Glimmer in the Maelstrom: Shadow Through Time 3 (10 page)

Lae swallowed down the clawing fear that threatened to close her throat. She would not love again. Could not. ‘Majesty, I seek your leave to travel henceforth to Castle Be’uccdha, to reclaim my birthright and serve my people who must surely be in disarray after the death of my father. The deserved death of my father,’ she added.

‘Certainly you should return to Be’uccdha if it is safe to do so. Yet I must consider whether you should do so as a wife. Did you lie with Sh’hale?’

Lae’s breath locked in her throat and she looked down at her hands, clenched in her lap. She shook her head, and when she could speak, whispered, ‘Majesty, ’twas only a deception.’

‘Then you are yet a maid?’

‘Majesty, yes.’ She could not look at him for fear that he would give her to Pagan.

‘I will think on these matters,’ he said.

She nodded quickly, and when he extended his hand she knelt before him to accept the touch of his palm to her forehead. Lae had been fulfilling her duties as The Dark for weeks, but it was only in this moment, receiving homage from her sovereign, that the full realisation of her power came upon her. Yet despite the honour of her position, she could still be given to Pagan as wife, just as Khatrene had been given no choice in her marriage to Lae’s father.

Djahr, of course, had wanted no other wife, for he had seen his marriage to The Light as a pathway to the throne. But Lae wanted choice, needed to be isolated from Pagan, at least until her emotions could be controlled, otherwise his love would entrap her and her heart would be even more vulnerable than it had been with Lenid.

‘Majesty, I leave you to rest,’ she said, rising awkwardly on her good foot and yet keeping her head lowered so he would not see the hardness she knew had come into her eyes. ‘I will prepare for my journey to Be’uccdha, trusting that my sovereign’s best consideration will allow me to do so unwed.’

‘Good rest, Lae,’ he said from behind her, and then Lae was out the door, away from the cloying scent of lorthen oil and the barren expression she could not understand on the face of a man who had just lost a son.

Her acolytes came forward to flank her as she returned to her quarters, white-hooded women whose responsibility was to ensure that The Dark was not spoken to during her period of mourning, save by her maid. Some looked on curiously as they passed, but none spoke, for only the King was allowed to breach the customs of Be’uccdha, not Pagan, who had apparently asked the King for her hand. While she was mourning.

Lae tried to find charity in her heart to understand the desperation of his thwarted love, yet she could feel nothing but anger at his intrusive request.

‘Thank the powers,’ Firde breathed as Lae entered her morning rooms and sat by the window where the sunlight did nothing to warm her heart. ‘Our Lord and King was not angry then?’ the maid asked.

‘Our Lord and King was more interested in marrying me off to his Guardian than he was in his own son’s demise,’ Lae said, staring fixedly at the mullioned glass while turbulent emotions stirred in her breast. ‘I am weary. Leave me alone, Firde,’ she commanded and the maid obeyed, staying only long enough to pour her mistress a goblet of sweet oceanberry wine. ‘Pack for Be’uccdha,’ Lae called as Firde reached the door. ‘We leave as soon as we have the King’s permission.’ Lae knew she should go to Khatrene, to help her bear the pain she must be suffering at the loss of her daughter, but her own grief was too raw. It would tear her apart.

‘Yes, My Lady,’ Firde said, but Lae could tell from her tone that there was much more she wanted to say. The door closed behind her.

Lae reached for her goblet and gulped down the liquor, its salty-sweet tang burning her throat even as it reminded her of her home by the Everlasting Ocean. ‘I will go back, permission or no,’ she vowed, and poured herself another goblet which hastily followed the first. ‘And damn Pagan,’ she added some time later when the decanter was empty. ‘Damn him for …’ What? His steadfast love? His persistence? His desire to help her overcome her grief for Lenid?

What exactly had Pagan done to deserve the sudden and complete withdrawal of her love? Was it that he had loved another woman and given her a son? Was that his crime?

No. Lae gazed out the window again at the pale brown sky. She had forgiven that transgression not long after it had been revealed. Once her pride had recovered from the blow, she’d realised that if Pagan had arrived only a week later he would have found her in Kert’s bed simply because of their shared love for Lenid and her loneliness. Yet she had never stopped loving Pagan, and trusted that the same was true for him. They had both been lonely — she for only three years, and Pagan for seventeen — yet need be no more. Only, Lae could not bring herself to love Pagan, or take the solace he offered her.

She closed her eyes, and for the second time in as many hours covered her face with her hands. Seeing the lack of emotion in Mihale had awoken her deepest fears.

Lae dreaded that marrying Pagan and losing herself in his arms would erase Lenid’s memory from her heart. And though she knew she must lessen her grief or go mad, the thought that she might forget her beloved son was appalling. Her guilt would simply not allow it. Rather, she must suffer long and hard for her negligence. The loss of Pagan’s love was a necessary sacrifice, and there may be many more before she could sleep without nightmares to haunt her. Or perhaps she would die in the Maelstrom and never know peace in her heart.

Certainly she would find no peace in a forced marriage to Pagan, and she could only hope that the King would be sensitive to her reluctance. He had certainly not been sensitive to her grief. Whether that showed a cold heart, or whether the young king had been hiding his grief, she was unsure. Yet her next thought, which slapped hard onto the former, was that she could have discovered that truth for herself. In the turmoil of her own emotions she had not thought to read Mihale’s aura.

Strange enough that he had shown no grief over the loss of his own son, but to know that the Four Worlds would never be joined and that all life would be obliterated was surely cause for lamentation. Yet emotion, any emotion save idle curiosity, had been conspicuously absent. And though Lae knew she should work harder on accepting Lenid’s death, perhaps acknowledging as Mihale had that the halo of blood was responsible, she —

Lae’s head jerked up. The halo of blood. Only Kert, the midwife who had died minutes after Lenid’s birth, and herself had known of that evil portent. How had Mihale come to speak of it?

T
ulak, Guard Captain of the House of Be’uccdha, smacked his thigh, raising fine Plains dust. His shaved scalp, as ordered by his dead lord to elevate his rank above his braided brothers, was prickly with stubble and burnt by the fierce sunlight the Maelstrom had brought from the Fireworld of Haddash. He was hot and filthy, as were his men, yet he would not return to Be’uccdha until he could prove that the Cliffdwellers missing from the tunnels beneath their castle had not gone out onto the Plains and been killed by a dust storm.

Why a race of hundreds would do such a thing was beyond Tulak’s drug-hazed understanding, yet the Be’uccdha physician believed it possible and had ordered Tulak to search. With no lord in the castle, the physician held rank, and though it seemed a fruitless mission, if Tulak could find and return the Cliffdwellers, they would again have an uncomplaining workforce to replace his inefficient men. Let the Cliffdwellers with their firm trotters go back to clopping over the slippery rocks, their thick-skinned palms gripping the coarse ropes while their sturdy backs strained against the tides to drag in the bounty of the Everlasting Ocean. Tulak and his men were sick of it. Yet without that work, those of Be’uccdha would starve.

The physician had warned Tulak to beware of Plainsmen, but those whom The Dark’s pogrom had not killed would surely have perished in the fierce wind storms of recent times. Still more terrifying had been water falling from the sky, which Tulak had watched in alarm from the window of his castle quarters. Unlike the light sprinkling he had run away from as a child, this
rain
had been hard, stinging the skin and dousing those caught in the open in seconds. Tulak had feared for his men out on the rocks, the droplets were so close together they could drown in it. Indeed, he heard later that two men had run in alarm and slipped, falling into the ocean where they had been dashed against the rocks. The others had coughed and spluttered as they’d staggered back up the trails to the castle, finally discovering that when they lowered their heads to watch their footfalls, it kept the water from their mouths and they could breathe more comfortably.

None had died of their exposure, and though Tulak had been sure that the height from which the water had fallen must surely have offered some damage to their skulls, the physician had declared them all sound.

Rain. Tulak shuddered remembering it. But the strange phenomenon had settled the dust swirling in the air of the Plains, so that men could venture forth without fear of choking. Yet what if it rained again? The swirling of weather from one world to another terrified him, and he would have preferred the water of Magoria to remain on that world.

‘There is only the east quadrant remaining,’ his second said.

Tulak drew his thoughts back into the present. ‘Next the physician will have us searching the ocean,’ he replied, and gazed around himself at the swirling mist, thankfully now devoid of dust, which was like an ocean of air. Visibility was good, almost twenty paces clear, and a further ten before objects became lost in the golden shadows. It was nearing midday, the best time to search. They had rested enough after their meagre lunch.

‘Break into groups of four again,’ Tulak ordered, raising his voice. ‘And remember to whistle if you sight a body, live or dead.’

‘Yes, Captain,’ his second said, and moved off to find his men.

Tulak waited as the three Guardsmen he had selected came to his side. A lump of Magoria weed sat in his top pocket; he broke off a morsel of the illicit drug and sucked it. Immediately his fear of the growing Maelstrom dulled. With The Catalyst dead and the Four Worlds no longer to be joined, Tulak felt he had little to live for. Yet instead of lamenting, the physician had rejoiced that the same messenger who had brought this tragic news had also proclaimed that their Lady Lae was alive and intent on returning to Be’uccdha.

Tulak could admit that the death of her father had returned Be’uccdha to the good graces of the throne. But there would be disadvantages to the Lady Lae assuming control of Be’uccdha, of that Tulak was sure. She would have sharper eyes than her father and would quickly see, if the physician did not tell her first, that Tulak was unable to function without his secret medicament.

If she took it from him he would surely die in fear and trembling. Relieving him of duty instead would ensure a similar result. His lowered status would mean a lower allocation from his family plant, far lower than the quantity he now required daily. The idea terrified him, and that only drove him to higher consumption.

His greatest hope lay in finding the Cliffdwellers and thereby gaining favour with his new lady. So Tulak and his men set off across the silent Plains searching the veiled mists.

They had been walking for many hours when a slow wind began to stir the mists. Tulak immediately whistled the call-in, knowing they must not be caught out on the Plains if a fierce storm rose.

In fours they converged on his whistle, yet one group did not arrive. Tulak debated leaving them as the wind strengthened, and had decided to do so when a faint noise was heard over the hiss of stirring dust.

‘A whistle,’ his second said, and pointed. It was on their way south to Be’uccdha, so at a gesture from Tulak they ran towards it, whistling back and forth until they came upon them. To Tulak’s marvel and delight, they had a limp Cliffdweller girl in their midst.

‘Where are the others?’ he asked.

‘Only one,’ the guardsman replied, his thick Be’uccdha braids falling out of their travel tail. ‘We found her here on the ground. Alive, but not able to be woken. Perhaps caught in a storm.’

‘Perhaps.’ Tulak reached into his pocket and nipped off a pinch of Magoria weed which he popped absently into his mouth and sucked. His confidence buoyed instantly. ‘We will take her to the castle. Let the physician see her.’ It was not the whole race, but it was a start. ‘Quickly. Carry her and run. The storm fast approaches.’

His men did not need to be urged. The Guardsman with the fallen braids grasped the Cliffdweller’s ankles above her trotters and hefted her up. He slid her onto his shoulder and ran, and her woven seaweed dress rode up her thighs, showing any who cared to look that she was as human as they were save for her unusual feet. The minds of Cliffdwellers were not human, though. They were simple and obedient, unable to speak or communicate ideas. Even their splash-patterned cave paintings were simple. If this one knew the fate of her race, she may not be able to tell them.

Still, Tulak did not worry. The Magoria weed had stolen away his cares and instead he felt pride to have found what he had been sent for, thereby proving himself worthy to remain as Guard Captain, which in turn would ensure his supply of the drug.

Once he was back in his quarters and safely on his bed, he would take a greater portion of the drug and allow it to transform his every fear into bliss. He might even allow the cousin who warmed that bed to share in his spoils. When Tulak had been younger he had adored her dark beauty and felt awe at the fierce pleasure they’d shared. Now the drug was his mistress and the cousin’s touch brought only a diffuse languor.

Tulak knew he should ration his supply, but as he ran through the strengthening winds which tore at his ankles and weakened his knees, he felt recklessness steal over the drug’s calm. One day — perhaps this day — would be his last. What manner of fool would he be to deny himself any pleasures?

‘Run,’ he bellowed, racing ahead of his men as his desire for self-preservation overcame the requirements of command. The wind swirled mist and rising dust around him and Tulak ran for his life.