Remembering that, Sarah made a mental note to move everything inedible off the kitchen table.
‘So, you’ll be right with the nappy change?’ That was another matter all together.
‘I will manage.’ This said bravely, although he couldn’t suppress the slight moue of disgust that pursed his lips.
Lips, hmmm … Not going there. ‘Okay, I’ll leave you to it then.’
‘Sarah.’
She turned back in the doorway, ‘Pagan,’ she countered automatically, trying to still the jolt of excitement that had picked up her heart rate. Just because he calls you back doesn’t mean he wants to sleep with you. But he was looking at her with an odd expression. Not shy. Embarrassed?
‘I wish to heal the injury I inflicted on you.’
‘Okay.’ She glanced away, unable to hold his gaze. ‘Sure, go ahead.’
He remained where she had left him, standing beside the bed. ‘I need to touch your arms, and yet I am hesitant to do so.’
Sarah wanted him to touch her so badly she could taste it. ‘Really, why is that?’
‘I fear that earlier when I kissed your hand, only to express my gratitude,’ he added quickly, ‘that I insulted you.’
‘Insulted? No, I wasn’t insulted.’ Aroused, definitely, but not insulted.
‘Then … may I?’ He gestured at her arms.
She nodded, not quite able to speak just then, her eyes locked onto Pagan’s as he walked towards her and stopped right in front of her, blocking the light. His head tilted down, a slight frown on his perfect forehead. He’d obviously used the same soap as she had — it was the only soap in the bathroom — but he smelt … different. Different? Come on, Sarah, you can do better than that. He smells like sandalwood, and smooth hot skin and sex against a door.
‘There is a tingling sensation,’ he said softly, then his large palms closed over her arms just above the elbows and slid up underneath her T-shirt sleeves to settle over the bruises, his thumbnails brushing the sides of her breasts on the way.
Sarah closed her eyes, swallowed so loudly she was sure Reg would hear it on the other side of town. Tingles were shooting everywhere and she was having trouble breathing, thinking, then a more specific tingling warmth spread from Pagan’s hands onto her arms and inside them. She opened her eyes, wide. ‘It’s like …’ nothing she could name. Intimate and yet impersonal all at once. Like the whisky warmth in your stomach that feels like a hug but produces a hangover.
Pagan closed his eyes and the small frown on his forehead deepened. ‘With Guardian power do I heal the injured flesh herein, restoring strength and making whole. I order pain to end.’ He opened his eyes and looked down into Sarah’s. ‘It is done,’ he said.
She nodded. Kept on nodding. Felt like a dog on the back shelf of a car. ‘It feels … warm.’ Hot. ‘So the bruises are gone?’ He wasn’t taking his hands away and just as well or she’d probably have fallen over.
‘You are trembling,’ he said. ‘Yet I believe I have performed the healing correctly.’
She tried to shrug. Couldn’t with his hands on her arms. ‘It’s my first time.’
He nodded, then slowly, achingly slowly, he removed his hands. Sarah swayed and then straightened. ‘I’ll just …’ She pointed down the hallway. ‘… Go. Thanks. Much better.’ She wriggled her arms and smiled. ‘Early start in the morning. So … goodnight.’ And with that she escaped, wobbling down the hallway on jelly legs, straight into her room where she closed the door and then rested her forehead against it. ‘Jesus Christ with ice-cream,’ she whispered. ‘What am I doing?’ Letting an alien sleep in her guest bedroom. Fantasising about him. Was she entirely mad? What if she woke up in the night and he was eating her brains? What if she never woke up?
‘Sarah, are you well?’ Pagan was on the other side of the door. ‘To whom do you speak?’
She closed her eyes. ‘To my God. I was praying.’
Silence.
‘Really, I’m fine. Just tired. I’ll see you at breakfast.’
‘Vegemite toast?’
Why on earth had she promised him that? He’d probably hate it. ‘Absolutely.’
‘Very well. Goodnight Sarah.’
‘Goodnight Pagan.’
She heard his footsteps retreating down the hallway, raised her head and turned to slump against the door. ‘Sarah McGuire, you are dreaming.’
Then she remembered the point of the exercise and pulled up one sleeve to look at her arm, stepped forward under the light bulb and angled it for a better view. Smooth tanned skin. The bluish tinge of Pagan’s finger indentations were completely gone, but just to be sure she gripped the arm and squeezed. Hard.
Nothing. Good as new.
She lowered that arm and looked at the other. Squeezed. ‘Jesus,’ she said, then frowned. What about trying to stop blaspheming?
‘What about trying to stop hallucinating?’ But she wasn’t hallucinating. It was real. Pagan was real. Glimmer was real. And her unbruised arms were real too.
‘It’s like having Christ pop in for a visit.’ Blaspheming again. ‘Go to bed. Shut your eyes. Go to sleep.’ She looked in the mirror. Sleep. Good idea. But half an hour later she was still wriggling around, pushing off the sheet, pulling it back. Her mind wouldn’t slow down, even though she’d stopped worrying that he was going to eat her brains.
They’d worked out their story. Pagan was the husband of a girl she’d met in university in Brisbane, someone she’d kept in touch with but never mentioned to her family — unlikely, but Sarah was prepared to bluff it out. She didn’t tell everyone everything, especially not Melissa who had a mouth as big as all outdoors. They’d just have to believe that she’d kept it to herself.
So the story was that Sarah had promised this imaginary friend on her deathbed that she’d take care of her family, and now she was. Husband Pagan, daughter Glimmer.
In discussing this, Pagan had told Sarah that the name of the phantom friend should be Lae, as he would more easily remember that. One name was as good as another so Sarah had agreed, but now she kept remembering the inflection in his voice when he’d said that name. Lae. It wasn’t a made-up name. He knew someone called Lae, and for some reason he wanted to think of that person as his imaginary wife, mother of his imaginary child.
That gave Sarah pause. Her hormones had got the better of her today and she wasn’t going to beat herself up over that. She hadn’t done anything stupid and it wasn’t every day that a man so sexy he could make you feel like a cat on heat strolled into your life. It had rattled her. But now she was thinking. Wondering if he wasn’t already in love with someone, and whether she’d need to wait until that love faded before she …
What? Made a move on him?
She shook her head, pressed it back against the soft pillow. She wasn’t going to make a move on him. Ever. He was eleven years younger than she was. There was no way she’d do that. He’d find out sooner or later that she was interested, available, and then it would be up to him.
But what if he was never interested, never available? If he started seeing other women? Sarah closed her eyes again, swallowed against the sick taste that had formed in her mouth. Jealous already?
Okay. No point in pretending she wasn’t falling for him, but that didn’t have to be bad. They sang songs about love at first sight. It was a wonderful feeling. Only, just right at that moment it didn’t feel particularly wonderful. It felt scary and unmanageable and … achey.
Great. Her life was turning into a country and western song.
Sarah rolled over and buried her head under the pillow. Sleep goddamnit! And miraculously, the dramas of the day slipped away. With a few deep slow breaths she slid into the rhythm of slumber and Pagan, Glimmer and the rest of the world fell away. Blissful unconsciousness snuggled around her and Sarah slept the sleep of the emotionally exhausted.
Straight through until morning.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘You see, my love,’ Talis said, hoping this vision
would reassure his beloved who had been grief-stricken since she had awoken in the misty emptiness of the Airworld and found her newborn not with her. ‘Glimmer is safe and well and my cousin stands guard over her with the Magorian woman, Sarah.’
Khatrene shook her head, pale hair falling away from her cheeks as she gazed up into the glowing surface that had recently appeared in the mists above them. Talis had dubbed it a seeing-storm. A glimpse into another world. ‘I can’t believe Glimmer is a girl. Djahr was so sure and Noorinya never said…’ She turned to Talis, her eyes searching his own, a disbelieving smile on her lips.
‘It is the way of the Plainsmen to conceal a child’s gender at birth, part of their ritual.’
‘I know, but I never suspected.’ She frowned at him. ‘How could I not know? My own baby …’
Talis smiled to reassure her, but his heart was far from calm. To hear her call The Dark by his given name, Djahr, roused unwelcomed emotions in Talis’s breast. Though she hated him now, The Dark had been her husband and so it was natural that she would speak of him with familiarity. But to hear as much from her lips reminded Talis that they had once been lovers, and that there was a child between them.
‘All that time I was pregnant,’ she said, unaware of his thoughts, ‘you never sensed …?’
‘My Guardian powers could not touch her,’ Talis replied, trying to steer his mind from jealousy to reason. Khatrene loved him. Her marriage to The Dark had been a lie that was best put behind them. ‘Glimmer is The Catalyst. And though this revelation is unexpected, it does not affect her destiny. Girl or boy, the child of The Light — your child — will join the Four Worlds.’
While Talis wondered whether The Dark had been equally deceived about the child’s gender, Khatrene nodded. ‘A little girl.’ Her smile wavered and Talis saw tears brim her eyes. He reached to grasp her hand and she clung to him, her gaze returning to the glowing picture above them. ‘Sarah looks kind,’ she said, ‘and practical. I’m sure she’ll be a good mother to my …’ She could say no more and Talis pulled on her hand, brought her into his arms where he held her close and felt her tears wet his shirt.
‘You are Glimmer’s mother and always will be,’ he said, smoothing her hair, his olive skin dark against her pale beauty. ‘We are exiled here, and she there, but it is of no matter. She knows you as you know her. And here we can watch her from safety.’
‘But we can’t help,’ his beloved cried, her words muffled against his chest. ‘We can’t do anything.’
‘We can watch over her with love,’ Talis said simply, and though he knew this was not enough for Khatrene, who shook her head against his chest, there was no ready alternative. The Column of Light which had lifted them out of danger on Ennae and brought them to the Airworld of Atheyre had disappeared. Talis could attempt to reopen the portal with his Guardian power, but no one had ever returned from Atheyre and Khatrene’s royal brother, who slumbered next to her, had died in Ennae. While he breathed and blood pumped through him, Talis had hope that their king could be revived. Returning him to his homeworld would snatch back the life he had so recently been given.
Then there was The Dark to consider. Khatrene’s husband had been relentless in his pursuit of her and Talis couldn’t bear the thought of putting her back into his path. On Atheyre they appeared to be perfectly safe. From what they had just seen, Glimmer was in no danger either, yet Talis was not immune to the frustration of their situation. As he and Khatrene had watched Pagan through the seeing-storm he had wished for a way to counsel his young cousin in his unfamiliar role as Champion. Yet though they had found a vision of Pagan and Glimmer in the strange mists of this world, they could do nothing to contact them. To contact anyone.
‘I’m okay,’ Khatrene said and lifted her head, wiping her eyes with her fingertips. ‘I’ve got to stop crying. It’s not helping anything.’
Talis let her move away but still held her within the circle of his arms. ‘You must grieve for your lost child,’ he said. ‘That is the way to healing. Yet, know that the sadness is only for yourself. He kissed her softly, tasting the tears on her lips. ‘Your child is well cared for and will grow in safety. She has a trained Champion at her side.’
‘A trained warrior,’ his beloved corrected. ‘That’s not the same thing.’
‘Granted,’ Talis replied, ‘my cousin’s temperament is more to the glory of battle than the patience required of a Champion, yet that battle training will stand him in good stead should her life become threatened.’
‘Not likely in a small country town,’ Khatrene said, ‘but there will be dangers he won’t recognise. Animals, snakes, poisonous spiders.’ She thought for a moment. ‘I’ve heard that name, Katanga. I think it was south west of Dakaroo where I lived,’ then her brow grew troubled. ‘There’s not much crime in those little places but children die anyway, drowning in dams, getting trapped in old refrigerators …’
Her worried frown was like a splinter in his heart. ‘Sarah is of Magoria. She will know of these things.’ Talis certainly did not.
Khatrene nodded, her eyes distant. ‘She seems very competent.’
‘We must trust in her. And Pagan. For while we remain on Atheyre there is naught we can do for anyone.’ This said with more frustration than Talis would have wanted his beloved to hear.
Khatrene brought her attention back to him, her perceptive gaze settling on his eyes. ‘You’re thinking about those we left behind on Ennae,’ she said. ‘Lae. Noorinya. You’re wondering if they’re even alive.’
Talis nodded and then glanced away, knowing he could drown in the sympathy her eyes offered but not daring to when he knew he must remain vigilant to any dangers they might face here. Their new home appeared empty of life, yet Talis was not ready to let his guard down. Instead he raised himself on an elbow and looked around. Mihale still slept, cocooned in mist, and beyond him Talis saw only white, a monotone which, surprisingly, was not monotonous to the eye, for like Ennae which was all shades of brown, here there appeared to be all shades of white. No trees to contrast with either grass or sky, admittedly, yet there were layers to the resilient mist that supported them and which also floated above and around them. On close inspection, those layers appeared to be of varying thicknesses and their differing distances brought some shadows to a picture that had, at first, merely blinded them with its brilliance.
Khatrene followed his gaze. ‘I feel like I’m lost inside a bag of cotton wool balls. It looks so insubstantial, but it feels …’ Her hand drifted down through the mist. ‘… Like the finest down quilt.’
Talis, who had not lived on Magoria, could take no meaning from her words so he continued to search for a landmark or trail. Unfortunately Atheyre’s landscape was one in which he could take no bearings, yet despite its strangeness it appeared to supply all their needs. No thirst or hunger had come upon them in the hours since they had awoken here, and he suspected that the legends were true: sustenance was taken in with the thick air.
Not only that, time appeared to pass differently here than on Ennae. Talis knew that for each five days his cousin was on Magoria, one day would pass on Ennae, yet only scant hours had passed since they had arrived in Atheyre. Did that mean that the Airworld turned more slowly again? Five times more slowly than Ennae? They would have to monitor the seeing-storm to decide this and they appeared to be at liberty to do so. No discomfort or danger had troubled them since their arrival. Indeed, the world had remained completely static until Khatrene had said aloud that she wished she could see how her child was faring.
She had wished …
He glanced back at his beloved.
‘What?’ She frowned. ‘Did you see something?’
He lay back down beside her and took her hand. ‘I wish to see Noorinya,’ he said and Khatrene gasped when the glowing surface above them darkened.
‘What have you done?’ she whispered.
‘The seeing-storm,’ he said. ‘It obeys our wishes.’ He watched closely as the darkness shifte
d to reveal a campfire, and lying next to it, Noorinya, with eyes closed as though in slumber.
‘Mooraz,’ Khatrene whispered, as though afraid they would be overheard. ‘What’s happened to his shoulder?’
Talis saw The Dark’s Guard Captain lying beside Noorinya on a crudely constructed litter, the bandage over his upper chest crusted with blood, the symmetry of his body destroyed. ‘He has lost an arm,’ Talis said quietly, yet did not add that the wound would be mortal. With no Guardians left on Ennae, grievous injury of this kind could not be healed.
The Dark stepped into the picture and Khatrene made a small sound of distress.
‘He cannot see or hear us,’ Talis said in reassurance, for they had attempted to contact Pagan through the seeing-storm and had found no success. It was clearly a vision and not a doorway. ‘You have escaped your husband more thoroughly than he could ever have anticipated.’
‘Glimmer too,’ Khatrene whispered back, ‘and I told you to stop calling him my husband. He tricked me into marrying him. It doesn’t count.’
Talis squeezed her hand as though in agreement, yet did not believe for himself that ‘it didn’t count’. As her Champion, he had done no wrong in rescuing The Light from her evil husband, but as a man he still felt guilt that he had loved her when she was married to another. Worse, his resolve to put the past behind him had lasted only as long as it took Khatrene to mention Djahr’s name again.
‘How many follow us?’ The Dark said, his voice as clear as Pagan’s and Sarah’s had been and likewise as quiet, as if in deference to the distance the sound was travelling. Talis felt the tightening of his beloved’s fingers in his own at the sound of that hated voice. ‘I had thought the Plainsmen scum destroyed.’
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