22 Nights (32 page)

Merin struggled to his feet. “Then let’s hurry, but not until we gather a bit of food and drink some water. It’ll be two days at the very least, more likely four, before we reach the campsite where we left our supplies.”

Bela wrinkled her nose at the water Merin suggested they drink. True, the water in the pond did not speak, not that she had heard, but did that mean it was untainted? Did that mean it was safe for her to take into her body, when a child might be growing there?

She longed to fall back against the soft grass and sleep, even though she had just had a nap inside the mountain. But Nobel was coming, and Kitty was gone, and she had a deep desire to get far away from this unnatural mountain.

THEY
were husband and wife, at least for the present time, and Merin truly believed he could make a lifetime with Bela. A good lifetime. He could love her, he
did
love her, in a way he had not thought possible before coming to the village of the Turis. His love for Bela had bloomed unexpectedly, and it had grown stronger on this very mountain. He’d come close to losing her at the hands of an assassin and had been forced to imagine a world without her; that was one reason. They had consummated their marriage; that had not hurt matters at all.

But he did not entirely trust what he felt. They remained atop a mountain filled with a living crystal that had the ability to reach into his mind. Even though he could no longer hear words, even though the crystal seemed not to be invading him at the moment, how could he be sure he was not being unduly influenced? How could he know he was not being used simply to produce the child Kitty demanded?

Had the crystals sent him the sexual dreams which were surely meant to arouse? Even now, he could see Bela’s naked body awash in a rainbow, he could hear her cries of pleasure.

When they were back in the village, away from Kitty and the rest, and his feelings for Bela remained unchanged, then perhaps he could consider remaining married to her. Perhaps then he could believe that what he felt was real, and not some kind of magic that had stolen their control.

Bela seemed to be having the same thoughts, the same doubts. They lay upon the ground in the shadow of an overhang that protected them from the night winds, but she did not make a move toward him, not as she had last night.

“I have always thought myself a strong woman,” she said after a long period of silence.

“You are,” Merin said. “Too strong, sometimes.”

“That’s what my mother says.” She sighed.

“But strength is not a bad thing to possess, Bela. I’m glad you’re a strong woman.”

“Most of the men who have been so foolish as to attempt to woo me wanted to tame me. They seemed to think it was their duty, or even their right.”

Merin smiled. “I don’t imagine any of them lasted very long.”

“Not long at all,” she responded.

He took a deep breath of the cool night air, happy for his freedom, glad to be out of the cavern and away from the crystal voices. “I do not wish to tame you,” he said honestly.

“I know,” she whispered. “That is one of the things I lo—like about you.” She stuttered only a little, but he understood. She’d spoken words of love before, but surely she was suffering the same doubts he was about the genuineness of those emotions.

“Honestly,” she continued, changing the subject deftly, “I never understood my mother’s objections to my chosen lifestyle until I saw that drawing of our daughter—if there is a daughter—standing tall with a sword in her hand. It was a rough depiction, that’s true, but she looked so determined, so incredibly strong. What sort of battle requires a destined warrior and a magical sword?” Her voice rose to a pitch that spoke of near panic. “What monsters must she be called to fight? This child of ours does not yet exist, might never exist, and already I am worried for her. If she does come into this world, she would be better off a wife and mother, protected by the men around her.”

“You have never wished protection for yourself,” Merin said, and then he smiled. “Woe be to the man who might be so foolish as to suggest you need protection.”

“I know, but I do wish it for my children. If I have children,” she added quickly. “Who carved those pictures?” she asked angrily, and then she added in a sullen voice, “My breasts are not so large and they do not sag, and though your manly appendage is of a considerable size, it is not as large as your arm, a fact for which I am very grateful. And who or
what
would feel the need to be so
specific
in their depictions?”

“We may never know the answers to any of these questions,” Merin said calmly.

“That’s so unfair,” Bela muttered.

“I suppose it is, in a way, and yet . . .”

She rolled to face him, but still did not move close. “And yet what?”

“What if we were given a glimpse of what might be?” Merin suggested. “Not what is destined to be, not a future that is unchangeable, but what could happen, if we choose. There might already be a child, but then again, that might not be so. There was more than one possible future depicted, including one we have already moved past.”

They had not died in the cavern, and Merin vowed he would not allow Nobel to harm Bela. Kitty had been left behind, concealed deep in the mountain where no one would ever find her, so Nobel would never possess the magical sword he desired.

“What if there are a thousand or more possibilities before us, and whatever future comes is that which we make? If we have a daughter, and if she is very much like you, then perhaps one day she will choose to be a warrior. If that is her calling, we cannot keep her from it, no matter how much we might wish for another life for her. You would be miserable if you led the kind of life your mother wished for you.”

Bela made a comical face, and Merin smiled.

“Do you disagree?”

“No.”

“My mother wished a different life for me, too,” Merin said. “She wanted me to become a blacksmith, like my father, but I was determined to go to Arthes and become a sentinel. She never forgave me.”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

“Ten years ago. The visit was not a pleasant one, I’m afraid.”

“Do you have any other family?”

Merin hesitated. “My mother remarried after my father died, and she had another child, one who seemed to be more agreeable than I had been. Savyn was apprenticing to a wheelwright when last I saw him. He was fifteen then, already a strong lad and the obedient son I had not been.”

“Was your mother not impressed by your success?”

“If she was, she did not show her pride in any way. She died two years after my last visit, before the war with Ciro began, and I have not been back.”

“Not even to see your brother?”

Merin shrugged to emphasize his indifference. “I left home when I was fifteen. Savyn was seven at that time, a child. My few visits since then were brief and more unpleasant than not. He does not know me and I do not know him. What would be the point of seeking out a relationship? ”

Bela sat up. “But he’s your brother!”

“Half brother,” Merin said sullenly.

“He is still your blood,” she said, and then she sighed and reclined upon their hard bed again. “My brothers can be maddening, but I love them dearly. Don’t you dare tell them I said so!” she added, and Merin smiled.

“Maybe one day, when I have the time, I’ll travel down that way and see if Savyn is still living in Childers.” He had not thought of the boy in a long time. What he remembered most about his little brother was Savyn’s easy smile, that and the fact that people said they looked alike. They both had their mother’s curly hair and brown eyes, though Savyn’s eyes were warmer and lighter in color and mood than Merin’s had ever been.

“I’m hungry,” Bela grumbled.

“You did not like the tasty leaves we found by the waterfall? ”

“They were bitter and not at all filling,” she said. “I want bread. Meat. Hot oats. Boiled tubers.”

Merin’s stomach growled. “We might reach the packs we left outside the cave entrance in two or three days. I’d guess.” If they were lucky. “We have oatcakes and dried fruit mix there.” Enough to finish the journey to the bottom of the mountain, at least.

“Yum,” Bela muttered with a decided lack of enthusiasm.

 

INSTEAD
of collecting their possessions and setting out for the village and freedom, Leyla and Savyn had settled once again in the hut which had become a home of sorts. Every day they found an excuse to remain. Every day they said that the following morning would be soon enough to set out.

And yet they did not leave. They existed together in uncomfortable silence, eating and sleeping together and never touching any more than was necessary. There was not, could not be, a repeat of what had happened on the forest floor.

Leyla reasoned that Savyn was not yet ready to leave this place. Since he had learned to use the stick, it only made sense that he take some time and become more comfortable with it before going on his own. He was beginning to get around more confidently, with the aid of that stick and his remaining senses. His sense of smell was keen, and he could feel an object with his fingers and know it. He could hear the rustle of her skirt or the twittering of a bird at a great distance, as he listened with great care.

Savyn could feed himself with no trouble, and he could drink from the tin cup without a single spill. He could take care of bathing himself and could see to more personal matters on his own. He said he wanted to try shaving himself, but Leyla insisted on performing that chore herself. Not only was she not ready to put a razor in his hands, it was the only time she was allowed to touch him, and that was a pleasure she was not ready to give up.

As they lay in the dark, silent and strained, Leyla tried to convince herself that this was what she’d wanted all along. Savyn was no longer tied to her; he did not feel any obligation toward her at all, so he could go on with his life. Whether he regained his sight or not, he would be well. Already he was walking more assuredly, using the stick he had found as if it were another part of himself, relying on his other senses while his eyes remained useless. He was more confident now, more ready to go out on his own. He did not need her.

So why did she cry? She shed her tears silently, stifling the need to blubber as she attempted to convince herself that this was what she wanted. A new life; Savyn free to find love, marry a woman nearer his own age, and have children. When they had been in the forest and he had been inside her, it had seemed that nothing had changed between them. She’d thought for a brief and wonderful moment that they could find a way to be together. They could start fresh, with new names, in a place where no one knew either of them. She could lie about her age, or be like Savyn and simply not care what others thought. Heaven knows she’d been told often enough that she did not look her age, and her witch’s blood would give her a longer life than most—a trade-off for the burden of the ability she had never wanted. If she chose to keep the secret, no one would know she was older than Savyn, no one would know that she was—or rather had been—monied and titled by marriage, while Savyn had worked with his hands to eke out a living. They could literally start over. Together. All that had gone through her mind in a brief and wonderful moment of bliss.

And then Savyn had spoken and he’d ruined all her silly dreams, which was no more than she deserved for what she’d done. She should hurt. She should carry this pain with her forever.

Somehow, she would find a way to start over alone, and so would Savyn. He could not continue as a wheelwright or a swordmaker if his sight did not return, but he had a lovely singing voice and could play the lute very well. He had never considered music as a potential livelihood, but he could sing and play with his eyes closed, so he could sing and play blind, if necessary. Considering how well he was getting around these days, she could only imagine that there were other things he could do to get by. He had a brother in Arthes. They were not close, but surely this brother would help, given the circumstances. Once they reached the village, they had only to wait until travelers on their way to the capital city came through. She would convince these travelers to take Savyn with them; she would make sure, with her gift, that they’d take good care of him and deliver him safely to his brother.

Someone would help him; someone would love him. That someone could not be her.

“Stop it,” Savyn said harshly.

“Stop what?” she asked, working very hard to keep her voice clear, just as she had kept her crying silent.

“I can smell your tears,” Savyn said, his voice filled with wonder at the new ability, and even with sorrow. Perhaps even guilt.

“It has been a long day and I’m afraid,” she said honestly.

“You will be fine,” he said gruffly. “With your beauty, I imagine you can walk into any village or city in Columbyana and capture the heart of the richest man available. If your beauty is not enough, you can touch the man you choose and make him love you.”