by Joy Nash
A bell sounded, interrupting Ariek’s tirade. Danat jumped. “It’s Solk! You’ve stayed too long—he mustn’t find you!” She scooped Ariek’s tunic off the floor and threw it at him.
He caught it in one hand. With the other he grabbed her wrist and pulled her close, his kiss lingering on her protesting lips. “You know I could pass within a hand’s breadth of Solk’s pointed nose without him feeling so much as a breeze.”
He released her and pulled on his clothes, then picked up a silk scarf embroidered with a blue circle, the Mark of Lotark. “A piece of you to take away with me.” His lips brushed her hair. “When can I see you again?”
“Come tonight, unless the lamp is dark.”
Ariek kissed her one more time, then was gone.
Danat sighed and moved to the wardrobe set against the wall. She chose a robe of cold white silk, embroidered with gold and silver thread. A sash of spun silver mesh cinched her waist. Chains of gold and silver, studded with gems, dragged at her wrists and ankles.
She brushed out her hair and set a circlet of gold and diamonds atop the curls. The bell sounded a second time. She opened her narrow door and made her way down the wooden staircase, her face set in a careful mask.
A profusion of gilded images burst upon her as she stepped into the Outer Sanctuary, sacred scenes from the time when Lotark had walked among his people as a man. Danat despised the long hours she spent within these walls, assisting Solk in the tedious ceremony of the Holy Rite. Wide windows and doors looked out on an open courtyard, into which jutted the curved form of the Inner Sanctuary.
She hurried under the gilded archway to the most holy sanctum of the One God. Here the walls formed a perfect circle, symbolizing the eternity of Lotark’s rule. Scenes of the world’s creation danced around the perimeter. A mosaic floor lay gilded and intricate at her feet.
The ceiling deepened into blue, with silver specks dispersed throughout, recalling the night sky. A raised circular platform served as an altar. Above it hung a canopy of white satin with strands of silver fringe at its edges.
The high priest stood to one side of the altar, his tall, gaunt form robed in white. Although he was not much older than Ariek, Solk’s features were immeasurably harder, illuminated by righteousness. Four Lesser Servants, wearing vestments of blue and silver, flanked him. Danat knelt, eyes downcast and arms outstretched. Her heart turned numb, but she kept her expression carefully serene.
“This evening, a True Believer will come to Lotark’s Sanctuary. You will please him well. He has offered much to assume the Visage of the One God.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Danat choked back her disappointment. Tonight! She’d hoped to be in Ariek’s arms, but now…
“Rise.”
Danat obeyed, her gaze lowered, as was required. She saw Solk’s hand reach out, felt his icy fingers pass between the folds of her robe to pinch her nipple. She couldn’t suppress a gasp. Not this, not now, so soon after loving Ariek.
The Heir of Lotark acknowledged her loss of composure with a tight, cruel smile. He untied the sash at her waist.
Two of the acolytes stepped forward and accepted her robe. Solk stood silent for a time, his gaze traveling the length of her body. Danat’s stomach turned. She resisted a fierce urge to cover herself with her hands.
The last acolyte stepped forward, the Book of Law cradled in his arms. Solk opened the tome and bent over the appropriate chapter and verse. He closed his eyes briefly, his face illuminated with fervor. Then, in a deep, musical voice, he intoned the sacred words.
“—and Lotark chose a Woman from among his people to be his Bride, a woman more beautiful than the stars, purer than the moon. She had no desires, save one. To serve her Master with her mind, her body, and her soul.” His hard gaze raked over Danat’s naked body before returning to the Book of Law.
“Lotark rewarded his Woman well. He allowed her to ascend with him to Paradise.”
Solk straightened, then lifted the Visage of Lotark from its niche near the altar and placed it over his face. The God held out one hand to his Bride. Danat took it and allowed herself to be led to the altar.
Her spirit hardened and her mind emptied.
The high priest parted his vestments and revealed the tool of his authority. When he entered her, she was far away, locked inside a place no man could touch.
Chapter Four
“Watch out!” Derrin steadied the sorceress with one hand.
She snatched her arm away.
He scowled and ducked through the limbs of a fallen tree, leaving the stubborn woman to negotiate the steep slope on her own. Sunlight dropped through the gap in the forest’s canopy, scattering patches of light on the mosaic of last summer’s fallen leaves.
He closed his eyes and inhaled. Anger faded as the forest seeped into his senses. Life. So different from Katrinth. An intense wave of longing broke over him, followed by a flood of dark melancholy. He pushed both away.
Brooding was a Galenan habit.
“So let me get this straight,” Gina said. “You’re telling me I went through a web of light and entered another world.”
Derrin slid her a glance. So far, she’d given him precious little information. Her tone was hard, her eyes dark with mistrust. He was very glad she had no crystals. But why had she not asked for the one sewn on her dress? It had looked to be a powerful stone, but he’d never seen its like. He hadn’t been able to discern its specialty.
“Do you not remember your crossing?” he asked carefully.
She frowned. “I saw a light in the woods outside the Ball, but that was an effect of the drug.”
“Drug?”
“The one you gave me at the party.”
He shook his head. “I know nothing of a celebration. High Wizard Balek has created a crystal that opens the edges of the world. He used it to summon you across the web. His apprentice awaited your arrival in the forest outside Katrinth.”
She gave him an odd look. “You’re saying a wizard brought me to this place with a crystal?”
“Yes.” He watched her closely. The woman most likely had a vast knowledge of crystals. What game was she playing?
“That’s impossible,” she said.
He fell in with her pretense of innocence. “On the contrary, it’s quite possible.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Believe what you wish.”
“Maybe I’m in a coma or something,” she continued, her tone faltering. “Maybe I hit my head and scrambled my brain. That might explain why it seems like you’re talking in a foreign language.”
“I find your speech strange, as well,” Derrin told her. He searched her eyes and found uncertainty. Could she be telling the truth? Could she have no idea what powers crystals held? It didn’t seem likely. He extended his mind, drawing close enough to feel the shadow of her emotions, but not close enough to cause her alarm. Fear was the easiest emotion to sense. Deception was more subtle. He stilled his mind and probed as closely as he dared. He felt no dishonesty flowing from her.
Of course, that might just prove that she was an exceptional liar.
“This could be a dream,” she said. It sounded as though she was trying to convince herself and failing miserably.
“Do you feel as though you are dreaming?”
She turned away and started back up the trail, leaving his question unanswered. He examined the rigid cast of her shoulders, then, despite his best intentions, his gaze dropped lower, taking in the sway of her hips and the outline of her buttocks molded by the soft doeskin. His cock stiffened. He muttered a curse. Despite the danger her powers represented, and his doubts as to her integrity, the sorceress aroused him.
That thought brought another. There was a sure way to determine whether the sorceress was feigning innocence. When he’d entered Gina’s mind in Zahta’s hut, he’d been bent on destroying the webstone’s influence, not probing her emotions. But if they became Na’tahar a second time, he could use their mental bond
to discover her true intentions toward him. It was within his power to do it. She’d yielded to him once. He did not need her consent to join with her a second time.
Derrin swore softly under his breath. What kind of man he was becoming, to even ponder such a thing? It was as if his union with Gina had awakened a ravenous monster inside him. He badly wanted to plunge into her again, with his body as well as his mind. Unfortunately, she didn’t appear to share his craving.
Scowling, he trudged the trail at a quick pace, making sure he didn’t step within an arm’s reach of Gina. Some time later, he stopped to drink from a spring.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“No.”
He bent and separated the canes of a short, bushy plant. Red berries and white flowers clung to the stem beneath shiny green leaves. He picked a handful of the fruits.
“These are tonadi,” he said, making an effort to keep his tone light. “The berries ripen as the new leaves begin to cover the trees. They continue to form until the…”
He frowned. Gina had moved out of earshot. She stood half turned, her spine stiff, her gazed fixed at a point across the stream. Though she tried to hide her emotions, he could sense them churning like the ocean before a storm.
She was afraid. Of him.
Guilt washed over him. Sorceress or not, she hadn’t deserved to have her mind violated. Didn’t deserve to have him wanting her again.
He approached her slowly, as he would a forest creature. “You needn’t worry that I’ll harm you,” he said. “I want only to help you return to your world.”
She looked away. Derrin suppressed a sigh and continued down the slope into the valley. He stopped only to forage for food or to drink from a spring. When the sun dropped below the crest of the mountain, he chose a campsite on a patch of level ground some distance above the streambed.
“We’ll stay here for the night,” he said, trying to ignore the way his cock jumped at the thought.
Gina sank onto a boulder. Her shoulders slumped with fatigue, causing Derrin another pang of guilt. He’d pushed her too far today. It was clear she wasn’t used to such physical exertion.
He had an insane urge to put his hands on her shoulders and work the strain from her muscles with hard, deep strokes. Then, when she was relaxed and soft, he could slip into her mind before she knew what had happened. He’d pleasure her psyche, then turn his attention to her body…
No.
With a wrenching effort, Derrin turned his back on the source of his obsession and began the task of building shelter for the night. A branch set at waist height between two trees served as a ridgepole. Branches covered with moss formed a sloping roof. Soft pine needles provided a bed. He took a sharp stick and dug a shallow firepit near the open side of the shelter. By the time he’d stacked a night’s supply of firewood, the sun had left the valley entirely. An icy whisper called on the breeze, unusual for the season.
Derrin pushed the implications of that fact to the back of his mind and swung his gaze toward Gina.
Her expression only reinforced the chill. How he wanted to kindle a spark of passion in the depths of her eyes. His breath caught as the memory of the Na’tahar sprang to full life. His mind had burned with a fire he’d barely managed to contain. He’d felt her shattering release blend with his own. The mental orgasm had been more intense than any he’d ever experienced in the flesh. Even so, he’d been acutely aware that there could have been more.
Derrin had never in his life taken advantage of a woman, but during the endless heartbeats of the Na’tahar, the desire to claim the sorceress’ body had nearly squeezed the breath from his lungs. It would have been so easy to do—she hardly could have stopped him. Only the knowledge of her fear had held him back.
Now, as he held Gina’s gaze a moment too long, he wondered how it would feel to be welcomed into the sanctuary he had longed to take by force.
A fresh surge of lust accompanied the thought. Stifling a groan, Derrin tore his gaze from Gina’s wide doe’s eyes and snatched his knife from its sheath. Gripping the bone handle with considerably more force than was necessary, he set himself to the task of carving the tools of firemaking.
A short stick with tapered ends. A notched chunk of wood to steady the spindle. A flat board with a shallow socket would provide a nest for the infant fire. He strung a crude bow with a twisted length of vine and shredded dry bark for tinder. Kneeling, he laid the fireboard over the tinder and looped the bowstring around the spindle. He fitted the shaft between the fireboard and handhold. The bow stroked. The spindle turned.
He increased his speed and dark powder spilled from the fireboard. Woodsmoke touched his nostrils. Derrin lifted the spindle and blew away the dust. A tiny coal, the promise of a fire, glowed in the socket. He scraped it into the tinder and bent close to the ground, blowing in long, gentle streams.
The birth of fire became more important than breath. Red lines danced along wisps of bark. Derrin cradled the tinder in his palms and blew again. Black smoke poured from between his fingers and the bundle burst into flames. Quickly, he transferred it to a nest of twigs in the firepit, then built up the infant fire with kindling and larger pieces of deadwood.
“I cast my breath into the flames. The fire is born. It fills my heart.”
The words came easily, though it had been eleven winters since they’d passed his lips. As the prayer faded, Derrin became aware of Gina standing behind him. He looked up, surprised.
“If you’re supposed to be a wizard, why not start a fire with magic instead of this survival stuff?”
He ignored her tone. “Wizards don’t use fire. They use crystals that generate heat without a flame.” He pushed to his feet. “I left my crystals with Zahta.”
She frowned. “And the crystal on my dress?”
Ah, so she was asking for it at last. “With the others.”
“Why?”
“Zahta said the Goddess had no need of them.”
Skepticism showed in her eyes. “Do you believe in this Goddess?”
Did he? Derrin chose his words carefully. “I believe in her as I believe in the mountains and the sky.”
Gina’s dark gaze dropped to his chest. “But there’s one crystal you didn’t leave to your grandmother.”
“Yes.” Derrin’s hand closed on the silver cage dangling from a chain around his neck. Its delicate bars shielded his shadow crystal.
“May I see it?”
“No.” He shoved the stone into his shirt with a silent curse. A Galenan curse, since the Baha’Na language had no foul imprecations. He’d been a fool to let the sorceress catch a glimpse of the most powerful gem he’d ever created. No telling how she might use it against him. Unnerved, Derrin strode to a cluster of saplings. He cut the straightest and fashioned a sharp point at one end.
“Tend the fire,” he said. “I’m going to fish.”
The shadows of late afternoon fell across the shallow stream. After eleven winters without practice, Derrin hoped his hand would be steady on the spear. He missed twice before pinning a good-sized fish to the streambed. He slid it up the shaft and flipped it onto the bank.
A pair of birds skimmed the water, calling madly. Their song surged into Derrin, displacing a portion of the darkness he’d come to believe was his soul. He caught three more fish and was almost smiling when he returned to the camp.
Until he saw the pile of charred sticks.
“Lotark’s cock!” Derrin flung his catch on the ground. He’d thought keeping a fire alive would be a simple enough task for the sorceress. Even the smallest Baha’Na child treated such a responsibility with care.
But Gina was gone.
He tracked her to a trail that paralleled the stream, not bothering to keep his footsteps light. She spun about when she heard him approach.
“Where do you imagine you’re going?” he said tersely.
Gina stood very still. “Let’s get one thing clear. I don’t take orders from you.”
Several
long breaths passed before Derrin trusted himself to speak again. “Then you won’t survive for long.”
“Is that a threat?” She whipped her knife from its sheath and pointed the blade in his direction.
She meant to fight him? Derrin’s anger abruptly transformed into bone-deep weariness. “No,” he said. “It’s not a threat. It’s the law of the Goddess. In the wilderness, all are bound by her rules.”
He relieved Gina of her weapon and hauled her back to camp. She glared at him while he cooked his catch, but took her portion when he offered it to her. They ate in silence as the night wind rose. After they had finished, Derrin threw a log on the fire and settled into one end of the lean-to.
“Don’t try to leave,” he warned. “You won’t last long alone in the dark. And I’ll find you, in any case.”
Gina wedged herself into the opposite corner of the shelter, knees drawn to her chest. He met her gaze. Her expression hardened, but not before he saw a flicker of dread in her eyes.
He knew what she feared.
Much to his shame, he knew how fiercely he wanted it.
His cock stiffened. He rolled over and shut his eyes, trying to ignore his arousal, though there was precious little hope he’d be successful. It was going to be a long, miserable trip. He’d been insane to agree to it. The Blight in Galena would spread while he dragged this unwilling woman through the wilderness, wanting her more and more with every step.
Even worse, there was no guarantee he would convince any of the Na’lara to call the web and send Gina home.
Once again, he was trapped. But it would do no good to fight it, just as it had done no good to question the path he’d been forced to take eleven winters earlier, when all he had held close to his heart had been ripped away.
He pressed his fingers to his forehead. He had vowed never to return to the Baha’Na. Yet here he was, in the wilderness, speaking the language and offering the prayers of the life he had left behind. An old wound bled, one Derrin had thought long healed.