Guardian of the Storm

by Kaitlyn O’Connor

  “We, too, are a peaceful people.”

  Tempest glanced at him, but she didn’t argue the point. She was sure that, comparatively speaking, the Zoeans were peaceful. They were still, of necessity, far more war-like than the people, far less civilized.

  She wondered quite suddenly if the Niahians were rebuilding, as well. It made sense, now that she began comparing the two different civilizations. Everyone at the colony had assumed that Niah was merely a primitive world, undeveloped, its inhabitants only just climbing toward true civilization.

  Kiran had told her very little, but from what he had said, it seemed to indicate that something global had happened to his world. The Keepers of the Memory might indicate ancient records that dated back to a time when this world had been entirely different, perhaps much more civilized. He’d suggested as much, but she’d thought it was just tales, passed down from generation to generation. She hadn’t considered, until now, that it might actually be true and that his world, having been nearly destroyed, the survivors had had to start once more, virtually at the bottom of the chain of evolution to build again.

  For the first time since she’d met him, she felt a genuine curiosity to know what it was that he had been sent to accomplish. Apparently, it was something he, and all of his people, believed would bring their world back to what it had been before.

  It still didn’t make sense to her, turn it though she would. Planets, if they weren’t totally destroyed, usually regenerated, but they did it slowly, over time. Everyone believed, given time, the Earth would one day be inhabitable again, maybe not for many generations, but eventually.

  But, short of moving the whole planet to a different orbital path, and perhaps seeding it, she couldn’t imagine anything that would bring about a sudden change.

  Kiran abruptly drew her from her thoughts by grasping her arm. She looked up at him in surprise, then followed the direction of his gaze.

  In the distance, just topping a tall dune, she saw men—perhaps a dozen of them, mounted on beasts. She could tell nothing about them at this distance except that they were wearing long reddish robes that blended surprisingly well with their surroundings. If not for the beasts they were mounted on and the fact that the fabric was flapping around them, she might never have noticed them at all.

  Pushing her into the sand, Kiran covered her with his own body. Tempest grunted as the air was forced from her lungs by the impact. “What are you doing?”

  “It is the Mordune,” he whispered harshly.

  “Yeah, but why squash me?”

  “Your flesh is white,” Kiran pointed out testily.

  She wasn’t that white! In point of fact, she was more red by now than anything else … not brown, like the Niahians, but definitely not white—not anymore. She found she didn’t really have the breath to argue with him, however.

  After a moment, he rolled off of her and began dragging her down the other side of the dune. “You think they saw us?” she gasped.

  “Yes,” he said grimly.

  Tempest’s heart seemed to stand still. “What do we do now?” There was no place to run to. No place to hide.

  “We wait. If they did not see us, they will pass us by.”

  “But, if they did …?”

  “They might still pass us by.”

  “And they might not.” Waiting wasn’t much of a plan in her book.

  “They are mounted on aquestans. If they were on foot, as we are, we might have a chance of evading them.”

  He might have a chance. He didn’t need to say it for her to figure out that having her along was enough to doom both of them. “You go then. I’ll …uh … hide here. I’m not Zoean, not an enemy. Maybe they’ll just ignore me.”

  “You are female.”

  “You think they could tell that from that distance?”

  “I could.”

  “That’s because you know,” Tempest pointed out testily. “You didn’t know at first.”

  “Because I could not see you well.”

  “Arguing isn’t going to get us any where.”

  He smiled faintly at that, studying her sharply for several moments. Abruptly, he grasped her, pulling her tightly against his length. Before Tempest could even wonder what he was doing, he dipped his head and pressed his lips firmly to hers. A combination of surprise and pleasure jolted through her, making her toes curl in the sand. She gasped, grasping his shoulders. He touched his tongue to her lips, testing the sensitive flesh where her lips met, tasting her, and then plunging past that barrier to taste and explore the exquisitely sensitive inner surfaces of her mouth.

  Tempest was both shocked and enthralled at the intimacy of his touch, captivated by the rough rake of his tongue along hers. His taste, his scent, filled her with a delightful sense of floating, a dizzying rush of heat. The muscles low in her belly clenched, a warm wetness flooding her sex.

  When he released her almost as abruptly, Tempest swayed dizzily, opening her eyes with an effort.

  “I will not allow harm to come to you, little grat. I swear it. Stay close.”

  Tempest smiled at him a little vaguely, still too caught up in the sensations he’d created inside of her to spare much thought for danger, real or imagined. “I’m not a grat,” she said teasingly. “I’m a storm. Remember?”

  Kiran frowned, studied her searchingly for several moments and finally thrust her away from him. Turning, he pulled his weapons and planted his feet wide, waiting.

  Thrust abruptly back into reality, Tempest realized belatedly that it wasn’t merely her heart she heard thundering in her ears. It was the approach of riders, many riders.

  Almost as if her mind had conjured them, they crested the rise at that moment. Shrieking like demons, waving their own weapons threateningly, they plunged down the dune to where Kiran stood waiting—one man against nearly a dozen. Tempest’s blood seemed to freeze in her veins, her muscles seized, leaving her little more than a breathing statue as the horde thundered down upon them. Her mind screamed at her to run, but she couldn’t command her feet to move.

  The first clash of metal against metal shook her from her stupor, but by then it was far too late. The Mordune surrounded them, jockeying for a position to trade blows with Kiran. Seeing that she was unarmed, one man shot past Kiran’s determined blows, grasping a handful of her hair. She screamed, grabbing his hand. Almost in slow motion she saw Kiran glance toward her, saw Kirry race toward her from out of nowhere and launch herself at the man who’d grabbed her.

  “No!” Tempest screamed, reaching toward Kiran as if she could stop the vicious blow of the man who’d taken advantage of Kiran’s distraction.

  Kiran ducked, swinging at the same moment and, to Tempest’s relief, managed to block the blow. She was released abruptly, and landed in a heap on the sand. Looking up, she saw that Kirry was moving over her assailant so fast she was little more than a blur of motion as she shredded the man’s flesh from his back, arms, and head. She was tempted to urge the little beast on, but as another Mordune surged forward, his arm raised as if to cleave the little grat in two, she jumped to her feet and reached toward the grat. “No! Kirry!”

  Startled, the grat’s head jerked toward the sound of her voice. In the next instant, it leapt off of the man, even as the other man swung at it. Landing in the sand at her feet, Kirry whirled, all four legs braced, her ridge of fur standing on end as she growled threateningly at the men surrounding them.

  Someone shouted something. What, Tempest had no idea since she couldn’t speak their language, but as abruptly as they’d attacked, the Mordune withdrew.

  Gasping for breath, Tempest turned to look at Kiran. He was kneeling in the sand, bleeding from a dozen cuts on his arms, his thighs, and chest. She rushed toward him, falling to the sand and examining his injuries. Several looked dangerously deep and she turned to glare at the Mordune.

  To her surprise, they hadn’t gone far before they had turned their mounts around once more. Now, they merely sat perfectly still, s
taring, arguing amongst themselves.

  She stared at them, wondering what was happening. Not for a moment did she believe Kirry and Kiran had fought them off, although, save for one or two, all were wounded, just as Kiran was.

  Finally, one of the men, who seemed to be the leader, dismounted. He stared at her as if she was some sort of two headed beast. Finally, he fell to his knees, his arms outstretched.

  “Long will the children of Niah suffer and find no rest, no succor from strife, but, in time your pleas will be heard ….

  “And the day will come when mother Niah will assume the form of a mortal creature and appear unto her children—

  “She is Niah and she will be as one with all creatures great and small and you will know her, for she will command even the wild creatures.

  “Bless us, mother Niah! Make our world green once more!”

  He began to sob, bowing low, his arms stretched out before him. Almost as one, the others dismounted and fell to their knees, bowing as their leader had.

  Tempest stared at them blankly. “What did he say?” she whispered to Kiran. When she glanced at him, she saw that he, too, was looking at her strangely.

  “He says you are the One.”

  Tempest blinked. “One what?”

  “They believe you are the One who’s coming was foretold.” With an effort, he turned, bowing as the others had. Tempest stared down at him wide-eyed, feeling a blush rise from her toes all the way to the top of her head.

  Tempest looked at the other men uncomfortably, wondering what to do. On the one hand, she couldn’t help but think it was a very fortunate thing that the Mordune had jumped to such a conclusion.

  But then, there was one really serious draw back.

  She wasn’t the One.

  Chapter Eight

  High emotion was something almost impossible to sustain, no matter how dire the situation, but Tempest found it was also impossible to completely dismiss as she and Kiran were mounted with two of the Mordune and taken away. It didn’t help that she was worried about Kiran’s wounds; that no one spoke her language but he; and that she had no notion of where they were going or what would happen when they got there. She had enough presence of mind, however, to realize that they believed she was some sort of deity, and that fainting, screaming, cursing, or crying probably wouldn’t fit in too well with the image.

  She was scared enough to do a little of all three, and it took an effort to refrain.

  The sun was low upon the horizon when they came at last to what looked like a city of tents. From the moment Tempest realized that it was some sort of portable abode, her tension increased tenfold.

  It seemed likely that she was about to find out what would happen and she discovered, belatedly, that she’d rather not know. People poured from the tents as they approached, standing silently, watching, listening as the leader gestured wildly with his arms and pointed to her repeatedly. She sat stiffly erect, staring at a point over their heads since she was too unnerved to look directly at them.

  The leader had barely stopped speaking when a collective gasp issued from the crowd surrounding them and Tempest turned to see what they were staring at. With consternation if not a great deal of surprise, she saw that Kirry had arrived. She stared at the grat, willing it not to do anything that would cause them more trouble. The grat sat, staring back at her as if waiting for some signal.

  Relieved, Tempest returned her attention to the Mordune. Almost as one, they fell to their knees as the raiders had, bowing, wailing. Every hair on Kirry’s body stood out and, with a growl, she took off.

  Tempest looked at Kiran helplessly, wondering what to do. Dismounting, he moved toward her, reaching up and lifting her from the saddle. She clung to him. “What are we going to do when they find out I’m not who they think I am?” she whispered.

  He squeezed her reassuringly. “I will tell them we must go to the sacred Temple of Zoe.”

  “But they don’t believe in Zoe, do they?”

  “They call her Niah.”

  Tempest was only slightly reassured, but, to her relief, when Kiran spoke to them, the Mordune got up almost as abruptly as they’d fallen to the ground and began yelling excitedly. Several women surged forward, surrounding her. Tempest looked at Kiran helplessly, trying to hide the fear that made her feel faint and sick.

  “I have reminded them that, in your mortal form, you are weakened and in need of food and rest. Go with them. You will come to no harm.”

  She didn’t really have a choice as far as she could see. None of them actually touched her—any who accidentally bumped into her jumped back in fright—but they seemed very determined to guide her away for all that.

  “But—you’re hurt. What about your wounds?”

  “They will be attended.”

  She didn’t want to go off with the women, but she was afraid to argue. They led her to the largest tent, which seemed to be in the center of the village, and urged her inside. Once there, the women pointed to a mound of pillows in one corner. Shrugging mentally, Tempest crossed the sandy floor and sat down.

  Looking desperate to please, the women scattered in every direction. Two returned carrying something that looked like a huge dish, which they set down near the center of the tent. Following them were other women bearing skins—water Tempest discovered when they began pouring it into the shallow ‘dish’. It dawned on Tempest when they began gesturing at her clothing and chattering that they’d prepared a bath for her.

  She didn’t think she’d ever actually gotten ‘in’ water to bathe, unless it was when she’d been a very small child. As important as everyone knew cleanliness was, water was far too precious on Niah to use for bathing, unless it was in very small quantities. At the colony, they had built particle baths, such as had been used on Earth in the days before. Since she’d left, she’d used a damp cloth to bathe, which not only prevented contamination of her tiny water supply, but also conserved it for drinking.

  It seemed very decadent to consider doing so now, but the women seemed so insistent she finally got up, stripped her clothes off and approached the bath they’d prepared. One of the women, an older, motherly looking woman, grasped her hand and helped her step into it. Tempest sat a little nervously, closing her eyes as the cool water washed over her hips and knees.

  It felt strange to have water lapping around her, but she finally decided she liked the feel of it against her skin. Chattering happily, the women brought sweet smelling creams and rubbed them into her hair and skin, then, to Tempest’s surprise, rinsed them away again. She discovered, though, that a faint scent lingered on her skin.

  Finally, when they’d finished rinsing her, she was urged to stand up and the woman who’d helped her climb into the bath, helped her out once more, wrapping a large cloth around her.

  When she’d taken a seat on the pillows once more, the older woman knelt beside her and began very carefully picking the tangles from her wet hair. Tempest winced, but gritted her teeth. She’d sawed her hair off short with a sharp stone because she had no way of keeping it in any sort of order, but even so the almost constant winds of Niah kept it in a tangle of knots.

  She was just beginning to enjoy it when the woman, apparently satisfied, stopped combing and rose. Clapping her hands, she summoned several of the younger women who came forward carrying several small articles—clothing Tempest decided as they urged her to stand again.

  Sort of, she mentally amended when she looked down at the ‘garment’. She was next door to naked when they’d finished. The top didn’t even completely cover her breasts, and it left her back entirely bare. The bottom was no more than two sheer pieces of fabric connected by tiny chains around her waist. It covered her sex—so long as she didn’t move, but she could well imagine that one tiny breeze would expose everything she had.

  Mentally, she shrugged. It was beautiful for all that and it wasn’t as if she’d been covered all that well by her own ragged clothing. These garments at least had the virtue of be
ing pretty.

  When they’d finished adjusting the garments, three more women came forward, two carrying some sort of armbands, the third a strange looking headpiece topped with huge, fluffy feathers. The bands, when placed on her arms, covered her arms from wrist to elbow. They were made of some strange material Tempest was totally unfamiliar with, much like metal, except that it stretched and retracted almost like skin, fitting her arms as snugly as if the bands had been made for her. The headdress was surprising, as well, light like the armbands, fitting snugly to her skull.

  They stepped back when they were finished, admiring their handiwork Tempest supposed, and then quickly formed a line toward the entrance of the tent.

  Apparently, Tempest decided, she was to be escorted out again, so that everybody could see her finery. She moved toward the tent flaps the women held back, ducking slightly when she went under for fear she’d lose the headdress.

  She halted abruptly when she’d left the tent, dismayed to discover everyone was lined up outside, formed into two long lines, waiting. Kiran, she saw, was waiting near the opposite end of the line of people and her heart gave a little skip of gladness and relief at the sight of him. Steadying her nerves, she focused on him as she walked slowly down the row, ignoring them as they bowed worshipfully before her.

  It wasn’t easy to ignore. It thrummed in her mind with each step she took that they thought she was someone, something, she was not. She didn’t want to think about what they might do if they discovered they’d been wrong, but she couldn’t help but worry that she might do something to shatter their belief.

  Kiran had said that he would tell them she had to travel to the sacred mountain, to the Temple of Zoe. She sincerely hoped he could convince them to take the two of them there soon. She was very much afraid that she wouldn’t be able to maintain a suitably deity-like demeanor for very long at all.