Time Dancer (9 page)

Jana took a long moment to gather her calm. Shuffling through her memories, one rose to the top. “My grandfather, he told me a story once when I was a little girl. He said his fath—”

“Do not tell me. Show me. Take me there, Jana, and let us see.”

She opened her mind. A shifting washed through her, as if she were spinning too fast, but Darach’s hand never let go. The voices came again, one over the other, thousands in a chaotic swirl. One began to grow in strength until it reached above the others. “I hear one.”

Darach gently led her forward, each step guided by his hand.

“It’s growing louder.”

“Good. Open your eyes,
nayeli
.”

She wondered about that foreign word, the husky breath of it stealing into her veins. She opened her eyes and screamed. A huge wolf crouched, prepared to leap. Bared fangs dripped white foam and a wild madness glistened in its eyes.

A forest glen bled into a dense spread of trees. The fading sunlight turned the grass to a rippling gray sea. A small boy cowered at the base of the largest oak, his terrified face locked on the growling animal. It was late spring, the fragrance of tilled earth and foliage wafting thick on the fierce wind, but the scent of fear cut through the heavy air.

Jana tried to run but Darach held her fast.

“No,
nayeli
.”

“We have to save him!” Jana pulled and tugged, trying to break free of Darach’s grasp.

He squeezed her hand tighter. “Stop! Never, ever let go. You are a time dancer but you are untrained. If I am not with you to anchor you, you become one with the past. Do you understand, Jana? You will be lost in memory forever and not even I could find you. Never let go of my hand.”

The wolf lunged. Its body passed through them both, aimed toward the child.

“But you don’t understand! The wolf is—”

“Nothing but air to us. We cannot interfere. We can cause no good or harm. We are merely watchers.”

“But...” She spun, holding her breath as the wolf barreled toward the little boy. Her heart pounded.

A huge man charged from the woods carrying a torch, his mouth opened in a bellow. Sparks flew and the scorched smell of hair exploded as he clubbed the wolf away from the child. The wolf yelped, then turned as if to charge again. The man widened his stance and jabbed with the fire. The animal shied away but circled, looking for a new opening.

Its haunches quivered with the need to attack. It feinted left. Huge and brawny, the man moved with the grace of a stag. He swiveled on one foot and swung the flaming stick again, this time catching the animal on the muzzle. A yelp bled to a whine and the wolf sped away.

The man rushed to the child. He held the torch high, jerked the boy to a stand and frantically searched him for wounds. “Mactog, are you all right? How many times have I told you not to wander from the field? You could’ve been killed!”

“Sorry, Papa.” The boy sobbed and crawled deeper into his father’s embrace. He could be no more than five.

Jana’s breath escaped with a whoosh. “That’s my grandfather.”

“The man?”

“The little boy.” She watched in amazement as the man, her great-grandfather, wiped his son’s face with his sleeve. “He told me his father once beat off a rabid wolf with a torch. He was an old man when he told me the tale. It was so hard to imagine him as a child.”

Little Mactog clung to his father’s thick neck as he was carried into the forest. Jana thought hard. “My great-grandfather died when Papa was just a boy. Am I really seeing him?”

“Yes, Jana. You have breached your lifespan and danced backward through your blood.”

They watched until the trees swallowed father and child. Black formed around the edges of the woods, shrinking until it existed only in a pinpoint. She closed her eyes as exhaustion seeped into her muscles.

“I’m tired.”

“You did well. To dance to three specific places in one dream is...magnificent. I’m very proud of you, my charge.”

The praise touched some still trembling part inside her. She squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry I tried to run away.”

“You wanted to aid the child but, Jana, you must believe me. Letting go is dangerous. It’d mean your very death.”

“I understand. I’ll never let go, I promise.”

“Nor shall I,
nayeli
.”

A whirling fluttered her stomach, like when her father would hold her hands and spin her as a little girl. When the spinning slowed, Jana opened her eyes and all she saw was Darach’s face.

They were back in her chamber, his hand wrapped tight around hers. Not even the thrill of having moved through time could keep her body from sinking into slumber, and a yawn tickled her throat. Despite the now bright morning, sleep called to her.

“Was that real?”

“Very real.” His voice husked deep and low, like falling night. “Sleep now. No other dreams’ll come, except those which may bring you joy.”

He made as if to move and she gripped his hand. “Stay.”

“If it pleases you.” He sat beside her on the mattress. His weight dipped the stuffing so that her body rolled slightly toward his. It felt comforting and intimate.

“Something’s different. You’re talking differently, using shorter words.”

“You’ve stolen all the cadence from me.”

“Papa said that means a spell is truly bonding with you.”

His hair trickled in a soft fall along the mattress, pooling in a dark puddle as he bent and pressed his lips to her hand. “Sleep,
nayeli
.”

Sleep claimed her before she could ask what that strange word meant.

Chapter Five

“Wait a minute.” Papa held up his hand. “No one is shedding any royal blood.”

Darach ignored him. “The Segur blood must come from you, Your Majesty. Your sons’ blood is... The queen’s feline essence is very strong in them. It may lure Jana away from the call.”

The king nodded. “Then you’ll have it. How much do you need?”

Leather whispered on silk as Darach slid his right hand into his glove. Her father fisted his dagger hilt but stood firm behind the king’s chair. Jana pulled the soft white cloth from behind her and held it out to Darach. He took it, his fingers grazing hers. Their eyes met. They’d not spoken of the gentle press of his lips to her hand but a private smile inched along his mouth as he knelt before the king and pierced his palm with one sharp claw.

Today Darach was back to the costume of his home realm, the open vest baring his broad chest, the green breeches molding to his ass. His loose hair slid from his shoulder as he leaned forward to press the cloth to the wound dripping from King Taric’s hand.

Instead of her normal squeamish reaction, something in her core vibrated at the scarlet growing on the cloth. Something in a voice she couldn’t yet hear, but reached out to her through time and air. The wonder of going backward through her bloodline, seeing things that occurred before her birth, seemed almost a dream in the bright light of early afternoon.

She’d wanted to dance through time again immediately upon waking but Darach wouldn’t allow it. Passing through the waves of time took strength and endurance. He felt it was too early but his concern grated on her. She wasn’t as weak or as fragile as he seemed to think.

“Batu told me of the bonds but I do have questions.” Darach lifted the cloth, glanced at the still welling blood and replaced it, squeezing tightly. “The mark only appears on males. What if a daughter is born?”

“No mark.” King Taric used his free hand to lift his wineglass. “Still, she can’t bear children unless her heartmate is found, and the insanity threat is always present. So the curse is the same, just without scarring.”

Darach frowned. “Why?”

“I don’t know. Women never get the mark, men do.”

“Strange.” Darach angled his head in thought. “If your heir had been female, would her heartmate then become king?”

“No. Inheritance is foremost. My wife’s title is officially Queen Consort, as she married me, but I rule. If a woman inherits the crown, she becomes queen and her husband is called the Prince Consort, though she may take his name. Not all queens do. She is queen first, wife second, and no man has authority over her, not even a husband.”

“Before a Segur ruled, what name carried the crown?”

A slow breath raised the king’s chest, then he shook his head. “History isn’t my strong point, I don’t remember.”

“Ooman,” Papa snickered. “Cator Ooman was the king before the first Segur. I love it that I know more about the royal lines than you do.”

King Taric glared. “Stop being a smartass.”

Jana turned to the bookshelf, hiding her smile. Her father and the king squabbled like boys over the smallest things but they were closer than brothers.

“The bondmark, Batu said it is a line above his heart. Yours is the same?” Darach asked.

The king shifted in his seat, as regally as if sitting in his throne. “Yes, as was my father’s. It’s just a scar. If a bondmate dies, it turns black.”

“May I see it?”

He nodded and Jana slid toward the door, wishing to give the king some privacy. “I think I’ll go to the gardens, check on Feena. She managed some tea and toast. Argot and Batu took her to get some fresh air.”

Darach whipped his head around. The feral possession in his gaze stuttered her heartbeat but she gave all the men a sunny smile and slipped out of the study.

The garden entrance was small, only a single door that opened without sound. Whistling wind blew as Jana cracked it and she paused, wondering if she should take time to grab a mantle. But she’d only be a few minutes so she wrapped her arms tight to ward off the frigid air. A curl of dark gold fluttered across her eyes and she tucked it behind her ear while dodging around a group of topiary. The air grew louder, filled with a strange broken hiss. She looked up and froze.

The hisses came from arrows raining down from the top of the kirk, hurtling from the northern sky. One tore through the skirt of her gown. She instinctively crouched low, making the smallest possible target. Another whizzed by her ear. Twenty feet ahead, flat on the ground, Batu shielded Feena, lying atop her. At least one arrow protruded from his back.

Argot crouched on all fours, hovering over the couple. Multiple fletchings sticking out of his body quivered. He raised his bleeding face.

“Sound the alarm! Attack!”

Another arrow sank into his thigh and he jerked. She ran. A singing arrow flew past her, clipping the top edge of her ear. Fright erased all pain. She thrust open the heavy door. Inside each outer doorway was a rope snaking through the walls unseen to a set of master bells. The raw hemp burned her hands as she tugged, screaming for help.

Thunder filled the hall as soldiers flooded in. Three darted down the short stone steps, then fell, cut down before they made it into the garden. One man grasped his pierced throat, blood spurting into the air for two high arcs. Then it ceased, oozing slower into the ground and his hands fell away.

The Master Sergeant shoved Jana out of the way. “Shields! Turtle formation! Alpha crew, to the kirk top!”

Soldiers scattered as her father slid into the hall. “Report.”

“Don’t know,” the sergeant spat. “Three down and arrows are pissing from the sky like rain. All from the north.”

“Feena!” Jana cried. Her father whirled to her. “By the benches across from the daylily bed. Batu’s hit. Argot, too.”

“Stay down,” he yelled, pushing her into the corner. She dared not move. She’d rarely seen her father like this, all grit and seasoned warrior. He called for the portcullis to be dropped, all doors barred and the halls emptied. Every soul snapped to follow his commands. The castle was on wartime lockdown.

Her chest ached under the force of her heartbeat, and she shrank as small as she could to stay out of the way of stomping boots and weapons being assembled. Darach appeared at her side. He cupped her ear then drew his hand away to glare at the blood. “You’re injured. Why did you not call for me?”

“I’m fine. Feena’s out there. Batu and Argot are hurt.”

An untamed ember brewed in his gaze. “Do not leave this spot,
nayeli
.”

Power endued his muscles, firming them with a primitive grace. With one swipe of his massive hand, he shoved the Master Sergeant aside and stepped outside.

“Darach!” She leaped to her feet. Her father’s arm snaked around her waist. “Papa, stop him!”

“Look, Jana.”

The leather of Darach’s boot sole hit the first step. An enormous clawed paw hit the last. The grizzly charged, a growl bellowing from a widespread snout. Sharp teeth glistened in the sunlight. Muscles bunched and stretched as he ran into the garden. Missiles sailed to the ground, burying into the earth, ricocheting off statues, snagging in hedges. An arrow sank deep in Darach’s shoulder but he never slowed. One lunge propelled him over the huddled group.

Rising to his back legs, the bear raised his great head and an angry snarl burst out. An arrow stabbed into his side.

“He’s shielding them.” The sergeant gaped at the magical display.

Jana fought at her father’s hold, kicking out and scratching at his hands. He pressed his mouth tight to her ear. “Stop. A bear has thicker hide that you can imagine. He gives us time to save them.”

A high-pitched whine ended with a sickening thud as an arrow sank into Darach’s belly. Taller than any man, he fixed his eyes toward the church top and roared. Cold sunshine turned his coat to silver-tipped red and glinted off the knifelike claws. Her father thrust Jana aside and took the shield shoved at him.

Fourteen men raised their wide metal discs to form an overlapping shelter, then bolted out the door as one. Turtle maneuver, the sergeant had called it, and now she saw why. The platelike protection covered the soldiers as they hurried to the garden. Jana peeked around the doorframe.

Darach stood proud, providing another layer of defense from the arrows pelting down from the north. The guards clustered around Batu, Feena and Argot. A few men handed off their shields to their fellow warriors, then grabbed arms and legs, dragging the injured inside. The “turtle” moved as one living creature toward the castle.

A cry pealed and one soldier fell, an arrow deep in his ankle. The fellow beside him snagged his elbow and pulled him deeper into the huddle. In the center, her father supported a bloody Batu. A second soldier wrapped his arm around a filthy Feena. Two men dragged Argot beneath his armpits, a glistening trail of blood smearing the frozen pathway.

Jana shrank back as the troop squeezed in the door. Argot’s chest still rose and fell although his eyes were closed. She reached out, squeezing his fingers as he was carried past her. He didn’t squeeze back.

She caught the heavy door before someone closed it and peered out, searching. Arrows no longer fell from the sky. An eerie quiet filled the garden. The grizzly turned and Jana swallowed a scream. A dozen arrows stuck out from his body, scarlet dripping over the thick pelt. He swayed.

Darach hit the ground as a man but the arrows remained. His chest, stomach, shoulders and thighs all carried fletched shafts, and blood pumped from each wound. He locked his gaze with hers. His eyes glowed deep orange, like coals in a fire.

“Go! I will find you,
nayeli
.”

On a breath, pale purple smoke enveloped him and he sank into the hard ground, reclaimed by the earth he was born from. Bloody arrows scattered where his body had been.

Someone grabbed her from behind and slammed the door shut. Her mind raced, the bitter taste of fear and dread choking her. The alarm bells chimed in a light musical song that seemed so wrong in the face of such horror. She was swept along in the swarm of weapons and shields, strength and aggression. Even knowing she could not see through wood and stone, or around turns and corners, Jana craned her neck, watching over her shoulder.

Darach said he would return. She had to believe him. He was magic, a spell. Could a spell die by human hands? Her foot slipped in a smear of blood. Humans certainly could die from an arrow and her frantic eyes scoured the backs of the men shuttling them deeper into the castle, but she couldn’t see Batu or Feena. How badly were they hurt?

The knot of people halted in front of the study door as her father fumbled with his keys while supporting Batu. He rammed the key in the lock and thrust open the door.

King Taric leaped from his desk, his face lined with worry. “What the hell is happening?”

“The walls have been breached,” Papa muttered, handing off Batu. The Crowned Prince groaned as his father took his weight. Feena tore from a guard’s hold and rushed to his side. The soldier escorting Jana gave her a shove toward the wing chairs. Papa scowled. “Get everyone downstairs. I’ll come when I have word.”

The study door crashing shut and the lock clicking into place was loud even over the frantic sounds in the halls. Using one arm to support his son, the king pried open a bookcase, swinging it out into the room. A black void sucked the sunlight from the room.

“Feena, grab the lamp and lead the way.” He snagged the whiskey bottle from the wet bar and thrust it at Jana. “Go, straight down. I’ll lock the passageway behind us.”

Darkness swallowed them. The single lamp trembled in Feena’s hand, the light dancing wildly on the narrow stone steps and walls. Twenty, thirty, forty steps, and the ground leveled out. The stone room was no more than a cell.

“Where are we?” Feena whispered.

“The king’s safehold.”

Feena held the lamp high, casting its weak light around the chamber. A wide ledge circled three of four walls and that was it. There were no water barrels packed away, no lanterns waiting for a flame, no medical boxes holding herbs and bandages. Peace had reigned so long in Eldwyn, there had been no need to keep any perishable goods stored away for emergencies. Now the empty ledges seemed to mock their plight, offering nothing but cold, hard reality. There was nothing of use. Just stone and blackness.

The terror of Jana’s dream burst into life, skating on her skin with dread.

The king lowered Batu to one ledge. “Are either of you hurt?”

“A scratch,” Jana murmured.

“Just bruises.” Feena’s voice was calm, no trace of fear lingering. She touched her cheek and offered him a frail smile. “And dirt. Batu covered me.”

“Where the hell is Argot?” the king spat.

“He was hit.” Lamplight highlighted the planes of Batu’s cheeks.

The king froze. “Badly?”

“I don’t know.”

Batu’s soft murmur closed Jana’s eyes. She fingered Argot’s ring, sending a prayer up. He had to be all right. A gentle touch on her shoulder opened her eyes.

Feena gave her an encouraging squeeze. “He’ll be fine. He’s the strongest man I know.”

“I’m so glad you’re okay.” She wrapped her arms around Feena’s waist.

Feena’s trembling hands belied her smooth voice. “Me, too. It happened so fast.”

The king stiffened his jaw. “Feena, bring me the light. Jana, the whiskey.”

Feena hefted the glass lantern, and pale gold washed over Batu. Sweat dotted his face and pain clenched his teeth. Two arrows, one in his outer thigh and another high in his shoulder, angled sharply. King Taric unsheathed Batu’s dagger and sliced along the leg of his stained breeches. His probing finger tightened Batu’s face. The arrowhead wasn’t deep but blood slowly welled around the shaft. Jana’s throat clenched as her stomach lurched. Quickly, she looked away.

“Not terrible,” the king murmured. “Still, it’s been a while since I’ve had to deal with war wounds. I don’t suppose either of you ladies brought your stitchery with you?” The false humor rang hollow. “Well, then perhaps you could spare your shifts to make some bandages?”