Love Never-Ending

by Anny Cook

  “Trav has a price on his head and he thought the cave would be a safe place to hide.” Bishop gave her a quick rundown of his adventure after his abduction.

  “Fascinating.”

  “Not as fascinating as this place. What are all of these dome structures?”

  One of the village men—Bish wasn’t sure whether it was Jonas or Mali— answered, “Most of them are homes. The others are shops or other public buildings. The big green dome on the left is the school.”

  Bish was distracted from the domes and the village when several youngsters rushed past the men carrying the stretcher, surrounding him and Jade. He thought that most of them were boys but reserved judgment just in case he was wrong.

  “Mama, who are the strangers?”

  “What’s wrong with that man?”

  “Are they gonna stay, Mama?”

  “Those clothes look like the funny clothes Dancer used to wear.”

  An older boy joined them just then, inquiring with quiet authority, “Is this the Llewellyns’ way?” Immediately an uneasy silence fell over the group. After a moment he said, “I believe the school is behind me.” With a silent rush, the children ran to line up beside the school door.

  “Falcon, this is your uncle, Bishop Llewellyn.”

  Bish was impressed when the youngster gravely offered his hand. “Welcome, Uncle. I’m sorry the littlies were rude to you. I’ll speak to them about it.” They shook hands, Falcon kissed his mother’s cheek and then he trotted off without another word.

  “Are all of them your children?” Bish asked.

  She sighed. “I’m afraid so. Falcon was right. They were acting very badly. I suppose that means there will be punishments meted out. I’m sure that Llyon and Tyger didn’t miss their misbehavior.” She patted Bishop’s arm. “If you take me home, I’ll find someone to feed us breakfast and get you settled in.”

  “Punishment?”

  “They’re warrior trainees. You noticed how all of them wore their hair in braids?”

  “Yeah, I noticed. Weird little braids with beads in them.”

  “All warriors and warrior trainees wear their hair in the braids. The beads are called chinkas and the colors denote rank and specialties.”

  “Uh-huh.” Bishop looked around for the rest of the group and saw them entering a large multi-domed complex several domes away. “They’re taking Trav into a building with domes that are all different colors.”

  “That would be the Llewellyn hodgepodge. Every time we added on a dome, Merlyn wanted to try a different color.”

  “You live there?” Doubtfully, he studied the rainbow of colorful domes and compared it to his own dignified brick townhouse back in Baltimore. “Couldn’t you paint it all one color or something?”

  She chuckled. “No, I’m sorry to tell you the color is a permanent part of the building material.”

  “You’re very different, you know. Not at all like the Jade I remember.” Bishop led her toward the Llewellyn domes while trying to take in as much of the surroundings as possible. The more time passed, the more he felt like Alice. Years of watching science fiction and fantasy movies had not prepared him for taking part in his own personal adventure. It occurred to him that his private movie was missing a soundtrack.

  “I was in my twenties, Bish. Hopefully, all of us change for the better as we get older. Besides, as you pointed out, I’m blue.”

  “Now you sound like the Jade I remember. Sassier.”

  “I’ve been up all night. Merlyn and I were down at Dai’s Retreat and we walked most of the night to get here.” Abruptly, she yawned. “Excuse me! I guess it’s all catching up with me. Are we almost there?”

  “We’re almost to the steps.” Bishop guided her up the broad shallow steps and into a cool dark hall. Through a doorway on the right, he could see one of the red-haired twins working on Trav. “Now what?”

  “Tyger!” Jade called.

  The other red-haired twin stepped into the hallway from another doorway. “I’m here. Arano is fixing breakfast. Arturo is arranging for their belongings to be fetched from the cave. Uncle Bishop, please bring Mama into the kitchen.”

  Jade shook her head. “No. I just want to go to bed. I’m tired.”

  “Of course you are.” A young man with dark hair popped out from another doorway farther down the hall and swiftly joined them. Without any more discussion, he swept Jade up in his arms and carried her off.

  Suddenly for the first time since he woke, Bishop was all alone.

  Chapter Five

  Mystic Valley—Lost Market

  Low murmurs and restless wiggling spread as the children failed to settle into their normal routine. Samara and her fellow teacher, Glenys Goodspeed, knew that there was little hope for that until someone brought news about the visitors. Visitors were practically unheard of until Dancer had appeared nearly a moon before. Prior to that no new visitors had arrived in over twenty years.

  The school door opened, revealing the tall figure of Wolfe Llewellyn. Immediately, the room went quiet and all fidgeting ceased. Wolfe stepped into the room and nodded respectfully at the teachers. “I thought perhaps you would wish to know about the visitors.”

  “Yes, please.” Samara couldn’t understand why his news was so important but the strange anticipation spread until her entire body seemed to hum with excitement.

  “Our uncle, Bishop Llewellyn, has arrived with Traveller Devereaux. Traveller is seriously injured from an accident. Dai has declared the Llewellyn domes a quiet zone until further notice.”

  The injuries must be serious indeed for Dai to take that step. Samara took a deep shaky breath. Wrenna, who had waited anxiously for Traveller to arrive, faced yet another trial as Traveller healed. For the first time, Samara did not feel envious at all. What must it be like to watch your bond mate suffer?

  Wolfe frowned at his young siblings. “There will be no repeat of your rude behavior this morning. Our uncle is very confused and distressed. You will demonstrate the manners you’ve been taught.”

  “Yes, Wolfe,” they chorused quietly.

  “Now it is time for you to settle down and learn well.” With another nod at Samara and Glenys, he softly departed, leaving an expectant hush in the classroom.

  Glenys immediately took charge, setting the students to practicing their glyph calligraphy. The graceful glyphs for the ancient valley language had almost fallen out of use until the council determined that they would be taught in all valley schools. Banisher Ewell, Master Archivist, had campaigned long and hard for that, pointing out that qualified archivists were difficult to find. If the glyphs fell into total disuse, who would translate the laws from the great Talking Wall?

  Glenys had grown up in a home where the glyphs were in constant use so she taught a lesson every day and Samara learned along with the students. Both students and Samara found working on the glyphs a soothing pastime.

  While she carefully drew the curving lines and swirls of the glyphs, Samara puzzled over the butterflies that still buzzed in her stomach and the breathless expectation in her chest. Why was she having these odd feelings? What did it mean? Sooner than she thought possible, it was her turn to teach the lesson on numbers. She pushed the strange feelings away and concentrated on sharing her knowledge with their younger students while Glenys taught valley history to the older students in the small room next door. In a lively discussion on education, her mother had maintained that schools were the same out-valley and in. They all taught the same basic subjects to the very young and then added local interest subjects for the older children. What would she be teaching if she lived out-valley? she wondered.

  The day flew by after that. When Glenys dismissed the children, they piled out into the yard with giggles and the usual childish babble until Falcon whistled for silence. Samara could only guess what he was saying but shortly the Llewellyn children trotted off in a quiet orderly group while the rest of the children ran for their homes. In a few moments Glenys said a soft goodbye
and left. At last, Samara was alone. While she finished putting away the slates and books and stacks of linual, she compiled a mental list of things she needed to pick up from the baker and butcher before she walked home.

  She had a taste for the spicy out-valley dish that her mother made. Chili. Samara giggled. Strange to call it cold when it was such a hot dish. It would require extra work to mince the meat and vegetables but she decided to stop at the butcher’s and ask for some fresh rowan meat.

  Finally, ready to leave, she carefully closed the school door and set off for the bakery, hoping that Dan Miller still had some of today’s batch of barbahla bread. If not, she would settle for a wachaz loaf but her heart was set on the flat bread. Fresh barbahla bread would be perfect with the hot chili.

  She strolled past the Llewellyn domes and turned into the bakery. A strange man with very short hair sat with Dai on the front steps of the Llewellyn domes. Samara couldn’t resist flicking a curious look at the man, though it was considered very rude. After a few moments she decided that Merlyn probably would have looked very much like this man before he came to the valley. The stranger—Bishop—had the same odd tannish-pinkish-colored skin as Dancer.

  The man scowled at her and she hastily turned away and went inside to chat with Dan. He would no doubt have the latest news. A few moments later when she exited the bakery with a flat barbahla loaf and a wachaz loaf that Dan urged on her, the men on the steps were gone. She gave a silent little sigh and turned toward the butcher. Silly to be so curious.

  * * * * *

  Bishop stood in Trav’s room, frowning down at his friend who slumbered in a deep unnatural sleep. Dai had explained that some of the healers in the valley could impose the deep healing sleep on their patients in place of sleeping potions. Bish still couldn’t fathom how they could heal Trav without any modern medicines or machinery but Wolfe had assured him that Llyon had already healed the most critical injuries.

  Through the window, he saw the woman exit the bakery and walk off across the village green. He scowled again when he remembered Dai’s words. “She is ineligible to mate.”

  What the fuck did that mean? And why was she ineligible? He couldn’t wait to get out of this weird place, although according to Baron—no, Merlyn—it wasn’t possible to leave. All that he knew was that he would go crazy if he had to stay here. Stark raving crazy.

  Merlyn had disappeared after making a mysterious mention of something called schalzina immediately after he and Dai returned with Dancer and Eppie. Whatever it was, no one found it strange that they just walked away. It freaked him out when Dai kissed Merlyn goodbye. What the fuck?

  And Dancer was that bizarre blue color now and was wearing one of those funky skirts. Bishop determined that he would go naked before he wore one of the sissy outfits.

  Dancer and Dai had made sly comments about airiness and availability. Bishop was no fool even if he hadn’t quite puzzled out the references to availability except for the most obvious one. Clearly, if he found a woman to fuck, then all he had to do was flip up the sissy skirt and he’d be available. He had a notion that there was more to it than that.

  Then with startling abruptness Dancer and Eppie disappeared into one of the domes with another of those mysterious references to schalzina. Tyger had carted Llyon off to their room, muttering something about katuazha.

  When Bishop wandered into the kitchen, Arano or Arturo—how many sets of twins did Jade and Merlyn have?—had prepared some breakfast for him. Another young man who looked very much like Arano and Arturo with the same black braids and snapping dark eyes laconically explained that katuazha meant that Tyger was Llyon’s caretaker when he performed healing. Bishop found that explanation as clear as mud.

  He felt like his head was going to explode with all the new information bombarding him and he longed to go somewhere, anywhere for some peace and quiet. Just then the young man who had tried to explain katuazha offered to show him to a guestroom.

  “What am I supposed to do there?” Bishop snarled grumpily.

  “Rest, bathe or contemplate your navel. Whatever you wish, Uncle.” The little flash of fangs when he smiled and the twinkle of amusement in his dark eyes pissed Bishop off.

  “How old are you?”

  “I have eighteen years.”

  “And which one are you?”

  “Wolfe,” his nephew replied promptly as he ushered Bish into a cool, dimly lit room. With a touch the light stone on the table brightened. Wolfe went to a cabinet in the corner and opened the doors. Inside were piles of folded fabric—clothing, Bishop guessed. Wolfe selected a dark blue folded bundle and shook it out. Turning to Bish, he held it up in front of his uncle. “This should fit. See? It fastens this way. We call it a sharda.”

  “If you think I’m wearing that skirt, you’ve lost your mind.”

  “Uh-hmm. Dancer said the same thing. Yet, as you saw, he was most happily wearing a sharda.” Wolfe tossed the garment on the bed and added a pale blue shera.

  “If you decide that you want clean clothing, there it is.” Then Wolfe pointed to a door in the far wall. “The bathing room is through that door. There are clean bathing sheets and toiletries in the cabinet.”

  Bishop marched over to the door, expecting primitive facilities at the best. He was shocked to find a spacious light-filled bathroom with a deep luxurious tub. The sunlight from the overhead skylight shone down on jeweled faucets clearly marked with “H” and “C”.

  Wolfe plucked two jars from the cabinet and handed them to Bishop. “The blue one is a depilatory, safe for use on your face. Spread it on and wipe it off. The green one is a soft soap. It takes very little,” Wolfe warned. “It’s safe to use on your hair.” He grinned. “Don’t mix them up. Your hair is pretty short, but I expect that you want to keep what you have.”

  “Funny. You’re a funny, funny guy, Wolfe. What happened? You draw the short straw?” Bish opened the blue jar and sniffed. “It doesn’t smell bad.”

  “Short straw? I’m not familiar with that expression.”

  “Everyone in a group draws a stick or straw to decide an action. The one with the short straw gets stuck doing whatever unpleasant duty beckons.” Bish dipped a finger in the blue salve and rubbed it over his upper lip. He was already missing half his mustache so he might as well even things out. Wolfe handed him a small cloth from the cabinet. With a shrug he held it under the faucet and ran the hot water over it. After wringing it out, he wiped away the salve, surprised at the smooth skin revealed.

  “You are not an unpleasant duty, Uncle. This is a busy time in the valley with a lot of unusual activity. I merely thought that you would appreciate a period of reflection and peace. Was I wrong?”

  Bish stared at the young man lounging at ease in the doorway. There was no denying that he was a man—a young male with broad shoulders and chest. The smooth blue skin, the gently pointed ears and tilted eyes all contributed to an overall picture of virile, tough manhood. Bish didn’t make the mistake of underestimating his nephew. He noted the strong, muscular biceps ringed with vaguely Celtic tattoos and remembered the ease Wolfe had displayed that morning when he carried his mother to her room. He was the strangest eighteen-year-old that Bish had ever encountered. “So Wolfe, what do you do here in the valley? You have a young lady you’re interested in?”

  “I am an apprentice healer. Soon I will go to Rebaccah’s Promise to complete my training.” Wolfe turned and walked back into the bed room. “I will leave you alone now. When dinner is ready, I will send someone to let you know.”

  Bish heard the soft sound of the door closing. It seemed that his wish was granted. He was alone. He had an idea that his question about a young lady was the reason that Wolfe had suddenly left him on his own.

  Absently he fitted the plug, a beautifully carved rose, in the drain and began filling the tub. A bath was exactly what he needed, followed by a nap. Maybe then he would feel almost human again. Maybe he would even wake up to find that the last twenty-four hours had b
een some kind of awful nightmare. He wasn’t counting on that, though. Not at all.

  Bish stripped off the filthy t-shirt and shorts and stepped into the tub. The water wasn’t steaming hot like he was used to but comfortably warm. Keeping Wolfe’s warning in mind, he dipped out a bit of the green soap and smeared it on the small cloth and began to wash his legs and sore feet. Immediately, he discovered that he could have used it for a bubble bath. As the water pounding into the tub hit the soap, bubbles frothed in big piles. Soon they covered him to his waist.

  He turned the water off and leaned back for a leisurely soak, secure in the knowledge that he wouldn’t likely be disturbed. There were so many things to think about. Was he really trapped in the valley? Or was there some reason Baron wanted him to believe that he was? Merlyn. How long would it take before he was comfortable calling his brother Merlyn?

  On the walk from the caves, Jade had mentioned that the blue skin and other changes were an adaptation so they could survive in the valley. He wondered how long it would be before he started turning blue. Maybe it was in the food, he speculated. Maybe the weird green eggs he had for breakfast had something to do with it.

  When he was sitting on the steps with Dai, the old man warned him not to approach any of the women. His cock hardened at just the thought of the woman at the bakery. She certainly wasn’t his usual type but something in the way she moved had the blood rushing to his cock. Bish wondered if the women also were naked beneath their little wrapped dresses. His rod stuck up out of the bubbles as though seeking an answer.

  He fisted it with an idle stroke or two and then thought, Why not? This bath was all about relaxing and de-stressing from the jumbling rush of impressions and events in the past few hours. There weren’t many better ways to de-stress alone than a little hand job. Helping himself to another dab of the fragrant soap, he spread the slippery stuff over his cock before cupping his balls in his soapy hand. Might as well get really clean while he was at it! After a while he grasped his cock in his fist and stroked with slow purpose, enjoying the pure sensuality of handling his hard flesh while lazing in the tub.