“I wandered alone in the dark without food or water. I tried all the false panels I could trigger until I discovered the catacombs. To be sure I could get out I wedged the entrance open with my shoe.”
Imoshen’s gasp made him pause, but she quickly indicated he should go on.
Reothe smiled wolfishly. “If only he knew, Murgon did me a favor. I believed I was dying. I lay on the slab like legend says T’Sardonyx did, and said the words for the dead, for my soul. The horror of it triggered my gift and I left my body behind. The Parakletos came, some curious, others resentful.
“The Parakletos found me wandering lost in death’s shadow and led me back to this world. In my dealings with them I have learned all is not what it seems.”
“You said they have no power in this world.”
“They don’t. Some are filled with a thirst for revenge and will try to steal your soul, others pity the True-men and women they escort into death’s realm.” He shook his head sadly. “Woe betide the caller who summons them without the will to withstand them!”
“Yet you say they were kind to you?”
His sharp eyes met hers. “Did I say kind? One day I may tell you what passed between us before they returned me to this world.”
“So they returned you to the catacombs. How did you escape?”
“By then Ysanna had revealed our dangerous games and the underground passages were being searched. When they found me I had been lost for five days. The Empress was furious. But I did not reveal Murgon’s role. For one thing I had no proof—Ysanna’s note had disappeared—and for another Murgon had been transferred into the Tractarians. Anything I said against one of their number would have been suspect. Besides, I thought that was the end of it.” Reothe grimaced. “I was wrong. When the old leader of the Tractarians died, Murgon was named the successor. He promised to make them a power once more and they loved him for it.
“For most of the Age of Discernment the Tractarians’ strength had been fading. The only living pure T’En was your great-aunt and she was no threat. But with my birth they began to lobby for more resources, more priests. There is nothing like a threat to make True-men and women band together. In any other branch of the Church, Murgon’s T’En characteristics would cause suspicion. He joined the Tractarians because he saw it as a route to power. As their leader he meant to discredit me.
“But when the old Beatific retired I made sure I had the new Beatific’s ear. I had picked her for her potential, had been cultivating her for years.” Reothe smiled across at Imoshen. “Politics. I can see you despise the power play, but you must learn to use it for your own survival as I have done. Murgon and his Tractarians fear us. What True-people fear, they destroy.”
“You speak as if we were at war with True-people.”
“Except for the occasional Throwback like you and I, the Church has almost succeeded in wiping us out. For centuries they’ve kept us in ignorance. What right did T’Abularassa have to rewrite our history? She and Imoshen the First’s own daughter, the Beatific, deliberately hid the T’Elegos. They used the T’Enchiridion to bind us to serve them. I heard how you gave your Vow of Expiation. What crime have you committed that you must ask for expiation?” He stepped closer to search her face. Though he did not touch her, the force of his presence made her body thrum.
Reothe held her eyes. “Do you know how lonely it is to live in a palace full of True-people and know that while they laugh with you and love you with one breath, they could turn on you with the next and stone you to death? A decree from the Beatific is all it takes to declare one of us rogue.”
So that was why he had “cultivated” the Beatific. Imoshen could understand his instinct for self-preservation. “But the last rogue T’En was stoned over a hundred years ago,” she objected. “True, Murgon is a fanatic, but this is, or was, the Age of Discernment—”
“Discernment? Age of Denial more like!” Reothe exclaimed. “They thought we had died out. They had your great-aunt cowed. They claimed to be enlightened because they believed us a spent force.”
Imoshen shook her head. “Who is this They? Besides, it is different now that the Ghebites—”
“Hate us. The Ghebites are more dangerous than you realize. They despise us because we are not True-people. And look at what they do to their own women!” He gestured in frustration. “What if the current Beatific were a man instead of a woman? What if the Beatific and the Ghebites joined forces? Who signs the decree to declare a T’En rogue? Imoshen the First chose celibacy, but who enforces the practice. The Church. The Church represents the True-people. They are our enemies, yours and mine.”
Imoshen shook her head. Fair Isle was her home, its True-people her people.
Reothe prowled away. He paused by the mantelpiece, staring into the cold fireplace. “Light a fire, Imoshen.”
She blinked. “Light it yourself, the flint is there.”
“No. I mean light it.”
She understood. A frisson of excitement made her skin prickle. “I don’t know how.”
“Oh, come now. You nearly had Selita enthralled and you weren’t even touching her.”
The prickling of her skin increased. She looked at the pyramid of wood arranged in the hearth. All it needed was a spark. A stinging sensation snapped behind her eyes and when she opened them little flames consumed the kindling.
Delight flooded Imoshen. She darted over, kneeling before the fire to admire her handiwork.
“Very nice,” Reothe said dryly. “Now you see why they want to wipe us out.”
“But it was only one little spark!”
“It only takes one spark to start a fire.”
Fear chilled Imoshen’s flesh. She wanted to deny the truth of his words but could not.
Reothe held her eyes. “Mere-men and women kill what they fear.”
She thought of her people cast out of their homeland, then persecuted in their new island home. “I must read the T’Elegos. Are you sure you interpreted the old language correctly? Its meaning can be ambiguous.”
He laughed. “Yes, my little scholar. Remember that first time you quoted High T’En to me? I wanted to hug you. But you would have run away.”
“Nonsense!” But he was right. She had been wary of him, fascinated yet frightened by the force of his personality.
He sighed. “All along our timing has been out. If only you had been older, we would not have had to wait so long for our bonding. We would have been bond-partners when the Ghebites attacked. The Empress would have—”
“Would have, could have! It’s too late to talk of what might have been!”
“You are right.” Reothe whispered sadly.
The last of the sun’s setting rays faded, casting the room into darkness except for the flames of the fire. Imoshen felt as if she had traveled a lifetime since Reothe sent Selita away.
He took one of her hands in both of his. “I promise when all this is settled we will read the T’Elegos together. Somehow we will break the T’Endomaz’s encryption. You can’t stand against me, Imoshen. Stand at my side, my equal in every way.”
Her heart turned over. She trembled as she pulled her hand free of his. He called her his equal yet he had deliberately kept her in ignorance. And when Reothe spoke of sharing the reins of power it was incumbent upon Tulkhan’s death. She shuddered. Nothing, not even Reothe’s promise of a shared T’En heritage, could make her sacrifice the father of her child.
Imoshen touched Reothe’s face, felt the lean line of his jaw. “Second cousin, last of my blood kin, last of my kind, don’t let this war consume you. Sail east. Provision your ships and make your way via the archipelago. You know those islands, the land beyond—”
“And you’ll come with me?”
She let her hand drop, startled by the prospect.
“I jest, Imoshen. I would not ask it of you even if you said yes. It is not something to be attempted lightly. The sailors of the archipelago don’t venture east. They say to go into the dawn sun is death.” He gestured.
“Imoshen, ask yourself, it has been six hundred years, why haven’t we had visitors from the land beyond the dawn sun?”
It was a good question. She tried to read his face. “You tell me.”
“I don’t know,” he answered with simple honesty.
“Then why don’t you sail into the dawn sun? It would be a glorious adventure—”
“Don’t patronize me, Imoshen. And don’t try to influence me with your gift.”
“I wasn’t.” But she was. Even as she said the words she had instinctively added a push, willing him to feel her enthusiasm.
“No?” he pressed with a half smile.
Again she felt that dangerous attraction and would have pulled away from him but he caught her hand, lifting her arm to press his bonding scar to hers.
“It is you and I against the rest, Imoshen. For the moment the Ghebites accept you. But I heard about the stone lovers. How long before they cease thinking of you as their pet Dhamfeer and begin to fear you? How long before your General smothers you in your sleep and drowns his half-Dhamfeer pup—”
“No!” She sprang away from Reothe, heart thudding. Tulkhan would never do that.
Her tone made the baby stir and cry. At the same instant there was a scratching at the door.
“Enter,” Reothe called, then lowered his voice. “Don’t fool yourself, Imoshen. I am your only true friend because we share the same enemies. Our goals should be the same!”
She turned away from him to retrieve Ashmyr from his basket.
“T’Imoshen’s food.” A servant waited with a tray.
Reothe gestured for him to enter as he lit the candles.
Imoshen wanted to send the meal away but she would need her strength for what was to come. In three days Tulkhan would arrive and somehow she had to ...
“Bring it here, please.” She sat down by the fire.
“I’m going to send Selita to you,” Reothe said when the servant had left. He did not need to warn Imoshen against trying to influence the girl.
She ate slowly, methodically. Today she didn’t even taste the delicious spices.
Reothe lingered. His hand brushed her shoulder. A tingle of awareness moved across her skin. It was the overflow of his T’En gift, questing for an opening, a welcome. But Imoshen closed herself away from him, knowing that he was probing for the mind-touch. It hurt her to shut him out, as much as it hurt her to know Tulkhan had shut her out. But she remained obdurate.
Grimly Reothe sighed and left.
The events of the afternoon made Imoshen’s head spin. She could still see Reothe gilded by the sun, declaring they were fallen angels.
Wearily she returned the quieted baby to his basket, her mind reeling with the implications of what she had learnt. Reothe had asked who deserved her loyalty. Tulkhan and the True-people of Fair Isle, or Reothe and the T’En? She had three days to decide.
Tulkhan estimated they would have another day’s hard ride before they approached Northpoint. His people were tired. It was midafternoon and they had been riding since dawn. He was weary himself but driven by the knowledge that every step brought him closer to Imoshen and his son.
“General?” Wharrd called.
“Yes?” He knew they should stop to eat and let the horses rest, but he was loath to delay.
Wharrd said nothing, his expression eloquent.
“Very well, first likely spot we’ll take a break.”
He could almost feel their relief. Little Kalleen never complained and consequently none of his men dared to grumble.
“Down there?” Wharrd asked. He pointed to a single fishing hut halfway up the hillside, far above the pebbly beach.
Tulkhan recalled this place from his campaign last spring. There had been a whole village here bustling with life before his people attacked. In the first small moons of the campaign they had been brutal, wiping all resistance before them. The little fishing huts built to withstand storm had offered no protection from armed men.
Tulkhan experienced a twinge of regret. He’d had no argument with these innocent fisherfolk. He had simply decided to take Fair Isle and had unleashed his army. The island was too ripe a plum not to pluck. For the first time Tulkhan faced the unpleasant truth. Reothe stood on the moral high ground. The T’En warrior was only defending his homeland, his heritage. His betrothed? No. Tulkhan believed Imoshen loved him.
“General?” Wharrd pressed.
Tulkhan reigned in his wandering thoughts. “Very well.”
He turned his mount toward the beach. The others followed. He needed to approach Northpoint undetected to find out where Imoshen was being kept. A tight, well-coordinated raid might succeed in freeing her. But it was exactly what Reothe would expect of him, that or to lay siege to the town itself.
Tulkhan noticed the fisherman’s boat pulled up beyond the high-tide mark. Reothe would expect an attack from the land, not from the sea. But they would need more than one boat. . . .
Imoshen paced the length of her chamber, unable to relax. Her decision was made. Fair Isle was her home and its people were her people, no matter what their race. She would continue Imoshen the First’s work and see the pure T’En race accepted by the True-people.
Sometime today the General would reach Northpoint, and when he did, she would stand at his side, against Reothe.
Selita had fled after lunch, complaining of a headache. Reothe had been in twice to check on Imoshen, but refused to answer her questions. He simply satisfied himself that she was not up to anything and left. Like her, he could feel the tension in the air, the heavy foreboding of a thunderstorm about to break. It made her teeth ache.
Sensing her anxiety, Ashmyr had been fretful all day.
Imoshen stood at the windows of her prison staring down at the harbor. The evening stars dotted the emerald sky. She frowned, counting the ships. Another two had arrived with the evening tide.
She hadn’t seen Reothe since midafternoon. For all she knew Tulkhan might be attempting a raid on the eastern wall of the harbor town at this very moment, their battle cries carried inland on the sea breeze.
Imoshen returned to the chair by the fire and fed herself and her son. Tonight was the best time to attempt her escape. Hopefully Tulkhan’s arrival would distract Reothe and keep him too preoccupied to monitor her for the use of her gifts.
Imoshen went through her normal routine, even putting on her nightgown and sitting by the fire with Ashmyr’s basket at her feet. But her body burned with restlessness.
She had to find a way of giving Tulkhan an advantage, but first she and Ashmyr had to escape Reothe. Time to test him. He was not all-powerful. He had to have a weakness.
Settling her body into the chair she forced herself to relax. Monitoring her breathing she was aware of her heartbeat slowing. Her T’En senses spread out until she could feel the servants in the lower rooms bustling about, clearing up after the evening meal.
Her perception was only minimal, just a general sense of purpose with no individual personalities rising to the surface. Could she manipulate one of these people, make that person come up here on some errand? She’d never attempted anything like this before but she was desperate.
First she had to select someone who seemed susceptible. Maybe a probe to test. . .
She felt it! The sharp flare of Reothe’s perception. He was coming for her. Gasping, she retreated, reeling in her awareness until she had nothing but a True-woman’s senses. She strained to hear his footfalls along the corridor. Heart pounding, she waited, dreading the inevitable confrontation.
From her brief contact she had felt the formidable strength of Reothe’s will but he also seemed preoccupied.
He was already in the corridor.
Imoshen must distract him, soothe his suspicions. She began unraveling her plaits, her heart beating rapid as a snared bird’s.
Reothe scratched on the door.
She had to clear her throat before she could speak. “Enter.”
She glanced up, feigning
calm. Reothe strode in and came to an abrupt stop before her, ignoring the baby at her feet. Waves of tension rolled off him. His narrow nostrils flared as he inhaled, his eyes narrowing. “What have you been up to?”
Though it cost her, she continued to unravel her hair, ignoring him.
“Imoshen?” he pleaded.
Startled, her gaze flew to his and connected. Why did he look so strained? All her healing instincts told her he suffered mental anguish.
“What is it?”
His lips parted, then he shook his head and strode to the fireplace. He stared into the flames, his back to her.
Imoshen came slowly to her feet. “Has General Tulkhan come?”
“Why?” He turned sharply. “Do you sense him?”
“No, I ...” She shrugged, not about to reveal that the General had forbidden the mind-touch. In closing himself away from her he had prevented her contacting him even in an emergency like this. “No, you said three days and it has been three—”
His bitter laughter cut her short.
Unnerved, Imoshen could not read Reothe’s mood, but she could sense the danger of his gifts barely restrained. She dared not provoke him.
The silence stretched between them as he stared at her. Reothe was T’En, but, tonight, vulnerable and troubled. He was . . . Other. It called to her.
A heat dawned in her center, creeping through her limbs. Imoshen felt her face flood with betraying color. Reothe’s lips pulled back from his teeth. She knew he could sense her arousal.
She turned but there was nowhere to run. Still, her feet carried her to the windows. The sea breeze cooled her cheeks, lifting the loose strands of her hair.
Her hands closed on the cool wood grain of the windowsill. Across the bay each ship was a small self-contained world illuminated by lanterns. If only . . .
“No you don’t!” Reothe’s hands closed on her shoulders.
She could feel him down the length of her body. He radiated heat, tension, and purpose.
She focused on the bobbing lights in the bay, the sea breeze, anything but his need for her.
His breath brushed her ear.
DARK DREAMS Page 40