The outside world faded away; only the ropes of power tying her Larnkin to Shadowdancer’s had any substance. She bowed over those glowing, silvery ropes and poured all her newfound strength and will into strengthening them. Then she called to him, his soul, his Larnkin. He resisted, the last rebellious spark of his spirit and consciousness blocking her.
“I won’t let you kill yourself.”
“And I won’t let you die.”
Her power reached out, her soul exposed to him, welcoming his spirit, offering his Larnkin shelter, a home outside of his host or the Spirit Realm, a place where the Larnkin could knit itself back together.
Nothing happened for several heartbeats. Had her power, her call, not been enough?
Then Shadowdancer’s body shuddered and something foreign and warm slipped within her. An intense burning sensation assaulted several points throughout her body. Her breath exploded from her lungs in a shocked hiss.
In that moment she knew for certain she was holding her soulmate. Shadowdancer would have been her bondmate in this life. Just as Sorntar and Ashayna were linked heart, soul and power, Sorsha would have had the same link with Shadowdancer.
Shadowdancer’s thoughts were hers, and together they grieved at Fate’s cruel edge. To know they had such potential, only to lose it, their Larnkins now too crippled to ever form such a bond in this life.
“I don’t care,” she whispered into his thoughts. “You are the keeper of my heart. If we live, it is yours.”
His spirit stroked hers, a caress full of love and acknowledgement.
“I will guard your love well.”
Time shifted, flowing ever onward. Her senses registered the death of one day, the birth of night and then the rebirth of another dawn. His Larnkin stirred within her, mended enough to live…though not truly healed, she knew. With regret, she allowed Shadowdancer’s soul and his Larnkin to flow back into his body. Loss filled the place he’d been, but the physical world intruded. The ache of sitting in the same position, muscles stiff, the ground cold underneath her, made itself known at last.
Opening her eyes enough to peer between her lashes, she raised a hand to shade them from the bright glare of magic intensifying around Shadowdancer’s body.
His head was still a solid weight in her lap for a moment more, before the burden vanished as he shifted into shimmering mist. The magic flared, blinding her for a few moments. Even before her vision cleared, a solid weight settled against her legs.
Blinking back tears, she looked down to find Shadowdancer…human…but alive. Her arms tightened around his shoulders. She dragged him closer, cradling his head against her breast. His chest rose and fell in the deep even rhythm of sleep.
“Rest now, love.” She pitched her voice low so only he would hear.
Chapter Fifteen
A persistent droning woke Sorsha. The annoying sound might actually be soft drumming, but her brain hurt too much to decipher the difference. She rested on her side, her arms and legs dead weights, her eyelids too heavy to open. She lay still for several moments attempting to remember how she had come to be there. Slowly, too slowly, it began to trickle back to her a piece at a time.
Tomb Guards. Lamarra’s capture. Shadowdancer carrying Sorsha to safety. Then Grey Spire’s defenses activating and nearly killing them both. The Wild Path and the Wardlen. Shadowdancer almost dying. And…and…holding his Larnkin within her body, sheltering his soul while she healed him.
Light’s mercy. Had it really happened or was it a dream?
Despite her tiredness, Sorsha struggled to open her stiff, puffy eyelids. Blinking rapidly helped her blurry surroundings come into sharper focus. She was in a tent. By the drying herbs suspended from the ceiling and the medicinal scent permeating the air, it was likely a place of healing. The sound she’d heard upon first waking was actually the steady sound of rain. Wind blew out of the east in damp, fierce gusts, shaking the pavilion’s stout support poles and clawing at its heavy cloth walls.
Shadowdancer lay in a narrow bed across from her, still as human as she. On his opposite side, a woman of indeterminate age, one Sorsha mistook as a fellow human at first glance, was bent over Shadowdancer’s bed, whispering in a soft melodious voice. There was something strange about the woman’s fluffy, jet black hair. It wasn’t until the woman tilted her head as if listening that Sorsha noticed one strand had shifted away from the rest of the dark mass, solving the mystery. A long ebony feather dangled down over the woman’s collar bone to gently brush the embroidered neckline of her honey colored vest. The last person she’d seen with plumage like that had been Ashayna’s Phoenix bondmate. This strange woman didn’t have the wings or broad tail of a Phoenix, but Sorsha would bet her favorite bow this woman was some kind of mixed bloodline.
Shadowdancer nodded his head ever so slightly at the woman’s questioning tone. Sorsha hadn’t realized he was awake until then.
Sorsha needed to hold him, to feel the beat of his heart. The compulsion was unreasoning and impossible. Her body wouldn’t obey her brain’s commands. Involuntarily, a small sound of frustration escaped her. Both Shadowdancer and the stranger looked over at her.
“I can’t move.” A note of fear crept into her voice. “Shadowdancer?” It came out more plea then question. She needed him, needed him to come to her, hold her, hear the reassurance in his soothing mind voice.
Emotions flirted across his face—worry, then grief, and finally what might be guilt.
“Shadowdancer?”
He struggled with his blanket and she thought he was trying to come to her. Tears glimmered on his lashes. His expression changed to despair. He flailed, sending his pillow onto the floor. A brutal, savage sound escaped him. Rolling onto his side, he managed to gain his feet. He grasped his head and swayed, took one awkward step forward and another. But instead of coming around the end of his bed, he hurried away from her.
“Shadowdancer?”
He broke into a run, stumbling across the tent. A table of polished dark wood and a set of chairs blocked the most direct route of escape and he tossed the chairs out of his path. A careless flail of his arm sent a rack of drying herbs crashing to the floor. As he ducked around one of the tent’s support poles, his shoulder slammed into it. The entire structure shivered with the impact and a mage globe lamp suspended from the ceiling swayed.
Shadowdancer paused at the tent’s entrance and leaned his forehead against a wooden pole, resting.
Not once did he look up at her, and after a moment he stumbled outside.
The emptiness within her widened.
Desperate for answers, Sorsha swung her gaze from where she’d seen Shadowdancer vanish to where the stranger still stood silently. “Who are you? What’s wrong with Shadowdancer? And why can’t I move?”
“Easy. You’re still in shock,” the woman said as she skirted Shadowdancer’s abandoned bed and came to stand next to Sorsha’s. “My name is Neveyah; I’m the Herd Mistress of the Bronze Sedge Herd—Shadowdancer’s family herd. I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you and Shadowdancer first arrived.”
“A Herd Mistress? They…Shadowdancer and Darkmoon…both said I am one as well, or, at least, I used to be. Why did Shadowdancer run off?”
“And you very well might be a great Herd Mistress again one day. But for now you’ve put your body under far too much strain, so rest, and heal. I’ll talk with Shadowdancer.” Neveyah reached out and stroked a lock of hair out of Sorsha’s face. “Easy now. Everything will be alright.”
“What happened….with Shadowdancer?” The words were all she could squeeze out and even then it was with a voice tight with tears.
The newcomer’s dark brows lifted. “Why, dear, you managed the impossible. You saved Shadowdancer and preserved enough of your Larnkin’s power to recover with your mage gift intact. Though, it’s too early to tell how long your recovery will take.” The Herd Mistress tugged the blankets more firmly around Sorsha’s shoulders. “By all that is known among the healers of flesh
and spirit, what you did in your weakened state should have been impossible. You summoned an archway and siphoned power from the Wild Path. Even at full strength……” The woman made a strange, almost bird-like, chuckling sound of admiration.
“That was my Larnkin’s doing. Tell me about Shadowdancer.”
Neveyah stilled her fussing with the blanket and looked in the direction Shadowdancer had fled. A deep sigh lifted her shoulders. When she looked back at Sorsha, her eyes were thoughtful. “You saved Shadowdancer’s life, but he is crippled. He’ll never again be more than human. That news is not sitting well with him.”
“He hates me for what I did, doesn’t he?”
The Herd Mistress’s expression softened. “He doesn’t hate you. I doubt he knows what he’s thinking or feeling at the moment. He, too, is still in shock. But I know the mind of a Stallion Mage. As he is now, he’ll be feeling trapped and weak and useless. He’s human and he doesn’t know how to be human. He’ll need your help more than ever, but he won’t want it.”
“I must…” Sorsha couldn’t finish the sentence. She no longer knew what she needed. Her heart said she needed Shadowdancer, but she’d seen the look he’d given her. As much as she wanted to believe the Herd Mistress, Sorsha had seen Shadowdancer’s expression clearly. There had been a glimmer of hate.
“Ah, I understand,” Neveyah said. She stood and brushed smooth the supple leather of her knee length skirt. “I’ll return momentarily.” With a somber nod, she walked in the direction Shadowdancer had gone and vanished outside.
Sorsha was happy to be alone, or should have been, she told herself. Tears pricked her eyes. At least there was no one to see her weakness as the tears flowed freely down her cheeks. She’d almost succeeded in crying herself to sleep when a disturbance close at hand jolted her to full wakefulness.
Neveyah pushed the tent flap aside and entered with a sullen Shadowdancer at her heels. He didn’t look up, but stared at the floor as if entranced by the carpets. The Herd Mistress spoke softly in a language Sorsha didn’t recognize. Shadowdancer nodded then started toward the bed where Sorsha lay helpless. By the time he reached the bed, he had his emotions under enough control to manage a blank mask, but Sorsha hadn’t missed the quick, guilty look he’d cast Neveyah at whatever she’d said.
Sorsha’s limbs still felt heavy, but the tingle of returning sensation promised an end to her helpless confinement. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t come soon enough to let her escape Shadowdancer. All she could do was squirm with a chaotic mix of embarrassment, anger and grief.
Shadowdancer didn’t look at her as he padded to the side of the bed, or pulled the blankets back and slipped in beside her. He didn’t even look at her as he pulled her into his arms. Silent and stiff, he held her as if he was holding the most venomous of creatures in his arms. His aloofness hurt far more than his absence had.
“It’s alright, Sorsha. There’s no shame in weakness, you’ll be able to move again shortly.” The Herd Mistress’s voice floated over Sorsha’s head. “Rest now. Shadowdancer will stay with you. After what happened, you both need the comfort only the other can offer.”
Her desire to yell at Neveyah was almost overwhelming, but Sorsha knew any outburst would only deepen her embarrassment. There was nothing to do, so she bit her tongue and turned her face away. She could move that much. A hand settled low on her back, warm, more relaxed than earlier.
Shadowdancer rubbed his cheek against hers as he pulled her closer. Two fingers under her chin forced her to face him. She met his gaze with reluctance. In way of reply, Shadowdancer smiled faintly then tilted his head up, his lips brushing her forehead in a gentle kiss. He was begging forgiveness she realized. She didn’t know how to respond, but she didn’t have to say anything. He closed his eyes and touched his forehead to where he’d just kissed. Then he turned and buried his face in her hair. His move was swift, but not so fast she missed seeing the dampness at the corners of his eyes.
Though her arms still tingled with receding numbness, she forced both to move, curving them around his waist. “I’m sorry I trapped you as a human.”
He sighed long and loud, the last of the tension melting out of him. Shortly, he was asleep.
A sad smile tugged at her lips. Perhaps he would forgive her one day. She continued stroking his back until sleep stilled her hand.
The storm, which had raged so fiercely in the night, had blown itself out, and Sorsha awoke to feel the warmth of the sun on her face and a hollowness in her soul. Her second thought was that Shadowdancer was missing. She blinked sleepily. One wall of the pavilion had been rolled up to allow the light of the rising sun to illuminate the interior. A breeze still swirled, toying at the pavilion almost playfully, and it carried the soothing scent of rain dampened grass, and green growing things. Better to dwell on those things, Sorsha mused, than on the hole in her heart.
A shadow crossed between her and the light. She raised a hand, shading her eyes enough she could focus on the big shape walking into the tent. Her heart lurched first with joy and then with disappointment. His size and coloring, a near match to Shadowdancer, might have tricked another human, but this was not her Santhyrian.
Shadowdancer’s sire trotted around the foot of her bed and stopped next to her shoulder. She stared up at Darkmoon and waited for him to say something. His muzzle dipped down, nostrils flaring as he sniffed at her. He snorted and shook his head.
“You just about killed yourself to save my son.” He backed up a step and gave her an odd little bow. “I owe you thanks young Herd Mistress. If there is ever anything I can do for you…”
“But I didn’t save him, my Larnkin did, and Shadowdancer’s not…he’ll never…”
Darkmoon cut her off. “Don’t say you didn’t save my son. He’s alive. Miserable. Angry. Testy. Self-destructive. Snarling incoherently at everyone and everything. But blessedly alive.” Darkmoon’s amusement washed over Sorsha’s unprotected mind. While she struggled with the new sense of vulnerability, he ambled around the area, a darker shadow against the pavilion’s wall. “Honestly, I don’t care how it came about, nor do I care if he is never able to open an arch again or gallop across the plains at dawn. He is alive. That’s enough for any father. Thank you again for saving my son’s life.” The king stallion bowed down to kneel before Sorsha as she stared on in shocked disbelief. After he straightened, he trotted over to the open wall of the tent and stared off into the distance.
Sorsha sat up in bed and found she could move, her muscles weak, but willing to support her. With a slow caution, she made her way over to the Santhyrian and looked out across the distance in the same direction he faced.
They were at the center of a village-sized grouping of tents. Beyond the ring of tents a river cut a path through knee-high grass. Its banks rose to a gentle rolling slope to either side. The seemingly endless prairie stretched out in every direction as far as Sorsha could see.
“Welcome to the Sea of Grass,” Darkmoon whispered into her mind.
Something rose up within her, even over the despair she’d felt over what had happened to Shadowdancer, joy soared free within her. Home. The prairie called to a primal part of her soul. This was her home. Here was where she belonged.
Her eyes followed where Darkmoon’s gaze led. Far out on the prairie, where the river twisted so sharply it nearly turned back upon its self like the coils of a snake, a lone male human stood staring at the slow moving waters, his back to the tents and the herd. She shaded her eyes and gazed at the distant form of Shadowdancer. Both she and Darkmoon were silent, if for different reasons. Sorsha because she didn’t know what to think or say, and the older stallion deep in his own thoughts.
Shadowdancer stirred at last. Reaching down, he picked up a stone and flung it with such force the rock skimmed across the surface of the water and landed in the shallows of the opposite side.
“He shuns any who would comfort him. He won’t even let me near him,” Darkmoon said at last.
“I ca
n’t force him to talk to anyone if that’s what you’re hoping. Whatever friendship he and I had forged, died when Grey Spires’ defenses nearly seared his Larnkin to ash.”
“Harshly put, but partly true. My son is a cripple. He may no longer hold high status among the herd, but his actions saved a Herd Mistress from death on the Wild Path. He will hold a place of honor among the herd because of that.”
“I doubt it will be enough to satisfy him.”
Darkmoon studied her. “No, I don’t suppose considering…..well, it won’t be enough to sooth his hurt, but perhaps being able to speak will start him healing. I want you to convince him to allow my Herd Mistress to give him the gift of languages.”
“I’m not his most popular person right now. He couldn’t get away from me fast enough yesterday. Only your Herd Mistress’s order forced him back at all.” The slow burn of shame heated her cheeks at the admission. “You’ll notice he’s half way to those mountains in the distance and still walking away from me.”
“He’s trying to walk away from what fate has demanded he endure. Go to him. Talk with him. He will listen to you.”
“I will try.”
“Good,” Darkmoon said, but he still continued to stare at her.
“Is there something else?”
He didn’t answer right away and Sorsha felt her stomach tightening by degrees.
“Yes. I wish for your sake there was not.”
Sorsha sighed. “Then tell me.” She still didn’t look away from Shadowdancer’s retreating form. Really, at the moment, she found it hard to imagine what could be worse than Shadowdancer’s hatred.
“How much did my son tell you about magic and the history of the Elementals?”
“He merely touched on the most basic of things. Mage globes, summoning power to strengthen one’s body. He mentioned a bit about what a bonded pair like my sister and her Phoenix would have to deal with. We spent a number of evenings practicing using mind speech and how to narrow that link down to use over a great distance.”
Herd Mistress (In Deception's Shadow Book 2) Page 12
