by Joy Nash
He turned away with an abrupt motion and set about preparing the fish. The interminable hours of the afternoon followed. Derrin kept busy, using a round stone to shape crude spearheads from two smaller rocks. He didn’t speak. The silver chain that held his crystal gleamed at his neck.
Against the sharp tap of stone on stone, Gina contemplated how to take the gem from him.
That evening, she crawled into the shelter under the deepening dusk and fell into a restless sleep. She woke a few hours later. A silvery moon, eerily similar to the one she was used to seeing at home, hung above the treetops, sharpening the shadows.
A night creature howled. Gina’s chest tightened. Beside her, Derrin’s breath came deep and slow. She rolled over, stretching her fingers toward him, touching the silver chain. He didn’t stir. Emboldened, she slipped one finger under the links. She tugged it up, gently, gently…
Derrin’s hand closed on her wrist even before his eyes opened. A sound like a low growl vibrated in his throat. He jerked her arm, pulling Gina atop him. She dropped the chain.
His grip tightened. She tried to pull away, but he held her fast, the heat of his body burning through the fabric of her dress. His cock hardened, prodding her stomach. She stilled, trying to ignore her racing heart.
After one long, tense moment, Derrin took a deep breath and shoved her off him. He jumped to his feet and strode into the darkness.
Gina stared after him. Was he leaving her? A fierce ache rose in her throat. She swallowed hard. She wanted to escape him, but not before she found a way home. Tears burned her eyes as she built up the fire to a roaring blaze and prayed the shrieking tarma was hunting elsewhere tonight.
Derrin returned at dawn. Gina regarded him with a curious mixture of dread and relief. His expression was no longer angry, but guarded. Almost, she thought illogically, as if he had something to fear from her.
He dropped to one knee and touched her cheek with the tip of his finger. “You’ve been crying.”
“I wasn’t sure if you were coming back.”
Derrin’s eyes clouded before he looked away. “I didn’t go far. I’d never leave you alone in the wilderness. I’m sorry you believe me capable of it.”
He picked up her hand and rubbed his thumb over the bruise his touch had left on her wrist. “I hurt you. I was angry, but at myself more than at you. I don’t blame you for hating me after…after all you’ve been through.” He drew a deep breath and met her gaze. “But I assure you, compared to what High Wizard Balek intends for you, the Na’tahar we shared was nothing.”
Gina shuddered. “This really is another world, isn’t it?”
“Yes. I promise you, I will return you to your home.”
“But why was I called here? Was it really this Balek’s doing? Why does he want me?”
“I don’t know.”
“You can’t expect me to believe that.”
He sighed. “It might be more accurate to say I’m not sure why Balek summoned you.”
“He, or—” she gave him a pointed look “—whoever brought me here must have had a reason.”
His expression hardened. “I assure you, Balek has his reasons. He’s a wizard of considerable prominence—a member of the Upper House. Recently, he ascended to the High Council, the governing body of the Hierarchy of Wizards.”
Gina pressed on. If she was in another world, she needed to gather as much information as possible. “Are you a member of this Upper House, too?”
He gave a short laugh. “No, I belong to the Lower House, a much larger group, I assure you. There are many apprentices as well. Each must have a wizard of the Upper House as mentor.”
“And these wizards use crystals.”
His gaze narrowed. “Surely the wizards in your world do the same.”
She tried another tack. “Are all the crystals in your world magic?”
He hesitated, as if deciding whether to answer. Finally, he said, “No. Only those formed by a wizard’s mind. A wizard’s skill determines the purity of the stone. The more perfect the specimen, the greater its power.”
Gina blinked her surprise. “You can form a crystal with your mind?”
“Yes.”
“With a thought?”
“With sustained concentration over a long period of time. Do you not create crystals this way in your world?”
“Hardly,” Gina replied. Then, before he could ask more, she said, “Your Hierarchy must be a formidable force.”
“It is. The Congress of Lords is hard put at times to contain it. But the Temple of Lotark is powerful as well.”
“Lotark?”
“A god,” Derrin said. “A hard and unforgiving one. His priests control the Lower City with threats of damnation.”
He picked up one of the spears he’d made with the stones he’d fashioned the day before. “Solk, High Priest and Heir of Lotark, wields vast influence. But Lord Forlik, leader of the Congress, is skillful at playing the Hierarchy against the Temple, thereby preserving his own power.”
He jabbed the blunt end of the weapon into the fire, releasing a shower of sparks. “Even so, Balek gained powerful allies among the Lords last year when he created a new crystal, one that protects its bearer from the effects of the Madness.”
“The Madness?”
“A malady that destroys the mind. There’s no cure, but if Balek’s crystal is worn, the effect of the disease diminishes. The Lords have purchased piles of the stones. Now the illness plagues only the poor.”
“Why? Because they can’t afford the antidote?”
“Yes. And even if they had the coin, the lower classes are not permitted the use of wizardry. But it hardly matters, because Balek’s remedy is a sham, meant to cover the truth. The epidemic is Balek’s doing. He’s caused the land to sicken, too. The weather swings from hot to cold with dizzying speed. The forests of Galena wither in the grip of a virulent Blight.” He met her gaze, his gray eyes troubled. “The plagues are connected to the rift in the web. The rift you passed through.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Balek has created a crystal he call the webstone. It’s the stone he tried to link your mind to. With it, he opens the web that binds the edge of the world. Its structure is incredible. Five faces, each a perfect pentagram.”
Gina snorted. “A five-sided crystal, with five pentagonal faces? That’s not possible.”
Derrin gave her an assessing look. “Why do you say that?”
“This may be another world, but I haven’t noticed that the laws of geometry have changed. The angles of a pentagon don’t complement each other. The object you described couldn’t exist, especially not in crystal form. Crystals never form with five sides.”
“True enough,” Derrin said slowly. “But the webstone does exist.” He paused. “I’ve given you the information you seek. Now you must answer some questions of my own. What powers do you have? Do you know how Balek planned to use them?”
Gina returned his gaze steadily. She didn’t know what use her knowledge of crystals was to Balek, or to Derrin for that matter. Would it endanger her life to tell him of her profession?
“I work with crystals in my world,” she admitted finally. “I grow crystallized proteins.”
He nodded. “You are a sorceress.”
“No! There is no magic in my world. I’m a scientist.”
“No magic?” Derrin was clearly taken aback by this pronouncement. “What use do you have for crystals, then?”
“More uses than I can count. The ones I grow are used to develop new medicines. But I don’t grow them with my mind,” she added quickly. “I just set up the conditions so they can grow naturally.”
Derrin was silent for a moment. “Interesting,” he said at last. “Perhaps Balek believes your knowledge of crystals will help him control the power of the webstone. Each time he uses the foul gem, the strands of the web weaken, causing a temperature shift. A surge of Blight and Madness follows. But even with your knowledge, Balek couldn’
t contain the web, not without—” He caught himself, then fell silent.
“Without what?”
He stared into the gathering darkness of the forest. “The web is beautiful, Gina. Beautiful and terrifying.”
“You’ve seen it?”
“Yes. When you appeared in the forest.”
“You were there?”
“Not far off, but not close enough to reach you before Maator did. A shining web of pure light and power—just as the Baha’Na stories describe it.”
“The Baha’Na know of the web?”
“Yes, it’s sacred to them. They say it veils the face of the Goddess.”
It veils the face of the Goddess.
Tasa had told Gina a Na’lara’s task was to reveal the face of the Goddess. A cold knot of suspicion formed in the pit of Gina’s stomach. “Your grandmother can lift that veil and open the web, can’t she?” Gina said slowly.
Surprise—or was it guilt?—flashed in Derrin’s eyes. He didn’t answer.
The knot in Gina’s gut tightened. “What’s the real reason you kidnapped me, Derrin? Because you know what? I don’t believe for a minute it was to save my life and send me home.”
Derrin sprang to his feet and closed the distance between them. His hand closed on her wrist with a painful grasp. “You’re wrong. I’d like nothing better than to send you back across the web.”
She wrenched her arm free. “You expect me to believe that? How stupid do you think I am? First you kidnap me, then you invade my mind, now you’re dragging me through this wilderness looking for—”
She blinked. “That’s it. The Signs. They have something to do with the web, don’t they?”
He avoided her gaze. “The Signs hold power, yes, but not the kind you’re thinking of. I’m not your enemy, Gina.”
“From where I’m sitting, that doesn’t seem likely. You know what I think? I think you need me for something.” She snatched up his spear and jabbed it into the dirt at his feet. “I just haven’t figured out what it is yet.”
“That’s not true.”
“Then prove it! Send me home.”
“I will, as soon as I’m able.”
“As soon as you’re done with me, you mean.”
“No.” He held out his hand. “Please, Gina, trust me.”
“Is my trust that important to your plans?”
Derrin withdrew his hand, his gray eyes hardening. “Believe what you want.”
He tore his spear out of the ground and stalked away.
Chapter Six
The last of the curled, brown leaves lay in the dirt, scattered by a melancholy wind. Danat’s gaze climbed the furrowed trunk of the ancient Tree of Lotark, standing with tired grace in the center of the Temple Court. Overhead, its fungus-mottled branches hung like the arms of an old woman. Brittle claws scratched at low clouds, joints creaking.
Far to her left, movement flashed in an upper window of the House of the Servants. An acolyte was watching her, half hidden in the shadows beyond the glass. With measured grace, Danat moved across the courtyard to the door that led to her privacy, her eyes cast carefully downward.
Once alone in her attic room, she peered through the screen into the plaza. The Stronghold jutted into the gray sky, a dark slash of uncompromising severity. The threat of thunder hung above it, but Danat would welcome the storm when it rolled over her roof. It would remind her of Loetahl, of lying on her bed of woven straw while Tarrot, the Rain God, drummed overhead.
Loetahl. Mountains and grasslands. Long sandy beaches where the wild horses ran unfettered and great leaping schools of fish rose from the clear waters. Her life there had been uneventful, lived in rhythm with the sea and the rains, until the day a Galenan schooner appeared on the horizon.
The king showed the voyagers every hospitality. In return, the tall strangers gave him a handful of magic stones. With a thought, the person who held those stones could obtain light, heat and healing.
Enthralled, the king offered horses, sugar and silk in trade, but the Galenan envoy had not been satisfied with those. Galena was in need of strong workers. Before long, the sons and daughters of Loetahl occupied the cargo holds of the Galenan schooners.
Danat buried her face in her hands. A market of misery thrived in Galena. Her father had led a protest before his king, but His Majesty had turned a deaf ear. Or perhaps not so deaf, for raiders had stormed her family’s farm within the week, while the king retained Danat’s father at court.
Danat and her mother were asleep in their one-room house when they heard the Galenans’ approach. Some instinct told them to hide. They had barely concealed themselves when the door crashed against the wall.
Two men tramped in, shouting and laughing, intoxicated by something much more powerful than wine. The first was burly and unwashed, the second stood a head taller. His piercing gaze scanned the room, his thin lips twisting.
Danat crouched, frozen with fear, watching through the slats of a wooden trunk. The boots of one drew closer and she heard his hand on the handle of the trunk’s lid. She squeezed her eyes shut.
A shout came, then a low whistle. Danat opened her eyes. The lid of the trunk hadn’t moved. Peering through the slats, she saw what drew the raider’s attention away from her hiding place. Her mother had stepped from behind the dressing screen.
The men circled the frightened woman, then one reached out and ripped the front of her nightdress, exposing her breasts. Danat wanted to close her eyes, but found she couldn’t. She watched, numb, as the pair took turns satisfying themselves on her mother’s body. When they’d finished, one of them kicked the senseless woman in the head and laughed. Danat’s mother didn’t move again.
Danat didn’t realize she’d cried aloud until the lid of the trunk swung open.
The burly man dragged her out, muttering in his alien, guttural tongue. Danat shook, mute with terror. He cupped her breast with one dirty hand.
The tall man made a sharp sound of disapproval and a heated discussion ensued. Finally, the burly man released her. His companion produced a length of rope. He tied Danat’s wrists and jerked her away from the house while his companion scattered hot coals from the fire over the floor.
Danat’s later memories were vivid snatches of fear. The greasy fingers of a trader as he probed to verify her virginity, the endless ride in the dark, fetid hold of a ship, and finally, standing naked before a tall, gaunt man robed in white. At Solk’s nod, an acolyte stepped forward and counted coins into the trader’s purse. The mark of the One God was burned into her forehead that evening.
The Heir of Lotark consecrated his Bride on the altar of the Inner Sanctuary. Danat had been numbed by the lust of the raiders and the greed of the slave traders, but the righteous piety of the high priest humiliated her beyond anything she’d endured. Solk believed he fulfilled the will of his god as he raped her.
During the first weeks of her captivity, Danat’s heart bled with anguish. Then, gradually, a shield of stone formed and it mattered little when men touched her, and even less when she drank the potion that ensured she would not conceive a worshipper’s child.
She forgot what it meant to be human, until Ariek forced her to remember.
He came to the Inner Sanctuary in late summer, wearing the Visage of Lotark. The acolytes took her robes and withdrew. Danat waited, but the worshipper made no move to touch her. Instead, the man removed his mask—a forbidden act. He was young and handsome, with kind blue eyes and hair the color of the sun-washed beaches of her homeland.
He unclasped his cloak and offered it to her. “Take it,” he said, looking everywhere but at her. “I don’t wish to, uh, worship.”
Danat wrapped the cloak about her shoulders and frowned. If this man hadn’t come to worship, why was he here?
“I hadn’t dreamed the new Bride of Lotark was so young, or so beautiful.”
Her bewilderment increased. True Believers saw her in the main worship hall each Lotark’s Day. Surely this man had been among the
m. She kept silent, her gaze fixed on the gilded floor.
“Please,” the stranger insisted. “My name is Ariek. What are you called?”
She looked up and scanned his face. When he smiled, her heart stirred in its stone tomb. She had learned enough of his language to answer him. “In Loetahl, I was called Danat.”
“Danat,” the man repeated, not taking his gaze from her face. “It’s unusual, but a beautiful name.”
Danat’s defenses cracked. Her name! When had she last heard it? Her mother had spoken it, just before…
The stone encasing her heart shattered. She sat down on the edge of the altar, hot tears streaming down her face.
Ariek knelt beside her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
His concern caused her sobs to come faster. Through her tears, she caught a glimpse of his bewildered expression. He sat next to her on the altar and waited, frowning.
When Danat thought she could bear the kindness in his eyes, she raised her head and forced a smile. “You haven’t offended me, Ariek,” she said. “Just the opposite! I haven’t heard my name spoken since I was taken from my home in Loetahl. I’d forgotten what it meant to have one.” She studied him more closely. “Why are you here, if not to worship? You must know it is forbidden to speak to me.”
Ariek shrugged. “Yes, they told me that, but the rules of the Temple are of no matter to me. I’m here to please my father—he has great faith in rituals such as this, though I doubt he believes in Lotark himself. He insisted I come for good luck.”
“You have need of luck?”
He chuckled. “I hope not. You see, I’m apprenticed to a wizard of the Hierarchy. If the High Priest knew that, he would waste no time in throwing me out! As it is, I’m to begin the Wizard’s Trial at dawn. If I’m successful, I’ll be a wizard of the Lower House.”