“For what purpose, then? To meet you, it must be!”
Tiberan felt a pit of unease in his gut. Joratan’s speech became more insistent, more fevered with every word.
“We must discover the source of the evil in this house! I’m convinced the other two scheme and plot. Help me reveal it, and our wife will reward us both with the favor of her womb, I’m sure of it. Such loyalty is surely a worthy thing.”
Tiberan spoke softly. “What is it that you suspect our house-brothers of?”
“They are too friendly with ratling ways. Their work as tradesmen must have allowed Athra—” he spit after the name “—to corrupt their souls.”
Tiberan laughed. “You think they are hiding designs for civilization under our very noses?”
Joratan looked as if he had been slapped. His eyes widened, betraying realization that he had said too much, that he had been too eager to interpret the elf’s initial response as sympathetic. Tiberan regretted his outburst, but it could not be taken back.
“I’m sorry, my friend,” the elf said, standing. “I cannot help you. I believe our house-brothers to be loyal, devoted, and honorable men.”
“We’ll see,” Joratan sneered. He crossed his arms over his shoulders and hunched as he left.
The four of them hunted triceratops in preparation for a feast celebrating the joining of Soorleyn’s Virgin to Rin’s Matriarch as a formally recognized house. It seemed odd that the Matriarch would forsake the fathers of her children, but the mysteries of Rin were not for men to question. Aradma’s title as the Virgin Consort had spread through the people, and they now venerated her for her purity at the right hand of the Matriarch. It was fitting, then, that she should never be spoiled by a man’s touch. Tiberan recalled Aradma’s admission that she had secretly lain with a man and feared that she would be put to death should her betrayal ever be revealed.
Tiberan crouched low in the leaves with Ghiel, watching the trail. He held a sharp spear in his hands, long enough to skewer a boar, not having earned the right and trust to bear firearms. His bow and knives had not been returned to him. The other three each held rifles. Tidot and Joratan were on the other side, hidden from view. Now the great wait began.
“What worries me,” Ghiel whispered, “is whether the other priestesses will follow their Matriarch’s example. Will they all eschew themselves of their men? Will we find ourselves without a wife?”
Tiberan considered this for a moment. “Surely not,” he concluded. “That would be folly. You need children to survive as a people. This must be a symbolic gesture reserved for the Matriarch and Aradma.”
“You mean the Virgin,” Ghiel said. “I’m not sure it is proper to call her by her name any more, just as the Matriarch abandoned her birth name after ascending to the Obsidian Throne.”
“If they are to rule together, why is she considered only the consort?”
Ghiel chuckled. “‘Only’? That is the highest honor. The goddesses are equal, yes, but Rin will always be first among equals in the jungles of Vemnai, only because she is closer to us here and the moon is distant overhead.”
“Tidot said something the other day,” Tiberan ventured. “He said Ouran had been taken care of. What did he mean by that?”
“The Matriarch can afford compassion when she knows that we will ensure justice be done,” Ghiel said. “She showed compassion for the Virgin’s sake but honor demanded his life. She knew his house-brothers would bring him to his fate even before she pronounced judgment.”
Tiberan frowned. “How is Joratan settling in?”
“His mind is in an impossible place, I’m afraid. He cannot stand that the Matriarch pronounced leniency. He cannot fathom how Suleima would have betrayed her faith. Yet in his mind the Matriarch cannot be wrong. His thoughts twist in circles, and I’m worried he will suffer sickness for it.”
“He suspects your house is the source of Ouran and Suleima’s corruption.”
“His mind searches for a reason and will grasp at anything. It is good you tell me this. We must watch him carefully and help our brother back to a place of well-being.”
“Isn’t learning of Ouran’s death enough?”
“That is house business, and he was not our house-brother at the time. He was not betrayed by Ouran. We were. He was betrayed by Suleima, who cannot pay in that same way.”
At that moment, a great bull triceratops slowly moved into view on the jungle trail.
“Shhh,” Ghiel whispered. Then he signaled with his hands for Tiberan to flank the creature.
Tiberan moved off to the left, moving through the jungle in utter silence. When he positioned himself behind the dinosaur, he nearly jumped in surprise. Ghost made his presence known beside him. Tiberan chastised himself. He had gotten out of the habit of sensing his surroundings.
Let me hunt with you, Ghost silently said in his mind.
No. It is not safe for you with them.
Then come away with me.
Soon. Not yet.
Why?
Tiberan sent the mental image of Aradma.
Ghost stared at him with golden eyes. I understand. I will wait for you.
Soon, Tiberan told him again. Until I can persuade her to leave, I must adapt my ways to theirs and live as one of them.
Ghost shrank back into the foliage
Tiberan turned his attention forward once more, but the beast had moved on, and now the elven hunter had fallen behind.
He hurried to catch up as quickly as he could without breaking the silence and reached the group just in time. Ghiel on the right sighted through his rifle, as did Tidot on the left. Joratan hung back a step.
Tiberan stood forward and called to the triceratops. “Hold, friend!” he said. The words weren’t important; his job was to distract it from the trolls, who took careful aim. A wrong shot would hit the triceratop’s bony armor and only make the thing mad. A shot through the eyes was needed.
The triceratops turned around, quick for its size, and faced the elf. It lifted its back, extending its tail into the air while lowering its head. It looked forward around its bony crown to sight its opponent, then turned to either side, as if confused. Surely this great king of beasts would not be challenged by the puny elf waving a silly stick in front of him. The bull snorted.
Tidot leaned forward, taking careful aim.
Out of the corner of his vision, Tiberan saw Joratan jostle Tidot’s shoulder at the last moment. The crack of the gun reported but the bullet missed, hitting the bony ridge above the dinosaur’s eye.
The triceratops bellowed, its beak opening and tongue extending to the roof of its mouth. It turned and descended upon Tidot’s position.
Instinct took over and Tiberan shot forward, legs pumping. He pushed Tidot out of the way of the charging bull dinosaur, rolling on the jungle floor to break the fall. Through that, he managed to keep his grip on the spear.
Tiberan sprang to his feet and launched his weapon at Joratan, who had brought his rifle to bear on the elf. The spear struck Joratan’s left hand, knocking the rifle to the ground. Joratan snarled and fled into the jungle.
The triceratops again looked from side to side, confused by this strange behavior. It was not sure now who was the threat.
Tiberan reached out to the dinosaur’s mind quickly and established a bond.
Your enemy is there, Tiberan said, pointing after Joratan.
The triceratops bellowed, then crashed into the underbrush at terrifying speed.
Tidot rose to his feet. “Thank you, my brother.”
Ghiel emerged. “I saw it all. Joratan tried to kill you, Tidot, and make it look like an accident. Tiberan, it seems you were right to be concerned about him.”
Tidot shook his head. “I am amazed! I am not speaking of Joratan. What did you do to the triceratops? You pointed after him and it heard you, though you said nothing. It understood and did your bidding.”
Tiberan folded his hands over his chest.
Ghiel spoke softly.
“It is your secret,” he said. “You speak to the jungle’s creatures. Sometimes we forget that you too are a child of the Green Lady. Fear not; we will honor your secret.”
Tiberan nodded. “I am grateful.” Then he added, “We cannot hunt this beast now. He has been loyal to my command, and I will not slay an animal once bonded.”
They nodded. “It is honorable this way.”
They followed the trail of the triceratops to discover Joratan’s fate. They did not find their brother, at least not all of him. A hundred yards away from the trail they found a sticky mass of blood and bones. The rump of the triceratops receded into the leafy distance.
Couraime came to see them that evening. She held Tiberan’s bow and daggers. “I am saddened by the loss of Joratan,” she said. “He had a sickness of the mind. But I am grateful for you saving Ghiel and Tidot. Your quick thinking saved me from further grief. Rin blessed your actions by stirring the triceratops to follow the traitor, of this I am sure. I present you back your weapons.” She outstretched her arms and Tiberan took them.
“Thank you, my lady,” he said. The bow felt good in his hands, and he strapped the daggers back to his belt.
She nodded at him with approval. “Yes, you may call me your lady. You are a house-brother here, and I accept you as husband. Should Rin deem you worthy at the appointed time, I will visit you. In the meantime,” she turned to Ghiel, “I have arranged a special order in Kallanista. You must go there and retrieve it for us. Tell no one.”
Ghiel nodded. “I will go at daybreak.”
Couraime smiled. “Good night, my husbands.” She departed.
Ghiel returned from the trip to Kallanista ten days later, barely able to contain his excitement. He held a cloth sack with something wrapped inside.
“Did you get them?” Tidot asked.
Ghiel nodded.
“I must see.”
“Not here, not here!” Ghiel exclaimed. “You know the rules!”
They both stopped and stared at Tiberan, who now eyed the bag with interest.
“What rules?” the elf asked. He distinctly had the feeling that Joratan might have been right. His house-brothers might indeed be involved in something less than proper.
They looked at each other, exchanging meaningful glances.
“I think it’s time,” Tidot prodded his brother. “He has earned our trust.”
Ghiel considered and then nodded. “Very well, but—” turning to Tiberan “—we must swear you to secrecy!”
Tiberan nodded. “I will not breathe a word.”
Ghiel opened the bag, which contained a hand-sized book, several inches thick.
“You—you can read?” Tiberan exclaimed. He realized now that in all his days with them he had never seen any troll so much as read a scroll. He surmised it too was a forbidden art of Athra.
“Follow us.”
They led Tiberan to a small chamber at the back of their house. Tidot leaned down and pressed a few specific bumps in the cave wall, and then an audible click sounded. A moment of silence passed, and then a small section of the wall separated and drew back to form a secret portal.
The three men entered, and Tidot closed the door behind them. The door mechanism was constructed of wooden gears, which, though not metal, were more complex and larger than any of the small ratling trinkets they usually brought back to Vemnai.
The passage led to a great hall three hundred feet in length and a hundred feet wide. It was lined with torches, and there were scores of men sitting at crafting tables, building gear-work.
Tiberan stood amazed. “Surely the cloister is unaware of this.”
Ghiel raised an amused eyebrow. “For the most part. A very small circle of priestesses know, but it is hidden from the rest. Even the Matriarch does not know.”
“And Couraime?”
“She knows.”
“Does this not put you all in danger?”
“It is a delicate situation,” he said, “and our society depends on its secret. Few men know, and fewer women, but it is permitted by Rin.”
Tidot jumped in. “The works of Athra are forbidden, with one exception. If her works are learned with the ultimate goal of turning her arts against her, for expansion of Rin’s worship and the way of the Vemnai, then it is permitted because it serves Rin’s greater good.”
“How do you keep this secret?” Tiberan asked. “There are no signs of industry in your city, no smoke from smelting fires.”
Ghiel nodded. “Stonewood. We carve our gears by hand when the wood is soft, but it dries harder and more resilient than metal.”
“We buy and use ratling weaponry, so our men are trained in its use. When the time comes, we have our own firearms to give them, of better make.”
“And gunpowder?”
Ghiel grinned and raised the book. “A secret we now possess, among others!”
Tidot chuckled. “As blessed as that day will be when Athra is no more, I will be a little sad not to tinker any more.”
Ghiel chided him, “Be quiet. Such talk is not what our wife would hear from you.”
“Don’t let him fool you,” Tidot told Tiberan. “He enjoys it too. There’s something in the male soul that is captivated by gadgetry. Perhaps this is why we are the lesser sex.”
“Ah!” Tiberan realized. “This is what Joratan suspected. This is the ‘blasphemy’ to which he referred.”
Tidot cocked his head inquisitively.
“He tried to turn me against you,” Tiberan explained. “He suspected you were keeping secrets, but I did not believe him.”
Ghiel nodded, his demeanor becoming serious. “Indeed. Even more tragic then; his suspicion was not madness. Most men would react as he did—as they should—which is why we keep it a secret. It is good that he is dead. Unfortunate, but necessary.”
Three days later, Couraime returned to the house when the evening air was unusually pleasant and cool. The three men stood when she entered.
“Walk with me,” she addressed Tiberan. He looked at his house-brothers. They raised their eyebrows but said nothing.
“As you wish,” he answered and followed her out the door.
The two of them walked alone on a path of wooden bridges spanning the river outside the waterfall. The sky was black overhead, with only an occasional flash of lighting shining from the heavens.
She looked at him shyly. “You have been with us over a moon now. You are settling in?”
“I am,” he said. “Ghiel and Tidot have been very helpful.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” she said. “This is a strange time for us to welcome elves into our midst, and even stranger that I call one ‘husband.’ We were no friends of the sidhe but you are different. It is as strange for you as it is for us, I am sure.”
“You have been most welcoming,” he said.
“I was sorry to hear of Joratan,” she said, “but I’m glad that you saved my husbands. Joratan had a sickness of the mind. One should not suffer in life so.”
They stopped in the center of the bridge, and he looked into her eyes. She stood at eye level with him, and her cheek tusks curled into tiny rings. Unlike the Matriarch, she had vibrant green eyes, and her skin was a light blue, the color of the open daylight sky. Her nose was soft and delicate, without the animalistic form of the males, and her lips parted slightly, full and inviting. He caught his breath.
In her eyes, he could see her desire, but he knew better than to call attention to it. It was not something he was supposed to see, much less embarrass her by acknowledging it.
“Follow me,” she said. She led him onto a small ledge, away from the main city. “This is a private place I know.”
She turned and faced him. Thunder struck closer and rain fell softly on her cheeks. It was dark. Tiberan could hardly see her. Lightning flashes revealed the clarity of her face and interest in her eyes. Between flashes he saw her silhouette, and the soft gold glow of his own eyes that reflected in hers.
He guessed her purp
ose. “Are we not to go to your chamber in the cloister?” he asked.
“It is proper,” she admitted. “But it is said that when the night sky is covered in clouds, rain hides the eyes of the goddess. She does not judge what she cannot see. On a night like this, certain things are permitted.”
“Such as?”
She took his hands in hers.
“I would look upon your face when we lie together.”
“I thought the women of Vemnai did not desire men in this way.”
“We are forbidden from showing our pleasure,” she said, “but it does not mean we don’t feel it. There are a blessed few, like the Matriarch, who are born with no desire for men. I am not one of them. Even more, I am cursed that I have no desire for women. The thought alone turns my stomach. I am an abomination to my people, and so I keep this secret. I have worked hard to follow every precept and every teaching to purify myself, and I have only visited my husbands in the proper way. I’ve never taken an indulgence of the dark night.
“But it is whispered by my sisters that to love under the clouded night keeps our men loyal. Perhaps if I had indulged my desire I would not have lost Ouran. Now he wanders the world outcast, and I have lost my beloved husband.”
“He never knew your feelings,” Tiberan said. He thought it interesting that the men had not told her of Ouran’s fate.
“Because it is not permitted!” Couraime cried. “Why does the goddess torment me with the love of men and men alone? Why cannot I find love with my sisters in the cloister?”
Moved by her sadness, Tiberan embraced her. She inclined her face ever so slightly and parted her lips. He kissed her and their embrace deepened.
“I want you, even though I should not,” she said. “I can only mate for children, and you and I cannot produce offspring. I know what the Matriarch said, in front of her. That was for show. This is forbidden, but I do not care.”
She did not pull away but instead reached her fingers up into his hair. He felt her heat and soft warmth pressed against him and his body responded. Her tongue touched his lips and she whimpered with passion.
When Dragons Die- The Complete Trilogy Box Set Page 20