Maybe, for now anyway, that was enough.
Anyway, Revik found that the more he did this, the more he lost any true interest in his own past... or even in himself.
The world felt larger here, as funny as that was.
Too large to waste on meaningless regrets.
When he finally opened his eyes and looked up, he found Tulani standing there in the doorway, smiling at him. As usual, the old monk wore sandals and his sand-covered robes, his dark hair wrapped into a clip at the base of his neck. Revik blinked to clear his eyes then rubbed the back of his neck, shifting his weight and then stretching out his feet.
“You needed something, brother?” he asked politely.
Tulani nodded, his smile growing warmer. “You have a visitor, brother.”
“A visitor?”
Revik just stared at him for a moment, his mind blank. He didn’t feel any alarm, even then, but confusion swam over his aleimi as he tried to think through possibilities, then to pull it from the monk’s own light.
The male laughed, though, blocking his attempt.
“No, no,” he chided affectionately. “You must come see for yourself.”
“Is it Vash?” Revik said, his voice curious.
The seer clicked at him, laughing again. “You are so suspicious, brother! It is quite funny, you know, given where you are. Do you really imagine enemies coming out of the rock walls, just to torment you here?”
Shaking his head in spite of himself, Revik clicked in a wan humor, too.
It was difficult to stay all that tense around Tulani, anyway, Revik found.
It seemed sometimes, that all the old monk did was smile.
Pulling himself stiffly to his feet, Revik smiled back at him, making a polite gesture with one hand. “Well?” he said. “Are you going to take me to this mysterious guest? Or must I find them on my own in this maze, too, brother?”
Tulani laughed again, waving for Revik to follow him.
“I will take you,” he said, glancing over his shoulder as he walked down the narrow stone passage. “...We would not want to lose you in these caves, brother Revik... although I’m quite sure you would not be the first acolyte to get lost in here...”
Revik snorted a little, pausing to nod a greeting to two other monastics as they passed, who smiled at him in return.
He glanced down at his feet, noting he was barefoot, then realized that wouldn’t matter, either. It was nearly summer in the Pamir, and while the caves remained cool in the hottest of the summer months, they never really got cold.
Revik followed the much shorter male through a few more twists and turns, realizing they were heading for the common areas. When they made the last turn into where the cave walls opened up, revealing a much larger space, Revik realized also that the monk had brought him to the least-often used of those room, the one that used to serve as a meditation hall before they’d moved those functions to a different part of the caves.
Revik’s eyes slid up the rock wall as soon as they entered the larger room, taking in the faded mural that had been painted into the stone, probably more than a thousand years before he had been born.
He found himself looking at the figure in white at the top, which held a lightning-infused staff, one foot on the Earth, the other in the heavens. The staff spun gold and white light up into the heavens, forming an arc of cabled light that reached from Earth to a shimmering, deep gold sea surrounded in dark blue clouds.
The figure wore all white, and stood alone in a night sky.
She holds light between both worlds... Revik’s mind murmured.
When he looked down, he saw a man standing there, gazing up at the same mural.
Even as Revik took in the infiltrator’s uniform, the black armored pants and organic vest, the male seer turned, his green eyes widening when he saw Revik standing there.
Then he burst out into a grin.
Revik just stood there, feeling shock, staring at Dalejem.
It had been half a year since he’d seen the other seer.
Before he could recover, the male seer walked up to him, embracing him with both arms, wrapping one tightly around Revik’s waist. He clasped his back with the other, his fingers gripping his shoulder, and then his neck.
“Gods,” he said, a moment later, releasing him long enough to look at him. “Gods. You look so different... even your light...”
His words trailed, and then Dalejem was studying him with his eyes and light, even as he continued to scan him. He still held his arms, gripping him tighter and smiling, even as tears began to run down his face.
“What are you doing here?” Revik said.
He stared at the other male, feeling his chest clench. Remembering where he was, he looked around them then, and realized Tulani had already left them alone.
“What am I doing here?” Dalejem said. “I missed you! What the fuck do you think I’m doing here? I wanted to see you, brother, before I started my next assignment...”
Revik fought to get his equilibrium back.
His chest hurt, even as he shook his head, fighting to disentangle himself from the other male’s light. “No. I can’t do this, Dalejem... no.”
“Brother.” The other seer caught his arms, pulling him back. “Brother... please. Let me see you. I can’t stay long. Just let me see you... let me say goodbye to you at least, goddamn it!”
Revik shook his head, fighting the closing in his chest.
He hadn’t felt anything like this since he left Brazil.
He wouldn’t look at the seer now, but he didn’t fight him all that hard, either. He ended up following him, stiff-legged, when Dalejem brought him to a faded couch that sat under the mural in the room. Dalejem sat him down, then curled up on the cushions beside him, pulling him closer as he warmed his light with his. Revik felt the other male’s hands on him then, touching him, caressing his skin, and winced in spite of himself, pulling away.
“Jem... no,” Revik said, glaring at him.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Fuck you.”
“Gods, brother... I don’t want to fight.” His green eyes filled with tears, even as he caressed Revik’s face with one hand. “You left that morning. You left, brother. Before I could explain. Before I could tell you anything. I looked for you everywhere before I left... I called for you...”
Revik frowned, his jaw hardening.
Before he could think of what to say, the seer kissed him, leaning into his chest and coaxing his mouth open with his lips and tongue. Revik found himself kissing him back, almost before he knew he meant to, until he was gripping the other man’s hair, losing himself in his light, pulling on him to bring more of Dalejem’s light inside his.
When they paused Revik let out a groan, kissing him again, holding him tightly enough that he might have been hurting him by then.
By the time they next parted, both of them were panting, and Revik saw that the other’s eyes had glazed. The seer’s hand fell on Revik’s groin then and he gasped when Revik pressed his erection against his palm, gripping Dalejem’s face in his hands.
“Explain,” Revik growled, staring at him. “You said you wanted to explain things to me that morning. So explain. Fucking talk, Dalejem...”
The seer closed his eyes, then pressed his face against his. Kissing his neck, he made another low sound, then sighed, looking up at him.
“Brother, I serve the Bridge.”
Revik’s jaw hardened. “So?” He released his face abruptly, leaning back on the couch. “Do you want a fucking medal?”
“You understand,” Dalejem said, clicking softly. “I know you do.”
Revik found his eyes shifting up. He stared at the white figure at the top of the mural, and felt his jaw harden.
“So Kali managed to split us apart.” He turned, glaring at the other seer. “It occurred to you, didn’t it? That getting you away from me might have been their real goal?”
Dalejem only shook his head. “I do not think s
o, brother. She cried when I told her. They both seemed surprised, her and her husband.”
“Maybe it wasn’t her, then,” Revik said. “I noticed Balidor didn’t want me in the Adhipan, either, not once you were spoken for.”
“Revik... no.” Dalejem caressed his thigh. He shook his head again. “No. That’s not what you think, either. It’s really not.”
“Then what is it?” Watching the look coming to the seer’s face, Revik shook his head, clicking sharper. “You can’t tell me that, either? Is there anything you can fucking tell me, Dalejem?”
“I’m sorry, brother,” Dalejem said, his voice softer. “I really can’t. Only that they have another job for you. They need you here for that. For now, anyway.”
Revik fought to think about that, too. The vagueness around it was too much, though; it only brought another swell of frustration and that denser grief. Shoving it aside, he looked back at Dalejem, fighting not to react to the sadness in his eyes.
“Who asked for you?” Revik said, feeling his jaw harden. “Who exactly?”
Dalejem shrugged, tilting his hand over his knee. “I do not know, brother,” he said, sighing. “Who knows anything with these things? Kali said she knew only that it was to be me. She did not know how she knew. She saw me with her daughter... protecting her. She could not risk her daughter’s life by sending me away. Not even for you, brother.”
Revik only sat there, fighting to think.
He felt the part of him that wanted to be angry about it still, to have someone to blame. But it hurt to be angry about it, even now. Maybe especially now, since he could already feel that Dalejem wouldn’t be staying.
When he looked up next, the seer was wiping tears from his face.
“Only for the night, brother,” he said, holding his hand. “They gave me leave to see you, but I cannot be gone long...” He hesitated, then said, “It is unlikely I will be able to be back. They warned me about this. I can’t tell you the particulars, brother... I wish I could.”
Revik nodded again, staring at the stone floor beneath the mural.
He’d known that, too, though.
Looking up, he felt some part of his chest unclench, even as he let out a humorless laugh. Staring up at the mural, he couldn’t help thinking that Tulani might have picked this room on purpose. Knowing him, he would see it as a favor, a means of reminding Revik of the broader perspective surrounding his own, petty problems.
A means of getting past the pain to the truth of it.
Tears came to his eyes as he thought it, but he took Dalejem’s hand.
Raising it to his lips, he kissed his palm, pulling the seer closer so he could wrap his arms around him. He felt the seer’s relief, an almost mind-numbing feeling of gratitude, as Dalejem wrapped his light and body around Revik’s.
For a long moment, they kissed again, then they were only holding one another, immersed in each other’s light, caressing each other through their clothes.
“I missed you,” Revik murmured, resting his head on the other male’s. He kissed his hair, tugging him closer, until he’d pulled him, armor and all, halfway into his lap.
Pain bled out of the other seer.
Pain, and so much love, Revik closed his eyes, biting his tongue as he opened to let it all in. Then he was stroking Dalejem’s hair and back, opening his light even more as he felt the seer sigh against him, gripping him by the arm and shoulder.
For a long time after that, neither of them spoke.
Even so, Revik found his eyes scaling that rock wall again.
His gaze stopped on the smiling form of the woman in white. She held that charged light between her hands, too, but it was softer than that of the figure on top. Inside that glowing circle, Revik saw a faint image of the gold of that ocean.
Next to her, a boy sat smiling, his eyes filled with joy as he played in the star-filled sky next to her open hand.
Between his hands glowed a blue-white sun.
Revik felt tears return to his eyes as he traced the course of those lines, seeing the boy laughing where he held the light of both worlds between his hands. A golden ocean still beckons in the background, faded and dark, a bare scratch in the stone, but Revik remembers that, too, and not only from the lines he’s read in the old books.
He remembers what it is like there.
It’s real to him now.
Between those curling flames, bisecting that light and dark, a perfect white sword glows softly in the night sky.
THE MAGIC MAN
ALLIE’S WAR EARLY YEARS
This story first appeared May 2014 in Fiction River: Fantasy Adrift, an anthology edited by Kristine Kathryn Rusch. This is the first time I’ve released it as an official segment in the Allie’s War series, but I always envisioned it as a prequel in the pre-First Contact period.
I don’t know if readers will recognize the character portrayed from the later stories or not, but I hope the story stands on its own, either way.
IT AROSE SOLELY due to the fact that Master D’Alendria had a somewhat inquisitive and superstitious nature, that I came to be at the bedside of his new, young, French bride, Giselle D’Alendria, on the day she gave birth to what many termed in their minds as an abomination and a monstrosity.
The fact of my maleness did not come into account, no more than that of the magic man whom I assisted, even though Master D’Alendria himself had been banished from the birthing chambers for reasons of decency.
Certainly, the birth shocked all in the small township of Christo de Mar more than any had, perhaps since the town’s very inception, close to eighty years prior.
Master D’Alendria had requested the magic man be present.
Perhaps the master had even felt a primal sort of desperation at that point, unable to stand the sound of his wife’s screams in the heat of that afternoon, where the sun’s determination had been such that, even with every imported shutter locked in the small, upstairs room, the air still smelled of burnt sugar and blooming flowers, mixed in with the competing scents of blood and lye and burning candles and the sweat of all present.
The birthing room, despite its prettier trappings, evoked feelings in me reminiscent of the shed out back, where they hung dead animal carcasses.
The differences were relatively subtle to the naked eye, however.
The rose-colored rugs remained on the floors, the tarrow candles and brass oil lamps still decorated jungle-wood tables with their many-colored bits of glass in the shapes of flowers and birds tinting the light. The headboard to the giant bed itself, with its columns of dark grain polished to the texture of burnished metal hovered with the same, perfect solemnity around the previously white sheets, providing a tent-like structure for the tied up mosquito curtains and hanging velvet curtains at the wall’s end. The massive mirror opposite the bed itself still had those fancy etchings at the corners, small and hair-thin in parts, despite a few subtle speckles of blood that made their way to the lower half of the polished surface in the worst thrashings of the woman in her pain.
Candlelight threw the horror into abstraction, but perhaps my imagination is better than most. Or perhaps I can see more than I want, even when my eyes are closed, and that sight is more a curse than a blessing at such times.
That inborn sight has always been an issue for me, and one I have worked hard to hide. It was better all around that I remain invisible via my skin color and position in this most human of human worlds. I still had some hope to make it out of this deplorable condition of slavery before being found out as something not quite as I appeared, and hopefully with all of my senses and accoutrements intact.
My role at that bedside was ambiguous at best——to myself, at least——and well apart from my maleness and other incongruities. I was small enough, physically, that is, that most of those others present scarcely seemed to remember I was there at all. So perhaps the nerves that rose in me came more from a kind of excited anticipation of all that might unfold, now that events had been fully place
d in motion.
I had noted, well before this time, the propensity of the white men, the Inglés, in particular, to look past me when I happened to occupy a room. Of course, their wives would coo and fuss over me on occasion, and not only for the reasons they gave when asked——that my supposed father had been a house servant since long before my birth, which afforded me a pet-like status not given to all of the young slaves on the plantation, certainly not the males, even when I appeared to be in my teens and twenties.
Whatever the true reason, the white women felt they could spoil me with impunity under the guise of training me for a future role as a loyal house slave, like that undertaken by the African man who raised me.
Luckily for me, that role was one which a certain amount of contact with my betters might well explain, as well as the ability to converse with them pleasingly. I kept the bulk of my knowledge to myself, of course, but I let them know I could sound out some letters, that I knew snippets of the more formal cadences of their discourse, without ever letting them know the extent of it.
I had been told by my surrogate mother, also a slave and an African, as she teased me with a full-lipped smile, that I cast a spell on females of both species, in part from the intensity of color contained in my eyes——which were a kind of ‘tiger yellow,’ according to the white mistress, this same Giselle D’Alendria that now suffered in this very birthing room.
Both my surrogate mother and my white mistress described my eyes compelling to stare at, if only for their unusual tint.
The magic man perhaps singled me out for this very reason.
Well, I had thought that in the beginning, at least.
Ironically or not, I was fated to a life of magic, whether I chose to exert that same power over the females of the species or not. I could not stop people from seeing small hints of who I am, no matter how much I shuffle my feet and pretend to know nothing of what they speak.
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