The third lord’s hand slipped up her skirt and cradled her sex.
Dur raised his head. “She isn’t afraid,” he said.
She tried to gasp, “I can’t breathe!” but she could only shape the words with her mouth as the blond lord fingered her infinitely sensitive nether lips, lingering just inside the achingly open heart of her flesh without entering her.
“She’s aroused,” he confirmed, his voice hard with admiration and with something else, something that made her close her eyes in despair. She was about to betray Loric. She was about to willingly surrender her body to these young lords from Blackroot and let them do whatever they desired with her. Then perhaps she would know just how much of her father she had in her…
The abrupt rush of humid air into her lungs made her cough but the relief was not as intense as the stab of disappointment she suffered when they all released her at once. She opened her eyes just in time to see them appear to merge with the dark leaves. She stumbled forward, stunned by how suddenly she found herself alone. It was no wonder lords from Blackroot caused such a stir amongst the keep’s maidens…
Lightning struck the earth directly in front of her. The impact flung her violently back against the tree. She collapsed across its gnarled roots and the heavens began crying softly over her, raindrops like evanescent diamonds shimmering in her hair.
*
“Calm down, Loric. They acted without permission.”
“It doesn’t change the fact that they nearly killed her! I want an explanation and I want it now.”
Despite the numbing fog around the edges of her awareness, drifting so thickly down the paths of her limbs she wasn’t even aware of them, Mirabel thought it a most propitious moment to awaken. Pretending to still be asleep was an excellent way to harvest information, so she lay absolutely still and didn’t open her eyes, not wanting to admit to herself she couldn’t have done otherwise.
“Sit down and stop yelling, Loric, you’ll only disturb her.” The Lord spoke in the same deeply quiet, authoritative voice she remembered from the two times she had seen him.
“You’re worried about me disturbing her? Oh that’s rich. I’m the only one who really cares about her.”
“I thought you wanted an explanation.”
Mirabel appreciated the prince’s anger on her behalf but she didn’t know how long she could keep her consciousness out of the dark cloud drifting against the firmament of her skull and the only thing she could really feel was hunger for the promised explanation. She assumed it would enlighten her as to her current condition and, more importantly, as to how soon she could expect to recover from it. Loric was silent and she thought she felt the ghost of her hand as he grasped it in his own.
“We’re not all of an age,” the Lord began. “We also have our rebellious youths. Some of us have been around—an oddly appropriate expression—for a serpent of time too long to measure, its scales millenniums.”
“I know all this,” Loric said impatiently. “Those are the Dragons who form the Council which Mirabel’s existence has thrown into such a quandary. Now, basically, what you’re telling me is that you have a lot of baby Dragons flying around wreaking havoc?”
“I do so enjoy your colorful metaphors. Yes, essentially. The fact that they’re relatively immortal makes it even harder to control them, as you might well imagine.”
“What do you mean relatively?”
“The line between life and death is thinner than the sharpest sword edge. It takes practice and skill to wield it properly. If there are too many impure thoughts and fears weakening the spirit’s mettle, a new form cannot immediately be cut from energy’s endless material when the old one is destroyed.”
“You mean they die as we do? They’re forced back into a woman’s womb like misbehaving children sent to their room?” Loric’s voice was heavy with sarcasm. “How terrible for them.”
“It’s their own fault. Casualties are high amongst our overeager young impatient to assure themselves of this ultimate power.”
“That’s nice but all I’m interested in is making sure that from now on she’ll be safe. Just keep your spoiled little Dragons away from her!”
“Unfortunately, they have a special interest in Mirabel.”
“Well, in that case, I’m glad to hear they’re as vulnerable to a sword as any man.”
“Such threats will hardly deter them. I spoke metaphorically. A physical blade cannot hurt them. Any violence you try against them will only harm you.”
The ensuing silence filled her like a cold river to which she could sense no end with her darkened senses. She was concentrated in the small, floating point of her awareness which she sensed could sink into oblivion at any moment.
“You see,” the Lord continued in his even voice, “they feel we should be allowed to enjoy this world. We restrict them, naturally, but it’s impossible to prevent groups of them from getting through now and then and masquerading as young men from another keep.”
“You mean they’d like to pluck our maidens one by one for themselves, squeeze them dry of all their love and hope—of all those rich tasty feelings we’re so full of—then toss their empty skins away?”
“As usual you exaggerate, Loric, but in such a pleasantly picturesque way.”
“But don’t they realize Mirabel is—”
“Yes. That is precisely why they are so interested in her, because she is as vulnerable as a dream—their desires are her very nature—yet there is also the seed of their own power within her, an identity beyond their own gratification. Her beauty isn’t their imagination. Her body isn’t merely the inferior realm of their sensual indulgence. Part of her is only these things but another part of her is also their equal and this cannot help but fascinate them. They feel sorry for her, yet they are also irresistibly attracted to the boundaries of her existence. It seems to them that she might possibly have the best of both worlds.”
The prince laughed harshly. “She has neither world,” he said bitterly. “She’s too good for the kingdom, her blossoming powers will cause her nothing but trouble and yet she’s nowhere near ready to join the Lords. And now that I know about your wandering rebels I’m amazed she’s the only one like her around.”
“Don’t concern yourself about that. Mirabel’s father had to make a greater effort than you can ever conceive of to do what he did. The rest of us still don’t quite understand how he managed it. While we’re in this world we have to create our senses moment by moment, slipping them on like gloves in order to feel and perceive as you do. For us there is no space and time as you know them, no soil and seed and flower as separate forms and events. There is only the immutable force of life itself, undifferentiated, unconfined and limitless.”
“What you’re telling me then,” Loric sounded exhausted, “is that these pseudoyouths from Blackroot are jealous of Mirabel because she possesses both their immortal blood and the kingdom’s corruptible flesh, which means she doesn’t have to make a constant effort to sustain her senses and yet she also might not be limited to them either?”
“That’s as close to what I mean as you can get, Loric.”
“You know what? I’ve had it with your patronizing!”
“Let’s not argue in front of her.”
“She’s unconscious.”
“On the contrary, she’s been awake for some time now.”
“Mirabel, can you hear me, my love?”
She went fishing for her voice in the unfathomable darkness that was her self and was amazed when she found it. It was only a weak whisper, softer than water lapping against a shore, but at least it was there. “Yes…”
“How are you feeling?”
“I’m not.” She sensed a motion and guessed it was the changing contours of the bed from which Loric had abruptly removed himself because when he spoke again his voice was farther away.
“I thought you said…”
“She will be but it will take time.”
“How much time?�
�
“There won’t be any need to postpone the ceremony.”
Mirabel discovered she couldn’t raise her eyelids even though she thought she had determined their general location. It seemed she had to lift the whole world she wanted to see and not just two thin layers of skin. “Why can’t I open my eyes?!” she gasped, then sensed another wave and knew Loric had returned to sit by her side.
“Just rest now, sweetheart. Go back to sleep.”
Her whisper sounded like a moth fluttering in her ear, “What happened to me?”
“You were almost struck by lightning.”
It came back to her then as vividly as if her eyes were open and she was reliving it—the blinding flash where only a moment ago Dur and his companions had stood.
“The impact flung you back against a tree.”
“And I hit my head?”
“Not exactly…”
“You broke your back,” the Lord informed her bluntly.
“But then I should be…” She found that like a fish her strength was slipping out of her grasp and she didn’t want to hold on to it—the dark depths were sweet and beckoning…
*
“She won’t be able to resist.”
Mirabel resented resurfacing so soon, especially since this bit of information was somehow not to her liking. She should have died and part of her had—she could neither see nor move. Her spine was her flesh garment’s principle seam and if it tore, there was no hope of repairing its complex weave.
Had she sewn herself back together somehow? Perhaps the reason she was blind and immobilized was that she was wrapped from head to toe in bandages. She doubted it. Some intuition told her that if she was wrapped in anything, it was in rays of light so intense they burned her senses to cinders as they formed a protective and revitalizing cocoon around her while her nerve-threaded spine sewed itself back together, obeying her sharp will to live. One thing she could still do was think. The way she shaped her thoughts and the feelings behind them constituted who she was more than anything else. “Loric?” she whispered.
“I’m here, Mirabel.”
“Where am I?”
“In my chambers, of course.”
“How long…?”
“Don’t worry about that. It’s not important. What matters is that you will be yourself again soon.”
She was silent, no longer sure who this self was. Everything she had heard said about her as she rested like a caterpillar transforming into a butterfly was nourishing a different perception of herself. Her feelings were undergoing a metamorphosis. Already she knew that from now on she would seek to discover and to soar on the unique wings of her mixed nature no matter what the people said or thought of her. She also knew this would be dangerous. It was vital she be positive but cautious as she began exploring her mysteriously latent abilities.
“The next time you awaken,” she heard the Lord addressing her, “everything will be as it was before.”
“Where is my mother?” she demanded weakly.
“She is one with your father again.”
“You mean she died?”
“No. She is still who she always was and infinitely more.”
“But she is no longer herself!”
“Mirabel, don’t upset yourself,” Loric urged.
“That self you speak of was composed mainly of limitations and frustrations and fears. She does not suffer those anymore, I can assure you.”
Mirabel was suddenly sick to death of the division between the worlds. It was impossible for her mind and emotions to bridge it and yet, more than anything, she wanted to walk that impossible edge and somehow forge a path between them.
Chapter Nine
The next time Mirabel awoke, her blinking vision felt like a butterfly’s bright wings opening and closing before its first flight, its slender body the bridge of her nose. She couldn’t seem to focus, the world was so bright and colorful…and so strikingly beautiful it literally took her breath away.
She had her sight back! Some of her feeling had also returned but this was not quite as clear a cause for rejoicing. Every muscle in her body seemed to be screaming the same thing, Why have you lain in bed for so long?!
The first object she was able to focus on was moving, which meant it was a person, and judging by its proportions it could only be… “Megran!” She wanted to cry out but her voice remained the soft whisper of water caressing reeds growing along the shore.
“Mirabel?” The older woman abandoned what she was doing and hurried over to the bed as fast as she could. “No, don’t try to sit up, dear,” she scolded. “You’re weaker than a starved kitten!”
“And I’ve been blind like one too.” This time her voice had a little more substance to it.
“Well, that’s all behind you now, dear, but you really should pay more attention to the weather. Couldn’t you tell a storm was brewing? And you know perfectly well your beloved trees attract lightning.” She gently adjusted Mirabel’s pillows and then caressed her high forehead, relief and worry battling for supremacy in her expression.
“I promise…I’ll be…more careful.” She decided words were still too heavy for her to manage more than a few at a time. She had to pick them carefully. Each phrase had to be as worthwhile and faceted with meaning as a precious gem. She made an effort to smile. Every detail about the old lady—from the white hair that always escaped its egg-shaped bun at the nape of her neck to her plain brown skirt and coarse linen blouse—everything about her was so lovely it hurt. She perceived the weave in the materials the chef was wearing as though the threads were much larger than they actually were. She could see better than she ever had in her life, or perhaps it just seemed that way because she was so grateful to have her vision back. “How did you…get up…stairs?”
Megran rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t easy!”
“You shouldn’t have—”
“Nonsense, who else was going to look after you?” She smoothed the sheet on either side of Mirabel’s neatly tucked-in body, concentrating on it. “The prince would have liked to stay by you night and day but he has his duties to attend to, so I watch over you until sunset. Besides, it wouldn’t have done to let anyone else see…”
“See what?”
“I know about you, dear.” She sighed and seemed to consider sitting on the edge of the bed before thinking better of it. “I know for a fact now what I always suspected was true. You’re no ordinary young lady.”
“How was I cured?”
“Oh, Lords!” Megran clasped her hands over her generous bosom. “I don’t understand what I saw—I don’t understand it at all!”
“What? What did you see?”
Mirabel learned then that she had indeed been wrapped in what Megran described as luminous bandages, yet they had not been applied from the outside or similarly removed. Their vivid hues had emerged from within her and then retreated into a mysterious lair within her chest very much like a rainbow of snakes. While her body was cocooned within them, they had pulsed in a way that made Megran extremely nervous despite the prince’s repeated assurances of their benevolent nature. “It was as if they were feeding on you.” She shuddered remembering it.
Mirabel smiled inwardly even though she didn’t have the strength to lift the corners of her mouth again. She had healed herself. Abruptly it occurred to her that she didn’t recognize the room in which she lay propped up by a tender army of pillows. She had to be in the chamber from which Loric had emerged the night she saw her special Lord for the second time. “Beautiful!” she whispered, slowly turning her head from side-to-side to look around her.
“That it is.” Megran smiled, more than happy to change the subject. It was obvious she would have preferred to remain ignorant of the strange goings-on in the prince’s tower. “And a sight more livable than that tomb out there. This room was to be yours after you were wed. You weren’t to see it until then but destiny decided otherwise. I have some soup heating on the brazier for you.” This was the acti
vity Mirabel had interrupted when she awoke. “The prince was right as always when he said you would be coming around today with a mighty appetite. Would you like some soup, dear?” she asked hopefully. “I’ll spoon-feed you, of course. You’re weaker than a baby.”
Mirabel noticed then that there was indeed an empty cavern where her stomach had been, yet she had only just become aware of her hunger. Apparently it was going to take some practice getting all her faculties to work together again. Each one of her senses was a keep sustaining and nourishing the kingdom of her feelings but relations between them had been cut off while her mind’s ruler lay unconscious in her skull’s haunting throne room. “Yes…please…food!”
Megran looked very happy with this response. She returned to the brazier and, while waiting for her to return, Mirabel studied her surroundings.
She was in a dream space that was as much like being outdoors as a room could be. The floor was the darkly shining blue of a deep lake, and the walls were painted forest-green and sparingly decorated with vines on which bloomed flowers of all colors, shapes and sizes. The ceiling—into which the curving walls arched, the division not at all clear and further confused by a spray of wild white rosebuds—was black as the night sky and covered with stylized golden stars. The floor-length curtains—which had been pulled open to reveal diamond-paned windows framing a clear blue sky—were a sheer lavender. There wasn’t much furniture—the bed, the tall brazier where Megran stood stirring the special brew she had concocted to speed up Mirabel’s recovery, two red leather chairs placed in front of a fireplace as large and round as a small cave and a massive wooden chest, its carvings too intricate for her to make out from where she lay. The room was an exquisite little world.
Megran returned to the bed with a clay bowl in one hand and a silver spoon in the other. “Here we are! I don’t know how you haven’t starved. Three whole moons without eating! Whoever heard of such a thing!” She was making a valiant effort to pretend Mirabel had only suffered from a bad fever Landru had cured her of with his herbal potions. She was determined to forget the rainbow-like bandages that had embraced every inch of the young woman’s body with a disturbing, pulsing sensuality, colorful serpents that were themselves surrounded by a halo of blue-white light. “Now let’s see… I’ll just sit myself right on the edge of the bed here. It’s a wonderful feather mattress, isn’t it? That’s good. Doesn’t it smell delicious?” She held the steaming broth close to Mirabel’s nose.
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