Branches of Time, The (16 page)

He walked along the beach, heading North. Although he was still several hundred feet away, he began to feel its presence.
This doesn't make sense. It's all a figment of my imagination. I'm deluding myself to think that this thing can communicate with me. It doesn't even exist.
Just coming closer to it, however, helped him feel better.

Once he reached their usual meeting place, he sat down on the beach, a few feet away from her. The sea was calm. Following the rhythm of the waves, the shadow rose and fell placidly.

Bashinoir closed his eyelids. Breaking through the crisp morning air, the sunshine warmed his face as the singing of the birds gently comforted him. The presence of the shadow was so allaying that it melted away his doubts, anxieties, tensions, and fears. Finally, he was at peace with himself.

Bashinoir, can you feel me?

Astonished, he opened his eyes again: only the shadow was there, in front of him, bobbing along with the water. In fact, he was sure that he hadn't heard anything, but that he had felt those words
inside
of him.

No, that's impossible!
The desire to get up and walk away quickly overrode the confusion of emotions that washed through him.
It's nothing but an illusion!

As he was about to stand back up, he noticed how low the sun still was on the horizon.
How am I going to spend the rest of the day?
The idea of going back to wander through the woods, at the mercy of all kinds of anxieties, didn't appeal to him.
Those words are just the product of my own mind. I'm okay here, there's nothing wrong.

He again closed his eyes. A gust of icy wind blew against his face.

Don't be afraid.

He had heard it, this time there was no question about it. The three words had distinctly echoed through his head. He opened his eyes, looking around. He carefully observed the shadow.
I shouldn't be afraid?
The idea that it could not only transmit sensations, but now words, piqued his curiosity. He decided to close his eyes again and relax.

I'm here with you.

Fear and relief: someone or something was
communicating
with him. It was a shadow. Maybe it wasn't real, maybe it was just an illusion; but it would be so nice to finally be able to open his heart to another creature.

“Who are you?” he asked aloud. Talking to himself made him feel awkward, but a reply arose almost immediately in his mind.

I'm your friend.

“My friend?”

I sensed your suffering from very far away and I felt I couldn't just leave you alone.

Bashinoir's heart rejoiced. He continued repeating to himself that this was probably all in his head, that none of this was real, but he decided he couldn't just stop there, whether or not it was an illusion.

“Well, you got that right. I feel very alone. Terrible things have happened on this island.”

I'm only able to sense your presence.

“Here, right now, it's just me, but really I live with two women, who are almost always in the Temple. I'm the only person who can go out around the island.”

Why are there only three of you?

“Everyone else who lived on this island is now...dead.”

The shadow, kindly and tactfully, continued to ask him all sorts of questions, which Bashinoir, eager to confide in someone, readily answered.

Towards the end of one of his explanations, Bashinoir paused, uncertain of what to say next.

What is it? What's bothering you?

“Well, last night, the priestess told us some of her hypotheses. They were rather odd. She thinks...” and Bashinoir recounted what he had retained after hearing Miril's theories.

I'm sorry but I have to go now. I'll come back to see you soon, but I can't stay now.

“Wait! Tell me what you are!”

I will. Later. I promise. I'll be back soon and I'll answer any questions you have for me. See you then.

Bashinoir stared as the shadow darted away through the water.

35

Gazing at herself in the mirror, Aleia delighted in how beautiful she looked. She carefully examined every corner of her face, looking for changes or signs of aging. It seemed as if any potential wrinkles were under control, thanks in part to the herbal wraps the masters prepared for her. Satisfied, she smiled at her reflection, while the brush, moved by Nuris' expert hand, trailed through her auburn hair.

She looked up at the young woman, one of the many wives of Beanor who took turns waiting on her. There was only one woman in the palace who had the privilege of being served by the other wives. And that was her. The others had to content themselves with regular servants. Such an arrangement had made it very clear to the other wives that they were to defer to her, whenever they found themselves in her presence.

Her hair was perfect: soft, long, vividly red, just how the monarch liked it. There was a time when all it took was a slight movement of that mane to capture every speck of the king's attention and bewitch his body, after which he would fall helplessly at her feet. There was a time...before Beanor's bedroom was regularly invaded by younger consorts, women whom she herself had to teach to conform to all of the royal preferences and requirements.
Almost all of them
, she smiled to herself. There were a few secrets she kept to herself, as she would remain the only woman able to fulfill
every
one of his desires.

Zilia, another wife, was meticulously following the instructions Aleia had given her for her makeup. Two shadows trailed from the end of Aleia's eyes which, from the black of her eyelashes, blended into a scarlet red that tapered gradually towards her temples. No other wife in the palace was able to pull off such sophisticated makeup or, perhaps, none other dared to challenge her in this field. In either case, the latest proof of her supremacy pleased her immensely.

Aleia adjusted her bosom, pushing her breasts up towards the generous neckline that framed them.

Her long dress, a dark red color with black embroidery, perfectly matched the colors of her makeup and hair. No wardrobe, not even that of her crude husband, was comparable to hers.

Aleia was absolutely satisfied with her morning preparations. Zilia and Nuris had perfectly fulfilled their duties. During the day, she would reward them with special kindness.

Towards them, as towards any other wife, Aleia felt not just the simple desire to dominate them, but also an acute sense of duty and responsibility. Without the hierarchy she imposed upon them, with her rules and through her command, chaos would have broken out among the king's wives, and he would not have been the least bit pleased with that.

“You may go,” she told the two consorts, giving them a polite smile.

Before the door closed completely, Aleia assigned them one last task: “Oh...and send me the new girl. That maid.”

Although the king promoted women from the most disparate social classes to the rank of wife, this didn't mean that the first wife had any respect for them. As long as the new wife remained a regular underneath the royal sheets, she would find it difficult to gain acceptance from the other consorts. When the king, however, felt the need to switch his focus to another from his harem, the latest arrival, already in a tenuous position, would timidly begin to reach out and establish contact with the others. But only Aleia had the power to decide when she could truly come out of isolation. No spouse would have dared to extend a friendly welcome to any woman who the first wife had not yet officially accepted.

A knock on the door, followed by a request in an unusually high and confident voice, distracted her from her thoughts: “May I come in?”

“Of course! Please, make yourself comfortable!” Aleia invited her, leaving her dressing table and heading to the parlor.

Milia sat in front of her, looking her brazenly in the eye. Her smooth, blonde hair fell down to her shoulders. Her eyes were a dense, direct blue that candidly burst forth. She sat up straight, her legs together, her hands resting on her knees, her young and slender arms closed in a white tunic.

Aleia hated that impudent presence. Smiling cordially, she rang a little bell. Milia instinctively moved, as if she wanted to run away. Aleia acknowledged the young woman's involuntary reaction with a smug smile. As soon as a hidden door behind a column opened, Aleia commented: “Oh, here's my
servant
.”

She ordered an herbal tea for both of them, without asking the girl which flavor she preferred. In the blink of an eye, the servant came back with the steaming beverages. Aleia waited until she was alone with the young wife before breaking the silence. She took a certain pleasure in the awkward pause, even if the girl's cheeky stare led her to believe there was much work to be done.

“So, Milia. I imagine it's a nice change of pace to sit comfortably while someone else serves you something to drink,” she provoked her, sipping from her cup.

“Not quite, my lady. Despite my new position, I'm still forced to do what others tell me to do. You know I didn't come here by my own choice.”

What a personality this one has!
“Yes, well, pleasing our king in bed is certainly not the same thing as cleaning the houses of other people.”

Milia looked away, and Aleia noticed a hint of deep sorrow.

“Before...I had hope,” she confessed absentmindedly.

So that's what it's about!
“Oh, I understand. Listen girl, whatever that little hope was about, you'd be best to forget about it now that you're here. If the king ever becomes the slightest bit suspicious that you're not fully concentrated on your duties, and should he then find out why, the only thing you'll be able to hope for is death or escape. And, as you may already know, around here those two things are one and the same.”

A tear fell down the fair skin of Milia's face.

“Oh, come on! He's your king, after all. Don't think you're the first to leave a broken heart in your wake. Why worry about a few hateful stares directed towards the royal apartments from the hovels below?”

Milia answered by glaring at her, full of rage and obstinacy.

At least she managed to stop crying. She must think she's better than all of us. Let's see if that proves to be true!

“Milia, over time, you'll come to understand that although things around the palace might seem a little
strange
, it's so much nicer to live here than anywhere else outside of these walls. And – oh, silly me! I forgot my shawl on my bed. Would you please go get it for me?”

Milia nodded and got up, then paused. She glanced over at the bed, at the end of which laid the black garment the woman had asked her for.

She gave her an annoyed look, to which Aleia responded with a wide smile. Milia finally got up and strode over to retrieve the shawl, then dropped it brusquely into Aleia's lap. The first wife thanked her politely.

“You'll find out that being the king's wife entails a few responsibilities, as well as a world of pleasure. It's up to you to figure out how to behave, what to pay attention to, and how to best enjoy what your enviable position can offer.”

Rather than reply, Milia stared out the window, distracted, although Aleia didn't quite understand that was an expression of indifference.

“I don't think I slept well at all last night. Would you be so kind as to relieve my shoulders with a nice little massage from your young little hands?”

Milia looked at her, perplexed. “What hurts?”

“Just a little pain here.” She pointed to the top of her right shoulder.

“Maybe a healer would be better for that, don't you think?” Milia retorted.

“Oh no, I don't like them very much. And besides, I'm absolutely curious to discover the charms hidden within the touch of your hands.”

Milia, with a slight snort, stood up and walked behind Aleia, a grim expression spreading over her face.

Much to Aleia's surprise, Milia began massaging her with extraordinary grace. Her fingertips dove down to the right spot with a firm, yet elegant, movement. Although she didn't really have any pains that needed to be tended to, she felt extremely pleasant sensations.

Milia's hands traveled up Aleia's neck, alternating gentle touches from her fingertips with pressure of varying intensity, even using her palms and her elbows.

Aleia was in ecstasy. She closed her eyes, letting herself get carried away with those superb caresses and, without realizing it, moaned with pleasure until the pressure, after slowly decreasing, finally came to a complete stop.

The woman opened her eyes, coming back down to earth. She realized Milia was still behind her.
Why did she stop?
She loved being massaged. “Everything alright, Milia?”

“Yes, of course. And you, do you feel better?”