Destiny of the Light: Shadow Through Time 1 (3 page)

T
alis’s searching hand was quickly followed by a second, yet it was only after he plunged his whole upper body into the pool that he discovered her limp form and dragged his Princess free. Blurred through his own wet lashes, he saw that her eyes were open and sightless. Though he felt sick with dread he thought quickly. Withdrawing his life-force from Magoria, he transferred it to her, barely noticing the crack like two mountains colliding which heralded the disappearance of the shimmering pool.

A quick prayer to the Great Guardian flitted through his mind, and then in the sudden silence that descended on the Plain, Talis began the Rite of Revival, murmuring age-old words that would take a portion of his life and make it hers.

Fear clutched at his heart. Fear and guilt. No Guardian had lost a life through the Sacred Pool before, and for this to happen to the White Princess …

Rolling her over on his legs, he pressed her pale forehead to the ground, to make her one with Ennae and receptive to its gifts. Long, wet strands of royal white hair dragged across the dirt and a trickle of water escaped her mouth.

‘… Thus do I give thee the life thou hath lost.

With a part of my own do I barter the cost.’

Talis swayed as he felt the weakening of his own body, but she remained still. Fearing the rite had failed him, he was about to try again when his Princess jerked and coughed, her retching a joy to his ears.

Not so to hers. ‘God … I’m going to die,’ she said.

Talis had no time to tell her she already had before the next convulsion gripped her and he could do nothing but steady her as she emptied the Magorian water she had swallowed onto the floor of the Plain. The Rite of Resuscitation had weakened his Guardian power or he would have used it to settle her stomach and end her discomfort. As matters stood he could only give her the comfort of his presence while he listened to her wretchedness with a sympathetic ear.

At last her convulsions slowed and though she trembled, he was able to help her sit before him, her pale, unsteady hand rising to push back the long strands of hair that had covered her face. In the same moment as she said, ‘Who are you?’ Talis realised he had made a terrible mistake.

‘My … Queen,’ he stammered, seeing her clearly for the first time. ‘I had expected … We had thought the Princess Khatrene would —’

‘Ca-treen?’ She shook her head. ‘My name is Catherine.’ Her gaze drifted to the near horizon of thickening mist and to the ground beneath them before darting to the heavy sky. ‘What is this place? The sky is brown.’ She looked back to him, his features, his clothing. ‘You’re brown. Everything’s brown. Oh God.’ Her hand came up to cover her mouth. ‘I’ve gone mad. I’m hallucinating about the brown kingdom.’

Talis raised a wavering finger and shook his head. ‘You are the Queen Danille. I know your face, your hair, your eyes …’ He touched his own chest. ‘I know about the scar that lies above your breast —’

Some of the horror faded from her eyes. ‘My mother had a scar. Her name was Danielle.’ Before Talis could avert his gaze she pulled down the neck of her strangely cut shirt to show smooth unmarred flesh that could not be the Queen’s. ‘Here,’ she pointed at her collarbone. ‘Did you know my mother?’

Talis simply stared as she pushed herself up to stand wavering above him. On her legs were warrior pants of a hue he’d only ever seen in the Sacred Pool, but a different hue from her shirt which was the same magic colour as her eyes. Royal eyes. Their King Mihale had returned from Magoria in similar attire, but to see pants on a woman shocked Talis. He fought to hide his reaction.

‘Who are you,’ she demanded, ‘and how did you know about my mother’s scar?’

Talis struggled to concentrate on her words.

‘Do you know my brother, Michael? I’m here to find him.’ She frowned then, and the intensity of her gaze was suddenly as familiar to Talis as the land was unfamiliar to her.

It was the Princess Khatrene, somehow grown older. And without the benefit of her memories, which he still held for her, she had no knowledge of Ennae or her place in it. This was her confusion, and his own did little to help her. In that moment he remembered his duty.

‘My Lady, I am Talis of the House of Guardians, First Man of your brother the King Mihale and Royal Champion to the White Twins of Ennae.’ By the time he’d reached the ending of this speech he had risen to one knee with bowed head. The thin warrior plaits on either side of his face, pushed by the wet hair behind, brushed the ground at her feet. She took a step backwards.

‘King
Ma-hale? White Twins?’ She shook her head. ‘I must be lying in a hospital bed drugged to the eyeballs.’ She looked around herself as though seeking an exit.

‘My Lady does not remember her childhood here —’

‘My childhood?’ Her gaze narrowed. ‘Well, that’s convenient. I lose my childhood memories in an accident when I’m ten and now you’re telling me I spent those years here?’ She looked around and shook her head. ‘I feel like I’ve stepped into a sepia photograph.’

‘My Lady, you lived here as a princess and I was your Champion, though you remember me not.’ Honour urged him tell her that the loss of her memories was an accident of his making, yet with no ready solution to that problem he set his mind instead to reassuring her. ‘There was a war. Northmen attacked and were aided by one of our own. Your father the King was killed by this traitor, Roeg. Together with your mother and brother you were sent into exile in Magoria —’

‘No.’ She laid a hand over her unsettled stomach and shook her head. ‘I am not the little princess of the brown kingdom fairytale. My father died in a car accident, the same accident where I suffered amnesia. I know that because my mother told me. She …’ The Princess glanced away. ‘She wouldn’t lie. The only time I’ve spent here is in my imagination.’ Her eyes focused inwards and a sadness seemed to come over her then. ‘If I’d actually lived here she wouldn’t have pretended it was a fairytale. She would have told me it was real. Although … now that I come to think of it, Michael did say it was real. But I thought he meant, real like Santa Claus. Real like the tooth fairy. Not …’

Her frown deepened and Talis could think of nothing to say that would help her believe him. And neither could he ease his own bewilderment. The White Princess should be only thirteen years old, the same age as his betrothed, Lae.

‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ she asked and Talis quickly smoothed his expression into one of obedience.

‘My Lady, I am confused. You are the twin of My Lord and King who is … younger, than the years you obviously carry.’

‘You’re telling me I look older than Michael?’

Talis heard the tone. ‘I do not say this to insult you. My Lady.’

‘How old am I supposed to be?’

‘Thirteen, My —’

‘Well, he was fifteen when I last saw him and that was ten years ago.’

Talis did some rapid calculation. ‘When our Lord and King returned to us he should have been eleven and yet he appeared … older.’ As did the Princess Khatrene. ‘My Lady, I fear that Magoria turns five years for each one of ours.’

‘Magoria?’

‘The Otherworld where you lived in exile. You will not remember, but it is a brightly hued world of illusion and dreams. A waiting place —’

‘Oh, I remember it all right. And trust me, there’s nothing illusory about it. In fact, it’s more real than this place.’

Talis felt his beliefs battered yet again. ‘My Lady remembers Magoria?’

‘If it’s the place with drive-through McDonald’s and the disappearing ozone layer then yeah, I remember it well.’

‘No other …’ Talis’s words dried in his mouth. She was staring into the haze, but with a listening attitude. ‘Do you hear something, My Lady?’ He turned in a circle. Nothing.

‘No, it’s just …’ She tapped her forehead again. ‘He’s telling me I should trust you. That we need to get going. That you’ll take me to my brother.’

‘Indeed, My Lady —’ he broke off at the expression on her face, his questions put aside for the moment as she turned away, hand low on her belly.

‘I think I’m going to —’

Talis winced as her stomach clenched on itself again and more of the water she had swallowed resurfaced. ‘The journey from Magoria is hard, My Lady,’ he said, to comfort her. ‘Your own royal brother slept for two days afterwards.’ She was on her knees now and he crouched beside her, holding her thin shoulders. ‘Such trials on the weak body of a woman —’

‘Oh, spare me, will you?’ Her body trembled and the sickness came on her again. She spat several times before taking the flask he offered to rinse her mouth. ‘God I feel sick.’ She raised the flask, then spat out its contents and retched again. ‘What the hell is that?’ she demanded when she could speak. ‘Custard?’

‘My Lady, it is water.’ Talis frowned, then remembering the air-thin water of the Sacred Pool said, ‘Perhaps the water of our world is thicker than that of Magoria.’

She raised her head and fixed him with a wavering stare. ‘Or
perhaps
this is just a bad dream and if I try really hard I’ll wake up.’

‘I shall take you to the King,’ Talis said quickly, and pulled off his cloak to lay it across her shoulders. A heartbeat later she wavered and he caught her.

‘I want … Michael,’ she said, then went limp.

‘I can carry My Lady,’ Talis said as though to reassure himself of his intention as he pulled the cloak around her and cradled her to his chest.

Then he stood and a hot breeze brushed his cheeks, stirring the drying strands of white hair around her face. Her lips parted and her tongue, which was not brown, came out to wet them. So much of the White Twins was not brown that Talis could have stood in silent awe marvelling over the obvious divinity of the royal line whose stark colouring differed from every other race on Ennae. Only her eyes opened and they gazed into his, the magic colour of them deep enough to see into his soul. And then she smiled.

Talis himself remained still, but in that instant his soul was swept away. His arms, which held her, felt suddenly not his own, and the body that would bear her up, weak and unsure. An unsettled ache a hundred times fuller than first-longing overcame him, saturating his body and his mind until he felt his skin would burst.

‘Don’t drop me. I bruise.’

Talis could only stare at her.

‘The Royal Champion is a Guardian,’ she said and Talis forced himself to nod. ‘I remember, Michael told me that. Guardians have powers and they protect people.’ Her smile faded and they stared at each other before she said, ‘You are going to take me to my brother?’

He nodded again, unable to speak.

‘Okay. Just do the genie thing and wake me up when we get there.’ Her eyes slid shut and Talis found himself needing breath. And answers. The Princess Khatrene appeared closer in age to himself, near three and twenty. Not a girl with a chest no bigger than a boy and no shape to curve a palm into. This Khatrene was a soft, warm, beautiful —

Talis slashed at the thoughts that would dishonour his position. He had expected to escort a child and now carried a woman. Such were the facts. But duty was still duty.

Serve, honour, obey.

He told himself this as her eyes fluttered open and focused over his shoulder. ‘We’re still here?’

‘My Lady, yes.’

‘What was your name again?’ Her gaze wavered towards him.

‘Talis, My Lady. ‘Talis of the House of —’

‘Talis,’ she cut over him, her eyelids sliding shut. ‘Are they with you?’

Instinctively, his hand moved to cover the face of the Princess. A second later he felt the chill of a blade pressed to his throat.

N
oorinya rose from her mat at the whistling call which marked the patrol’s return. She nodded for her Left Hand to follow and pushed out of the fibre shelter her sisters had built for her the night before. Though she had risen to become leader of all the Plainsmen and should feel pride in that position, it galled her that their numbers were so few that they must all live together for protection. The old way of family tribes had caused far less dispute over leadership. And now one came towards her who seemed daily to want to battle for that role.

Yet before she greeted him, Noorinya turned in a circle to probe the near-mists with her mind as the old women had taught her. No other objects were close. Only the shelters of her people and the incoming patrol. Safe then to speak aloud.

‘Ho, Monit,’ she called to him as his patrol emerged from the thick haze of noon. ‘What do you bring?’ She nodded at the warrior in their midst carrying a draped figure, then signalled with a forward fist to add an imperative to her question.

Monit shrugged, the subtle intonation in his movement indicating lack of fear. ‘Entertainment? Slaves?’

They drew closer and Noorinya felt her skin prickle. ‘I think not,’ she said as they came to a halt before her in the centre of their camp. ‘One does not make a slave of the King’s Champion.’

Monit made a sound and the others of the patrol fell back a pace, hands on their weapons. Their cloth was a pale drab to blend with the surrounding mists. A trick to mislead the eye. A trick that would not normally gull a warrior of such high rank.

The Champion met her gaze, ‘Noorinya,’ and bowed his head to acknowledge her leadership. ‘How is it with you?’ The bundle in his arms moved and he tightened his grip. ‘I see you have recovered well from your wounds.’

Noorinya smiled. Clever of him to remind her of the debt she owed him. ‘I am a fed and fearsome opponent now, Guardian. I do not fall to the first warrior who crosses my path.’

‘Kert Sh’hale was not the first warrior to cross your path, I’ll warrant.’

She nodded. ‘But he was the first to best me, and would have killed me if you had not stayed his hand.’ This she said for her men’s benefit, as much as the warrior’s.

Talis held her gaze steadily. ‘I had not thought to call in the debt, but,’ he glanced at her forces and then back to her, ‘my King requires me elsewhere.’

Noorinya inclined her head to acknowledge his petition, but was not yet ready to grant it. She moved closer to the Champion and marked how his hold on the bundle tightened. Curious. Strange too was the warmth that came to her from the memory stone which hung on a thong at her throat. Ignoring the Champion, she raised a hand and clutched the stone, closing her eyes the better to gather its message. Yet nothing clear came to her. A stirring of fate and … a child’s cry? What portent was this?

She opened her eyes and concentrated on the problem before her. ‘How did you come to be taken so easily, Guardian? And what do you bear?’ she asked. ‘A wounded fellow —’

‘My burden is my own concern, Plainswoman. I bid you release me and let me continue on the King’s business.’

Noorinya’s hands moved in the missed-clap signal to show the Champion his bluster had not affected her.

She spoke to Monit. ‘What is this … King’s business that the Champion bears?’

‘I did not see,’ Monit replied. ‘Nor did I care. A woman by the shape, but the warrior’s quick hand concealed her from us.’

She turned back to Talis. ‘I will see this King’s business.’ She pointed at the bundle. ‘There may be profit in it for us.’

A murmur of approval ran through the patrol and Noorinya flicked a glance to Monit, who stilled the sound with a gesture.

Talis did not move to obey but simply held her gaze. Noorinya liked his bravado. She raised a spread-finger fist and smiled. He was brave and strong, this son of the House of Guardians. And not unattractive. For the second time in as many meetings she found herself wishing for a man like this at her side. Was that the message of the memory stone? A child with this Guardian?

Again the bundle moved and Noorinya’s smile widened. ‘Your burden would make itself known,’ she said.

Talis frowned. ‘As you honour the debt you owe me, I beg you to release me now.’ He took a test step away from her but Noorinya shook her head.

Behind the Champion Monit made a motion to cut the bundle away but Noorinya flicked a finger to negate the act. She would know this now, but she would not unman the Champion any more than he had unmanned himself.

She drew her sword and short knife and laid them at her feet, nodding for the others to move well back. Then she raised open hands and stepped close enough for her coarse breast-bindings and matted hair to brush the protective arm guarding his burden. ‘I am your friend, Champion,’ she said. ‘We share the battle brotherhood.’

Talis shook his head. ‘I am my King’s servant and no friend to the Plainsmen.’

‘Yet you saved my life.’

‘I protected a son of the House Sh’hale from dishonouring himself. That is all.’

‘Yet The Dark has said that all Plainsmen must die.’

He held her gaze and said nothing.

Noorinya knew it was time.

She took a clear-breath and calmed her body. ‘If you will not show me that your burden is worthless I will think it a treasure and fight you for it.’

Again the men murmured but this time Monit silenced them without need of prodding. Noorinya kept her attention on the Champion. She lowered her hands slowly and laid them across the dark fabric of his cloak. There was a body beneath her hands, no doubt. Soft, and alive. ‘Is this King’s business, or Champion’s business?’ she asked him.

Talis said nothing.

‘I think my men came upon you before you could prove yourself a man.’ She smiled again. ‘And in the confusion of your thwarted desires you were easily caught.’

Despite the tension in his arms, the Champion found courage to return her smile. ‘It is true, a woman can make a man weak.’

Noorinya lowered her voice. ‘I would have you puddle into the cracks at my feet, Champion.’

They regarded each other silently for a moment before he said, ‘Not this day.’

Noorinya nodded. She would never have this man as ally, but by the powers she would get him to her bed, there to sire on her a warrior such as the Plainsmen had never seen before. And while he was there, she would give him such pleasure as would make him dream of her forever. This was the message of the memory stone which in such close proximity to the object of its interest now throbbed at her throat. ‘The time will come,’ she said.

Talis saw invitation in the Plainswoman’s eyes. What he didn’t see were her fingers on the edge of his cloak until she had torn it back to reveal the face he had hitherto concealed.

Noorinya gasped, ‘Blood of the Ancients,’ and made a warding gesture before jumping to regain her weapons. As Talis had dreaded, the sharp contrast between the royal hue of his charge and the colouring of their land made her identity clear. Only one other in the kingdom matched her; her royal twin, Mihale.

‘Stay,’ Talis shouted, ‘all of you keep back,’ as the Plainsman drew swords and tightened the circle.

The Princess pushed at his chest and Talis set her to her feet. ‘Who are these people?’ she asked, wavering and then clinging to his arm, reminding Talis of the weakened state of her body. Then she stiffened. ‘They’ve got swords.’

‘They are Plainsmen, My Lady,’ he replied. ‘Sworn enemies of your brother.’

‘Plainsmen,’ she repeated, then frowned as though searching out memories Talis knew were in his own keeping. ‘Plainsmen are … dangerous. But Guardians have powers. Can’t you magic us away?’

‘My Lady.’ He struggled to control his own fears for her life. ‘Guardian power heals. It opens the way between the worlds. That is all. I cannot “magic us away”.’

‘Then …?’

‘We must stand and fight and you must trust me for your safety.’ Talis risked a glance at Noorinya’s men. The patrol was poised to attack yet were not advancing. He looked back to the Princess and feared he had no words to make the strange appear familiar to her.

Her answering gaze was intense. ‘Are you going to take me to my brother?’

‘I give you my solemn vow —’

‘Then I’m going to trust you.’ She looked at the Plainsmen around them, then back to Talis’s drawn sword. ‘Are you a good fighter?’ she asked.

Talis nodded and he called to Noorinya, ‘Release us now and you will not be harmed.’ He was his King’s First Man and he would not let the White Princess die.

Noorinya shook her head. ‘Her brother is my enemy. I will have her life.’

Monit clapped a fist against the hilt of his sword. ‘Best we kill them both and hide their bodies.’

There was muttering of agreement from the other Plainsmen at this.

‘I would honour my debt to you,’ Noorinya called to Talis. ‘Stand aside, Champion, and live.’

Talis was shaking his head even as Monit called to her, ‘For what purpose?’

Noorinya glared at her lieutenant. ‘For any purpose I choose, Monit. ‘This is my right as leader.’

‘Not if it threatens the safety of the tribe.’

‘I would have him live.’

‘So you can keep him here as a tame bed-warmer?’ The scorn in Monit’s voice was enough to turn Noorinya’s knife in his direction. Talis saw his chance. While they fought he would break for freedom.

‘My Lady, prepare to flee,’ he whispered.

‘Wait,’ the Princess said, and stared out past the crude Plainsman shelters into the golden mist. Her head was tilted, as though straining to hear a faint voice. ‘Tell them they can ransom me to my brother,’ she said softly. ‘Keep them busy with negotiations. Help is on its way.’

‘My Lady, how can you —’

She looked up into his eyes and Talis felt the storm inside himself stir. ‘I trusted you. Now you must trust me,’ she said.

He nodded. ‘I will die with that trust in my heart,’ he said softly and lowered his sword. ‘Noorinya of the Plainsmen,’ he called. ‘Cease this bickering.’ The Plainsmen around them fell silent. Noorinya drew herself up to her full height, nearly the height of Talis himself, and turned scornful eyes on him. ‘I call you to parley,’ Talis said. ‘Will you negotiate on behalf of your people for the ransom of the White Princess?’

‘Ransom?’ called a voice from the circle, and a thrill of excitement ran through the tribe which Monit had difficulty stilling.

Noorinya sheathed her weapons and placed her hands behind her back. As one, every person in the camp fell silent, even the children who had come out to peer from behind shelters. The import of the gesture was not lost on Talis. For a Plainsman to speak only with voice denoted utter sincerity. There could be no nuance of gesture, only straight truth.

‘What coin does your King offer for the safe return of the White Princess?’ she asked.

Talis glanced at his Princess and then back to Noorinya, lost for a moment in the differences between the two women. While the Plainswoman was dark, solid and fierce, his Princess seemed as insubstantial as a cloud. He did not hold the purse-strings of the royal treasury, but he would give all he owned to keep her from harm. Surely her brother would do no less.

‘Our Lord and King Mihale will gift you treasure beyond your dreamings to guarantee the safety of his royal sister.’

Murmurs of approval showed him the Plainsmen were won, but Noorinya was not.

‘Count these treasures by name,’ she ordered, her expression unmoved.

Talis knew he had no authority to offer royal coin but at a nod from his Princess he speculated on what he imagined lay at wait in his King’s treasury.

‘Gilded bowls and jewelled clothing will not feed the empty bellies of our children,’ Noorinya said at last. ‘We need food, Champion. The cold times come. We must have stores for when we retreat to the mountains.’

Talis nodded. He had seen their leanness. ‘My Lord and King has a bountiful store.’

‘Then I would rob it,’ she said.

‘I would have a jewelled vest,’ Monit called.

Noorinya didn’t turn. ‘That is why I am leader,’ she said. Chuckles arose from the men of his patrol and the other Plainsmen who had gathered outside the circle.

‘I say we kill them anyway,’ Monit snarled and Talis felt again the fingers of his Princess bite into his arm.

Noorinya turned to face her lieutenant, ‘I think you are jealous, Monit,’ she said, the scorn in her voice like a whip lashing out. ‘I think you see pleasure in the gaze I lay on the Champion and you would kill him to keep warm the dream that I will share your bed.’

Monit was silent.

‘You are not the one I choose,’ she said, then turned back to Talis. ‘There is one more condition to my bargain, Champion.’

Talis felt a prickling omen. ‘Speak it.’

‘You will lie with me as a man with a woman and then I will let your precious Princess live.’

A murmur of interest ran through the Plainsmen before they fell silent.

Heat overwhelmed Talis and he felt the Princess’s fingers release his arm.

‘Speak, Champion,’ Noorinya ordered, hands still behind her back. ‘Unless you would rather pray to your Great Guardian to save her.’

‘I am sworn to remain at the side of the White Princess,’ he said.

Noorinya smiled a knowing woman’s smile. Her hands fell to her sides and she shrugged, a gesture that carried nuances unknown to Talis. The men of the patrol laughed heartily. Monit alone was silent. ‘If you wish her to watch,’ Noorinya said, ‘I’ll warrant she’ll learn a trade.’

Talis felt heat on heat. ‘Such was not my meaning as you well know.’

‘I know your meaning, son of the House of Guardians. Now I would know the honour of your Champion’s vow,’ Noorinya demanded. ‘Will you protect the White Princess with your body?’

Sniggers rose around them and Talis was torn between duty and honour. He felt the battle fury grow in him. When Noorinya approached he raised his sword to hold her. ‘That is not the vow at issue,’ he said, his eyes locked with the Plainswoman’s. ‘I am betrothed and will not lie with another.’

‘You must decide between vows, Champion,’ Noorinya said in a voice that brooked no argument. ‘Because if you do not lie with me now, your Princess will die.’