by Amy Sumida
Ayla silently sat up again and reached for him. It was an unconscious reaction, she was a healer and he was in pain. She stroked the hair back from his forehead and he looked over at her in shock. His eyes were full of terror and Ayla’s heart wrenched a little at the sight.
“The worst horrors are those that invade our minds,” she said softly, keeping her hand on his face to impart some of her calm. “Strength is not in being without fear but in overcoming those fears, even in our darkest moments.”
His small hold on control crumpled with her kind words and he rolled into her lap, his arms encircling her waist. Ayla looked down in dismay at the huge warrior crying in her arms like a child. She stroked his hair and then the broad expanse of his back as the sobs shook him. He gripped her tighter and finally she gave up and leaned forward to embrace him too.
There, in the dark, in her bed, she forgave him all of his faults and felt her heart start to open. She held him until long after he quieted and then he finally rolled onto his back. He pulled her with him, brought her up against his wide chest and kissed her gently on the forehead.
“Your people haunt me,” he said quietly. Ayla laid still against him, unsure of what to say or do. “The children are the worst, their stares are relentless and unforgiving.”
“The dead can be cruel,” Ayla spoke against his chest, “but I don’t believe you’re being haunted by them. It's your conscience that terrorizes you and so you are the only one who can stop it.”
“How?” Rannulf sounded so miserable that Ayla turned to look up at him. “How do I push away the memories?”
“You don’t,” she said simply. “You accept them. The past is unchangeable, even magic can't alter it.” She reached up and lightly touched his still-damp cheek. “You must embrace the pain with the knowledge that you will alter the course of your future with it. Only then will the tragedy take on meaning for you, only then can you move on.”
She was so amazing, this little woman with a heart filled with magic and a head filled with wisdom. How had he ever lived a moment without knowing her? How could he ever breathe again without her beside him? She was an oasis of life in a desert of death and he knew in that instant that not only was she his but he was hers.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ayla sighed deeply and closed her eyes. She let the sound of splashing water wash over her as she relaxed against large cushions propped against the low fountain. A breeze drifted across her face and rustled the leaves of the potted fruit trees that surrounded her. It wasn’t difficult to remain still for the servant girls who were diligently applying henna to her feet and hands in delicate and mystical patterns.
She’d have to remain out there on the balcony, draped carefully over pillows and thick carpets, while the thick, brown paste dried and dyed her skin a lovely shade of sienna. Then the girls would gently rinse the dried paste off to reveal the patterns beneath. It was a long process but Ayla loved the results. Not only did she feel more beautiful afterward but more secure as well. The ancient symbols she had the girls add in with the traditional were strong sources of protection and power. She had a feeling she would need all the help she could get.
She thought back to the night before, when Rannulf had lain like a babe in her lap, and she frowned. Something pulled her to him and threatened to bind her completely. She'd felt it from the beginning, even before he had arrived. He was the one.
Even as she thought it, she shook her head in denial. He couldn’t be the man she'd been waiting for. It was all wrong. He scoffed at her beliefs while he blindly followed corrupt teachings. He was a Norman Christian, the worst kind. Had he been born in the East they might have had a chance, he might have been more open to her ways like John was, but he was a Western Knight who staunchly supported a war that was conveniently labeled religious. Yet he was filled with remorse over that same war, over the things his people had done. She'd seen a part of the man he truly was last night and her heart had reached for his immediately. Surely a man like that could be reasoned with.
No! He would never accept her life. Men didn’t change, they expected their women to adapt instead. He would eventually demand that she give up her ways and turn Christian or he would use her and discard her. Either choice seemed like disaster and she had no idea what she would do. Her mind was cluttered with conflicting thoughts and so she did what anyone in her position must do. She drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Rannulf stalked through the palace distractedly. He was no good at practice this morning. Tancred had actually beaten him twice and was now gloating horribly. What was wrong with him? Of course he already knew the answer to that. Ayla. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Even now his feet were taking him right back to her because he couldn’t seem to stand being away from her more than a few hours. He felt like he was 15 again, following around Lady Anne like a puppy and fetching whatever she asked for. But he wasn't a boy anymore and he would not be controlled by his emotions. He stopped short and turned around to return to weapon’s practice.
To his credit, he made it a whole four feet before turning around again. If he went back to the men he’d continue to be distracted and easily beaten. He had to return to Ayla and purge her from his mind. He just needed a few minutes and then he could go about his day normally again.
He reached their chamber quickly, unlocked the door and rushed into the room. It was empty. He looked around in alarm. Had she escaped? She was a powerful witch, she could probably fly. He rushed to her laboratory and threw open the door. It too was empty. With images of Ayla floating out the window, Rannulf rushed to the balcony. He stopped short at the sight that awaited him, his fear suddenly turning into desire.
Ayla was lying on a beautiful carpet, her limbs spread out on pillows. She was clad only in gomlek and entari. Her salvar had been removed and both dresses were bunched around her thighs, exposing her golden legs that were now covered in intricate brownish-red designs. He knelt on the carpet beside her, immediately fascinated by the artwork.
He'd seen the patterns on the hands of some of the women here but he didn’t realize they painted their feet and legs as well. He looked up her alluring length and saw that her sleeves were pulled up and the designs ran up her hands to her forearms too. He reached out to touch them but stopped and looked guiltily up at her face. She was sound asleep.
Rannulf grinned in delight and gently traced the patterns on her arm. She stirred a little in her sleep and he froze until she settled back again. Then he moved his hand down her thigh to the patterns wrapping around her legs. He touched them reverently and lost himself in the delightful experience. He had no idea that she had awaken.
Ayla felt the gentle caress on her legs and wondered if the girl were about to rinse off the dried henna. Then she realized that her skin felt clean, free of the dry paste and the hands touching her were not the soft hands of the young girls. She opened her eyes cautiously to find Rannulf kneeling beside her, paying homage to her legs. The sight was so odd it took a moment to register, and when she did finally comprehend what was happening, she was too amused to feel offended.
“Is there something going on between you and my legs that I should know about?” She asked with a wry smile. Rannulf jolted out of his worship and looked up at her with a guilty expression.
“I’m sorry,” he said, without removing his hands. “I couldn’t help myself. These designs are so fascinating.”
She laughed a little and sat up to gently brush his hand away as she pushed down her skirts. Rannulf sat back in disappointment. He could only see what little was exposed on her hands and feet now.
“Why do you paint your body like that?” He leaned back on a cushion next to her and tried to mask his disappointment.
“The women here do it to enhance their beauty but I also use it as a form of protection.” She looked away from his penetrating eyes, now a shade of lusty green.
“The beauty part I understand,” he grinned widely at her. “But ho
w does it protect you?”
“Some of the designs I have painted on me are ancient symbols of protection,” She pulled up her sleeve a little and pointed out a five-pointed star. “They ward off evil and help keep me safe.” Rannulf touched the star and frowned a little, he wasn’t sure if he liked her painted with magic as well.
“This looks familiar,” he said.
“Your religion has adopted its use as well,” she explained. “Your priests say it represents the five wounds of Christ.” He relaxed a little, maybe the designs weren’t all that bad if they managed to incorporate Christianity into them as well.
“Do you feel that you need protection?” He pushed back the hair from her face, in an effort to gain her attention. It worked, she finally looked over at him.
“Protection is one of those things that’s best to have at all times,” she said diplomatically, “whether you feel that you need it or not.”
“Your words always seem to dance about your true meaning,” he raised an eyebrow. “Was that a yes or a no?” She sighed and pushed his hand away.
“Yes, I always need protection.” She looked at him steadily. “I'm an enchantress. I have more to worry about than most women.”
“Like what?” He pressed.
“Things that you have no wish to know about yet, Christian.” She shook her head sadly. “Things that you may never be able to understand.”
“I want to understand,” he took her painted hand in his. “Tell me what you’re scared of.”
“I'm not scared,” she protested. “I’m concerned and wary. You must admit that I'm not entirely safe here.”
“I will protect you,” he vowed. “don't worry about your safety.”
“You're a big part of my concerns,” she whispered.
“Me?” He frowned at her. “I would never hurt you. I know we haven’t known each other long but surely you've realized this?”
“You may never physically hurt me,” she conceded. “But it's not my body that I’m worried about.”
She looked over at him again and found him even closer than before. She looked up into his eyes and couldn’t look away.
“How else could I hurt you?” he whispered back.
“You’re already doing it,” she accused as she broke his spell and pushed herself to her feet.
He immediately gripped her wrist and pulled her back down, right into his lap. She fought him angrily, pushing at his chest and trying vainly to free herself.
“Stop this,” he chided gently. “You’re going to hurt yourself.” She finally settled down and stared determinedly away from him. “Why are you so upset?”
“I don’t want you touching me,” she ground out.
“You don’t…” Rannulf’s voice trailed off in disbelief and his concern was replaced with anger. “Fine,” he roughly pushed her off his lap and got up, “but I don’t think it’s really me you’re afraid of Lady. I think it’s what you feel for me.” He quickly left the balcony and second later Ayla heard him close and lock the chamber door. She looked down at the symbols of protection swirling around her and knew he was right. She was afraid of herself and these charms wouldn't help her with that.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Rannulf stalked through the halls like a wounded animal. He couldn’t understand why she had to fight him so strongly. She obviously knew it was a losing battle. Her little symbols of protection wouldn't stop his pursuit, or her desire to be pursued. Why could she not just give in?
He turned a corner and was surprised to find one of his men there, pressing a young Persian girl against the wall. She pushed and squirmed against him but her expression clearly showed her knowledge of the inevitable. The soldier laughed as her resistance waned and groped her more boldly.
Rannulf stood amazed by the scene as he realized why Ayla would not give in to him as this girl gave in to her fate. It wasn't in her to give up. Ayla would never cease fighting just because she knew she would lose. His lovely sorceress would fight till her last breath. As much as that frustrated him, it also made him brim with admiration for her.
He finally shook himself out of his reverie enough to realize that the little show was continuing. The girl had noticed him and was looking at him warily, perhaps wondering if her attacker had just found another accomplice. But the soldier was too intent on his goal to realize they were no longer alone. Rannulf cleared his throat.
“Go away and find your own wench,” the man called out without looking back.
“Is that you, Derrick?” Rannulf questioned calmly.
Derrick started in shock and turned around slowly to verify that it was Rannulf. He grinned sheepishly but kept his hands on the girl.
“Sorry, m’lord,” he said. “I didn’t know ‘twas you. We’ll just be moving along.” He started to pull the girl along with him but Rannulf’s hand was suddenly on his shoulder.
“The girl doesn’t seem to be enjoying your attentions, lad,” Rannulf admonished. Derrick looked back at Rannulf and frowned a little in confusion.
“Does it matter?” He didn’t like the way his knight was eying him.
“It matters to me,” Rannulf said quietly. “Let her go and find yourself one more willing. I’m sure the city is full of others who would give you better sport.”
“She’s just a servant,” Derrick complained.
“And your treatment of her reflects upon your honor,” Rannulf took one menacing step forward and Derrick immediately released the girl and backed away.
“Of course, m’lord,” he stammered. “I’ll be more careful in the future.” Rannulf nodded curtly at him and Derrick turned and walked briskly away, amazingly controlling his desire to run.
Rannulf looked over at the girl and frowned deeper when he saw her torn clothing. She clutched her garments to her in fear and Rannulf held out a reassuring hand.
“You don’t have to fear me,” he was getting tired of saying that. “Are you injured?” The girl frowned a bit as she concentrated on the foreign words.
“Not injured,” she said slowly.
“Good,” he said and started around her. As he passed by, she grabbed his arm and he looked down in surprise.
“Many thanks,” she said softly.
“You’re very welcome,” he smiled and would have turned away but she did not release his arm. He raised an eyebrow at her.
“Kameyla,” she pointed at her chest.
“Rannulf.” He nodded in understanding and pointed at his chest too. The girl smiled and let go of his arm. He smiled back and walked away.
Kameyla watched her hero disappear down the hall with a soft smile about her lips. No one had ever done anything like that for her before. He'd saved her so casually, as if it were an everyday occurrence for him. She wondered how many other girls he had protected and if they all worshiped him like she was now inclined to do.
“Rannulf,” she said the strange name to herself and smiled again. Someday she would thank him better.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ayla poured some powdered incense onto a glowing coal in the brazier. The sweet smoke drifted before her, surrounding the statues of the God and Goddess on her altar. She knelt before the images, seeking enlightenment, needing guidance.
She was falling in love with the Christian and no good would come of that. She'd held off his advances for the last two months, but it was becoming increasingly harder to dissuade him. More importantly, it was becoming increasingly harder for her to resist him.
She needed to speak to the gods, to gain some vision of the path she must take, but the journey beyond the world of mortals was risky. She could die along the way or go insane from the truth revealed to her. She picked up the silver chalice from the altar before her and looked into the red liquid thoughtfully. Was it worth the risk, just to ask the gods about a possible lover? It seemed a trivial thing but the repercussions of her choice could change her life forever. She made her decision and brought the drink to her lips. She would have to believe in hers
elf and the Divine, to bring her through unscathed.
The bitter liquid went down easily and Ayla put the empty cup back before lying down on the thick pile of furs spread before her altar. She spared one last glance at the laboratory door, it couldn’t be locked but at least it was shut. Then she let herself slip into the comfort of the thick furs and closed her eyes.
When she opened them, it was deep night. She sat up in confusion, looking around her laboratory. How long had she been out? It felt as if she had just lain down. She got to her feet hesitantly and went to open the door and go back into the sleeping chamber. A huge weight of disappointment fell on her as she realized the attempted contact must have failed. She had no memory of speaking with the Divine.
She opened the door and a thick mist flowed in, circling her feet. She gasped and looked out into the darkness of what should have been her sleeping chamber. Instead, there was only the mist-covered floor and the open, night sky, filled with stars. She walked further out in wonder and when the door closed behind her, she was completely encased in the heavens.
“Welcome, daughter,” a woman’s soothing voice flowed around her. Then the Lady herself appeared.
She glowed like the moon and her hair was the night, swirling around her like inky smoke. She wore a long length of silky fabric that flowed over one shoulder and across her hips, molding to her body and drifting in the air around her. In its folds, brilliant colors swirled and changed.
“Mother Umai,” Ayla said softly and dropped to her knees.
The woman smiled softly and walked up to her. She towered over Ayla but when she reached down and took Ayla’s hand, her grip was soft. She lifted Ayla up and kissed her cheek.
“Why are you troubled, child of my heart?” The woman’s smile brought tears to Ayla’s eyes and she had to swallow hard before answering.
