Children of Ambros

by Katy Winter

  "I can feel, Kher. I don't understand. It's so odd."

  "Can you remember anything, Luton?"

  "Other than being a slave and leaving the Keep?" Luton stood still, considering. "No," he said finally, "but I can feel now."

  "Then that, boy, is all that matters."

  "You care deeply for me, don't you?"

  "Yes," answered Kher honestly. "I think you are a remarkable boy. Come now." He gave Luton a little shove towards the camp, but didn't see the shade that trailed quite some distance behind.

  ~~~

  The next day was a revelation for Kher and the warriors. They were startled awake by Luton whistling, and were then stunned to see him leap about the camp like a boy, a smile on his face and his eyes sparkling. Han just stared at the young man who stooped and handed him a tankard, while the others, in total disbelief, went down to the river to wash. The tankard drained, Luton surged to his feet, followed the men and threw himself into the water as they watched him cavort and play with delight, his laughter and pleasure making them smile. Back at a fire Kher had blazing, Luton flung himself down next to Han who was cooking and shoved his head over the pot to sniff. Han glanced curiously at him and got a grin that he couldn't help but respond to. When he looked over to the haskar for guidance, Kher just shrugged helplessly.

  "You are very bright this morning, boy," he observed calmly.

  "Well," responded Luton "it's a fine morning and the world's alive. I wish to be part of it. What's in there, Han? I'm starving." Han was considerably surprised, because Luton had never used his name - it was always his title.

  "Porridge, boy. That should fill those spindly shanks of yours."

  Luton tossed his hair back and grinned again before he took a tankard from Lus. After he'd drunk from it, he put it on the ground and leapt energetically to his feet. Kher stared up at him.

  "Yes, boy?"

  "I have energy, Kher," Luton announced. "I'll be back soon to eat. Then I promise you I'll clean out the pot."

  "Very well," responded Kher amused, watching as the young man bounded off down the trail. All the warriors stopped what they were doing to watch until Luton disappeared. Kher then saw them all stare at him and raised a hand.

  "Do not ask me," he said tolerantly. "I sense only that the forest is ancient. Something has touched the boy, I accept that, but it baffles me."

  "My lord, he capers round like a boy," said Lus, sipping thoughtfully at his badran.

  "He is happy," added Emil, a smile touching his usually harsh features. "We have never seen him so. Has he his memory, my lord?"

  "No," murmured Kher, stroking his long beard, now flecked with grey. "I doubt he would be so boyish and gleeful if he had."

  "Does he remember anything at all?"

  "Just leaving the Keep and coming north. He accepts what I told him about being with us previously, though it brings no real memories." Kher was pensive, then added, "He says he can feel and I think that overwhelms him. It must come as a deep shock and he will need time to adjust."

  "If it stays, my lord," mumbled Han.

  "Quite so," agreed Kher, a shadow crossing his face. "I do not think this is part of his master's programming."

  "He touches everything," commented Abek, upending his tankard and brushing the froth from his whiskers.

  "Sensory perceptions so long deprived of," replied Kher.

  "That is a contented slave," observed Han, stirring the pot contents vigorously. He glanced over at his senior. "It pleases me to see the boy like this, my lord."

  "Me too," concurred Emil. The other two warriors nodded in agreement as the haskar looked from one man to the other before responding.

  "It delights me, though I fear it may pass," he said softly. "Let us enjoy him while we can."

  The conversation changed and all were eating with a will when Luton came leaping along the trail, his face flushed and his eyes keen. He took a full plate from Han and settled to eat, only lifting his head every so often to grin at Kher, before the dark head went down again.

  ~~~

  The weeks that followed were contented ones for Luton. He deeply appreciated life as he found it. The warriors watched him with continuing disbelief, Kher with a delighted smile in his pale eyes. Luton's gaunt, expressionless face gentled until the resemblance to his brother was such there could be no doubt they were identical twins; the dark eyes sparkled with youth and vitality, his whole being vivacious and appealing in a way that was reminiscent of the child in Ortok. There was no aggression in Luton.

  His every move suggested pleasure from his existence. Kher thought that when the young man wasn't on horseback he danced his way through the forest or, if he rode, he spurred his horse ahead, then came back, eyes wide and words tumbling in profusion from his lips. A smile was rarely absent. The pallor Kher always associated with Luton was gone. He was flushed with energy and well-being. Kher realised Luton wasn't just a strikingly handsome young man. He was more than that. There was an inner beauty that touched every part of Luton, and, as he was now, created a palpable aura about him.

  Kher watched and waited. He sought the shade but it was nowhere near Luton. The young man's restlessness abated, to be replaced by a calm reflectiveness that let him sleep deeply and dreamlessly, night after night. The haskar cherished these weeks as he saw Luton blossom.

  Luton bloomed like a late spring flower. He ran and hunted with the warriors, wrestled with them and swam naked in the rivers, even though summer came and went. The water stayed tepid. He teased the warriors, inviting them in and then once they were lured in Luton fooled around, splashing them as though they were his brothers. Kher didn't swim. He sat on the bank, listening to laughter and he slowly smiled, his emotions for this young man again threatening to overwhelm him.

  One evening Luton lounged beside Kher, his fingers at hair still damp after an invigorating swim. They all rested, dozing, stomachs pleasantly full. Luton's curls were in an unruly mop. Kher looked consideringly down at the long slender body, naked from the waist up and completely relaxed, then quietly he produced a comb that he began to run through the curls. Luton obligingly rolled over onto his stomach, his forehead on his arms while he enjoyed the haskar's touch. Kher glanced at the deep, raised scars that marked Luton from his shoulders to his buttocks, and, as always, he folded his lips before he deliberately looked away.

  When Kher finished teasing out the knots and the comb ran smoothly, Luton rolled back and rested his head in Kher's lap, as though it was the most natural thing for him to do.

  "It was knotty, boy," explained Kher, placing the comb on the ground beside him. Luton smiled up at him in his attractive way.

  "Thank you," he responded, blinking at the gentle hand that came to rest on his head. He lay quite still, his eyes searching Kher's. "Have you a family?" he asked suddenly. Kher was thoughtful before he answered.

  "My wife died birthing our son, boy." Luton's eyes dropped.

  "I didn't know," he whispered. There was a long pause, then, "What's his name?"

  "He was called Zaren, Luton, but he was never strong."

  "Is he a warrior with the warlord's army? Will you see him soon?"

  "No," replied Kher quietly, his hand still rested on the dark head that slightly tilted in enquiry. "He died when he was nine cycles. I was saddened to lose a child that was very dear. A son meant much to me."

  "Kher," whispered Luton, the light in his eyes quenched. The large hand began to stroke the dusky curls in a way that, had Luton memory, would've made him think it was Sarehl who touched him.

  "It is long cycles since then, boy," said Kher gently. "And now there is you to care for, is there not?"

  Luton hesitated, then asked in a shy voice, "The slave boy you have spoken of so often - that you feel so much for - is that me?" The hand caressing the dark head was stayed.

  "Yes, boy," came the quiet reply.

  "I feel your emotions for me, Kher."

  "Yes, boy," repeated the haskar. "That would be so."


  "Now I understand them," whispered Luton, "and I wish you to know I respond."

  "I know that, Luton-boy."

  Kher put his arms round the young man and held him. Luton leaned back, closed his eyes and sighed, fully aware of a gentle and caring touch that was a new sensation for him. Glancing round, Kher could see nothing of the shade.

  ~~~

  As autumn came fully to central Ambros, the riders began to edge towards the northern perimeter of Blenharm forest. Kher watched Luton carefully, each day bringing a slight but noticeable change. A casual observer wouldn't pick much difference, but it deeply saddened Kher.

  He saw the smile he'd come to love less often, the laugh gone. Luton became restless and driven again, slept less easily and the haunted look returned to the face, dark eyes sombre. Luton spoke less and less and began to nod and shake his head again out of habit. When they reached the edge of the forest, the vitality was no longer there, the eyes were cold and unreadable and the languid grace had returned. So, Kher noticed, had the shade. The haskar desperately wanted Luton to stay as he'd become and he inwardly deeply grieved for the young man.

  By the time they left the forest, Luton was as if he'd never entered it and had no memory of being in it. Kher and the warriors were the same. The haskar found, when he even thought about it, that he had little, if any, recall of their trek through the huge forest and the warriors remembered nothing. Looking at Luton the morning they left the forest for good, Kher noticed ruefully that the young man shivered. He sighed, wondering how Luton would cope with the cruel northern winter.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Chlorien and Autoc rode northwards, at an easy pace, into a wilderness where nothing other than grasses grew, the vista stretching barren and endless under a relentless, scorching sun. Chlorien quite naturally reverted to going barefoot. A heat haze was their constant companion as they rode from drying out water ponds to yet more barren land. It seemed an irony, in this heat, that this land should be covered by snow for more than half a cycle.

  Its emptiness and vastness suited Chlorien. She sensed new emotion in the mage and though she couldn't comprehend it, still she quietly mulled over why he felt as he did. She came up with no answers.

  Autoc was reflective. He was his usual gentle self as he took Chlorien once more through everything she learned with him, the desert folk, on Ice Isle and with the Gnosti. He was thorough and patient. Away in solitude and under the mage's guidance, Chlorien had time to think and assimilate in her own way.

  She came, finally, to full understanding of Gnosti spirituality and instinct linked with reason. The wasteland they covered seemed appropriate, with its lack of distraction, as she grasped each concept her mentor raised. She could now relate to what Disah tried to tell her and realised, too, that these people weren't mysterious or enigmatic - simply, like the mage, they were whole. She knew, instinctively, what being whole meant, though was still too young to comprehend it as it applied to herself. Her oneness, and sense of being in that state, was inextricably bound up with the mage.

  They travelled on. The mage calmly encouraged Chlorien to translate, wherever they were, in a close bond that gave them both utter pleasure. Of an evening, Chlorien still lounged back on Autoc's chest, safe in his arms and in the knowledge that he'd always care for her. Often she fell asleep thus. It was then the mage rose, the girl carefully draped in his arms, so he could carry her to a pallet where he laid and covered her, his hand lingering on her cheek in a caress.

  Her travel along aethyr lines was confident. She quite clearly saw her physical form rested against the mage's shoulder, before she let herself drift deeper and deeper into the aethyr, travelling further by the day. The mage let her go. Nor was he always with her now as she roamed. She returned thoughtful and preoccupied, curled up next to the mage, her big eyes staring up into his as she explained what she saw and learned. Then their minds melded in natural affinity and they were one, strong in unity and understanding. Chlorien knew Autoc's strength would always be part of her wherever she went and whatever she faced, nor did she know she could forget this. Had anyone told her that, she wouldn't have believed them.

  It took them all summer to cross the steppes and they were both content for time to stand still. It was in early autumn when Autoc signalled a halt, his reins lying slack in his hands and his eyes staring into the distance. He then glanced at Chlorien who played idly with her reins.

  "What can you see, little one?" he asked placidly. Chlorien stared very hard.

  "Trees, Father. And beyond that, even more trees. Where are we?" Autoc smiled, but there was sadness behind it.

  "We're at the western Shadowlands, child. They stretch all the way to the far east." Chlorien turned her head to study the mage.

  "You know the people of the Shadowlands, Father, don't you?" She saw an odd lilt to his lips at that, but his answer was prompt.

  "Aye, little one, I do."

  Chlorien was quiet for a moment, then said, unexpectedly and in a very subdued and shaken voice, "You're leaving me, Father, aren't you?"

  Autoc immediately dismounted and drove a peg hard into the ground round which he wound his reins.

  "Dismount, little one," he said gently, "and secure your horse." Chlorien obeyed, giving a sob as she did. When she stood erect, she found the mage beside her ready to draw her close. Chlorien rested her head on his chest in her usual way and gave way to tears.

  "Ah now, little one," murmured the mage, stroking her hair. "You must not distress yourself so, my child."

  "Why are you leaving me?" Fingers fiercely clutched at him. Autoc glanced down at the dark head and his lips twisted.

  "I'm not leaving you, child," he said quietly. "It's time for you to leave me." There was a hiccup in response.

  "I'll stay with you, Father," came the muffled voice.

  "Oh, little one," sighed the mage wistfully, "if it was only that easy. Your growth must continue, child, if you're to fulfil your destiny."

  "Aren't you a part of my destiny, Father?" Autoc felt despair in clutching hands and his grip tightened.

  "Yes, Chlorien, I'm part of your destiny, but it's time for you to be with another, other than me. I hope I'll always be part of you."

  "Do you have to go from me, Father?"

  "Little one, I'm called back to where mages reside." Autoc paused, his look down at the dark head clasped firmly against him. "Child, as you'll know one day, a mage goes where he or she's needed. I'm told you no longer need me constantly by you."

  "How can anyone know that but me?" Chlorien lifted up a hand to the mage. He took it in a comforting grasp.

  "Little one," he began, in a most kindly and gentle voice of understanding, "there are those who know more of either you or me than we'd care to believe. If they think you're ready, you are." Autoc put a long finger under the pointed chin and pushed up the reluctant head. Chlorien's flooded eyes met his. She read there love and compassion, understanding, too, but mostly deep sadness mingled with what she sensed was profound loss and regret.

  "Do you think I'm ready, Father?" she whispered, coughing to clear the lump in her throat. Autoc found it difficult to speak. His voice was decidedly husky.

  "Oh yes, little one, you're indeed ready. Another's waited a long time to escort you in my place." Chlorien's eyes widened and showed alarm.

  "Who's that?"

  "Patience," counselled Autoc. He saw grief overwhelm the young face, before Chlorien buried her head in his chest again.

  "Will I ever see you again, Father? Please?" Autoc bent his head.

  "Yes, little one. Whenever you wish to come to me, I'll be waiting for you."

  "As you've always done, Father?"

  "As I've always done, child."

  "Will you promise you'll wait for me, Father?"

  "If you wish to come to me, little one, I promise I'll be waiting for your call."

  There was a noticeable easing of tension in the young shoulders. Autoc reinforced his promise w
ith his lips to her curls. Chlorien felt it and snuggled as close to the mage as she could. Autoc's grip tightened responsively.

  "I love you, Father," she murmured. "I'll always love you."

  "Likewise, child," said the mage in a muted tone. "I care deeply for you, little one. It grieves me to see you go, though you must always let the one who is ready fly free." He felt the responsive quiver.

  "When must you go, Father?"

  "Soon, little one. Very soon. Sometimes mages don't have choices."

  "How will you know?"

  "Amril calls me. He has once already." Chlorien's head came up.

  "Your dragon, Father?"

  "My dragon, child, yes." Autoc's eyes began to dance again. "You haven't met him, have you?" Chlorien's eyes were round.

  "Would he speak to me?"

  "I wonder?" pondered the mage, his eyes laughing down at her in a way that was achingly familiar. Despite her sadness, Chlorien bit her lip ruefully.

  "You're teasing me," she mumbled, her hands grasping at the mage's tunic. A shy smile came to her eyes. "I'll miss that." Autoc's smile at her was warm.

  "You've delighted me for cycles, little one. I'll miss you in many ways."

  "You mean so much to me, Father," she whispered. Her voice cracked.

  The mage and the girl stood silently entwined, neither one trusting speech. It was unnecessary. They were one, and, at that instant, whole, their essences in harmony. Finally, Autoc sat on the ground and signalled Chlorien do so too. With a cough, she rested against him. Autoc dried her eyes very gently, content to let her gather her thoughts, his arms about her. He made no effort to initiate talk. He waited for Chlorien.

  "The balance is what's important, Father, isn't it?" she asked presently.

  "Aye, little one."

  "And if it's tilted, say by another -." Chlorien broke off.

  "Like Malekim - is that what you're trying to say?" Chlorien nodded. "Go on," added Autoc encouragingly.

  "Then it's up to mages, like you, Father, to re-balance what's been disturbed, isn't it?"

  "You've been doing a lot of thinking, little one," observed Autoc, glancing down at the slight figure affectionately. "Yes, it's a mage's responsibility."

  "The balance was shifted, wasn't it, Father?" Autoc was suddenly sharply aware of developing power and talent in Chlorien.