Lady of the Star Wind (14 page)

Haatrin shook her head. “There cannot be the one without the other. If you’re the Lady, or to become her, he must be your warrior, your consort. Live or die in unison, the twined fate is inescapable if you claim these titles.”

“Potential and problems, this girl carries both,” said Nuet. She traced lines across Sandy’s palm, her touch cool. Sandy’s skin tingled where the woman’s fingertip had been, and faint golden runes glowed for a heartbeat. “The scales are not yet balanced and may tip either way.” Nuet stared at Sandy. “You’ll need my mirror. And yet the gift may not be enough.” Dropping Sandy’s hand, she stood tall, the vestiges of age dropping away like veils. Now she appeared luminescent, beautiful, compelling in a way that made Sandy want to fall on the floor and worship as the Moon Sisters had earlier. Locking her knees, Sandy refused to bend, fighting the compulsion to grovel. The Zhivanov family
ruled
, they didn’t make themselves subservient to others.

 
“You have the strength,” Nuet said, as if aware of Sandy’s inner resolve. “Can you apply it to the choices you and your consort make?” Not waiting for an answer, she addressed Haatrin in sharp tones. “This is not my concern, not my battle. Don’t entreat me to be involved.” The vehemence in her voice was powerful. “I’ve fought the chaos and the darkness here in my time, vanquished the evil I faced, and moved beyond to greater purpose.”

Haatrin inclined her head. “Understood. I’d no intention of reaching out to you. The Moon Sisters are young and heedless, as everyone knows. My comrades among the Elder Gods and I are well seasoned, ready to carry the battle to the enemy ourselves.”

“None may summon me from my refuge again,” Nuet said, “especially not those ridiculous children. I won’t be merciful if there’s a reoccurrence of this unwarranted situation. The paths will be blocked, and I will take Sherabti with me away from this world, as I ought to have done long ago.” A half smile flickered on Nuet’s lips. “But she retained her fondness for the activities of mortals, which I’ll no longer indulge.” She shook her finger at Haatrin. “Any attempt to invoke me will rebound with deadly effect on those making the effort. I no longer have mortal worshippers to consider, no priests, no temples, no one speaks my name. All is as it should be. The cup has passed to you and your siblings. I’ve other duties to manage, responsibilities beyond your comprehension.” The woman walked toward the door, no longer needing to guide her steps with the cane, which she cast aside. The wood struck the floor in a burst of purple and gold sparks, and Sandy gasped as the cane became Sherabti, the white snake, coiling sinuously for a moment.

Nuet was as youthful now as the Moon Sisters had been, in demeanor and appearance, and her robes transformed to shades of purple, from deepest amethyst to pale lavender, as if dye poured over the fabric. Masses of silver-blond hair tumbled over her shoulders.

Haatrin raised a hand. “And the mirror?”

Pausing on the threshold, the woman stood with her back to them for a moment. Sandy thought she wasn’t going to answer Haatrin’s hasty question. Half turning, Nuet stared across the room, her gaze locked on Sandy’s face. “I’ve said she may have the mirror. Whether she can wield its powers in part or in full, or at all, remains to be seen, depends on her choices. And those of her warrior.”

“I’ll try not to disappoint you,” Sandy said, feeling as if she’d been given some treasure to safeguard, although as yet there’d been no sign of this mirror the others spoke of in such respectful terms.

“You have the rare chance to affect the balance,” the woman said, shaking a finger at her. “Such opportunities are not often granted to mortals. Don’t waste it.” Without another word, she crossed the threshold and disappeared as thunder rolled outside the chamber.

Sherabti raised her hooded head and hissed before following her mistress from the room. As the snake’s tail disappeared into the corridor, or whatever lay outside the boundaries of the space, a wall appeared, joined smoothly to the other three as if it had always been there, leaving no visible door.

“I’ll send you safely into your body,” Haatrin said. “But first, there are some things I ought to tell you.” She drew Sandy to the nearest pair of chairs and sat. Selecting two of the waiting goblets filled with shimmering swirls of blue and green liquid, she offered one to Sandy. “Drink, this will help ease your spirit’s reunion with your body and ameliorate the effects of Sherabti’s kiss.”
 

Unable to refuse the offer, Sandy reluctantly took a sip, then another as the delicious liquid hit her palate. She voiced the issue concerning her most at the moment. “All this talk of balance and opportunities, involving me and my warrior. I have to tell you the relationship between Mark and me is unsettled. Old matters lie between us.”

“You must have a warrior, a consort, if you are to be the Lady,” Haatrin said, her tone firm. “But this Mark you speak of doesn’t have to be the one. You can choose another, a warrior of Nakhtiaar perhaps. What matters is your choice.” Leaning forward, she touched a fingertip to Sandy’s chest above her heart. “Your choice here.” Retreating, she drank from her own glass.
 

“How much time do I have to decide? To see if things can be worked out with us?”

“You’re already too late for some possibilities,” Haatrin said. “But time remains for other paths.” She shook her head. “You aren’t going to remember all of what I share with you, as you’re mortal and not the being the Moon Sisters hoped they welcomed. As they learned, to their sorrow.”

“Then why tell me anything?” Sandy’s throbbing headache grew, and she had wavy sparkles in the center of her field of vision. “Let me reenter my body now.”

“Even if you lose the detail of what I reveal, you’ll retain the essence. And the mirror holds immense power. Nuet’s agreement to allow you to attempt the use of it is an amazing boon.” Haatrin was unmoved by Sandy’s request to leave. She pushed another glass closer to Sandy’s elbow. “Try this one. Sit back, listen, don’t allow your anxiety to rule your heart. Soon enough, you’ll awaken.”

On the surface above, the sandstorm raged for the third or fourth day—he’d lost count. In this room where Sandy lay so close to death, a quiet and cool atmosphere prevailed, suitable for an invalid. The flames of the massed candles hardly flickered. She lay motionless beneath the red, blue, and yellow striped wraps, her hair curling against her head. The dose of some mysterious liquid administered by the local healer had made her breathing less labored. Mark had received the same potion to drink and found relief from nausea and dizziness within moments. His arm burned, but the swelling subsided. Mark rolled his sleeve up again, checking to make sure, as much as he could tell in the dim torch light.

 
He lounged on the low chair next to the bed, oblivious to the continued comings and goings of the Mikkonite women. He ignored the tray of food and drink placed at his elbow. When it was removed, hours later the serving woman clucked her tongue in dismay to find the offerings untouched. To please his hosts, he sipped the fruit juice and took a few bites of a meat-stuffed roll. Only then would the servant take the rest of the food and leave him alone.

He held Sandy’s hand, so cold yet with a reassuringly steady pulse at the wrist. He stared at her serene face, noting the fine lines above her eyebrows and around her eyes. She was a remarkably beautiful woman now, not the girl he’d loved. So many long years had passed while he’d been in exile in the Sectors and she’d been enmeshed in her grandmother’s dynastic schemes. Becoming a doctor, of all things. He admitted he hadn’t given her enough credit for the accomplishment, wondered what drove her to make the choice.

He couldn’t believe he might lose her now, on a world alien to both of them, among strangers. His heart stuttered as he considered how much was unsaid between them. His fault too, all his fault. She’d been ready to welcome him right back into her heart where they’d left off over twenty years ago, but he’d held himself aloof, stubborn, blaming her for things she was innocent of. Afraid to tear down the walls he’d constructed for himself. He’d said some deliberately hurtful things to keep her at a distance until it suited him to seek rapprochement, if it ever did.

Lajollae had sent them into their own private Eden, and he’d been impatient to break free, frightened of the confinement. Action over emotion. His stupid, self-defeating motto.

Sandy had kept her own thoughts and wishes to herself, accompanied him on this wild goose chase with people she didn’t know, committed to a cause she didn’t believe in, rather than lose him again.

“Please, you have to survive this. Come back to me. We can sort out the barriers between us.” Smoothing the damp curls off her face, he brushed a kiss on her forehead. “I promise on my life—” He broke off, hearing a faint stirring in the hall behind him.
 

“She remains unconscious?”

Mark realized Jagrahim stood on the threshold, one hand holding aside the leather curtain trimmed with cascades of amber beads. “No change.”

“Come, I wish to show you something,” the chief told him.

Incredulous anyone would expect him to abandon Sandy while she was helpless, he knew his tone skirted rudeness. “I can’t leave her. It’ll have to wait.”
 

“My wife will sit with her. You remember her? She is our healer.”

Robes fluttering, the shy village woman stepped from behind her tall husband and moved to the bedside. She laid one graceful hand on Sandy’s brow. Frowning, the princess muttered something and shifted on the mattress to avoid even such a light touch.

The healer showed no sign of dismay. “I’m pleased by the progress the wound on her arm shows.” She peeled back Sandy’s sleeve much as Mark had done a few moments ago. “The marks are fading and receding. The swelling subsides by the hour. The poison leaves her system.”

“Please,” the chief said to Mark, “this will only take a few moments. Surely you trust my wife to watch over her patient?”

“What is it I need to see?”

“Just come and perhaps you will understand.”

Mark squeezed Sandy’s hand and laid it by her side on the colorful blanket. Rising, he stretched muscles cramped after the long hours of motionless vigil. He allowed the chief’s wife to slip past him and sit in the chair he’d vacated.

He followed Jagrahim into the corridor, deserted at this hour. His companion walked without talking through a succession of hallways. The chief led Mark into a large chamber filled floor to ceiling with shelves holding thousands of scrolls. A long, shiny table occupied the middle of the room, its legs graceful depictions of some birdlike creature. A scroll had been partially unspooled and spread out, waiting for them, the edges anchored with glimmering green and blue stones carved into fanciful shapes of birds and fish.

“What is all this?” Mark paused on the threshold, breathing in the musty but not unpleasant smell, stunned by the sight of thousands of scrolls.
 

“The Library of Khunarum himself.” Jagrahim’s voice held pride. “When the great city perished from the lives of men, and the people fled away to the south, my tribe received the duty and honor of preserving the knowledge. We even have some of the oldest books known to man.” He gestured to a far corner of the room, dark and shadowed. “Stone tablets. No one can decipher them any longer, yet we preserve them.”

“Can you read these?” Mark had been in the great Archives of the Sectors once, and its keepers had been no less proud of the accumulated knowledge.

“Three are appointed in each succeeding generation to learn the written language. We used to maintain a cadre of five readers, but my people are dwindling in number. Life here in the Empty Lands is hard. We can’t spare so many these days who don’t contribute to the direct work of keeping the village alive. But yes, I can read the scrolls.”

“This is fascinating,” Mark said with a diplomacy he didn’t feel. “Rothan and Tia will want to see this. But why did you bring me here tonight?”

“After hearing your description of the serpent in the temple, I remembered a reference to such a creature. I’ve spent the night searching the pertinent scrolls.” He gestured at the scroll spread open on the table.

“Is there mention of an antidote for the venom?”

Jagrahim didn’t answer but drew him to the table. “Is this the creature?”

Moving a candle closer, Mark leaned over the page and swallowed hard. There on the parchment, depicted by the brushstrokes of some long-dead master artist, lay the snake, drawn half life-size. “Oh yes, I’d know it anywhere.” He was fascinated by the sparkling turquoise eyes, almost alive on the paper, staring at him. Tightly coiled, the milky white body was limned with some iridescent substance, to suggest the eerie transparency of the actual reptile’s scales. “What does the text say?”

The desert chieftain regarded him with an odd expression. He didn’t answer, but carefully unrolled the scroll a few more turns. Mark could see the edges were crumbling. It must be beyond ancient. Long lines of elegant symbols surrounded the depiction of the snake.

The desert chief repositioned the anchor stones. “Read for yourself.”

Mark shook his head. Even if this was High Chetal in the written format, which he doubted, his hypno training covered spoken languages only. He could no more read this than the well-meaning man opposite him could speak Outlier. “I can’t. Translate for me, please.”

“This is Sherabti, companion to the Goddess Mother Nuet, She Who Came Before. She who gave birth to the parents of the gods who now guard the world and the underworld, the life and the afterlife. The Goddess Mother was powerful, all knowing. You took shelter in her temple, you know. Sherabti served as her messenger, her watcher—”