How could he know? The last month had been pure torment. She had finally released all the anguish, the pain of her loss, of Henri's betrayal. Finally she could breathe, she could laugh, she could feel. And Richard was there.
He was there every morning next to Marc, eating the bread and cheese that was their morning meal, there every evening. Whenever she raised her head, Richard was there-his thoughtful, brown eyes, his stalwart and brave spirit that had thrown off all past bonds to bring her to safety.
She could not seem to find the courage to speak to him. She did not want to see him draw away when she spoke of her love, hear him try to shield her hurt with words of friendship. So she remained silent, stole glances at him when she thought he did not see, found reasons to walk by wherever he labored.
Then, one day she and Leila had been out in the field across the river gathering rushes. "Maríana," Leila had said, "You are an idiot." Her eyes had drifted from Maríana to where Richard worked, driving a post into the ground. Every thump of his mallet had sent a shivering wave through Maríana. "If you do not go to him soon," Leila had caught her Maríana's and leaned forward. "I will."
Maríana tried to shrug, but her body betrayed her, responded to Leila's challenge with a burst of wild longing. It was all she could do to bind her rushes, walk on wobbling legs back to the house. That afternoon, she had told Adelie she would ask for Richard's help with the fence she wanted to build around her patch of thyme. Adelie had nodded, then said, "Remember that you can touch no man until after the circle fire." Well, she had not. But to see the amber glow in his eyes as he spoke to her, to catch a glimpse of his fleeting grin when she made a jest-these were as important to her as air itself. It hurt to be so close to him, yet never touch him. Damn Adelie!
Now, Maríana looked up, saw her aunt watching her. No, she could not deny her aunt, her grandfather what they asked of her. They were family.
She had maintained her distance from Richard. Though her body clamored for his touch, she stayed just out of reach. Until yesterday.
Richard had been angry. He had walked her back to the pool, then left her there, stalking away, his back rigid. She had not seen him since.
So how could he know? Maríana turned away from her aunt. Light from the crystal shards danced across the table. "Maríana," Adelie started to speak, but a low thunder rumbled outside the house, shook the walls, sounded again in a broken beat.
"There were no clouds today." Maríana moved to the door. The night sky stretched above her, fine and clear; stars made a flashing arc. Yet the thunder continued, closer now.
The space just outside the house was filled with people, motionless, silent, their heads covered with the faces of animals. Now gray deer and owl, red fox and horse came forward, lifted her into the air. Behind them, three more held a drum taller than a man. Each had a mallet he played across the surface of the skin stretched over a large wooden frame, sending the beat of a colossal heart into the air.
Maríana twisted her head, scanned the crowd for a silky fall of raven hair. Would Richard be wearing a mask? But the people were carrying her now, all of them moving as one down the path that led to the circle of wicker giants. Adelie was just ahead, singing, her voice tugging them forward, the drum beat throbbing behind. The people surrounding Maríana joined her aunt's song. There were no words, just voices spiraling into the sky.
The four who held Maríana brought her forward to where Adelie stood at the edge of the circle and set her down. Her aunt backed away from them, into the center. The four guardians loomed around Maríana, each the height of three men, the width of five. Their arms and legs threw sharp-edged shadows across Adelie. Maríana did not like these giants made of sapling bough and vine, not even in daylight. There was something in the hollow eyes that made her jaw tighten, something observant that sat in judgment. She had helped make them, yet, in the moonlight they were alive. The bonfire in the center crackled, sent flickering radiance across the faces of the maiden and the mother, the grandmother and the lord. She was sure the one nearest her moved.
Adelie grasped her hand, pulled her forward toward the fire. Maríana trod upon layers of moss and rushes, brought into the circle just that morning. Behind her, the masked villagers crowded into the circle.
Adelie dropped Maríana's hand and went around the bonfire to stand on the opposite side. Now words emerged from the voices around her. "Juanandi," they breathed, "go underground." All of them were within the circle. "Wind-Hunter, go underground." Louder, now. They were moving in a coil, surrounding her.
Maríana stood five paces from the fire. She must leap over it, had prepared for this. But the flames were so high and her legs felt weak.
Eyes within the masks that swirled by her glittered. "Bring the Lady back to us." Their feet stirred the rushes and moss. Pollen and dust filtered into the air. She lifted her hands toward the flames, drew back when the fire kissed her fingertips. Her legs shook again. She locked her knees to still the quiver.
No choice. But there was a trick to this. Her gown of living greenery was moist with dew. Her feet were swift. Adelie had made her jump, again and again, over six women, all on top of one another. Much higher than the flames that licked up into the air in front of her.
Maríana dropped to the ground, balanced on her toes, then sprang forward, sent her body over the belly of the fire, felt its blast singe her bare feet. But she landed next to Adelie as she had been taught, knees slightly bent. She did not even stumble. Her knees straightened. She turned and extended her arms.
A roar now burst from the crowd, a cry that repeated their plea to the Wind-Hunter. Maríana stood, arms still raised, as the villagers whirled around her. She started when the first hands grabbed her sleeves, then closed her eyes and remained still while hands tore at her gown, shredded it, ripped it from her body until all that remained was the net handing in a straight line from her head. She had been prepared for this, too.
"You can open your eyes now." It was Leila's voice.
Maríana lowered her arms, squinted at the form in front of her. It was the red fox, but her half-sister's eyes glinted out at her. The bonfire was dying, only embers remained. The wicker giants encircled her.
"I am to tell you to create the sacred space." Leila was moving toward the edge of the circle.
"But how can he get through the barrier if I draw the circle?" Maríana looked at the wicker giants. No one else was there. The sound of the drum could be heard in the distance, fading toward the river. "Where is he?"
"Open the Door," Leila said, "and wait." She slipped out between the maiden and the mother.
RICHARD kept hitting the wrong notes. He plucked the harp strings, seeking the melody he had chased all day. A breeze curled around his arms and shivered the bells. He had been in the bell forest since sunrise. Now the black arc of night, full moon riding the heavens, made a canopy for his despair.
His music had never abandoned him before, but now he could not give voice to this melody that had been tormenting him, pleading with him, begging him to send it into the air. He dropped his hands from the air harp, lifted his flute. The song rang pure and clear in his mind, yet neither his fingers nor his breath could bring it to life. He could not even hum it.
At least the drums were silent now. Circle fire drums. The rise of cliff where the Guardian and the Beacon stood made a rippling curtain at the base of the sky. He could almost make out the features of the Guardian in the pool of cold light that poured from the moon.
At first, he thought he would join them, the circle dancers. He had his mask of wolf snout and gray fur. He had even started out of the bell forest when the deep pulsing cry of drumbeat sent its call. But, at the edge of the grove, his elbow had struck a trio of brass bells, bringing an angry pealing clamor that halted him. He could go no farther. That was when the shouting echoed along the mountainside. They were calling Juanandi.
He ran his fingers over the polished wood of his flute. In Brittany, they called to the Lord of the F
orest to coax the Goddess from Her rest, to rise and claim Her portion of the year. He supposed this Juanandi was the same.
It was quiet now. The breeze touched his brow. He lifted his flute and breathed the first notes of the melody that haunted him. Still wrong. The moon had shifted now. His fingers were bleached in its light, bleached the color of bone. Perhaps he should return to Brittany and take his chances with the Inquisition. If even his music deserted him, what did he have left?
Maríana. She was down there, waiting for her consort. He ground his teeth. Maybe her consort was already there. Some man from the village, probably. Well, he would not go anywhere near that circle, would not risk seeing Maríana with some other man. A sharp twinge in his middle finger made his hand jerk. He held it before his eyes. Just a splinter.
He had nearly bitten the splinter out of his finger when the song spread everywhere in a liquid surge, circled his arms, faded to a whisper. The bells answered it; the wind harp moaned. Richard dropped his hand, retrieved his flute from the ground. He sent a few notes into the night, a question, then stopped and let his ears search for the answer. Only silence at first, then the wild and terrible entreaty, the yearning plea sounded again, farther away now.
It was the melody he had sought all day. There, just beyond the boundary of the bell forest. He moved toward it, held his flute to his lips. Notes flowed out. Three, no, four beckoned in a rising sigh, then seven fell and spread, till the last was no more than a deep rumble. The melody teased him, pleaded for more, dissolved into the distance. It was moving farther away. Richard stood at the edge of the bell forest. The full moon lay its silver fingers across pine bough and path. He could even see the far off glimmer of river flow. The song drifted toward him again, summoned, demanded his presence. His feet started moving. He would follow.
SHE WAS shivering. The bonfire was ashes, the guardians her jailers. Maríana stood at the center of the circle, in the same place she had stood after she drew the barrier, the sacred curtain. Its translucent swirls flowed just beyond the border of the wicker giants.
No one had come. She hugged her herself and shivered again. It was almost dawn and no one had come. The guardians seemed to lean toward her, hollow eyes shimmering in gleeful accusation. She had failed. Now there would be no one to go to the stone, to draw the barrier that would protect her mother's valley.
Would that be so bad? The thought startled her. She glanced up at the guardians, then straightened her back, glared at them. Iranzu had said this stone could send out a fatal radiance, a powerful, blighted wave that melted flesh and muscle. Surely, then, it could protect itself. She raised her chin. The people of this valley would just have to learn to be like everyone else in this world. What made them so special, that they could hide away here, deny the world outside their gifts, their healing? A rustling slither crept by her and she jumped. But the guardians looked farther away. Had they really drawn back?
No. Something was out there, poised at the edge of the boundary she had drawn. She widened her eyes, but could not capture its form. Bundles of flashing lights swirled in sparkling patterns. When she half-closed her eyes, she could see arms within the blinking lights, then legs. Tall. A man?
He seemed to be waiting for something, passing a long tube from hand to hand. Then he lifted it to his mouth. Four notes sent the promise of spring toward her. Just four notes, yet the hushed glow of a lover's voice, the whispered pledge of a lifetime reached out, engulfed her. The gleaming curtain of the Door parted.
Richard came toward her, flute still to his lips. His song took her breath. Moonlight crept around the limbs of the wicker giants, sought the rich black of his hair, kissed the bones of his cheeks. Then he stood in front of her, flute lowered, dark eyes grieving. "Is it over?" he said. "Is he gone?"
"What?" She could not seem to think. Her heart was making too much noise. Her limbs were melting in a golden fire. "Who?"
"What happened to your clothes?" A tiny muscle near his mouth jumped. "Where is your... consort?"
"He is standing in front of me." She grasped his fingers. "Here is his hand."
His mouth dropped open, eyes widened. "But, but, but..." He could not seem to form any words, stared down at his hand, at her hand holding his.
She could not stop the laughter that spilled out into the space between them. At first, he backed away. Then amber lights flared in his eyes, pure astonishment and simple joy moved across his face, and his own laughter rang out. The flute hit the ground.
Later, she could not remember when they stopped laughing, when the net dropped from her hair, when he caught her mouth with his. He was gentle, searching, but she pulled him into a fierce embrace and he followed, making shuttered moans that seemed to die in his chest as he caught his breath, only to start again when she moved beneath him, opened and drove him inside. Then a cry of shock and dismay tore from his throat, the pulse and spreading warmth filled her. She ran her hands across his back and smiled up at the guardians. It was done, and done well. She had not failed.
Richard raised up on his arms and tumbled off to the side, covering his face with his hands. "Maríana, I'm sorry! Forgive me, please!"
What was he mumbling? "Sorry?"
He took his hands away from his face. "I have wanted you for so long." His eyes were fixed on the sky. "I simply had no control. No control at all."
She smiled, reached out and traced the corner of his mouth with her finger. How long had she wanted to do that? "You did exactly what you were supposed to do. You were there. Weren't you listening when Iranzu and Adelie explained it to me?"
His amazement warred with delight, the amber in his eyes deepened.
"You really don't have any idea of what I am talking about, do you?" she asked.
"No."
The guardians were leaning toward them. She could barely see the stars through their wicker faces.
Richard lay on his back, muttering again. It sounded like "Bauçais was a dolt." But she could not be sure because his hand had captured her elbow and his fingers gently traced a line along the inside of her arm, a line that sent a flow of rich shudders that traveled to her toes.
"We're not through here yet, you know." He had rolled toward her. When had that happened? She could do nothing, see nothing with his hand roaming up her shoulder, lingering across her neck, teasing her ear.
"Through?" His lips replaced his hand, warm breath and moist kisses all along her chest, moving downward. No, his hand was still there, but it had moved to the other side, was making a path from her chin to her... .
"Look around us, the guardians are still waiting." He waved at the wicker and vine creatures, making a latticed shelter above her.
"What?" How could she think when his tongue now made lazy circles around her left breast, while his fingers teased the other into a singing peak?
"The Goddess wants to awaken and she has not been pleased enough to rise up from her slumber yet." He had raised his head and was gazing at her, amused, smug.
"Do not stop."
Again she felt his breath, tiny explosions against her skin as his lips moved down across her belly, felt his fingers still playing across her breasts. Was he laughing?
She did not care. A line of liquid fire erupted everywhere he touched, traveled to its center between her legs. But he moved to her feet now, his mouth progressing from her toes, to her ankles, calves, the inside of her thighs.
"No, no." She tried to pull him into her, to soothe the fluid ache he had called with his hands, his mouth.
"No?" His voice had deepened, was just a dark rumble. Yet amusement still quivered there. "I am not," lips moving upward, breath puffing against her skin, "through," warm tongue circling her navel, "here," and God!, he captured her swollen nipples again, "yet." He was finally above her. Each word brought a shivering answer from her core. His breath labored, lines of strain marked his face.
Her turn. She gripped him with her legs, drove him into her yet again. And after one exclamation, one ragged inhal
ation, he followed.
She could not seem to stop saying his name, but how could she say anything? Her breath, it kept eluding her. She could not fill her lungs. Yet there is was again, Richard. She thought he said her name also, but she was not sure. He was crying out something at the edge of pain.
Then they were still, unmoving. A last shudder caught her, spun out from her center in a fire-web. She burst in two; his cry and hers rent the night, twined in an echo that moved farther and farther into the depths of the earth.
He rolled to the side again. This time he took her with him and they lay pressed together. She looked up into his face. "I had no idea," she said, tracing the silver scar at the side of his mouth, the corners of his tilted eyes. "No idea at all."
Now a smile claimed his whole face. "Juanandi's gone underground," he said. "Goddess time is here."
Chapter 35
SHE WAS hungry. Ysabel leaned against the iron bars of her cell, felt their chill through the fabric of her gown. Surely it must be time to eat again, though they only came twice a day with food. How long had she been waiting? Without the sun to guide her, she never knew the hour. She placed her hand against the empty rumble in her belly. The skin puckered and fell in a loose fold to her women's cleft. No baby in there, not now. She had not seen her baby since that terrible day when she had awakened to find herself in this foul cellar, awakened to see Henri's pale face regarding her with horror. To see her baby cradled in that old woman's arms.
She looked across the dirt and straw-covered floor to the other cell where the bundle of bones and rags that was Utarilla lay unmoving. At least the old woman slept now. When Utarilla was awake, Ysabel had no peace. No peace at all.
Ysabel lifted her right hand, stared at the splinted fingers. They did not hurt so much now. She pressed her lips together. After she had awakened and seen Henri and Utarilla, their wide eyes staring at her, the creature Jean Becier had come into her cell. At first, she was confused. The last thing she remembered was laying down on the bed in her chamber. But her belly had flattened. And she was filthy.
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