Seer's Hope

by Anderson, Maree

  “I think so. What are the base colors of aureyas, then?”

  “Generally, red denotes sensuality and vitality. Orange for emotion. Yellow for power. Green for nature and love. Blue for spirituality. Violet for psychic power. Gold for highly advanced spirituality and psychic power.”

  She was silent for a moment, assimilating the load of information. “Then what do you think about the green shadow I saw in Treya’s lower back?”

  “I imagine that was the sign of a minor health problem—perhaps a strained muscle. But what interests me most is the aureya you described around the unborn child. I’ve never heard of a Sehan with the ability to See a fetus before, and certainly not its aureya. I don’t quite know what to think of this. You’re certainly causing me some headaches.”

  “I am very sorry, Dayamar,” she said, dismayed to think she might be responsible for increasing the burden he already shouldered.

  “Forgive me for teasing you.” He patted her hand. “It’s my destiny to be challenged by you or I would not have succeeded in bringing you here.”

  The door burst open and someone—a man by his footfalls—ran in and skidded to an abrupt halt. “Sehan Dayamar, Healer Johan needs you immediately!”

  Roban. He sounded panicked, so unlike his usual suave self that Hope couldn’t help imagining the worst.

  “I went to Treya’s looking for Hope and she—Treya, I mean—is in labor. Healer Johan says it’s not going well.”

  God. Not Treya, please! Hope’s heart skipped a beat.

  Dayamar ran from the hall.

  “That old man sure can move when he needs to,” she heard Roban mutter. Then he turned his attention to her. “Since you’re free, how about we go through that song— Hey! Where are you going?” He managed to grab her wrist as she bolted. “Slow down. You’ll hurt yourself.”

  “But Treya—”

  He groaned. “Grab hold of my arm and we’ll both run. At least that way you won’t fall over and bump that pretty face. I don’t want to give Blayne any excuse to pound on me, okay?”

  When they arrived it was to find a young boy had barred the entrance to Treya’s dwelling. “No one is to enter,” he barked. “Healer Johan’s orders.”

  “Take a closer look at who you’re refusing entry to,” Roban said, grabbing Hope’s arms and pushing her in front of him.

  The boy squeaked. “My apologies, Sehan. Please go in.”

  She dragged Roban with her, waving aside his protests. “Hush. I need you to tell me what is happening.”

  She felt his arm muscles tense beneath her grip. “I-I…. It doesn’t look good.”

  He sounded like he was going to be sick. Useless. He was going to be no help at all. She needed to see what was happening. She couldn’t help if she couldn’t see. Dammit. Why couldn’t she see?

  And then she could. She could see what Roban was seeing as his gaze flicked to each strained face. Johan’s mouth was a grim line as he straightened from examining the stricken woman. Dayamar’s eyes were shadowed with sadness and resignation. They’d obviously lost all hope of a happy outcome to this birth. But it was Treya who’d caught Roban’s attention. Her face was very pale, covered with a sheen of sweat. She barely seemed to be breathing, and didn’t react at all when another contraction rippled her swollen belly.

  Roban uttered a strangled noise, which drew Johan’s attention. The healer’s initial anger at their intrusion drained from his face, leaving him haggard and hopeless. He beckoned Roban to bring Hope closer. And as Roban prodded her to move, her consciousness abruptly split from his and she could see only darkness again. Damn and blast. Why did the elusive linkage that had allowed her to use Roban’s eyes have to fail her now?

  “I’m very sorry, Hope, but there’s nothing more we can do. Treya’s baby is not moving down the birth passage and they’re both too weak. I’m afraid we’re going to lose them both.”

  “No.” She shook her head.

  “There’s nothing more we can do. I’m so sorry.”

  “No!” She flung herself past the healer, groping blindly for Treya’s hand.

  “Hope, no! It’s too dangerous!” Panic cracked Dayamar’s voice.

  She sensed him probing her mind but spared him no thought. Her heightened seer-senses peeled back the layers of Treya’s physical body, noting the milky-blue of Treya’s aureya surging with luminous sparks. Imminent death had been heralded by this beautiful otherworldly display—perhaps in tacit apology for the ending of a life.

  She pushed her wonder away, probing deeper until she reached the fetus. The baby’s head was wedged up against his mother’s pelvis. His aureya was pale as mist and almost invisible. As she watched it spasm and shudder, she became conscious of faint thoughts. Instinctively she formed a link with the immature mind.

  PAIN! I hurt! I hurt!

  There, there, young one. It is not safe to stay here, you must be born to live.

  I stay. Safe…. PAIN!

  You must be born to stop the pain. You must be born to feel your mother’s love. See? Look inside my mind, see what you can have—

  WONDER!

  Yes, yes! This is for you—the physical world. To know love, to touch and feel, to know your mother.

  Want it. FEAR!

  I will help you. Do not be afraid, trust me…. Trust me and be born now.

  She tried to disengage from the baby’s mind, but the self-centered infant psyche was too strong. It held her in thrall. MINE! it insisted.

  She struggled. But the more she struggled, the more the fetus fed on her psychic energy, draining her, weakening her.

  ~~~

  Blayne strode at the head of the hunting party alongside Cayl and Willem. He inhaled and released the breath slowly, reveling in the wide open spaces and the peace. Since returning to the settlement his focus had been split between Hope and his patients. And as much as he loved his trade, the strain of being constantly available to patients and fellow-healers alike was beginning to tell. Now Hope had settled in, he’d whisk her off for a few days camping—if he could cajole Dayamar into giving her a couple of days off from her studies.

  As the other two men discussed strategies for coming hunt Blayne’s thoughts centered on his Promised. He pictured her in his mind. Her beautiful eyes softened after they’d made love. The silken caress of her hair. The heady musk of a well-pleasured woman. He closed his eyes and for a moment he imagined that if he opened them, he’d see her walking toward him, hips swaying in a sensuous invitation, the smile on her face for him, and him alone.

  But when he opened his eyes his vision was awash with a vivid searing gold that was almost tangible. Almost alive. Abruptly the gold was banished by a pulsating bubble of palest blue that twinkled with a myriad of bright silvery sparks. A wave of golden light surged over the bubble. Again and again, the gold wave was banished. Each time it reformed it was diminished, while the bubble became larger, brighter, more substantial.

  Knowing slapped him. The diminishing gold was Hope’s essence.

  The intensity of his need to protect her somehow helped him forge a link with her, and the instant the connection was made fear lanced through him. Her fear. She was growing weaker. Dying. He sank to his knees, his heart squeezing so painfully in his chest it was an effort to breathe.

  “What’s up with you?” Cayl dropped to his knees beside him.

  “Hope’s in danger.”

  “I feel it, too,” Willem said. “I can sense her through that weird bond we’ve shared since she healed me. Something’s wrong—I know it. She’s terribly weak.”

  Others sprinted up, firing worried questions. But Blayne didn’t waste time explaining. He knew what he had to do. He gathered his will and sent it streaking upward, seeking the woman he loved, gifting her with his strength to help her win the battle.

  Energy drained from him in a head-spinning rush as she took what he offered. He toppled onto his back. A slow blink and Willem’s face blurred into focus.

  “We need to keep him
warm.” Fingers pressed to his wrist… a blanket was tucked around him… a folded tunic placed behind his head.

  “He’s breathing steadily and his pulse is still strong.” Willem.

  “What do you think’s happening?” Cayl.

  “Damned if I know.” Willem again. “But Sehan Hope’s in danger so I’d bet my life he’s somehow managed to send a part of himself to help her.”

  “What do we do now?” Varaya, her voice tense and fearful.

  “We wait.”

  Waiting was futile. Hope was running out of time. Blayne rallied what was left of his strength and gave it all to her, willingly.

  ~~~

  MINE! The fetus insisted. Want more. Want it all.

  Another presence echoed in Hope’s mind. NO! it thundered. She is not yours. She is not for you. She is mine.

  Another surge of strength augmented her own. Gathering her will, she broke free. She had the sense of being nourished by intense love before the presence vanished.

  She was safe. The baby was safe. But Treya was so exhausted her heart had stopped beating. Hope couldn’t let her friend die. She poured the last of her strength into Treya and willed her to live.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Hope folded like a damp rag. Before Roban could react Dayamar moved lightning fast, scooping her up and laying her gently on the floor. “See to Treya, Johan,” Dayamar said. “I promise you Sehan Hope will be all right.”

  Roban clenched his fists, his body straining with the need to do something—anything. But when Johan gasped, Roban tore his worried gaze from the young Sehan to check on Treya. Instead of a weary, pain-wracked woman hovering at death’s door, he saw a healthy-looking female who merely seemed to be sleeping. Her breathing had strengthened and her color was good. In fact she practically glowed. The relief he felt was so immense he had to lock his muscles to keep himself upright.

  Her eyelids fluttered, and when they opened her gaze was lucid and determined. Brow creased with effort she bore down, and began to push.

  “Gods!” Johan snatched a couple of quick breaths. “That’s it, Treya. You’re nearly there. The baby’s crowning.”

  Roban could not look away. Some unknown force held him captive, compelling him to bear witness. Treya grit her teeth and rallied for another tremendous push. Johan gently assisted the baby’s head to turn to the side. A final push, and then Treya’s baby slithered out in a rush.

  “It’s a boy!” the healer announced.

  But the baby was silent and limp. Roban inhaled until he saw stars while Johan held the little one by his ankles and administered a smart tap on his backside. The healer was rewarded with a lusty wail of outrage. He checked the baby’s vital signs, wrapped him in a soft cloth and handed him to the nearest able person….

  Roban.

  “But—” His half-hearted protest was ignored while the healer focused on the newborn’s mother and delivering the afterbirth.

  Roban had never been present at a birth before. He’d imagined the process to be painful, messy, and not in any way, shape or form, a spectator sport. What he’d just witnessed didn’t change his mind one iota. But as he examined the squalling, red-faced bundle of baby in his arms, he knew in the depths of his soul he’d witnessed a miracle. His hands shook as he unwrapped the swaddling cloth. He marveled at the perfection of the little body. Tiny fingers and toes, wrinkled skin…. Treya’s infant son was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

  The baby stopped wailing, opened his eyes, and gurgled. And Roban was smitten.

  “Johan, how is our patient?” Dayamar asked. “She looks very well to me.”

  Treya surprised them all by speaking for herself. “I’m fine, Dayamar. Really. My baby? Is he all right?”

  “Roban!”

  Johan’s bark startled man and baby both. The baby whimpered, tiny bowed lips quivering. Roban soothed the infant and spared a glare for the healer.

  “Stop cooing over him and bring him to his mother. She’s done all the hard work. She deserves the cuddling, not you.” Now the drama was over Johan’s biting wit was firmly back in place.

  “Johan?” Treya’s voice sounded thready and small, and the healer’s attention snapped back to her. “I don’t know how but I think Hope helped my baby to be born. How could she do that?”

  “Don’t worry about that for now.” Johan helped her sit up and tucked a blanket around her. “All that matters is that you have a healthy son.” He clicked his fingers at Roban.

  Roban’s reluctance to hand the baby over surprised him. He’d blocked children from his mind long ago—an act of self-preservation that allowed him to cope with knowing he’d never have a son or daughter of his own to raise. He loved Zavier with all his heart but two men could never have a child together. He’d accepted that long ago. Or so he’d thought.

  Treya gazed at her son. “He looks just like Lyam.” She put the baby to her breast. He rooted for the nipple, then latched on and suckled noisily. She gulped. Her chin quivered. Fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

  Roban surprised himself yet again by perching on the edge of the sleeping platform and draping an arm about her shoulders. He didn’t even have to cast about for the right words to say—they rolled off his tongue. “He does look like his daddy. Lyam would have been so very proud of you both.”

  He meant every word. And when Treya smiled at him through her tears he felt a surge of pride and something else—a deep, warm, heady emotion he’d only felt once before… for Zavier, the man he loved.

  As Johan approached Hope she seemed to come to her senses. She managed a dazed smile and cocked her head, listening to the baby’s contented gurgle.

  “I gather you had a lot to do with this happy outcome. How do you feel?” He took hold of her wrist to check her pulse. Strong and steady. Good.

  “I am well, Johan,” the young Sehan assured him. “Just a little tired.”

  He laid the back of his hand on her forehead, and studied her wan face before glancing in askance at Dayamar. He finally allowed himself to fully relax when Dayamar smiled and nodded.

  “Both you and Treya require bed-rest for the next couple of days,” Johan told her. “You’ll both recuperate in the Healing Hall so we can keep an eye on you.”

  “Roban can look after Treya and her baby,” Dayamar announced in a firm tone that suggested neither party had a choice in the matter. “There’s a spare room for him—and Zavier, too, if he’s amenable to the arrangement.”

  Johan opened his mouth to comment that Roban wasn’t exactly the kind of caregiver he had in mind, and besides, Treya might be far more comfortable with a woman staying to help, but he didn’t get the chance.

  “And I will stay in the spare room at Blayne’s house to take care of Hope’s needs until the Panakeya returns,” Dayamar announced.

  Johan’s jaw dropped. His mouth worked but despite the questions seething in his mind, no words were forthcoming.

  The old Sehan answered him mind-to-mind. The Gods have decreed this unusual pairing will take place. Roban’s involvement with Treya and her baby is meant to be.

  Johan shut his mouth with a snap. Far be it for him to question godly decrees. He called in the boy he’d set to guard the door, and sent him off to locate Zavier. “Now make sure you tell him these exact words: ‘Roban’s with Treya and he’ll be staying awhile.’ Well, what are you waiting for, boy? Close your mouth or something nasty will fly into it. Shoo!”

  “Healer Johan,” Dayamar tried for sternness but the twitching of his lips gave him away. “You’re deliberately stirring the pot.”

  “Sehan Dayamar. After the stress I’ve been through today, surely you will not deprive me of my fun?”

  This time Dayamar outright guffawed. “I haven’t the heart. Come, Hope. Let’s get you home.”

  “Not until I hold the baby. Treya, may I?”

  “Of course.” Treya smiled at her. “Roban? Would you please give him to Hope?”

  Johan observed as Roban carefully tra
nsferred the infant from his mother’s arms to Hope’s.

  Gently, reverently, she caressed his head and cheek. The baby’s eyes drooped. Yawning, he relaxed into sleep. “Oh, he’s wonderful, Treya,” she whispered.

  Johan frowned. The young Sehan’s eyes were shadowed with such a deep sadness he couldn’t help but wonder at the underlying cause.

  “Have you thought of a name for him yet?” she asked Treya.

  “Yes. I’m going to call him Hopian. It means ‘hope’ in old Dayamaru.”

  “Very apt,” Johan said. And blinked rapidly to get rid of whatever had gotten into his eye.

  ~~~

  Blayne pried open his eyelids, groaned, and quickly shut them again. He tried again and this time the world stayed still. He tensed his muscles to sit up, and then thought better of it when his body protested some more. His head spun like he’d drunk too much potent liquor, and he felt weak as a newborn kit. Cayl and Varaya eased him up, and Willem proffered a water-skin.

  He quenched his thirst and then tipped the skin over his head, scrubbing his scalp and face with the cool water. “Ah. That’s better.”

  “Shikari’s shaggy hide, what happened?” Cayl demanded.

  “I’m not sure. Hope needed help. She was fighting… something. I need to see her.” Gritting his teeth he rolled to his knees. Cayl restrained him with a hand on his shoulder. He couldn’t summon the strength to resist, and sat back on his heels, head hanging, chest heaving with exertion.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Varaya demanded.

  “Back to the settlement.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “I’m going. Now.”

  She threw up her hands. “Good luck getting there without falling on your face.”

  “I’ll go with him,” Cayl said. “The rest of you should continue the hunt.”

  Willem gnawed his lip. “I think we should call it off.”

  “I agree,” Varaya said. “If something’s happened to Hope you can bet Sehan Dayamar will be affected, too.”