she had trouble focusing. Bowen’s words echoed in her mind: she would never leave this place.
She’d never see her sisters again. What would she do without them?
The music was unexpected, tinny flute-like notes intermingled with determined strumming and drumming. Laughter and singing danced along the edges of sound, lightening her darkening mood. In the distance, as her eyes adjusted to the perpetual darkness, she saw a line of torches arcing along the top of a stone wall broken only by a wooden draw-bridge like gate.
“Sounds like a Ren Faire.” She sniffed the air. “Smells like a Ren Faire.” She hugged her arms around herself and locked her jaw to stop her teeth from chattering as she inhaled the distant aroma of roasting meat and baking bread. The closer they’d come to their destination, the colder she’d become. It hadn’t escaped Bowen’s notice. A few hours before he’d dug into that bottomless bag of his and drew out a hooded cloak to drape over her shoulders. “What’s the admission price?”
At his blank look, she rolled her eyes. Explaining everything that came out of her mouth was more tiring than the day—or was it night?—long walk. “A Ren Faire is party of sorts. Celebrating a period of history involving knights and bards and lots of mead and ale.” Which she could use in abundance right about now.
“I will admit my people excel at revelries, even when there seems to be little to celebrate.” Bowen flipped the hood of the cloak up over her hair and knotted her scarf around her neck. “Keep your head covered. Fire-haired women are most uncommon and are associated with the Goddess. You will only bring unwanted attention by showing it off.”
“I don’t show anything off.” Clara mumbled. Truth be told, part of her just wanted to curl up in a corner and wallow while she tried to come to terms with Bowen’s bombshell that she was stuck in this realm. Forever. She’d tried muzzling that pathetic part of herself a few miles back. Feeling sorry for herself wasn’t going to do anyone any good. “Anything else I should know? Do I bow when I address anyone? Cower at their feet? Call you master?”
“Avoid the eggs?” He caught the edges of her cloak in his hands and tugged gently. She tried not to look up into those eyes that brought her so much comfort; she knew she’d only smile at his teasing. Which is exactly what happened when she surrendered and met his gaze.
How was it he could make her feel better with a mere glance? How was it, so far from everything she knew and relied on, with him, the fear coursing through her abated and she felt a connection stronger than their short association should allow.
“I want to go home, Bowen.” The excitement of adventure and fantasy had worn off around the same time she’d lost feeling in her feet.
“I know you do.” He brushed his fingertips against her cheek and she was reminded of how gentle he was with her. “But the sooner you come to terms with your fate, the better.”
“You mean surrender?” She raised her chin and shook her head, pushing him away. “No. I can’t do that. I have a life, Bowen. I have a job I love and a house and sisters who mean more to me than I’ve ever said.” The idea she’d never be able to tell Nellie and Amber how much she loved them, how much she appreciated and needed them, opened a hole inside of her heart; a hole she’d never be able to fill. “I will not stop trying to get back to them. And step one is reclaiming my book.”
Her hands instantly warmed, as if she’d slipped on a pair of toasty gloves. Finally, some relief. She flexed her thawing fingers inside her pockets.
“Now is not the time to argue about this,” Bowen told her in that infuriatingly patient tone of his.
“How about you take me to this Miranda person. Maybe she doesn’t think I should give up so easily.”
“There’s nothing easy about accepting one’s fate.” Bowen strode beside her. “Not to mention innocent lives can be affected in the process. I wasted many hours looking for a way out, a way back, only to be proven wrong with each attempt. There is always a price to be paid.”
“Yeah, well, I’m willing to pay it. I’m also going to bet on you being wrong again. That book brought me here, it can get me home. I know it.” The warmth from her fingers spread through her entire body and she sighed contentedly. She hadn’t realized how off she’d been feeling since she’d, well, dropped into this place. An odd pressure, a power, blossomed inside of her, balancing out the growing heat, controlling it. Guiding it.
“You know nothing—”
“Careful, Jon Snow,” she snapped. “And there’s another reason I need to get home. No way am I missing that final season of—”
“Bowen!”
The high-pitched cry from down the road had him moving closer and draping an arm over her shoulders as a cadre of children raced toward them. Clara felt the blood drain from her face as they were surrounded by young ones. “Children?” Clara’s throat tightened with tears. “What are children doing in a prison realm?” And why had she assumed most of those here were men?
“Life doesn’t stop simply because one is banished to another realm. They are the only light this place provides. If anyone asks, you’re from Gladahar Province and we are betrothed.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” Clara muttered as the children surrounded them. Despite their circumstance of being trapped in a realm of darkness, there was a brightness about the children—from their vibrantly scrubbed faces to the pristine condition of their clothes in a rainbow of colors. Funny how she’d expected a prison colony to be mired in grey dullness and despair. Instead, she smiled at the sound of laughter and excitement ringing in her ears.
“The ruse is merely to provide for your—”
“Don’t say it.” She really didn’t want to slug hi
m in front of his fan base who had finally calmed down and stood before him as if being inspected by a general.
“H-hello.” A tall, dark-haired boy with bright purple eyes cast a wary glance at Clara before he bowed his head to Bowen. “Welcome back, Bowen.”
“Thank you, Joshiah. I’ve brought my betrothed.” Bowen bowed his head in return. “Her name is Clara. We are hoping to sit evening meal with Miranda and her kin if there is room at her table?”
“Aye.” Joshiah nodded, but didn’t manage to wipe the suspicion from his face. “We can run ahead and tell her you are coming. Will you be teaching again?” His eyes, filled with hope, went wide as saucers.
“If time permits. It will depend.” Bowen laid a steady hand on the boy’s shoulder. “If there’s any chance, I will.”
The children cheered and waved at him and a few even gave him quick hugs before racing back down the path and through the gates.
“Thank you,” Clara called after the kids as they ran off. “So what makes you such a rock star with them? What do you teach?” It was all she could do not to tell him to stop pushing her as he led her to Miranda’s, but it was clear there were certain customs that needed to be followed in this world and guiding women was clearly one of them.
“Rock star?” He shook his head.
“Popular. They like you. Why?”
“When I first arrived, I gave them fighting lessons. I suppose some of them became accustomed to my presence. Fair warning: the blonde little girl with grey eyes?”
“The one in the yellow dress?” Clara had noticed her right away, mainly because of the excitement and adoration shining in those ghostly eyes.
“She’s a natural with a staff. I watched her fell two adult males who attempted to rob her father.”
Clara gaped. “But she couldn’t be more than ten.”
“Never underestimate age or size,” Bowen told her. “Especially here. Remember, keep your head covered, at least while we are outside of Miranda’s presence. We don’t want word getting out that a newcomer has arrived. Dracha’s men have ears everywhere and they are looking for you. I don’t want them coming here.”
Issue 7, Febraury 2018: Featuring Jayne Ann Krentz: Heart's Kiss, #7 Page 19
