Glimmer in the Maelstrom: Shadow Through Time 3 (14 page)

She turned to face him. ‘Of course we’ll be friends. Friends and more.’

But he was still frowning. ‘It’s just … sometimes sex stuffs up a good relationship.’ He took one look at Petra’s raised eyebrows and raced on. ‘Not that I’m expecting we’ll … well not yet, or soon … I meant sex in general. Kissing.’ He closed his eyes for a moment and Petra could swear he was praying for guidance. ‘What I mean is,’ he went on, now gazing down at his hands, ‘sometimes people have a wonderful friendship and because they get … more involved — whether they have sex or not — their great friendship gets lost in jealousies about other people or one of them pushing the other to go further than … you know.’

‘I know.’

‘I don’t want that to happen to us.’

‘Is that why you haven’t kissed me before now?’

He nodded, searching her eyes, so endearingly worried that she wanted to kiss him again.

‘Did you want to?’ she asked.

His breath came out in a gust. ‘Only about as much as I want to breathe,’ he told her. ‘Of
course
I wanted to.’ He looked away, then looked back at her, obviously astonished that she could even ask. ‘That first day at your house —’

‘When you healed my arm?’

‘I lay awake all that night thinking about you sitting on the lounge across from me with your arm thrust out, as if you didn’t want me close to you. I tortured myself. I even imagined you having accidents so I could heal you again. So I could touch you.’

Petra smiled. She reached across and took his large hand in both of hers. ‘I dreamt that when you kissed me, my head exploded.’

He smiled. ‘My dreams had other sorts of explosions,’ he said, and they both laughed. Then he looked at her seriously. ‘Can you promise me that this won’t change anything?’

She shook her head. ‘It will change things between us.’ Then before he could worry she added, ‘But I will always be your friend. No matter what.’ He looked unconvinced until she said, ‘I promise. And you know a Mabindi never goes back on their word.’

‘The
code
,’ he teased, then they both smiled. ‘So can I kiss you again?’ he asked.

Petra nodded, but instead of leaning close, he stood and pulled on her hand.

‘Here,’ he said, and led her down to the bottom of the stairs. ‘You stand here,’ on the bottom step, while Vandal went one step further and stood on the ground. They were almost on a level. She still had to look up into his eyes, but she liked that. Around them the yard was dark and still, and only the faintest light spilled down onto them from the verandah. Petra felt as though she’d travelled to another universe. The universe where Vandal wanted to kiss her. So close to heaven the difference didn’t matter.

‘Ready?’ he whispered, and she heard the tension in his voice, the excitement, the insecurity. Her own doubts dissolved.

She reached up to touch his chest with a tentative hand. ‘Kiss me,’ she said.

And he did.

K
hatrene sat quietly in her old room in the Volcastle, trying to recapture the sense of security she’d felt here when she’d first returned from her exile in Magoria. She’d been an adult, returning to a childhood home she hadn’t remembered, coming from a culture of Internet and icecream to a world of castles and kingdoms. Shock had been her predominant response, but this room had felt familiar, the one place she’d been able to relax. Now that she had her childhood memories back, that familiarity was deepened.

The large sitting room was warmed by a fire and swamped in vases of yellow fat-leaved ahroce blossoms, the flowers her mother had loved which smelt like cut grass and honeycomb combined. The charcoal sketches she’d done as a child still adorned the walls, and the heavy timber furniture reassured her with its solid immutable presence. All was exactly as it had been before she’d married Djahr and travelled to Be’uccdha, before she had borne Glimmer.

Glimmer, who was dead.

She shook her head, her teeth clenching in denial. It didn’t matter how many times she had been told this ‘truth’, it wouldn’t stick. A mother’s instinct? Or blind maternal love? Whatever, she could not make herself believe that Glimmer was dead. It didn’t
feel
true.

But if her daughter was alive, where was she? In Atheyre? That would be just Khatrene’s luck to finally escape the boring confines of the Airworld, only to find that the child she had longed to meet had ended up there. Or perhaps Mihale’s information was wrong and Glimmer was still on Ennae, just not in the royal Volcastle. And if that was the case, how were they going to find her?

Khatrene had spent much time pondering the sequence of events that had led to her daughter’s
disappearance
, Khatrene’s preferred term. Glimmer had apparently tried to stop Kert Sh’hale from falling into the Volcastle mouth, and Khatrene could only assume that Kert had a part to play in the future of the Four Worlds if his life was worth so great a risk. They had disappeared together in a shower of firesparks and Pagan had reported no hissing or stink of burnt flesh such as had followed poor little Lenid’s death. So it was possible, and quite likely according to Breehan, that Glimmer had transported herself and Kert to a safer place.

Perhaps to Kert’s fortress which, though still occupied by Northmen, had apparently shown her hospitality when she had constructed an anchor there. Word had come recently from Verdan and no mention of her there. Castle Be’uccdha?

Lae was intent on returning to Be’uccdha, and would be able to inform them, when she arrived, whether Glimmer was there. Khatrene dreaded the idea of going to Be’uccdha herself. The mere thought of Djahr’s dark forbidding castle overhanging the Everlasting Ocean brought a return of terror to her heart. Despite that her husband was dead, she still felt threatened by him, unsafe. Returning to Ennae had raised all her old fears: memories of how Djahr had tortured and hounded her across the kingdom, how he had tried to cut their child from her belly to steal it from her. Yet worse than those memories were the recollections of how Khatrene had been tricked into marrying him, how she had fallen into his arms and found physical pleasures there, how she had foolishly thought to love him.

Her time spent with Talis and the experience of true love had taken the sharpest edges off her nightmares, but remembering how her innocence had been abused still had the power to wound her. She could not go to Be’uccdha, and only hoped that if her daughter was there, Lae would send her back to the Volcastle. For this reason Khatrene had requested an audience with Lae before she departed, to impress on her how important it was to search for Glimmer, and not to dismiss the whole matter as a bereaved mother’s whim.

But hours had passed since Khatrene had sent her messenger — it was near to midnight — and still Lae had not arrived. Could the girl she had once thought of as a friend be avoiding her? Mihale had given permission for Lae to leave in the morning and Khatrene struggled with her impatience as she waited for the knock on her door. Finally it came.

‘Enter,’ she called in relief, having sent her maids away so that she might talk to Lae in private.

Clad in her white robes of mourning, Lae limped into Khatrene’s chambers, dripping water all over the carpets. Her two sopping acolytes came in behind her, shoes squelching on the floor, hoods plastered onto their heads.

‘You’re drenched,’ Khatrene said, and in her shock she didn’t even look around for a towel or a blanket she could hand to Lae. She simply stared.

‘My Lady,’ Lae said and bowed to Khatrene, as did her assistants. Then she straightened and added, ‘You requested my presence.’ Khatrene searched her friend’s face for a clue to this uncharacteristic formality.

‘But you’re …’ Khatrene pointed to her gown. ‘Do you want to change?’

Lae merely gazed at her, then shook her head.

‘Very well.’ Khatrene tried to regather her thoughts. ‘I’d like to speak with you alone,’ she said, and glanced at the acolytes.

Lae raised a hand and they withdrew from the room, leaving the two women facing each other awkwardly. Which was crazy. Lae had helped Khatrene birth Glimmer, they had fled The Dark together, had each fallen in love with a Guardian. They had so much in common, but as they faced each other across the empty room Khatrene could not think of a thing to say.

‘I am in mourning,’ Lae said at last, ‘and am required not to speak for forty days. I obey by my presence, My Lady, but would appreciate brevity on your part.’

The words were like a slap. A velvet-gloved slap, but a slap all the same. ‘Very well,’ Khatrene said stiffly and gestured towards the couch. Lae limped to it and sat, uncaring that in her present condition she might ruin the delicate fabric.

Had she been caught in a storm while performing a final ceremony in the great hall? If her current behaviour was anything to go by, she’d probably ignored the tempest and continued the ritual while rain from the opened ceiling drenched her. At least those attending would have been impressed by her courage. She was the youngest ever to take on the mantle of The Dark, and the first woman in ten generations. It would be like Lae to feel she had something to prove, but Khatrene doubted this new formality was related to her office. From what Pagan had said, Lae’s shutdown was all about Lenid.

Khatrene wanted to ask her why she hadn’t let Pagan heal her foot, but the girl’s icy manner was formidable, so she simply sat and said, ‘I want to speak to you about my daughter.’

‘My most abject sympathy for your loss,’ Lae said, her gazed fixed on a spot just to the right of Khatrene’s face, no trace of warmth in either her voice or her expression.

Khatrene hadn’t known what to expect, but this level of callousness from a woman who had just lost her own son wasn’t it. And worse, ‘That sounded like something your father would have said.’ The comparison was chilling, accentuated by the swirling tattoo that covered Lae’s right cheek and forehead. The same tattoo Djahr had worn, the symbol of The Dark. ‘What’s happened to you?’

Lae’s expression might have been cast in stone. ‘What does The Light require of me?’

If they’d had watches on Ennae, Khatrene was sure Lae would have looked at hers. And the girl could well limp out on her, duty or not, so Khatrene set her disquiet aside to concentrate on the issue at hand. ‘I believe my daughter is alive,’ she said. ‘Perhaps still on Ennae.’

‘If she is at Be’uccdha I will inform you immediately,’ Lae said and made to rise.

‘That’s not all.’ Khatrene raised a hand and Lae lowered herself back onto the couch, her gaze fixed over Khatrene’s shoulder again.

‘My Lady,’ she said obediently.

‘I wanted to tell you how sorry I was to hear about Lenid … about his death.’

Lae’s jaw tightened but apart from that she made no response.

‘I know you must have loved him very much.’

‘If that is all?’ Lae asked.

It was, but Khatrene wanted to keep Lae there, to crack through the wall she’d built around herself. Pagan was frantic with worry for her and now Khatrene could see why. ‘I want to speak to you about your duties as The Dark,’ she said, not sure where she was leading.

This caught Lae’s attention. ‘I am able to fulfil my office from Be’uccdha,’ she replied, meeting Khatrene’s eyes. ‘With The Catalyst dead, my services are more necessary than —’

‘For a start, my daughter is not dead,’ Khatrene said, letting anger slide in. ‘And secondly, what can you do to stop the Maelstrom destroying the Four Worlds?’

‘The role of The Dark has always been crucial to our survival,’ Lae pointed out, her own voice taking on a sharper edge. ‘The darkness that comes to cover the land has been held back by the pious —’

‘That’s crap,’ Khatrene cut over her. ‘The darkness is nothing more than an eclipse that —’

‘I have heard your story of moons before the sun,’ Lae replied, ‘yet why is it that we have seen no darkness since Glimmer’s birth?’

That stopped Khatrene in her self-righteous tracks. She’d been on the Airworld of Atheyre and had simply assumed that … ‘No eclipses since then?’

‘Not one,’ Lae said, and her sharp tone reminded Khatrene of the bitchiness Lae had once been renowned for. ‘The illusions of Magoria are not universal,’ Lae said. ‘And my powers
will
serve Ennae.’

‘In what capacity?’

‘Comfort the people before they die.’

‘There’s a defeatist attitude if ever I heard one. Don’t you have anything new to offer? Any hope?’

Lae’s eyes narrowed. ‘Perhaps you should ask your royal brother,’ she snapped. ‘He appears to have oracles speaking to him.’

Khatrene felt the breath slide out of her lungs and her anger shrivelled into apprehension. This ‘oracle’ must be the voice she suspected Mihale heard in his mind, the same voice Khatrene had heard when she’d first come to Ennae. It wasn’t possession of the body, but Lae might not care to make that differentiation. And denouncement as one possessed was a death sentence. ‘What oracles are you talking about?’ she asked carefully.

‘Your brother knew that his son was born with a halo of blood,’ Lae said. ‘Kert Sh’hale and the midwife who birthed Lenid were the only ones, apart from myself, who knew of that portent, and they carried the knowledge to their graves.’

It
must
have been the voice. ‘A portent?’ Khatrene said, wondering if she could distract Lae. ‘What did the halo of blood mean?’

‘That the child would not live to rule.’

‘So you knew he would die young?’ Khatrene asked, and immediately the words were out of her mouth she willed them back. It was tantamount to suggesting Lae shouldn’t be sad when clearly she had every right to be, portent or no. But Pagan was right. Grief was turning into obsession and if she wasn’t stopped soon she might not find her way back.

A glistening sheen covered Lae’s eyes, then she blinked and her chin rose. ‘I go now to Be’uccdha,’ she said, ‘where I will do my duty as The Dark. Please give the King my most obedient farewell and thank him for not inflicting a husband upon me at such a … busy time.’

‘Yet Pagan
will
accompany you, as Champion to The Dark,’ Khatrene said, hoping Lae hadn’t found a way to thwart that command.

‘And the dead Plainsman will be dutifully returned to his people. I obey my king,’ she said tonelessly.

Khatrene nodded, thankful that Lae was unaware of how he’d died. If she knew her king had murdered him, she might put her own grief aside to investigate his ‘oracular’ abilities more closely. Khatrene had been stunned herself when Mihale had mentioned it in casual conversation. Admittedly he’d grown up thinking of the Plainsmen as enemies of the throne, and had never met or befriended any, as Khatrene had, but to kill one in cold blood? And an old one at that.

Yet before she could fathom what possible motive he might have had, he’d retired with a migraine and been unavailable ever since. Guilt? She hoped so, but ordering Breehan’s body returned to his tribe didn’t sound like an act of contrition. Quite the opposite. It was more likely to stir up their old hatreds. Better to let them believe Breehan had died of old age. Still, at least Mihale hadn’t ordered Pagan to kill the rest of the Plainsmen. From what they’d viewed in the seeing-storm there were precious few left.

Talis might be able to help her make sense of it but she hadn’t seen him since the previous afternoon — busy with matters of defence, Mihale had said, which made her uneasy. Not only that, it was out of character for Talis to stay away from her, but Mihale had been oddly watchful when he’d told her, as though he’d deliberately kept Talis busy to see how she would react. So either there was something wrong with her brother beyond having been revived from the dead, or Talis’s paranoia about their love being ‘unfitting’ was rubbing off on her.

‘If you are finished with me I shall take my leave,’ Lae said and stood, her chin up, the power of her position obvious now in her stance and in her gaze.

No arguing this time. Khatrene rose also, checking the sudden impulse to hug Lae. It would only embarrass them both. Their friendship was clearly over. ‘I wish you happiness, Lae,’ she said sincerely. ‘And I hope you find a love, as I have with Talis, that can overcome pain and bring peace to your soul.’

Lae stared at her, and for the briefest moment Khatrene thought she saw her facade of control falter. ‘Each of us finds but one great love,’ she said. ‘And now my son is dead.’

Khatrene closed her eyes, unable to stop the tears that brimmed her lashes. So much pain. They had all suffered so badly, lost so much. She opened her eyes and the room swam in front of her, but she found the composure to nod at Lae, who turned her stony gaze away and limped out awkwardly, her shoulders stiff.

Khatrene sat back down on the couch and cried then, for Lae who had lost her beloved son, and for Pagan whose heart she was breaking. Was this why Khatrene wouldn’t believe that Glimmer was dead? Because she couldn’t bear to go through what Lae was? If Talis was here he would remind her of what she still had: her brother returned from death, the hope that her daughter still lived, his undying love. It didn’t matter that the Maelstrom was coming. They were safe inside the Volcastle while the sky-mirror anchored it.