These were happy days for Neevan. Clarian’s family accepted her without reservation, although Helan occasionally expressed resentment about the wars with the Maggan and that her husband had been killed.
Neevan loved the wild river that boiled past the whitewashed cottage. Most of all, she delighted in staring out across the river, across the dry lands on the other side, far to the horizon and seeing there the towering majestic peaks of the Crystal Mountains. She pestered Clarian with questions about the mountains, but he could tell her only about traveling to the foothills at the base and how they loomed up in splendor over the valley below. He emphasized that he had spoken to no one, not even the priests of Madasharan, who had ever ventured up into the higher reaches of the great mountains to the Crystal City. He did not know whether there were even any roads or trails to follow. The teachings were, he told her, that there was a sanctuary for the Immortals somewhere high in a secret valley but that only an Immortal or someone special could be admitted. Not much was known about the sacred place or the Immortals except that the Sacred Flame had been given to the people eons ago by the Immortals, but how that happened he knew very little. She acknowledged that she had heard the same stories.
Clarian was surprised to learn that the Maggan and the Karran held almost identical beliefs. Each called upon the Flame for protection and healing the sick. But only the Karran and the Madasharan had possession of the Flame. That was the cause of the terrible conflict. The Maggan, Clarian realized, would never be at peace with the Karran or with themselves as long as they were deprived of the Flame. In their hearts, the Maggan people would always have a great sorrow that could only be solved by regaining the Flame. What could he do? He was only a soldier, a ferryman, and a farmer. It was in truth a war between the Flamekeepers, fought out by the farmers, herdsmen, and townsfolk on both sides. He thought of the countless dead he had seen on the battlefield, the cries of the wounded and dying, and the smell of death. He relived the scene of bending over dear Lillan’s broken body, the arrow shaft deep in her side. His thoughts lingered there, as sorrow released inside him, coursing through him until he closed it down with effort and will, swallowing hard.
How many times had he charged on his horse among the Kobani, slinging death with arrow, lance, and sword? That was not about the Flame, but about land. The Kobani had wanted more grazing land, and they had tried to take it from a people who would forever be strangers to them, the Grasslanders. It was easier to kill strange people than to negotiate peacefully.
Clarian’s father had not let differences between Kobani and Karran interfere with his love for Ranna. Now Clarian found that he had strong feelings for a woman was nocturnal and could see in the night and lived much of her life underground. How crazy could this be? Of course, he must appear to Neevan to be as strange as strange could be. He smiled to himself, and Neevan caught his smile and wanted to know what he was thinking as they walked down to the ferry to meet Rostan, who was pulling his way back across the river, having just carried a gold trader over to the other side.
“I was thinking about you, Neevan.”
“What about me?”
“I can’t say at this time because Rostan might hear.”
“Rostan is out in the middle of the river and couldn’t possibly hear anything you say over the roar of the water.”
“I can’t tell you, sorry. Now that I think about it, it’s important that I not say anything at this time. I was going to say something to you a number of times recently, but it’s wise that I refrain. I really wish I could, though. Unfortunately, these are very private thoughts.”
She reached out and grabbed his wrist. “What do you mean, private thoughts?”
Grinning, he pulled away, but she held on to his shirt. He broke away and started running away from her down the roadway to the dock, laughing. She sprinted after him, grabbing the back of his shirt. He slipped out of her grasp and started to dart off into the grass, but she stuck out her foot and tripped him. As he went down, she pounced on him, trying to pin him to the ground. They wrestled and rolled several times down the slope through the wild flowers.
Rostan could see the tussle clearly and shook his head at their antics. He liked Neevan, although it had taken him some time to let down his guard against her as a Maggan. He finally decided she was not the usual Maggan, and he could plainly see that Clarian was taken by her, and that was good enough for him.
As he looked on, Rostan noticed that Clarian let Neevan win the wrestling match. Neevan was sitting in the grass holding Clarian in a headlock, laughing, although Rostan could not hear her from his vantage point on the ferry. Her shoulder-length black hair was falling into Clarian’s face. The ferryboat bumped into the dock. Rostan looped one line over a post, then jumped onto the dock and tied off the other lines. When he glanced up, he noticed they had not moved.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
The sun eased behind the Crystal Mountains far to the west as Clarian and Neevan rode their horses north along the river, with lunch packed in their saddlebags. Pink and orange clouds draped across the tips of the mountains, backlit by the setting sun, as the ice fields turned from red to violet to black.
Neevan could never see enough of the mountains and thought that nighttime could never convey the grandeur of those sacred spires of rock, ice, and snow. There were some drawbacks to being a creature of the night, she thought. She desperately wanted to see the mountains close up.
“Clarian, I want you to take me to the Crystal Mountains.”
“I’m busy today, but how about tomorrow?”
She glanced at him quickly only to see him grinning, and she punched his shoulder. “I’m serious. We should go and ride up into the secret valley.”
Clarian sighed as he guided his horse around a boulder in the trail. “When there is a lasting peace between our peoples for all times, I will take you.”
She thought about that, knowing that would take some doing. Neither Ferman nor the Maggan Flamekeeper wanted peace—only revenge and to capture the Flame. How could peace overcome such animosity? She knew the discussions held by Ferman and the Drumaggan could lead to a concerted war effort against the Karran. The combined armies might overwhelm the Karran. Of course, if her people captured the Flame, it would be a joyous thing, and it gave her heart a lift. But what would happen to Clarian? And to the Karran people, whom she found to be much like her own?
“Tell me about your family,” she said.
“My grandfather and my father traveled up this trail looking for grazing land and a place to cross the river. They were originally horse herdsmen. They never found a place to cross. The river runs out of the far north from the mountain range. Snowfields feed it, and that’s why the color is turquoise. That’s why it’s called the Blue River. They traveled south following the river into Kobani territory but decided it wasn’t the safest place, partly because the Kobani are fierce warriors and don’t like strangers and because the river continued to flow fast and wide. So, they settled on this spot where the cottage is now. People kept showing up wanting to cross the river. They decided to build a ferry. I was born here.”
They passed through a clump of thick green willows where the trail dipped down close to the river’s edge before climbing back up to higher ground. A hot, dry wind coursed up from the dry lands, carrying the smell of the desert. Neevan tied her hair back to keep it from blowing about. The glow behind the Crystal Mountains faded as a lavender twilight spread into the big sky. As the horses plodded along the meandering trail, a three-quarter moon eased up over the horizon, and scattered stars blinked on in the rapidly darkening expanse overhead.
“How did you father meet your mother? She’s not of your people.”
Beginning the story when his father was a young boy, he recounted the early years of trading with the Kobani and the events that led to his father rescuing his mother.
“How romantic!” she said, grin
ning. “And you are of two peoples. Very unusual. That never happens among the Maggan.”
“It never happens here, either,” he said with a laugh. “Except for me.”
They crossed a shallow stream filled with colored pebbles and let the horses drink, then followed the trail on the other side as it cut through high rocks and along a cliff that dropped off into the river below.
Neevan had already told Clarian about her upbringing on the journey to the Grasslands—that she was an only child and that her father had died in the Great War against the Karran and that she had attended school at the temple and joined the army, rising to the rank of commander. She left out the part about being Ferman’s granddaughter.
As they crossed a series of hills and swung away from the river, the tall grass disappeared, and trees and woodlands appeared. The trail forked, and, taking a faint path inland, Clarian guided the horses across a small meadow of wildflowers to a beckoning stand of trees and willows. Ducking down beneath the sagging branches as the horses threaded their way, they found themselves at a deep, spring-fed pool. Droopy-limbed willows lined three sides, and water lilies floated pink on the quiet surface. A grassy apron ran down to the water’s edge, and yellow flowers gathered along the stream that ran out of the spring pool.
“I used to come here often as a boy in the summer, like now, to swim and get away from the heat,” he said as he dismounted. “I thought you might like to see it and splash your feet in it.”
“It’s a beautiful place.” She swung off her horse and led it over to the water to drink with Clarian’s.
After securing the horses where they could graze, Clarian spread a blanket on the grass, dipped a small pot into the spring, filling it. He handed it to Neevan to drink.
“It tastes different. It’s sweet,” she said, appreciatively. She handed it back to him, and he drank deeply.
He emptied their food out of the saddlebags on the blanket. There were cakes Ranna had made and fruit from the orchard. The birds were silent at this time of the evening, and the only sound was the hot wind in the trees, rustling the branches.
Sitting down, he pulled off his shirt, boots, and socks and rolled up his trousers and then waded into the pool. “It’s shallow here. Deeper at the other end.” He splashed the cool water over his head and chest and sputtered as it got into his eyes and nose. When he came back to the blanket, Neevan sat tugging off her boots and rolling up her pants.
They sat together peering into the velvet night, quiet in their thoughts—of happiness together and sadness that all could be lost in a moment by forces beyond their control.
Clarian turned his head when he sensed her looking at him, a look of profound sadness on her face. “What’s wrong?”
She did not answer for a moment. “Nothing is wrong.” She reached out and touched his bare shoulder.
He did not know what else to say. He could not say anything, her hand on his skin. Feelings welled up in him, and he was afraid to speak what was in his inner self. He gazed deep into her luminous, green-fire eyes, now glowing in the dim light, hoping it all could last forever, hoping she would never leave, hoping he could ask her to stay and that she would say yes.
Clarian gestured to the trees bending over them. “The trees sweep over us like a bower.”
She moved next to him, leaning in.
“There are floating pink flowers over there and reeds and…”
“I know you love me,” she said softly, almost whispering.
“From that night in the forest. But I have no hope.”
“I love you too. Don’t be afraid that I will leave you. We’ll find a way.”
“They will never let us be together.”
“We’re together now. It will be so if we will it.”
“You shine in my dreams, and I have no dreams but of you.”
Neevan ran her fingers across the many scars that laced his chest and arms. She looked shocked. “They’ve cut you to pieces.”
“I can’t go to war again.”
“I know. We will find our peace.” Tears welled up in her eyes, and she clasped him close.
“I dreamed last night of us in a misty place where the breeze carried the scent of flowers, and the grass was soft. I kissed you for the first time.”
“We are there. And you are kissing me now.”
He reached out to her, and she slipped into his arms, kissing him with passion and tenderness. The entire world disappeared except them and their love. That night they swam in the spring pool, and time vanished. Her skin glowed like white marble in the crystal-clear water, and her eyes glinted green in the faint light from the stars overhead as she glided effortlessly through the water.
She stood naked on the blanket drying off, her body a statue silvered by a shaft of moonlight, her eyes hot with love. She beckoned to him, and he waded from out of the water to stand before her. “No man has ever seen me thus.” She gazed into his eyes, smiling, and pulled him close against her skin.
“I loved you when I first saw you in the forest. You are the joy of my heart, Neevan.”
“Let’s swim in this spring pool. It will be our special place. And tonight, my sweet love, I will make your heart sing.”
The night soon became dawn as if time was in a race toward daylight, and it came quickly, too quickly for them, in a suffusion of peach-colored light across the eastern horizon. They left the blanket on the grass and swam again in the spring pool and laughed and giggled and held each other close. As the morning light spread across the heavens, and the hot wind breached the little copse of trees that held the spring pool, they lay upon the blanket again, and birds awoke in the trees above, and the horses crunched grass and nickered as if eager to be on their way.
Some hours later, they arrived back at the ferry. Neevan decided not to stay up, and after a bright smile at Ranna and Helan and a secret look at Clarian, she disappeared into her bedroom. The looks were not lost on Ranna and Helan. Clarian grabbed a large piece of bread and without looking at his mother or his aunt ducked out of the house, mumbling about work he had to check on.
Between helping Rostan at the ferry, building the new ferry, and cutting timber for Rostan’s cottage, Clarian found time to show Neevan the countryside, day and night. Ranna and Helan were not fooled into believing these were strictly sightseeing expeditions, and Rostan had already assumed that this would happen, even though Neevan and Clarian were discreet.
Neevan learned to cook both Karran and Kobani style and helped out in the kitchen, but she always found it convenient to be wherever Clarian was. She took an interest in the construction of the new ferry, carrying lumber and taking her turn sawing. She teased Rostan about his future bride and his marriage plans. She wanted to know when he was going to bring his bride-to-be to visit them at the ferry and inspect the new cottage going up. He promised he would soon.
As the days drifted by without word from the Citadel, Clarian relaxed and thought that maybe the peace would hold fast after all. His mind turned as always to Neevan. He tried to speak to her about their future plans, but she put him off until she could return to Minteegan and assess the progress toward peace. She wanted to have a serious talk with Ferman and gain his word that the days of war were over. Clarian shrugged, knowing she was being practical, but a part of him wanted her to remain at the ferry with him, never to return to the Maggan forest. They could build a life together as his parents had at the ferry. He could take her on a journey to Madasharan and to the Crystal Mountains. He could build a cottage for them next to the old house. He constantly dreamed of her, even when he was fully awake.
CHAPTER FORTY
It was late in the afternoon on a hot day when the dogs alerted him to riders. Neevan was sleeping in his room, the curtains tight against the light, Helan was gathering vegetables from the garden, Ranna was already in the kitchen preparing the evening meal, and Rostan was down on t
he dock. Clarian had just finished milking the cow and was carrying a pail of milk from the barn to the house.
By the time he came out of the cottage, he could hear the pounding of hooves off in the distance and could see three riders coming hard and fast down the road through the tall grass toward the ferry. In a short time, the riders, wearing Citadel guard tunics, came to a stumbling halt in front of Clarian, the horses lathered and blowing hard. The lean young soldiers were hunched over their saddles, exhausted, faces drawn. Stiffly, they dismounted. One of them was Parsan, the Citadel guard who had traveled with Rokkman to find the ferryman and who had been left to guard the ferry when Clarian was taken to the Citadel. He pulled a dispatch from his saddlebag and handed it to Clarian.
“The Maggan are marching against the Citadel. The call has gone out to all the land. They come in great numbers. The Flamekeeper directs that you return in haste, Clarian.”
Clarian and Neevan raced their horses back to the Citadel, changing horses at Citadel posts along the way. Neevan received glares and a few harsh words, but Clarian demanded obedience and courtesy from the soldiers. Only a few times did they stop to lie down by the road and sleep for a few hours. There was no time and no inclination for loving words or embraces. Dark thoughts and fear flooded both their hearts. Their worst nightmare was happening.
Sleep-deprived and haggard, Clarian and Neevan pushed their weary mounts up the hill and through the gates of the Citadel castle. It was night, and torches were burning in the wall sconces. Clarian rushed up the stone steps, shouting for an orderly. Within moments, Clarian was shown into the Flamekeeper’s quarters, where he found the old man, red-eyed and wringing his hands. Rokkman swept in, clothed in his night robe, his skin pale, his eyes haggard.
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