It only felt that way.
The last thing she needed was to replay their parting scene in her mind, but suddenly there it was, Mihale pulling her away from Djahr to ‘talk to her privately’, something she could tell from the expressions of those around her was not only odd, but unacceptable — for her to be dragged from her new husband’s side. Khatrene had almost resisted, but her brother’s eyes had been so sad, welling with the same tears that plagued her now.
‘I’ve made a mistake,’ he’d said when he had her alone. ‘You must not leave me. Tell me you won’t leave me.’
Yet she had, with gentle words of comfort and assurances that they were doing ‘the right thing’. Not once while she’d been stroking his cheek and smiling into his sad eyes and offering any number of platitudes, had she thought he would suffer as she had.
As she did now.
Lonely? She hadn’t known the meaning of the word. And how was that possible when she was within arm’s reach of her new husband? Admittedly, she wasn’t allowed to touch Djahr. Yet. But she could look at him, speak to him, see the way he looked at her, the way he desired her. Yet now that she had lost Mihale, it wasn’t enough.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Was she doomed to always take things for granted until they were gone? And what of her marriage to Djahr? Would she spoil that longing for the company of her brother? It was ludicrous. If only she could talk to someone, find some perspective.
Of course, the logical person to confide a problem to, would be her husband, the man she would spend the rest of her life with. Only Djahr was still, in many ways, a stranger to her. Besides, wasn’t it an insult that his company wasn’t enough for her? She could hardly tell him that the moment his attention strayed from her, even for sleep, she found her thoughts with Mihale. Yet such was the fickle nature of her emotions that while Djahr was paying her attention and looking at her as though he couldn’t wait to ‘join’ with her, she was glad to be going with him. Happy to be his wife. Even looking forward to being pregnant straight away, which wasn’t something she’d have planned herself, if it hadn’t been her ‘destiny’.
What a mess.
‘My Lord, The Dark,’ a voice said quietly from beside their moving room.
Khatrene steeled herself to open her eyes, to smile at Djahr and pretend nothing was wrong. She couldn’t continue to be ‘asleep’ with a conversation going on beside her.
‘Mooraz,’ Djahr replied, and Khatrene heard no sleepiness in his voice. Had he been awake, watching her?
‘My Lord, we make the Plains this hour,’ Mooraz said. ‘I have sent a force ahead to clear our path.’
Khatrene liked Mooraz’s voice. It had a sound of assurance beneath his outward show of deference to his superiors, as though he had absolute confidence in his own abilities. She wondered if that was characteristic of Champions.
‘Ensure we are not disturbed, Mooraz,’ Djahr said, and Khatrene felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. Why? Because he’d spoken more quietly than usual? She’d heard no menace in his tone, and yet …
Khatrene opened her eyes as the curtain beside Djahr fell back into place. ‘Husband,’ she said. Simply because it reminded her that they would soon be lovers.
‘Khatrene,’ he replied, and although his tone was intimate, she felt a fleeting moment of insecurity. Why did he never refer to her as his wife? Because she wasn’t his first? Khatrene knew Lae’s mother had died young. Perhaps he wasn’t ready to have the wife he had loved replaced in his heart by another. Was that why he had not declared his love for her?
Or was it simply because he did not love her?
Khatrene opened her mouth before she could stop herself. ‘Djahr, do you …’ Love me? No, she couldn’t ask that. ‘… are you … pleased to have married me?’ How stilted. How awkward. How vulnerable she’d made herself.
‘I could wish for no higher honour than to fulfil the destiny of The Light,’ he replied, and she nodded. Shouldn’t have asked. Knew she shouldn’t have asked. Loneliness welled up so big and bad she wanted to burst into tears.
And what had she expected? Undying love? Of course it was all one-sided. She’d known that from the start. Just hadn’t admitted it to herself.
FOLLOW YOUR DESTINY. YOU WILL FIND LOVE, the voice said, and before she could reply, Djahr spoke to her again.
‘Yet I fear my motives in marrying The Light were not all of such high stature.’
Khatrene felt her skin tingle. There was something in his voice. ‘They weren’t?’ Her eyes strayed to his and were held there.
‘You were only a child and I was your elder,’ he said, ‘but I saw the beginnings of a woman I knew I must have for myself yet feared I would be too old to claim. War took you from me and a brother’s love returned you, no longer a child but a woman whose destiny made her my wife.’
Khatrene put her hand to her chest. Something was happening inside of her. An unfurling, as though her emotions were the petals of a flower seeing the sun for the first time.
She opened her mouth to speak, to tell Djahr the wonder of what he had just given her but his finger on her lips stilled them. A small thing, that touch, but in waiting so long for any contact Khatrene had become so sensitised to his proximity that it was as though he’d shoved her up against a wall and kissed her.
They stared at each other, Khatrene’s breath caught somewhere in her upper chest. Slowly, Djahr removed his finger, letting it slide across her dry lips like a warm, strong hand down her body.
‘We will not speak of this again,’ he said, looking deep into her eyes, ‘yet we will know that what lies between us is more than the destiny of two paths which meet to carry a people forward. It is the joining of two souls who have lived half a life for the want of the other.’
Khatrene was nodding. ‘Absolutely,’ she whispered.
Mihale didn’t enter her thoughts for the rest of the day.
*
Talis saw Mooraz leave the side of the marriage litter to stride ahead with a group of The Dark’s most formidable warriors. The Plains were almost upon them and instinct told Talis he should be at the side of The Light, or at least to the fore where he could better protect her from attack. Yet here he trudged at the rear of the litter with the Be’uccdha household guard.
Beside him, Lae said, ‘Do you wish to know his purpose?’ nodding towards Mooraz. ‘Then hurry and follow him. Do not feel that you must accompany my every footstep, beloved.’
The endearment did not wound Talis as it might have days earlier. Time had seen him reconcile himself to The Light’s happiness, which was now hidden from his sight and gradually distancing itself from his heart. His stabbing jealousy towards The Dark, which had been all but unbearable on the day of their wedding, was now just a constant ache. An echo of the agony he’d suffered.
In Lae’s company he remembered the fondness he had for her and his future with her seemed less painful with each day. Kert Sh’hale’s spiteful claim on Lae had given him no option but to continue with their marriage plans. Despite his experience in the Forest of Desire and the knowledge that he could not love Lae as she deserved, Talis would not abandon her to a man who only wanted her for revenge.
Lae spoke again and he returned his attention to their conversation.
‘But mind you do not bring Mooraz back with you,’ she chided. ‘His conversation wears me out.’
Talis laughed at this, to imagine the pensive Mooraz in a competition with Lae for words. ‘I would rather stay and speak with you,’ he said, ‘for Mooraz is brief with me.
No doubt he keeps his more interesting conversation for your company, My Lady.’ And here he mocked a bow.
Lae laughed and clapped her hands. ‘I wish you were my Champion, beloved,’ she said and took his arm. ‘That we might spend both day and night together.’
‘You would tire of me twice as fast,’ Talis said.
Lae leant her head on his arm and sighed elaborately. ‘I shall never tire of the nights,’ she said, and then added, ‘though you may grow tired,’ and laughed at her own joke.
Talis found discomfort edging his voice. ‘Perhaps such thoughts —’
‘The Light thinks this way about my father,’ Lae interrupted, defending her words, then she turned a fresh glance of worry toward Talis. ‘I see in her eyes a manner of seduction that does not befit a new wife. Do you think that even now while we walk behind them unaware she may be —’
Talis had to stop her for both their sakes. ‘I will not hear such things from you, Lae,’ he said firmly, and perhaps overloudly. A pout quivered a moment on her lips, but she held her peace. ‘Are you a child to speak badly of your new mother because of her place in your father’s affections? Or are you a woman who can be made a wife?’
To Talis’s relief her expression altered completely. ‘I am a woman who will be made a wife, and from this moment you will not hear me speak badly of my beloved mother again.’ This was said quickly and with seeming conviction. Talis was just nodding his satisfaction when she added, ‘If I see again that she has the eyes of a whore I shall keep such thoughts in my heart and not speak them aloud.’
Talis halted in his tracks and Lae frowned at him.
‘Am I not obedient?’ she demanded.
He regarded her a moment, then said, ‘Like the wind, which forgets from one day to the next which direction it is blowing.’
Far from offence, Lae laughed merrily at this and they continued their journey without further conflict, Talis with one ear for her happy chatter and both eyes on the litter before him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Kai of the Northmen, the leader of the Side Clan, stood in the centre of a mountain plateau, his ceremonial cloak of threaded jewels moving gently in the evening wind which came before dusk. Tiny glittering gems scraped his half-shaved chest, groin and leg, while on the other side they snagged in his thick body hair. His head, which sat at a slight tilt to compensate for the lack of hair on one side, was adorned with a spiked crown displaying the desiccated heads of his enemies. On his hands were the stains of his last kill, the ceremonial ‘gloves of blood’ which would allow him entry to the war council.
At Kai’s side stood the other nine Northern clan leaders in silent vigil. Before them rose the monolith their people had constructed in honour of Kraal, the Serpent God. For a year and a day after their defeat at the hands of the Southmen, the clans had come together to cut and work stone, piecing together the twisting carapace through which their God would rise from the earth to enter their world; Side Clan toiling beside Tree Clan with no bitter glance or threat — all of the Northmen allied to serve their god.
The time of the Maelstrom would soon be upon them when Kraal would finally inhabit their lands and they must make ready to welcome him, to offer the blood of the Southmen to appease his appetites. A war council would be held this night, and though their scouts had not returned, a commitment to battle would be made. Virgin sacrifices from every Clan would be brought to the serpent’s mouth and when their screams had echoed through the cavernous portal and their sacramental blood had stained the monolith, then the leader of the war council would announce their decision.
The traitor among the Southmen who had urged them to action now sought to halt their attack, but Kai had lost a brother to the Southmen in the last war. He would wait no longer for revenge. When his time came, Kai would speak for massacre, and urge the other leaders to raise their fists with his. Together they would defeat the Southmen, and the traitor who had thought to govern their will would be the first head Kai would claim — for the Side Clan, and for Kraal whose appetite for evil, long dormant, would soon re-emerge.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Khatrene stood on the East Tower of Castle Be’uccdha. A fierce wind buffeted her body and tore her hair into thin ribbons. Before her lay the rolling mounds of the Everlasting Ocean, its tincture of brown giving it a sepia postcard look.
Behind and below her the Castle spread out, a dark, angular outcropping of stone against sheer cliffs; as different from the Volcastle as night was to day, Khatrene could easily understand how its owners had been given the title of The Dark. Everywhere were sharp corners and squared edges made of stone so dense in colour it was almost black. At midday, to walk into an unlit room was to plunge yourself into an artificial night. Torches and candles burned constantly, yet despite the Castle’s forbidding exterior, the interior rooms she’d seen so far were luxuriously appointed. Richly textured tapestries complemented the lustrous gleam of burnished bronze and throughout the Castle she’d found exquisitely carved timber furniture. Nothing was ordinary. Nothing merely functional.
She couldn’t wait to see the bedroom. Couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Though Mihale’s brown kingdom stories had given Be’uccdha Castle a sinister air, Khatrene found herself fascinated by its architecture, its ambience, and of course, its owner.
‘I’m going to like it here,’ she said. ‘What about you?’ She turned to look at Talis, her hair immediately whipping across her face, obscuring her vision.
‘The ocean has restorative powers,’ he replied. ‘I find my soul calmed by its presence.’
Khatrene smiled. ‘I guess if you’re going to live with Lae you’ll need a calm soul.’
Talis said nothing and Khatrene respected the fact that he didn’t enter into the teasing she and Pagan were so fond of. It seemed honourable that he didn’t talk about Lae behind her back.
‘Well, I need a little calm tonight,’ she said, and turned back to lean on the parapet, looking down at the brown waves breaking onto the rocks below. ‘My nerves are shot.’
The wind continued to tear at her hair and her eyes watered, but she kept her gaze on the ebb and flow of water, listening to the rhythmic pounding of the big restless animal that stretched out to the horizon and beat its foaming paws against the rocks below her.
It took time, but finally a fatalistic acceptance settled over her. The moment she had waited for was now upon her and the night would proceed as destiny decreed. She should not fret about her lack of experience or the sudden realisation that she did not know Djahr at all. He was her husband and he would not hurt her. Quite the contrary, she would most likely experience a great deal of pleasure … if only she could relax.
‘It is time,’ Talis said from behind her. ‘The ceremony awaits.’
And in that moment Khatrene’s energy seemed to switch from fear to excitement. She suddenly couldn’t wait to see Djahr in his wedding robes again — for him to see her in the gown he’d had made for her — for them to be alone together at last.
The evening was a blur. Talis taking her to the Altar Caves. Ghett fussing over the mess she’d made of her hair. The long slow walk to the Altar amid an echoing silence which was only broken by the rhythmic dripping of water. The agonising wait for Djahr. Then he was beside her and she looked into his eyes and seemed to live there after that. Words were spoken, Khatrene drank some wine that went right to her head. Then it was time to retire and the blur of action slowed to a crawl.
Vibrations from the solid clang of the bronze bedchamber door closing seemed to echo through her body, wakening it from its sexual hibernation. She could feel Djahr’s presence close behind he
r, but was unable to shift her attention from the only piece of furniture in the room, a huge bed that lay sprawled across the middle of the room, quilts and cushions spilling around it like foam overflowing a bubblebath.
Music started from somewhere outside the room, a racing, plucking sound, like an Indian sitar, and Djahr took up a position in front of her, his palms over her face. Not touching, but so exquisitely close that her skin sensed his presence and seemed to tingle in response.
Lae had instructed Khatrene in this segment of the bridal ceremony and so she knew to remain still, but when Djahr’s hands moved, she had to remember to breathe. The expression on his face was so intent she felt herself trembling with anticipation. The hot scent of his skin only made her dizzier.
Outside, the music quickened, a counterpoint to Djahr’s slow movements. His hands traced delicately down to her throat, still not touching, then those long fingers she had lovingly studied stole back up behind her nape, threading into her hair to rest intimately close, but not in contact with, her scalp. The subtlety of the sensation was quite overwhelming and tingles raced down her spine, spreading out across her body like electricity. She couldn’t have looked away from his eyes if he’d told her to.
She wanted to stop thinking and simply enjoy herself, but her mind kept telling her that a man with such delicate responses would be a magnificent lover. She’d known that already, of course. Everything about him; his bearing, his voice, his eyes, carried a subliminal sexual message, and like an animal trapped in the headlights of an oncoming car, she could only wonder what sensations the coming collision would bring.
Virginity, once an uncomfortable burden, now seemed the most precious gift she could own.
‘Wife,’ he said softly, looking deeply into her eyes and within seconds Khatrene felt tears on her cheeks and again the beautiful unfurling of her own heart. His hands moved down from her shoulders to her back, and on to the curve of her waist. Suddenly the thin fabric of her dress was no barrier to her senses. She could ‘feel’ his touch, even though it never contacted her. And overlaying the faint whine of music and his slow, deliberate caresses was the sound of that one word echoing with each beat of her heart. Wife. Wife. Wife.
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