by Pippa Jay
“Yes. Come on. Breakfast is waiting.”
Keir rose, dressed and joined her in the kitchen where she had set out their morning meal. He ate slowly, every mouthful eloquent of his reluctance to face the morning’s planned activity. His anxiety seeped into her consciousness until she felt her own stomach knotting with his apprehension–an unnerving experience.
“You’re worried about this, aren’t you?”
Keir dragged his gaze up to meet hers. “I am.”
“Don’t you trust me, Keir?”
“If I did not, would I have agreed to this?”
“You’re a fast learner. You’ll pick it up no trouble.” She gave him a smile, and he returned it briefly before resuming his breakfast. Even with his unease playing on her nerves, she could not resist adding in jest, “And I promise I’ll try not to let you drown.”
The look he shot her was scathing and she kept her silence for the rest of the meal.
* * * *
“Relax,” she said. “You said you trust me.”
She walked backward in the water, facing him with both his hands held tight in her own. It reminded him of the night she had led him to their bed–just as terrifying but without the same promise of pleasure to come. Keir followed as they waded deeper, tension buzzing in his veins.
As the water rose to his waist, and then further, his steps faltered. Quin tugged at him, relentless, her thoughts offering silent reassurance. She stopped only when the sea reached halfway up her chest.
“I cannot do this…” The prospect of letting himself sink into the water made him feel faintly sick.
“You can do it.” Her words broke over him and took the edge off his fear. “I won’t let go of you.”
She made him turn around, so that he had his back to her, then crouch in the water until it reached his chin.
“Now, relax back and trust me to hold you.”
Keir tried to uncoil the tension in his limbs and obey, but as soon as the water soaked into his hair he flailed forward, gulping a mouthful of brine. He thrust himself upright, choking.
“Easy.” Quin smacked her hand on his back until he stopped coughing. “Let’s try that again.”
And they did. Over and over again, until his throat and nose burned. Each time she asked him to trust himself to the water, he knotted himself up and sank, to end up thrashing uselessly and bringing up saline.
“This is no good,” Quin admitted finally.
Ashamed of his inability to have faith that Quin and the water would support him, Keir stood shaking, sickened by more than the sea water in his stomach. “I am sorry–”
“No.” She cut off his apology. “Maybe I shouldn’t have insisted. I’m just afraid…”
“Afraid of what?” He reached for her hand.
“Afraid that if anything goes wrong, when we’re out on the water…” She clutched his fingers tightly. “If you could at least keep yourself afloat, that would be something.”
He sucked in a long breath. “It is hard.”
“Yes. I can see that.” She frowned. “Would you trust me to try something else?”
Sensing her desperation, he nodded. She stepped in closer to him, cupped his face in her hands and pushed her mind into his. He gasped and then forced himself to relax, to accept, as she blanketed his thoughts with her own. It was not the same as when they spoke telepathically, nor the communion they had during sex. There was no sharing. Instead, she smothered his fears, his anxieties, deadening them. An odd sense of dislocation filled him, as if part of his self had been taken away. For an instant, panic cut between their minds as he resisted instinctively but she suppressed that too. It hurt–a little.
Then his mind drifted free and his awareness narrowed. When Quin told him to lie back in the water, he did so, his limbs loose. Water closed briefly around his face as he dipped down, but this time he allowed it, felt it peel away from his skin as he floated back to the surface. Quin’s hands were under his shoulders and she leaned over him, her gray eyes fixed on his face.
Warm water held him, rocked him gently. He found it no effort to let it carry him. Quin moved out of his sight, but he knew she would not go far, that she would stay with him.
The tension eased from his limbs. For a while he watched a handful of small winged lizards spiraling across the sky as the sea cradled him. The strange feeling of separation from a part of himself faded. Several moments passed before he realized he could no longer feel Quin’s hands under his shoulders, or feel her presence in his mind. He twisted in the water and promptly sank, swallowing another mouthful of brine as he did so. Flailing, he resurfaced and Quin giggled at him from a distance.
“I’m sorry,” she said, though there was very little apology in her tone. “You seemed to be enjoying yourself without me.”
Keir gagged and coughed, snorting out brine. “I was.”
He rushed at her, scooping up water as he charged forward. Quin squealed and swam until she was too far out for him to wade. With a shake of his head, he slapped the surface of the water and turned to walk away.
“Hey!” she yelled. “Why don’t you come out here and get me?”
“I cannot swim. Remember?”
With barely a splash, Quin swam back to him and took his hands. “Then the lesson isn’t over yet.” She grinned.
* * * *
As the day progressed, he managed to learn a few swimming strokes though he refused to leave the safety of the shallows, secure only when he knew his feet could touch the sand. Afterward, they ate on the beach and dried themselves out in the evening sun, relaxing in its last warm rays. Before the dark drew in, they dismantled the awning that had sheltered them on their first day, intending to reuse it as a sail for the raft, before retreating to the hut for the night.
Keir had found the day more tiring than any other so far and lay on his back in bed with his eyes closed, Quin’s head resting on his bare chest. Sleep seemed only a breath away when he felt her move, her hands purposefully tracing the patterns on his skin yet again.
“What are you doing?” he murmured, too tired to protest or make any attempt to stop her.
“I know these were a terrible thing to have done to you,” she said softly, “but I couldn’t imagine you without them. They’re beautiful.”
Pain lanced through him at her words, his breath catching. As her fingertips followed the tattoos, memories came with them. The pain. The fear. Blades stained with his blood. The black ink that had burned in his wounds.
He loosed the breath he had held with a sigh. The agony that had always escorted those visions, those nightmares, seemed muted now. Had Quin done that?
“I have always hated them,” he said, but the bitterness had gone. That night of torture could never be undone, but perhaps now he could live with it in peace.
Quin lay back against his shoulder, still following the tattoos along the smooth muscles of his chest with gentle fingers.
He reached across, to rest his hand on her side and touch the long scar on her stomach. Thoughtfully, he slid his thumb along it. “How did you get that?”
“Oh, someone was trying to kill me,” Quin said nonchalantly. “It goes right through to the back.”
Surely a wound that left such a mark must have been close to fatal? Keir turned onto his side to face her, running his hand along her back until he found the matching scar. He traced the width of it.
Shock rolled through him as the implications sank in. “They really wished to kill you,” he mused. “How did you make yourself so unpopular?”
“Oh, I can usually find someone to upset,” she said, tone light, and held his eyes. “I’ve probably made more enemies than friends over the years. Does it offend you?”
He gave her a half smile, more troubled by the malice behind her injuries than the marks they had left on her skin. “No.”
“And these?” she asked, her hand on the designs carved into the skin wrapping his chest.
Holding her hand against him and awar
e of the analogy she was endeavoring to make, he rolled onto his back. “If you like them, then I am glad. But I would rather have never had them.”
Quin shifted abruptly until she sat astride him, the heat of her skin warming his. “Here.” She took his hand and guided it to a roughened patch behind her ear–a knot of scar tissue. “And here.” His fingers followed a ridge along the back of her neck as she moved his hand down under her hair, his gaze locked on her own. As he reached the end of that blemish, she held out her arm, to show him the jagged silvery burn that reached from the inside of her wrist to halfway up her forearm. He brushed his hand over it, feeling the coarseness of it compared to her normal skin.
“No one chooses to have scars,” she murmured, placing his palm back on the scar that had sparked his question. “You told me I was beautiful before. Do these make me ugly to you?”
She spoke softly, no accusation in her voice, but his throat squeezed tight. “No.”
“Then why would you believe that yours make you any less beautiful to me?”
He closed his eyes, holding tears at bay. “They are not the same…”
Her thoughts melted into his, soothing the pain. “They’re exactly the same. There’s no shame in any of them. Each one’s a symbol of the trials we’ve faced, the pain we’ve suffered.”
She drew him further into her mind, into her heart, where his soul shone bright and glorious in her eyes. He let the tears come then, felt Quin kiss them away. Her mouth moved to the line of tattoos that began at his collarbone, then worked her way down toward his stomach.
Keir shivered, gasping softly as she reached his navel. He reached for her, pulled her up to face him. He cupped her cheek with one hand. “You are my heart and soul, my love.”
She smiled warmly at that and kissed him. “I love you too.”
He drew her close. Her body melted against his. As his fingers traced her back, he found other scars there. How many attempts had there been on her life, and were more to come? Could he keep her safe from them all?
“I’m so tired,” he murmured.
She moved away, and laid her head on his chest. “Then sleep, Keir,” she told him as she slid her arm around his waist.
* * * *
It took two more days to finish the raft and rig the sail to Quin’s satisfaction. Her urgent desire for a swift escape had been overtaken by a sudden lethargy. Keir wondered at the change in her but said nothing, content to follow her lead. If not for the threat of their kidnappers returning for them, he would have suggested they stay in their private paradise until necessity forced them out.
Several times she insisted on him practicing his swimming to build his skill and confidence, although he doubted his ability to do more than keep himself afloat. Quin, meanwhile, made a box for their supplies, lashing it tightly to the raft below the sail, and cut two long poles to use for fending them off the rock ridge should the tide not perform as she hoped. Having already tested her model, she seemed confident that the departure would go smoothly but he knew it would do no harm to be prepared for any eventuality and so packed the blade he had used to fell the logs. Just in case.
They took the dried stores from the cupboards and loaded them onboard, surviving on whatever fresh food they foraged each day instead. On their last evening they ate on the beach and sat to watch the sun go down for the last time, Keir with one arm around Quin’s shoulders and a blanket thrown across their backs. They would be leaving at dawn on the outgoing tide, and hoped to make landfall before night fell again, although there was no guarantee.
“Is this anything like your world?” he asked, as the sky turned fiery red and orange, setting the sea ablaze like undulating lava rising in peaks of crimson.
“There were places like this, but I never saw them. I never watched a sunset at home either, not like this.” Her tone was full of sadness.
Keir drew her closer. “Never?”
“No. I was always too busy, until the day I watched the whole planet burn. If it hadn’t been for Darion, I’d rather have burned with it.”
“What was he like?”
She laid her head on his shoulder with a sigh. “He was taller than you. More heavily built. He had a long, broad face, brown hair with a touch of red, and the most gorgeous green eyes I’d ever seen.”
“Was he human?”
“No, not exactly. He was half Edarion.”
“Not like me, then.”
“Not in looks, no. He was gentle and strong like you. He was much smarter than me, more talented, but not so good with people.” She still spoke wistfully, but it seemed the pain she felt whenever his name was mentioned had eased. “We were together for over two hundred years.”
“That is a long time.”
“It didn’t seem that long at the end.”
“And you have been alone ever since?”
“Is that the diplomatic way of asking me how many men I’ve been with?”
Keir inhaled. “No, I never meant it like that. I just wondered…”
She sighed again. “No, not completely alone,” she admitted with a touch of reluctance. “There was someone else, for a short time. His name was Jared. A human like me. It was more from sympathy and comfort than love. We’d both lost our homes and families. When he found out I could cross time, he wanted me to go back and save his world. He wouldn’t accept that it couldn’t be done, so he went his own way. It was a long time ago now.” She turned her head to gaze into Keir’s face with an impish smile. “Not jealous, are you?”
“No,” he said, firmly. “You are here with me and that is all I care about.” He lay back on the sand and she followed him down, propping herself up on one elbow to gaze into his face.
“Are you tired, Keir?”
“A little.” He rested his head on his hands, gazing at her. “You are so beautiful, Quin.”
“Keir,” she murmured and leaned down to kiss him. “No more beautiful than you are to me.” She opened her mind to him, and let him see that his love for her was soothing away the sorrows of her past. Their thoughts merged. Again the light of her soul chased the darkness from his, lifted his spirit. He saw himself reflected in her mind, in her heart.
Reaching up, he threaded his fingers through her hair and held her down to him. “My heart and soul.”
“We should get some sleep if we’re leaving at dawn,” she suggested, still kissing him and sliding her hand under his clothing to caress the bare skin beneath.
“I do not think I could sleep tonight.”
“Neither can I.”
Chapter 14
At dawn they pushed the raft out together. Keir urged Quin aboard before scrabbling onto it himself. The rapidly changing tide performed as they had hoped, carrying them out of the crescent of the bay and skimming past the rocky point without mishap. Once out on the open sea, the westerly breeze caught the sail and swept them beyond the mountain at a sure and steady pace. Past the point of return, they sat and watched their island recede into the distance, disappearing behind the mountain.
Keir suffered a strange pang at leaving. The nine nights they had spent there already seemed an illusion, an unfinished fairy tale swallowed up by the sea. As they passed into the shadow of the mountain it seemed to him the future itself was adrift. The wind dropped to a whisper, leaving the current to carry them onward into the unknown. He did not want to return to Lyagnius. This brief interlude would not have lessened the community’s fear of him and he was sure no one would welcome their new relationship. With an inward sigh, he acknowledged that Quin had been right after all–it did make things complicated. Was there anywhere they could go and be together?
“There are other places,” she reassured him, startling him from his dark brooding. “Endless possibilities.”
He must have let his fear slip. “But would you not miss Lyagnius?”
“I’d miss my friends, but we have a whole universe to choose from.” She gifted him with a smile. “As long as you’re with me, anywhere can be home.
”
Her words warmed him, soothed some of the anxiety away, but left him with more questions. “I thought you had to have the gateway room?”
“No, I only need somewhere with the power to open them.”
“There are others?”
“Oh yes. Edarius has a place of power, for one.”
“Darion’s home world?” His curiosity spiked. “Would you go back there?”
Quin paused. “We could, if you like. It might be a good place for you.”
“You do not seem sure.”
“Edarius is…different. It’s protected by the Eidar and I’d have to seek their permission first.”
“Do you think they would refuse?” Keir asked, and a familiar knot of dread began to form in his chest. Would he be exiled from every world he touched?
“I don’t know, but it wouldn’t be for who or what you are. The Eidar have a set of rules peculiar to themselves and I rarely know their reasons for anything.”
The unease remained, though he tried to push it away. “What is it like there?”
With her back to the shrinking view of their small island, Quin took a deep breath. “It’s very peaceful there. Very beautiful. Their version of the gateway room is a circle on a hill. The entrances to the gateways are thirteen dark metal panels, so thin they look like they’d snap in a strong wind. From there, you look across grasslands to the mountains.” She sent images to his mind, of blue-gray rock and a carpet of wildflowers. “I’ve told you about the Eidar. But the Rion live there too. They’re human–well, mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“They’re a bit more evolved. And I think the Eidar have influenced them. The Rion only communicate telepathically.” She grinned. “They actually consider physical speech quite rude.” She took a strand of her hair and twirled it round one finger. “The Rion nearest the gateways live in a castle, carved and built into the mountains. It’s the most tranquil and idyllic place I’ve ever lived. Aside from our island.”
“Then why did you leave there?”
“Because it reminded me too much of Darion,” she admitted. “But I would like to take you there.”