WINDHEALER

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  "Get out!"

  Conar grinned and dove neatly into the deeper section. He came up, his arms neatly cleaving the waters.

  "I told you to get the hell out of there!"

  He winked. "Come get me!"

  If it had been just an ordinary summer's day, Roget would have accommodated him and Conar knew it. If it had even been a cool spring day or late autumn day, Roget wouldn't have hesitated diving in and dragging his ass back to the water's edge. But considering that it was in the mid-twenties, with snow falling in large clumps, the water was frigid and mist-shrouded. As he cut expertly through its lapping waves, Conar felt himself fairly safe from du Mer's anger.

  And it was anger.

  Roget was standing on the platform, wrapped in a thick woolen cape, shivering, his eyes hot, his body cold and his voice trembling with the blast of arctic air blowing over him.

  "If you d…don't get your b…butt out of there," Roget chattered, "you'll b…be the sorriest bastard this s…side of the Alps!"

  Roget spied a rock. He had all but decided that if Conar didn't get out of the water, he was going to take that rock and whack him with it!

  "You wouldn't dare!"

  "The hell I wouldn't!" Roget shouted, amazed Conar had known what he was thinking.

  Conar chuckled, dove under the water where his shoulders wouldn't be the pale purple they had become with his swim in the merciless chill. He surfaced after a long underwater period and treaded water, looking about him for Roget. He grinned.

  Du Mer was gone.

  "No balls," Conar chided to the absent man. "Blue balls!"

  He cleft the water again, swam for a good three minutes under the water, surfaced and heard a sound that chilled him where the water hadn't.

  "Having fun?"

  Conar murmured a heart-felt, "Oh, shit!" He turned to face the voice, then pushed at the water, putting as much distance between him and the three men staring at him across the wafting fog.

  A finger crooked his way.

  Conar shook his head. "Go away. I'll get out in a minute."

  The finger crooked again.

  He shook his head. "I don't trust you."

  Rylan Hesar looked to his little brother. "He doesn't trust us, Paegan."

  Of all the men Roget could have gone after, he picked the two who had been spawned in the wild, frigid waters of Virago. The only men who were not adverse to diving into the water.

  Later, coughing, spitting out water, and groaning, he lay gasping on the snow-covered walkway where the two had dragged him after a brief scuffle. They'd captured him and held him underwater until he thought he'd drown, and that's when Conar vowed he wouldn't play hooky again.

  And that he wouldn't argue either.

  He'd found out it wouldn't do him any good. Especially not when there were others to take sides against him. Besides, Conar was convinced the men were latent sadists! Now, with a snarl of pique, he headed for the gym, his ears burning from the mocking laughter following him.

  * * *

  "Conar McGregor, this is Pearl."

  Occultus indicated the man standing in the center of the wrestling mat. He cocked one brow at the look on Conar's face, then folded his hands into the sleeves of his deep green robe.

  "He will be your instructor in the art of body wrestling." A slight smile touched the thin lips as the word body sank into Conar's feverishly working brain. His grin widened as Conar snapped his head around.

  "I'm not training with this…this…" He turned to glare at the new man. "Person!"

  "You will," Occultus said in a reasonable voice.

  "I won't!"

  Conar started to leave, but Occultus nodded at Pearl, who moved with lightning speed.

  He took hold of Conar's arm, placed his hip against Conar's and levered him over his shoulder and to the floor. Conar landed hard on his rump.

  He sat there, mouth open, eyes devoid of the shining hate of a moment before, too astonished by the stranger's actions to have actual thought. As the reality of what happened struck him, his mouth snapped shut into a thin line.

  "Son-of-a-bitch!" he ground out between tightly clenched teeth. He came off the floor, lowered his head and plowed into the stranger's gut. Pearl staggered back at the momentum of the all-out attack, but he held his ground.

  Circling Conar's midsection with his arms, Pearl jerked him of the floor, fell backward to the mat and tossed Conar over his head where the young Prince landed flat on his back.

  Glaring at the ceiling, his lips pressed tightly together, Conar was barely aware of the man standing over him, his hand extended in help. With a snarling rage, he sat up quickly, snaked out a lightning fast hand and clasped the stranger's ankle, dragging the foot out from under him. He grinned maliciously as Pearl collapsed with a surprised grunt.

  Satisfied that he had redeemed himself, Conar got to his knees and was pushing himself up when he was tackled, the stranger's body prone across his back. Before he could react, his left wrist was caught in a steel-like grip and pressed firmly to the floor. A hard arm snaked under his right armpit and Pearl's right hand locked across the back of his neck. Conar's left shoulder dipped to the mat and stayed there. Despite bucking and twisting to get free, all he managed to do was increase the hold Pearl had on his upper body. The rock-hard body wouldn't budge. Conar's grunts and snorts and snarls of rage only seemed to amuse him.

  "Do you give?" A pleasant, gravelly voice, somewhat effeminate in its smoky quality, asked near his ear.

  "Go to hell!" Conar hissed, groaning as the pressure increased on his arm. His fingers went numb.

  "All it takes is one shoulder pinned to the mat to win a competition. You were no challenge."

  Suddenly the pressure was gone. Conar twisted around, sitting up as he rubbed his left shoulder. He glared at the stranger with loathing.

  "Pearl is a champion, Conar. He has yet to lose a match. If you want to be good at what you attempt, you must learn from the best. If mediocrity is your goal, any teacher will do; any man can be average. It takes a special man to be a champion."

  "There's nothing that…man…can teach me that I want to know!" Conar came to his feet.

  Occultus snorted. "It seemed to me he bested you."

  "Does he want to fly with the eagles or run with the dogs?" Pearl quipped.

  Conar squinted, his breathing loud and deep through his nose. A muscle bunched in his jaw as he glowered. The blue orbs flicked with distaste, assessing what he was seeing, and it was plain in the frigid depths that Conar found the man lacking.

  Though shorter than Conar, Pearl was broader in build. His dark brown hair was coarse, clipped short around his ears, but grew long and thick on the nape of his neck. His brown eyes were liquid, soft and seemed far older than his years—thirty, if that much. His face was round, soft, his nose only slightly too long. His lips were full and a deep coral color, much like a woman's. His hands were dainty, moving with motions that were, to Conar, the telltale sign of his true nature.

  "Like what you see, big boy?" Pearl giggled, fluttering his lids. He puckered his lips and made a kissing motion, winking audaciously at Conar's sudden growl.

  Conar swung his head to Occultus. "I will not let this faggot touch me!" he shouted.

  Occultus shrugged. "He already did, and you don't appear any the worse for it. I see no change. Do you, Pearl?"

  The gravelly voice was vastly amused. One thin brow rose in challenge. "What I see is a fine example of prime male flesh, Your Worship. I can't wait to get my hands on him again!"

  "In your dreams!" Conar yelled, taking a step toward the stranger. Occultus moved so quickly he was only a blur. Conar turned to him as Occultus blocked his way. He was vaguely aware that Pearl was speaking to him through teasing laughter.

  "Oh, I have no doubt I'll dream of you!" The pouting lips were more than Conar could stand.

  "You worthless piece of shit!"

  "Shit isn't worthless, my Prince. It is good for fertilizing, if nothing el
se. Would you like me to fertilize you, my Prince?"

  "That's it!" Conar said in a low, deadly voice. He pushed against Occultus' chest and began to stalk away, but groaned with furious frustration when he found himself somehow on his knees, on the floor with the stranger on him again. Two strong hands had a tight hold on his wrists, locking them to the mat as Pearl straddled him.

  "Get off!" Conar spat. When Pearl didn't move, Conar fairly screamed the words. "Get off me, you turd!"

  Pearl's hand wedged through Conar's spread legs as he attempted to flip him to his back. He felt the arm rub against the separation of his buttocks, felt it move over his vulnerable genitals.

  A black haze of horror filled Conar's mind. He screeched, jerking away from the surprised man with a wild scramble of knees and elbows as he crawled his way across the mat. He came to his knees in a lithe bound of quaking rage, facing the man like a cornered animal. He crouched there on the floor on all fours.

  "Conar," Occultus spoke in a calm, reassuring voice, realizing the error of what had just happened, "Pearl was attempting a regulation hold. Nothing more."

  Conar's heart slamming in his chest. His breathing was shallow and rapid, his blood pounding in his temples. He wanted to leap on the bastard who knelt ten feet away and pull the beating heart out of the man's chest.

  "I am sorry," Pearl said, but Conar's shriek of mindless fury stilled the apology.

  "Don't you ever, ever do that to me again, you son-of-a-bitch! I'll take your fucking head off if you ever put your hands on me like that again!"

  Pearl came to his feet and walked slowly to where Conar crouched. He stopped only a foot away, looking with sorrowful eyes at the man whose face mirrored an ancient evil that had caused such a violent reaction.

  "I am truly sorry. I meant no disrespect. Please accept my apology?" He held out his hand.

  With a surge of fury, Conar came to his feet. He knocked away the offered hand with a snort of contempt. He glowering, hoping the bastard would come at him again.

  "Pearl has tendered you an honest apology. You must accept it as a gentleman." There was a strong note of warning in Occultus' cultured voice.

  "Like hell I will! I'm not about to let this queer try to shove his…"

  "Conar!" Occultus rarely raised his voice, but when he did, he received immediate attention. Both men's heads snapped toward him. "You should be ashamed for thinking that! Apologize this instant!"

  Conar gathered together a mouthful of saliva and spat on the floor at Pearl's feet. "The only apology should be from this bastard's father for not having drowned the faggot at birth!" He rushed from the room, his hands clenched into fists.

  Pearl laughed. "If I hadn't grown such a tough skin over the years, that would have hurt!" He clucked his tongue, bringing his shoulders up with an exaggerated daintiness, pretending to shudder delicately. "Such a temper does our little Prince have!"

  "And no manners!" Occultus snapped, stalking after Conar.

  Conar felt a hand on his shoulder and turned, his fist going back to crash into the intruder's face. His arm shot forward only to be caught in Occultus' surprisingly strong grip.

  The two glared at one another, Conar's fist held secure by fingers that were deceptively inflexible. Pain shot through his fingers, but he refused to blink. The battle of wills held. When Occultus let go of his hand, his fingers were numb.

  "Get back in there and do what I expect. You will accept Pearl's apology and tender one of your own."

  "I won't."

  Occultus looked down his aquiline nose. "Do it or the training stops here."

  "Suits me just fine! There's nothing that queer can teach me that I want to learn!"

  "All training will stop!" There was no compromise in the sorcerer's cold face.

  Conar stared for a long time. If he thought silence would bring even a flicker of concession, he soon found he was wrong.

  From experience, Occultus knew there were silences that consume the mind, take it over, numb it, paralyze it. And there were silences that could destroy…a man…a friendship. Some silences, left to go on too long, are irreversible, their damage eternal.

  "What's it to be?" he asked.

  Conar was loath to back down, but he knew his yielding was the only thing the man would accept. Still, some minor arrogance of pride lurked in his heaving chest. "I don't want to apologize!"

  "Why?" The word was an explosion of disgust.

  "Because of what he is!"

  "Because he is different from you?"

  "Because he's a useless piece of shit!"

  "Because he is a homosexual?"

  "Aye!"

  Occultus took in a long breath and held it to tamp down his temper. He had never dealt well with prejudices. Men who held such opinions were even more of a nuisance to him. He wanted nothing more than to slap the smirk from Conar's self-righteous face.

  "And am I a worthless piece of shit to you?" His voice was as reasonable as he could force it.

  "Are you like him?"

  "Do I prefer the companionship of my own kind to the allure of a woman?" Occultus stared hard at the young Prince. "I, too, am a homosexual, Conar."

  There was only a flicker of movement in Conar's eyes. He had known all along. After all, the man had once been a leading member of the Domination. He felt no repulsion toward Occultus as he had always felt toward Tolkan, Tohre and the others; he did, however, have a healthy respect for the man and a grudging like for him that, at the moment, he found hard to summon forth.

  "What bothers you about Pearl is his mannerisms, isn't it? He acts homosexual, looks homosexual, speaks the way a homosexual is supposed to speak. And you feel threatened."

  "I'm not afraid of him—"

  "Then what was that reaction that burst out of you when he accidentally touched you?" Occultus folded his arms over his chest and examined the shame that crossed Conar's quiet face. "Perhaps his touch thrilled you."

  Instinctively, Conar took a step backward. His cowardice angered him even more. "It made me ill!"

  "It frightened you. You quivered like a little boy. Your face turned pale, your hands turned clammy and you slithered across the floor like the coward you are."

  The venomous accusations in Occultus' face stung him. "I am no coward!"

  "You are frightened of Pearl and men you conceive to be like him." His lips raised in scorn. "You are a biased, intolerant, hypocritical bigot. A spineless, weak bastard who strives hard to make himself feel brave, but we saw just how brave you really are in there. You turned tail and ran. Pearl touched you at the core of your cowardice, didn't he, Conar? He put his hand right on the source of what you've always considered the strongest part of you and turned you to jelly!" Occultus laughed, and the laugh was evil, malevolent. "You're just fine when it comes to bullying women, I bet. You can rant and rave and have them trembling in their petticoats if they just happen to touch you; but when it comes to a man, you can't handle it, can you? You're just a sniveling coward who runs away and hides when the going gets rough!" The laughter stilled. "I guess that's why Appolyon and his men had such a fine time with you in the Labyrinth, eh? Just fodder for the stronger man's will!"

  Tears stung him. He glared with hurt at the man whose face was a stony facade of unfeeling, uncaring mockery. It was too soon after his humiliations at the Labyrinth for him to have regained all his self-respect. Occultus' words were like the barbs of the whip that had torn his cheek apart. They left a wicked gash in him.

  "It hurts, doesn't it?" Occultus asked in a hard voice. "To be ridiculed. To be made aware of your shortcomings, either real or imagined in your mind or the mind of your accuser, when there is nothing you can do about them at the time being. It stings the pride; it wounds the spirit. Injustice is the same in any language, in any race, in any situation. Prejudice hurts the soul within you. What is different, is scorned; what is weak, is crushed."

  Occultus could see the effort it was taking for Conar to retain his composure. He didn't like hur
ting the boy. Sharpening his claws in the thin fabric of Conar's new life, for the boy had been hurt far too much and far too often; but as Conar's father had once remarked, sometimes only pain could get the boy's attention, cut through his shell of resistance.

  "There is an important lesson you will have to learn about the men you are going to be leading, Conar. Every one of them is an individual. Each has his own dreams, desires, talents, needs and fears. What one can stand, another can't. Where one is strong, another may not be as strong. To be a good leader, you have to recognize individuality, recognize it and allow it to be. No two men think exactly alike nor do they accept their fates in the same way. One might crumble beneath the weight of his sorrows while the other might revel in the challenge adversity brings. That is individuality. That is what sets each of us apart from the next. That we are different is our strength. If we were all alike, shared the same beliefs, the same likes and dislikes, the same goals, I would imagine the world would be so bland, we would not want to live in it."

  "My men will think like me or I will not tolerate them near me! I don't like that—"

  "I didn't say you had to like the men you train under or that you lead," Occultus argued. "You won't like them all; you may not like any! But you will have to accept them for the way they are in order to get the most from them."

  "I think I know what to do! I've led men before!"

  Occultus sighed, laid a hand on his pupil's shoulder, ignoring the stiffness that turned the muscles hard. He locked his pale gaze with Conar's and lowered his voice to a soft caress.

  "There are times when the man who leads finds he has bitten off more than he can chew, and finds himself choking on words and actions he may later regret. It is the wise man who can swallow his pride and digest his anger. If he doesn't learn to do that, he'll find himself constipated with his own stupidity. When that happens, he becomes just one more hemorrhoid on the asshole of life."

  Conar blinked, his teacher's words hitting him like a stone. He was amazed to see the smile teasing at the corner of Occultus' mouth. He turned his head, letting his shoulder relax where the thin hand lightly touched him. "What does that make me?" he asked in an exasperated voice.